#employees held hostage

[elder-millennial-of-zion]

#notallUNRWAemployees

I mean come on, with a company that big you’re bound to have the odd dozen or so employees that participate in terrorist massacres. You just learn that if Steve in accounting asks if you want to see pictures of what he did over the weekend, you politely say no.

[gemwolfz]

the reason noisette has a more noidlike mask than the noise is because shes the original noid but transgender. i dont take constructive criticism

[mostlysignssomeportents]

I miss the old, good internet, but I don’t want to bring it back.

I want a new, good internet. One where users can’t be locked in because we make it legal to:

• reverse-engineer products and services, so you can leave a social media platform but still send and receive messages from the people you leave behind;

• jailbreak your devices so you can remove antifeatures like surveillance, ink-locking or repair-blocking; • move your media and files out of the silo whence they originated and into any player you want.

I want a new, good internet where we constrain the conduct of tech companies, banning unfair labor practices, deceptive marketing, corporate hostage-taking and other forms of rent-extraction.

I want a new, good internet where it’s both illegal to impose bossware on your employees, and where those employees can legally hack the bossware their bosses shove down their throats.

I want a new, good internet where creative workers and their audiences can reliably connect with one another, where news reporting isn’t held hostage to extractive processes.

I want a new, good internet where we seize the means of computation so that the digital infrastructure that connects our romantic, personal, political, civic, economic, educational and family and social lives is operated by and for the people who use it.

-Enshitternet: The old, good internet deserves a new, good internet

[dominateeye]

...In the suit, Faren asserts that she signed a severance agreement with ZeniMax, which stipulated that they’d provide her COBRA coverage (18 months of healthcare coverage after leaving the job) on the condition that she not file a discrimination lawsuit. This was allegedly after a year of transphobic aggressions in her workplace after she came out (which the company seems to admit, if they’ve asked her not to file a discrimination suit). Oh, and she says she was pressured to come out because her supervisor outed her on Slack during a meeting before she could talk to the team herself. Faren documented all of this through screenshots, recorded phone calls, and more. However, all of that isn’t even what the lawsuit is about. The suit is about what came next. ...

“In mid-June, Ms. Faren confirmed with Blue Cross and Blue Shield that she was still covered under the plan and scheduled her surgeries to take place in July. However, the coverage was retroactively terminated after the surgeries took place, leaving Plaintiff with hospital and doctor’s bills. Ms. Faren continued to be without health insurance until September 25, 2022, resulting in high priced prescription drug payments, as well as physician and hospital bills, many of which she was not aware of for months following services. ..." Even the most well-intentioned human resources departments don’t actually exist to help employees. They exist to protect the company from getting sued. That’s their main function. In Faren’s case, that happened in a straightforward way when her health coverage was held hostage so she wouldn’t file a discrimination lawsuit. But HR departments do this in more subtle ways, too. ...

[kimikitti]

In honor of the new Book 7 part I present to you all the right and honorable Lord Calibearn the Pretender. Briar Valley's premier overworked government employee.

Former court jester turned Royal Advisor, he's wrangled almost three generations of Draconia royalty in vastly different ways. He's twisted from the forest animals in sleeping beauty taking over the Prince's coat. Yes, he is made up of a bunch of animals in a fancy stuffed outfit. There's a lore dump below the cut

Unique magic: "Flock Together"- Allows user to control and manipulate groups of small animals. Advanced application allows conscious transfer of the soul

Background:

Calibearn came from a relatively poor background in Briar Valley. He used to sing and play the lute for some extra coin on the streets. When the Royal Court held a competition for a new jester, Calibearn decided to try out. He was successful on account for the unique harmonies he could conjure with forest animals and was appointed as a companion to a young princess Malenoar. It was through this that Calibearn met Raverne and Lilia.

War: (I'm not too set on his lore yet) During the invasion of the Silver Owl, Calibearn was taken hostage trying to evacuate civilians. He was never supposed to be near the front lines, due to his weak nature. While in captivity, Calibearn was forced to give up his original form and escape using his unique magic "Flock Together".

He never found his original body.

Upon his return, Calibearn took on a more ruthless political role under the senate. His sharp tongue and wit led to a meteoric rise in political circles (plus a shit ton of blackmail).

During the seige of Malenoar's castle, Calibearn was faced with a terrible choice. Send more troups to defend Malenoar or move the supplies to secure civilians. He made a choice he'll never forgive himself for.

Relationships:

Malenoar: On account of a shared childhood, they were quite close. Malenoar would frequently tease Cali about his shyness when they were young. Calibearn also entertained the princess with the sordid affairs that happen amongst the nobles in her court. Calibearn was also involved in a lot of the mischief Maleanoar would pull on potential suitors.

Lilia: Calibearn developed a minor crush on Lilia growing up. He holds Lilia in very high regard. After the war, Calibearn and Lilia's relationship deteriorates. Lilia, though still believing in Calibearn as a friend, cannot forgive him for abandoning Maleanoar. Calibearn doesn't believe that Lilia is wrong about that, but also refuses to explain himself. While Lilia is banished, Calibearn constantly petitions the Senate for a repeal of his punishment. He continues to support Lilia indirectly and would often send gifts for Silver through Malleus.

After nearly centuries of healing, Lilia wants to finally have an open conversation of Calibearn about the past. Calibearn runs away from this constantly. Much to the chagrin of literally everyone involved.

Malleus: Due to the fact that the Senate sucks and Lilia was not often allowed to see Malleus, Calibearn self appointed himself to be a tutor and mentor to the young prince. He would often help Malleus sneak out to see Lilia. He wanted the prince to at least have some semblance of a childhood.

Calibearn was not always the best role model at times. He taught Malleus how to curse like a sailor once and got his ass kicked by Lilia. Though he is fond of Malleus, Calibearn felt himself to be a temporary figure in prince's life. The guilt he carried made Calibearn feel that his love for the prince paled in comparison to the love Lilia could give. As such, he kept some amount of distance between him and Malleus.

Malleus on the other hand, grew to respect Calibearn as a mentor. Though that doesn't stop the prince from teasing Calibearn at every opportunity. (Btw the I love DILF mug is from Malleus, Cali has no idea what DILF means no one tell him.) Also, Malleus is constantly trying to get is divorced dads back together. Silver gets enlisted into this fight on account for him being the youngest and cutest.

[cvntydazai]

the regulars

you catch the eye of two regulars that come to the diner you work at

pairing; dazai osamu x fem!reader x chuuya nakahara

word count; 3.6k

content warning; nsfw (minors do not interact!), threesome, unprotected sex, mentions of alcohol, mentions of suicide (it’s dazai obv), degrading (dazai calls reader a slut), lowkey meandom!dazai, softdom!chuuya, oral sex (m&f receiving), backshots.., reader is held hostage (not by dazai or chuuya), cursing, unedited writing, probably a lot more

authors note; my first post on here! i’m pretty proud of this!

the diner was almost quiet in the mornings, very few customers and even fewer employees were present. it was usually just yourself and the cook until around noon when the lunch rush hit, but that was okay with you.

it allowed you catch up with whatever hobby you had going on at that moment, this time it was crocheting. whatever online forum that promised you it was easy was lying, you could barely finish the small square you had started.

just as you were beginning to grow frustrated you heard the familiar ding of the diner’s door, alerting you of a customer.

the brown haired man was sopping wet, a dreary gaze in his eyes as he shuffled to an empty table and awaited your service. you jumped to, notepad and pencil already in hand as you approached him.

“i don’t recall rain being on today’s forecast.” your weak attempt at a joke flew over his head entirely.

“oh, it’s not raining. i was trying to die in the river.” the confession didn’t surprise you as much as it should have.

there was talk of a man who was always spotted trying to drown himself, you assumed it was rumors.

“hmm, didn’t seem to work out.” it was the only response you could muster for the bizarre statement.

he opened his mouth to respond but as he lifted his eyes to meet yours he stopped, mouth agape and eyes wide like he had a groundbreaking revelation upon catching your eyes. you cleared your throat, cheeks growing warm from his staring.

“i didn’t realize i was in the presence of someone so beautiful. how rude of me not to greet you with the respect you deserve.” a cheap compliment, but his confidence when saying it was cute.

“what can i get you?” you changed the subject, tapping your pencil to your notebook.

“your number, if it’s available.” with rolled eyes you sighed, he overdid it now.

“let’s start off with your drink, what can i get you?” with a bit more push you questioned him.

“whatever type of whiskey you have.” you hummed, quickly scribbling down his drink and scurrying off to grab it.

when you went to the back the line cook was there prepping for lunch, he only greeted you with a small smile.

his eyes widened when he saw the whiskey you were pouring into a glass.

“a bit early for that, isn’t it?” you snorted.

“it’s for a customer.” he didn’t continue but you could feel his judging gaze.

after delivering the odd man his drink and a bit more bickering you got him to finally order something. just as he was leaving the restaurant got busy so you didn’t have time to wave him goodbye before he was out the door. and that was it, you expected to never see him again.

your shift was usually from open to close, so you swallowed your odd interaction you had that morning and continued on with your day. you got through the lunch and dinner rush without issue and now it was just you and the closing cook.

this was a normal day for you, working long hours and making poor pay. the tips were nice, but did they make up for all the rude customers you face on a daily basis?

you hear the ding of door, it’s ring echoing through the empty restaurant. with 45 minutes until close you wanted to tell whoever was there to leave, but your moral compass fought back with you.

a short man wearing a long coat and a strange looking hat. he was alone, you were thankful for that. you didn’t need a large party right before close.

when he sat down you finally approached him.

“hello, what can i get for you?” he didn’t look up at you, his eyes still scanning the menu.

“just a beer.” a strange request to ask at such hour, especially with a bar being just a couple of blogs down the street. you didn’t voice these thoughts with your customer and instead went to fetch his drink.

when you returned you saw that he was writing down notes in a notebook that he quickly pushed away when he noticed you looming over him. you smiled, setting down the drink and also taking a seat directly across from the stranger.

he shot you a strange look, one that held a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

“we close soon, thought i’d keep ya company.” he scoffed.

“how generous.” laced with sarcasm but there was a small smile playing on his lips.

you two talked for only a little bit, you asked him about what he was writing but he mentioned that it was classified, having something to do with his job that he wouldn’t reveal. eventually you both had to go home as the restaurant was closing. you were surprised by just how fast the time had come and gone when talking to the stranger

“i can walk you home, if you want me to.” he offered, to which you smiled.

“i’m gonna catch the late night bus, but thank you mr..”

“you can just call me chuuya, it’s nice to meet you y/n.” he said, his eyes trained on your nametag.

and then you parted ways, that was what you assumed to be the last of him.

thoughts of the two strange men you met today danced around in your head until you finally succumbed to the exhaustion of the day, the exhaustion that would follow you into the morning for another shift.

the very next day, your next shift you were surprised to see the brunette from the last morning. he waved, noticeably brighter this time around.

“goodmorning!” he yelled, motioning for you to come over.

you complied as he took your hands and sat you down beside him. with little shame he flirted, his mouth moving so fast you could barely keep up. you were able to introduce yourself to him and he did the same, he revealed that his name was dazai.

“would you do me the honor of committing a double suicide with me?” he asked for the millionth time, his bandaged hands snaking up your wrists to hold you tenderly.

“you’re cute, but no.” and with that you shook him off, his hands flying back dramatically.

he stuck around for a bit longer, you made sure he had enough whiskey to keep him busy. sometimes you would catch his gaze as you worked and he’d flash you a pretty smile.

but the times when you would look and he wasn’t staring he’d usually be rubbing his finger around the rim of the glass with his other hand supporting his resting head as he stared out the window in deep thought. you couldn’t help but admire the man, he was attractive.

and just like yesterday he left during lunch rush and your day continued on. and into the night you would encounter yet another familiar face.

chuuya sat in the same spot as he did last night, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for you to approach him.

“seems like i have two new regulars.” you muttered under your breath as you made your way to him.

he ordered just a beer again and you once again sat down in front of him to chat. you were lucky he came in so close to closing so you usually weren’t even busy.

you chatted for a bit and then, just like yesterday you both got up to leave and he offered again to walk you home. you would just take the bus again.

this routine of your morning regular and your night regular became an almost everyday thing. sometimes one of them wouldn’t show and it worried you but they always showed up again the next day.

you got to know the two of them well, it occurred to you one day just how different they were from eachother. the only similarity was their love for booze, and how much of it they could drink.

somewhere down the line of this routine you started to catch crushes on both men. how scandalous, you thought to yourself. two men practically drinking themselves to death and you were swooning over both of them. who could blame you when they both gave you that certain look. chuuya more subtle than dazai by a long shot, but the ‘fuck me’ eyes they both gave you didn’t lie.

you shook your head, you shouldn’t be thinking these things about strangers that you barely knew. they were just customers, and that’s all they ever would be.

little did you know, they were both thinking the same thoughts about you. dazai hadn’t been able to keep you out of his head since the very first day you two met, for once he was glad his attempt at suicide failed him because it meant meeting you. chuuya was in the same predicament, he never planned on meeting you but once you hooked him in he couldn’t escape.

the pretty diner girl that has two very dangerous men roped in her smile.

when dazai came in the morning to the diner he was expecting to see you there, smiling and waiting patiently as always, but instead in your place was another waitress. he frowned, sitting down in his usual seat.

when the unfamiliar waitress walked to his table he immediately questioned her,

“where’s y/n? this isn’t usually her off day.” she seemed caught off guard, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“i’m sorry, i don’t know. she didn’t show up for her shift so i was called in, the owner tried calling her but she didn’t pick up.” something felt wrong, he felt it in his bones.

he excused himself, muttering something about only wanting to be served by you. just as he was standing his eyes caught a piece of paper hidden between the ketchup and mustard bottle that were displayed next to the menus on the table.

he took the folded up note and quietly exited the diner.

chuuya would experience the same oddity at a later time that day. he saw a different waitress and spotted the note.

and the note read that they were to both be at a specific location at a specific time.

said location was that of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. it would occasionally be put on dazai’s radar if he was looking out for stolen goods or missing people but for the most part no one paid attention to it.

dazai arrived early, surprised to see a particular short man already at the entrance of the warehouse.

“what the hell are you doing here, dazai?” chuuya interrogated first, his voice on edge.

“i could ask you the same thing.” dazai shot back, a pout on his lips.

at first dazai suspected chuuya was behind this, but when chuuya explained your description and that he was looking for you he understood almost instantly.

“someone must have been watching us, found the opportunity to take advantage of the situation.” chuuya spoke, dazai humming in agreement.

“well, if i’m stuck with you at least be useful.” dazai said, walking ahead into the entrance of the warehouse with a shouting ginger following behind him.

the exterior looked better than the interior. old construction equipment everywhere with strange stains covering the walls and floors, it was definitely abandoned.

chuuya worried for you, not because he feared that you were hurt but because this place reeked. he could hardly imagine you being here, sitting somewhere in a cold dark corner with a dangerous person holding you hostage.

“someone’s got a lot of nerve to target her..” chuuya mumbled to no one in particular.

“they do, which is why we’re going to take care of whoever did this and get my woman back.” dazai responded, keeping his eyes peered for any signs of you.

“your woman? in your dreams!” chuuya let out a loud laugh that he hushed immediately after hearing what sounded like a cry coming from deeper in the warehouse.

both men sprinted forward, stopping once met with the sight of you chained to the floor with a man peering over you.

he turned to dazai and chuuya, a wide grin on his face.

you could barely see the scene before you, your head fuzzy from whatever the stranger had hit you with to knock you out. you barely remember how it happened, you only recall waking up in the dark with the man who abducted you.

just like before, everything was fading to black, this time your mind at peace now that you knew help was here. you didn’t know if it was the police or whoever, you didn’t care. just being content that someone came for you, you let the darkness consume you.

-

when you came to you saw dazai and chuuya standing over you, yet to see you were awake.

“don’t try to wake her up, she’s clearly exhausted, dazai. let her wake up on her own.” you heard chuuya’s voice along with a sigh from dazai.

“i just want to make sure she’s okay. especially after you carried her around like she was a damn ragdoll.” the brunette muttered.

“what else was i supposed to do? sit there and let that guy shoot at us?” you groaned, the loud noises not settling well on your ears.

everything went silent. both men stared down at you expectantly. you sat upright, wiping your eyes.

“dazai? chuuya? you two know eachother?” it was all you could muster, it made dazai grin.

“unfortunately.” chuuya mumbled, shoving away the arm dazai was trying to lay across his shoulder.

“i’ve got to say y/n, i’m hurt! i thought i was the only man in your life.” you ignored dazai’s dramatics, instead looking to chuuya for answers to where you were.

he explained the entire situation, after they “took care of” the person who abducted you, they brought you to chuuya’s apartment and have been waiting for you to wake up since.

the explanation made you realize just how awkward of a position you were in. you laid on the end of chuuya’s bed with the two men standing over you. you squeezed your thighs together and gathered your thoughts. this was not the time.

“this is a lot to wrap my head around.. why did they abduct me out of all people?” you knew you had been abducted and held hostage but you still didn’t understand why.

“oh, belladonna.” dazai cooed, his hand reaching to caress your cheek.

“they thought to take out our common weakness.” chuuya continued, his palm resting against the other cheek.

they didn’t need to finish their sentence, you already knew. the lingering gazes from both men at the diner, the flirting from dazai, the gentlemanly offers to walk you home from chuuya.

they were wrapped around your finger, they always had been. there was no more denying that fact, they had risked their lives to save you.

“i.. guess i should be thanking my saviors then, shouldn’t i?” a double meaning, they both knew it too.

“mmm, i think so. don’t you agree, chuuya?” the shorter man nodded in agreement.

dazai was the first to move, his hand that was on your cheek drifting down to your shoulder as he eased you further into the bed. you complied, wide eyes glancing between the two.

your back hit the cushioned mattress, dazai joined you on the bed, laying on his side as he peered down at your chest that held your racing heart. you saw chuuya kneel down and spread your legs further apart.

they both worked simultaneously, dazai undressing your top half while chuuya worked on the bottom. the feeling of their fingers grazing your skin left you overwhelmed, completely at their expense.

you were fully undressed in a matter of seconds, the cold air of the night nipped at your skin. suddenly feeling insecure you attempted to reach your arms down to cover yourself, dazai caught them, pinning them at your sides.

“don’t hide, beautiful. let us see you.” he whispered, his words holding authority that urged you to comply, you did.

chuuya’s breath fanned over your exposed cunt, shaky short lived breaths that told you he was just as nervous as you were.

“are you ready?” you nodded, closing your eyes in anticipation.

you felt his tongue make contact with your slit, a constricted moan left your lips out of instinct. dazai’s rough hand grabbed hold of your chin, forcing you to look in his eyes.

his warm brown eyes held a sinister glint in them. he dipped his head into your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin around your collarbone.

the noticeable contrast between the two showed, chuuya’s sweet licks to your pussy against dazai’s rough sucking to your neck. a mixture of pleasure in pain, the perfect balance.

chuuya made work of your cunt, acting as if he’d never get the chance to taste you again. his tongue darting in and out of your hole at a rapid speed you could barely keep up with. his mouth attacked your clit next, sucking on the bundle of nerves.

“chu.. ah!” he added a finger to your hole, curling the digit inside of you to hit the places he couldn’t reach otherwise.

he could tell you were reaching your peak, keeping a steady pace to bring you over the edge.

dazai could tell too, so he pushed chuuya away from you.

you whined at the loss of contact, gripping dazai’s shirt as a weak attempt to beg for more. you caught sight of chuuya, your juices all over his chin. he shamelessly licked the finger that was previously inside of you.

“can’t let him give you your first orgasm, beautiful.” chuuya bit back a snarky comment, instead listening to the painful erection in his pants.

“switch me places.” dazai spoke, chuuya agreed with little hesitation.

dazai was now by your legs and chuuya sitting behind your head. the brunette was quick to flip you on your back and position you just where he wanted. your ass now in the air with him lazily rubbing his clothed erection against your ass.

your head dangerously close to chuuya’s crotch, your shaking hands gripping both of his thighs. while dazai took off his pants you hastily aided chuuya with his.

dazai wasted little time, aligning himself with your entrance. his hands gripping your ass while he began with his first thrust, one reaching so deep he nearly bottomed out. a grunt left your lips, squeezing chuuya’s sensitive thighs as a way to stabilize yourself.

you felt chuuya’s soft hands reach for your hair, massaging your head whilst shushing your whimpers that escaped with each thrust dazai threw into your aching cunt.

once a rhythm was found you put your focus on chuuya’s painfully hard member. his eyes on yours the entire time as he watched you lick the base of his manhood until you reached the tip. he guided your head down his cock, small praises leaving his lips the entire time.

“our pretty girl, being such a useful slut.” dazai spoke, landing a smack on your ass.

you attempted to moan but your lips were occupied, drool escaping your mouth with every thrust chuuya delivered into your throat.

the speed of their thrusts beginning to synchronize, you felt your core squeezing dazai harder. it only encouraged him, knowing you were close to your peak.

it was all so overwhelming, bringing tears to your eyes as you attempted to take it all, to take all that dazai and chuuya gave you.

“so pretty.. taking us so well.” chuuya mumbled, wiping tears that began spilling from your eyes.

he looked at you as if you were the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen, despite your hair being a mess and your eyes being red from tears.

you were all close, that much was clear from the way dazai had began to shut up and chuuya’s silent grunts had turned into breathless moans. you were no better, one hand still resting on chuuya’s thigh while the other reached for one of dazai’s hands.

dazai’s hips sped up, squeezing your hand tenderly whenever he hits particularly deep.

he feels his orgasm creeping up on him, your tight walls leaving him a shaky mess.

he’s the first to come undone, his seed spilling into you with one finally push of his hips. his orgasm setting off chuuya, cumming into your warm mouth with a slew of curses leaving his lips.

you swallow every drop, chuuya wiping your mouth with his thumb before lifting your head up to plant a kiss on your lips. dazai still thrusting inside you, overstimulating himself to get you to your breaking point.

“m’ cumming!” you announced, heat pooling in your stomach.

“let go, belladonna.” and you did, cumming hard on his cock.

the room was filled with panting sighs and beating chests as you all collected yourselves. chuuya was the first to move, scrambling to his bathroom to grab a towel to clean you up. dazai cuddled you on the bed while chuuya cleaned you off, dazai stroking your hair whilst humming you to sleep.

you refused to let the tiredness take hold of you until both men were in the bed with you. when chuuya joined, you finally gave in to the sleep that was calling you.

you had never slept better, feeling safe in the arms of two strangers who had become regulars in your life.

[hightowered]

and you know i gotta say. the vast majority of the people losing their shit this weekend made it very clear that they do not understand the difference between "artists who want a measure of comfort in their lives" and "the billionaires actually being targeted by phrases like eat the rich." that is such a weird thing to be so proud to announce to the whole entire internet.

it's also extremely weird to behave as though any individual is entitled to an artist's work for free. or that the audience should be the final say in determining what an artist creates. there is a major difference between the betrayal of an artist who produces art and then banks on their social capital to engage in harmful, violent, bigoted behavior (like jk rowling) and the "betrayal" of an artist who decides that they should be or need to be compensated for their work. the latter isn't actually a betrayal at all. it's just a shift.

the thing is that the watcher boys didn't invent capitalism, they didn't invent the streaming model, they didn't invent youtube or patreon. they aren't getting 100% of the money from either. their merch doesn't magically appear as if made by elves while they sleep. their videos don't happen out of nowhere and without incurring bills. they have a business which employs people, and sure, you can say they employ too many people, but do they actually? a bunch of randos on the internet don't actually know that. they don't know these job titles, or how necessary it is to have everyone there. it's pure speculation. the entire company exists within a system they did not invent and are trying to stay afloat in said system while a bunch of assholes on the internet berate them for not acquiescing to their every whim at the expense of their artistic integrity, their ability to compensate their staff fairly, and their ability to keep making art.

and jumping from "i want to continue enjoying this artist's work for free" to "i think people should be fired and the remaining employees should be given greater responsibilities and more tasks to complete" is wild to me. there's nothing leftist in that and so trying to leverage leftist jargon to prove some sort of moral superiority is fucking wild, it's disingenuous, and it's sketchy as hell. you're allowed to be disappointed. you're not magically exempt from being told you're being an asshole if you decide your disappointment entitles you to take part in asshole behavior.

"but we don't want something heavily produced and we don't want these shows" then don't watch! that's it! don't watch! you are not being held hostage and forced to engage with this content. you have the choice not to. throwing a tantrum and launching racist vitriol at steven lim and demanding he step down as CEO shows a level of entitlement and childishness that, frankly, i wish they could have ignored, but they're both kinder & more patient than i am.

anyway congratulations to watcher on their new streaming service and their gorgeous new website, congratulations to the boys on a new step in their careers and on achieving something they've made clear they've wanted for ages, thank you to the boys for all their hard work and for sharing their creativity with us. thank you too for taking such a big and genuinely brave step to no longer be beholden to major corporations and advertisers so you can make the art you want to make. thank you to steven lim for taking so many steps back to keep the company running and for doing your best in a shit economy and while being targeted by this kind of nastiness online. and thank you to the entire team at @wearewatcher for continuing to do amazing work despite being treated like shit by the fan community at large on the internet while you're trying to make a living and create art. you all deserve better than you've been shown of late and i hate that such an exciting moment got overshadowed by so many temper tantrums.

because the whole fucking point, the dream, is getting to make the art that matters to them, without being held back. i'm sorry y'all don't want the heavily produced and high quality shit but your preferences as a member of an audience are not the law by which artists should abide. they are artists and they are free to, and deserve to, make the art they want to make.

[matan4il]

I am at a loss for words.

A Jewish woman in Paris was kidnapped, held for several days, and raped for being a Jew, and her mother was psychologically taunted and tormented, as "revenge for Palestine."

And while the perpetrator is the main person responsible for this horrific crime, every single person denying or justifying the Oct 7 sexual violence is guilty of contributing to this normalization, making this antisemitic terrorist think his excuse is in any way an acceptable justification for this atrocity. Every single person who didn't believe Jewish victims, every single person who demanded proof, but turned a blind eye to the visual evidence Hamas terrorists themselves provided, every single person who called the films and pictures and testimonies from countless Israelis "propaganda," every single person who justified it and claimed that "rape is resistance." They're all complicit. They all have to know they've helped make Jews everywhere in the world less safe.

Speaking of complicity, even though a UN report found credible evidence for the sexual crimes committed by Hamas on Oct 7 and against Israeli hostages since, the UN secretary general, Antonio Guterres, has personally decided to leave Hamas out of the annual report on sexual violence in conflicts around the world. Israeli commentators expressed their belief that this was done, because had it been included, then the UN would have no choice but to finally recognize that Hamas is a terrorist organization. The UN is complicit. Guterres is complicit. Hold them accountable.

Speaking of the UN's known anti-Israel bias, what a surprise, their report on UNRWA, their own agency, claimed not to support the charges against it, though they did find that UNRWA has "some issues" maintaining its neutrality...

Just to make it clear, "staff publicly taking sides" refers to UNRWA employees being openly anti-Israel, antisemitic and pro anti-Jewish violence, and the "problematic content" in UNRWA textbooks is incitement to terrorism and educating Palestinian kids to be antisemitic. This alone constitutes more than "some issues with neutrality." But there's more. Out of the 12 Gaza UNRWA employees first identified by Israel as having participated in the Hamas massacre, at least three were killed inside Israel on Oct 7 itself, and at least one more was captured on film while helping to kidnap an Israeli young man's body from an Israeli kibbutz into Gaza using a vehicle with UN license plates. I'd say that's a bit more than "difficulties with neutrality". In fact, the UN itself implicitly recognized the evidence was damning, or it would not have fired nine of the twelve right away, and admit a tenth UN worker was dead following the invasion and attack on Israeli communities, while claiming they're still "clarifying" the identities of the other two killed employees who participated in the Hamas massacre. BTW, it's been about 3 months of the UN "clarifying" the identities of those other two dead employees (screenshot below is from the article published 2 days ago, link with same claim on "clarification" is from Jan 27).

UNRWA is complicit. There are other humanitarian aid NGOs, which can do better. Dismantle UNRWA. But we know the UN will not be dismantling the cash cow that this agency is, even though no other refugee group gets an equal treatment to that. At what point do we say out loud, that if more and more UNRWA employees are found to be complicit in a massacre or being embedded with Hamas, if Hamas terrorists have continuously used UNRWA infrastructure to store weapons and shoot at Israelis, if UNRWA was found to be providing a terrorist organization with internet and electricity, and if the UN can't hold its own agency accountable, then the UN is also complicit in UNRWA's collaboration with Hamas?

In Israel itself, as the biggest Jewish community in the world is celebrating Passover, attacks on Israeli Jews continue.

Two days ago, on the Eve of Passover, a combined terrorist attack took place in Jerusalem, in an ultraorthodox neighborhood, with two Palestinian terrorists driving their car into a group of visibly Jewish young people, then the attackers left their car and tried shooting at their victims, but the weapon thankfully malfunctioned. Three people were lightly wounded. (the vid below shows most of the attack, but not the graphic parts of the car hitting the young Jewish men)

Yestrday, the Lebanon-based terrorist organization Hezbollah launched three suicide drones at Israel's northern communities, along its Mediterranean shore. This attack comes on the heels of the news that out of 18 Israelis wounded in a previous Hezbollah drone attack on an Israeli Arab Bedouin town, one has died from his injuries, after fighting for his life for 5 days. It's 27 years old Dor Zimel, an officer who was stationed in that town to protect it. Dor was set to get married next month, and he had proposed to his fiancee with a ring donated by a bereaved father (his son, 23 years old Addir Messika, was a jewelry designer, and the ring was one he designed before he was murdered by Hamas terrorists at the Nova music festival on Oct 7). Dor's organs were donated and saved the lives of 7 people, including an injured soldier, who's also the father of a girl. May Dor and Addir's memory be a blessing.

And today, on the second day of Passover, an attempted stabbing attack was stopped before the Palestinian female terrorist managed to harm anyone. She was neutralized at the scene.

I'm sure all those who decried Israel having to continue its war against Hamas during Ramadan are being extra loud about this wave of anti-Jewish violence during Passover, which is actually just a partial list of the on going attacks on Israeli Jews during this holiday.

In other news, the preparations for the IDF's ground operation in Rafah have actually already started. Reports suggest 250,000 Palestinians who have come to the southern city as they left other war zones in Gaza, have already left Rafah, and that Israel has already started building encampments to house those it will evacuate from the city before the ground operation begins.

Trying to remember when have I ever seen an army building an entire camp city for the enemy's civilian population. I'm coming up blank.

This is Miri Gad Mesikka.

She lives in kibbutz Be'eri, together with her husband Eli and their 3 kids. On Oct 7, they locked themselves in the bomb shelter from the invading Hamas terrorists. They were in there for 12 hours, fighting for control of the bomb shelter's door, until the terrorists set their house on fire, and the Gad Messika family had to make an impossible choice: stay and maybe suffocate to death from the smoke (or worse if the fire got in), or jump from their second floor window, probably be injured and maybe be shot to death by the terrorists. Eventually, they chose to jump out. They all got injured, and one of her sons got his leg broken, but the terrorists didn't spot them, and this decision saved their lives. During the time they were locked inside the bomb shelter, Miri recounts how she would see some of her friends and neighbors not responding anymore, and she couldn't know why. She kept hoping it was because their phone batteries ran out. "Today I know some of them were being kidnapped, while others were being murdered. It was a massacre, happening in countless different spots at the same time." One of her friends told Miri, that her daughter, a baby who was less than one years old, was shot in the head right in front of her. Then the friend's husband was murdered as well, and despite being shot with a bullet in her lungs herself, the friend somehow managed to get herself and her two other kids away.

Never forget.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[paper-mario-wiki]

Genuine question: Why do you believe Glitch Productions is overworking and underpaying their employees? Is there a source for this? I don't see where the animosity is coming from.

It's not a matter of overworking and underpaying.

It's that the potential for this series is straight up being held hostage by a studio who does not care about anything other than finding a golden goose.

I've been in digital media for pretty much my entire career, and I can tell you with great confidence that that much advertising and hype doesn't out of nowhere, and it doesn't happen with no budget. That much merch wasn't just available by chance day 1. And the fact that they're gauging the potential of the project solely on merch sales and not by audience engagement and response is extraordinarily telling.

The Amazing Digital Circus is a GI-Joe commercial to sell action figures, and I'm really sick of people talking about it like it's just a cute little indie project with a lot of heart. Because that's part of the marketing.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Surety of Ghos-ti

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x pregnant!fem!reader

Summary: You are held hostage, and Luca and his team have to save you and your baby.

Warnings: angst, violence, threats of homicide, comfort/fluff

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Hondo!” Luca calls as he enters SWAT HQ.

Hondo stands immediately, his eyes wide as he asks, “She’s in labor?”

“No, man, and she won’t be for a while,” Luca replies with a smile. “I thought I was supposed to be the nervous, jumpy one.”

“Give it a few more weeks,” Deacon interjects. “It gets easier after the first one, though.”

“We ain’t all like you, Deac,” Hondo teases. “What do ya need, Luca?”

“50 Squad’s serving a felony warrant with the Marshals in Santa Clarita, so Hicks wants us to be ready to pick up the slack.”

“They better not go to Magic Mountain without me,” Street grumbles from the other side of the room.

“Priorities, Street,” Deacon reminds him.

“Yeah, they’re sorted.”

“I have to be at the party supply store before they close at 9,” Chris says. “As long as our shift ends when it’s supposed to, I can let Rocker slide this one time.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Luca responds.

Chris turns to stare at Luca, and after a moment, he concedes and raises his hands. The team decided to throw you a baby shower, besides the one you had for friends and family, because you are part of 20 Squad, and you’ve gained another family. Luca expected Annie to be the one who took the reins of the shower. He has seen how well you and Chris get along, so he shouldn’t be surprised by her insistence on making the party perfect.

“When does she learn the gender?” Street asks. “If it’s a boy, Streeter has a nice ring to it.”

“They’re not going to set the kid up for failure before birth, my man,” Hondo calls.

“Her appointment was supposed to be today, but the doctor had to reschedule,” Luca answers. “She’s not sure she wants to know, though.”

“Chris works for a niece or nephew,” Chris points out.

Luca laughs, then remembers that Hicks asked him to review a new strategy with Hondo and, despite his preference to continue discussing you, he focuses on work.

Los Angeles has every kind of store you could ever need, but when a new handmade baby goods store opens a few miles from your place, you know you must visit. Luca is at work, you’ve done everything Chris allowed you to for the upcoming baby shower, and even though you’re 20 weeks pregnant, you’re restless. So, you gather your phone, wallet, and keys, then lock your front door and begin the short drive to the store.

The pastel blue façade welcomes you after you park, and you run your hand under your growing bump as you enter the store. A handwritten “Cash Only; Sorry!” sign is displayed on the counter, and you mentally thank yourself for asking Luca to take you to the bank over the weekend. He’s the best part of your life, the love of your life, and his insistence to help you prepare before giving birth has been a godsend.

“Hi!” a smiling employee calls. “Welcome in, let me know if you need anything!”

“Hello,” you reply. “Thank you. I’m just looking for now.”

“Awesome! There’s so much cute stuff in here, take your time.”

You smile, then trail your eyes around the store. It’s larger than it looked from the outside, and you decide to start in the back corner and work toward the front of the store. There’s a small cart return area at the front of the store, likely from the building’s past resident, now blocked off with a sign that says, “We got you, mamas. If you’re shopping alone and need assistance, let an employee know and we’ll keep your stuff behind the counter so you can relax and focus on finding the perfect items.”

As you reach the back of the store, there’s a corner filled with onesies and toes relating to parents’ jobs. A pair of pajamas catches your eye, embroidered with a police van that reminds you of Black Betty and “Relax, my dad is a police officer.” You lay it over your arm, then laugh at the one behind it. With both secured, you continue walking around the store. The employee from earlier checks in with you as you walk past and graciously offers to take the items from your arms and hold them behind the counter for you.

“Thank you,” you call as she uses a dry-erase marker to write your name on a plastic bin beneath the register.

“Of course!” she replies.

She waves to another employee, returning from somewhere, and you continue shopping. You look at some BPA-free bottles and specialty pacifiers rather than looking up when the bell over the door rings.

“Welcome in.”

You hear the strain in the cashier’s voice and shift your attention quickly, reaching for your phone when you see a man dressed in all black blocking the doorway. He puts his gloved hand against his hip as one of the women places her hand against the edge of the counter, her fingers underneath the lip. You assume she presses a panic button and stay behind a shelf as you click your screen to find Luca’s contact.

“Empty the register,” the man demands.

“Okay, okay,” one of the women mutters, opening the register and dumping a few bills and loose coins onto the counter.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“That’s all. We just took most of it to the bank, we only have enough to make change.”

“Open the safe!”

“Don’t have one.”

The man jerks his head to the side quickly, then pulls a black gun from his waistband. You forget about texting Luca and press the button to call him instead. The man pulls his black cap off, running his fingers through his hair. He turns toward you after his arm falls out of his peripheral view, suddenly aware of your presence.

“What are you doing over there?” he yells, aiming the gun at you.

You raise your hands quickly, but not before setting your phone behind a bottle on the shelf and praying Luca answers. “I was just shopping,” you answer as you step away from the shelf.

“Give me your money, too!”

You swallow as you pull your wallet out, then hand over the cash you have. The man holds the gun on you with one hand as he counts the money with the other. He sighs, then backs toward the door. He twists the lock until it clicks and flips the sign on the door to say Closed.

“This isn’t enough,” he says as if he’s having a normal conversation and not threatening lives over less than $500. “What are we going to do about that?”

“What about a bottle warmer?” Street asks, scrolling through a baby registry on his phone.

“Got one,” Luca answers without looking up. “I told her to make her own registry.”

“Towel warmer for Mom?”

“I bought her one,” Hicks interjects. When the team turns toward him, he shrugs and says, “New moms need comfort and new things, too.”

Luca smiles and shakes his head as his phone begins ringing. “Speaking of new moms,” he murmurs before answering the phone. Luca doesn’t hear anything, so he repeats your name several times. Just before he hangs up, he hears muffled speech.

“What’s up?” Tan asks, noticing the concern on Luca’s face.

Luca gestures for him to be quiet, places his phone on speaker, and turns it up.

“I was just shopping,” you say, your voice growing quieter like you’re stepping away from the phone.

“Give me your money, too!” a man yells.

Hondo reaches across Luca’s chest and mutes the microphone to ask, “Where is she?”

Keeping the phone call connected, Luca navigates to your contact and reads your current location so Street can type it into the computer.

“Home Grown Baby, it’s a handmade baby goods store,” Street says. “The silent alarm was activated less than a minute ago.”

“Maybe you should put the gun down,” another woman says. “We can help you.”

Someone screams, and you plead, “Stop, stop.”

Hicks raises his own phone to his ear, whispering hurried commands. “I called off local PD. That’s a hostage situation. Luca, if you need to sit this out-”

“I’m good,” Luca assures the team. “Let’s do this.”

“Luca,” Deacon calls, stopping him on the way to Black Betty. “Your girl, your unborn child… he’s going to try to use them as insurance, a surety that things stay in his control. We need to you think with her if this is going to work.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Luca answers, letting his training override his emotions. At least until he gets to the store.

You hold a hand against your stomach as you sit beside the employees, tucked under the front of the counter as the armed man paces before you. Glancing over, you see that the woman who returned from the bank, Elizabeth, is looking better. He hit her over the head with his gun, but her color is returning, and the blood on her temple is drying.

“Is-" the other woman, Jane, begins. She stops when the man turns toward you. When he turns away again, she whispers, “Are you really with a cop?”

You nod once and squeeze her hand in a silent promise that your cop, your love, your Luca, will get everyone out of this building alive.

“Guns blazing,” Hondo suggests.

“I doubt he’ll like that,” Deacon argues. “He clearly wants to be in control based on the phone call.”

“They haven’t spoken since he made them sit,” Street adds, Luca’s phone pressed to his ear. “Not loud enough to hear at least.”

“We can’t risk spooking him into hurting anyone,” Luca agrees. “Try hostage recovery, talk him down, then go from there?”

“Thirty seconds,” Tan alerts from the driver’s seat. “Lights and sirens?”

“Lights only,” Hondo answers. “Park right outside the door, I want him to see us.”

Hondo takes a deep breath, then stops. He passes the phone to Deacon and nods once. Deacon dials the store number and waits for an answer as he trades places with Street to sit in the front.

“Hello,” he says after a moment. “I’m Sergeant Deacon Kay with LAPD SWAT. Who am I speaking to?”

“How’d you know I was here?” the man demands, in stereo for Street, listening to Luca’s phone and Deacon’s call.

“It’s a busy parking lot, someone got suspicious,” Deacon says carefully. “Is there something we should be worried about?”

“Yeah, there is!”

“What’s going on, sir?”

“I need money! She took everything from me, I can’t even see my kid and now I’m going to lose my apartment.”

Hondo holds up his left hand and taps his empty ring finger. Deacon nods, then takes a dramatic breath.

“I get that,” he replies. “My ex took all three of our kids, told the courts I would neglect them because of my hours as a cop. They- women take and take.”

“I need $1,200 but there’s only $300 here!”

“Listen, you come out, and I’ll help you with a plan to get the other 9.”

“No, no, I walk out there, I lose it all anyway. That isn’t how I’m ending this.”

“The women in that store didn’t do anything wrong, Mr.?”

“Kirkfield,” the man says quietly. “Keith.”

“Alright, Keith, my name’s David. I can help you, but not until I know the other people inside are safe.”

“I got a cousin who’s in jail for assault and battery, he called this part ghos-ti, you know what this is, David?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s like the root for our word hostage. I’ve got three ladies in here unwilling to cough up the cash I need.” He raises his voice, likely so you and the employees can hear, and adds, “If they’d listened, I’d be gone already!”

“Keith,” Deacon begins.

“No, I’m thinking you don’t get it either. So, remember next time you call without my money that ghos-ti also sounds a lot like a dead baby.”

Luca’s eyes widen as he grips the non-lethal gun across his chest. Hondo informs them they can’t get the money quickly, and Street shakes his head to communicate that Keith isn’t talking.

Suddenly, Deacon’s phone rings again.

“Change of plans, Sergeant,” Keith says. “Ten minutes, or I start shooting.”

“That won’t-“

The line beeps, and Luca tightens his jaw as Hondo begins brainstorming a plan to get inside.

You hold your hand against your mouth, growing nauseous from the stress of your situation, pregnancy hormones, and hunger. It’s been eight minutes since Keith gave Deacon ten minutes, and you know that the team is working to get inside if they’re not already.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks. “Move your hand.”

“I’m getting sick,” you explain before pressing your lips together.

“She’s pregnant, her blood pressure is probably too high or her sugar’s dropping,” Jane says. “I have snacks in my bag behind the counter, please just let me-“

Keith fires one shot into the wall, and you drop your head to cover your ears, fighting the rolling sensation in your stomach.

“Hold,” Hondo commands after the shot. “Street?”

“He-“ Street looks toward Luca. “He was talking to her, and one of the women asked to get her a snack. No one’s talking.”

“Stay here,” Hondo tells Luca.

“Absolutely not,” Luca argues. “We’re wasting time, Hondo.”

Luca’s chest tightens; he feels like taking a full breath would kill him, and this time, he can’t rely on his training. He heard the shot but no screaming, so he has no idea what they are about to walk into. Maybe Keith shot on accident, or maybe there’s a bloodbath. Regardless, you’re inside, and he will not sit on the sidelines.

They move silently through the back room of the store, pausing against a wooden door separating them from the showroom.

“I’ll give you my credit card, whatever you want, just please stop,” one of the women pleads through tears. Street thinks it’s Elizabeth, and as they review the thermal scan of the room, he tries to find where your phone could be.

“He’s pacing,” Tan says quietly.

“When he turns toward the front again, we’re breaching,” Hondo decides. “Don’t give him a chance to get another shot off, Chris.”

“I won’t give him a chance to pucker,” she mumbles as she moves into position.

Tan watches the image, raising his fingers to countdown from three. Hondo pulls the door open, and Chris shoots Keith’s upper leg before he even turns all the way around. Luca calls your name, rushing toward the counter as his team finishes their job. When he sees you, your arms wrapped protectively around your bump, he drops to his knees and pulls you against his chest.

“He’s cute,” the woman beside you – bloody woman Luca notices after – whispers.

You nod against Luca, carefully moving your arms to hug him. As you thank him repeatedly for coming, Chris and Tan haul Keith to his feet and take him toward an approaching patrol car.

“You hid this well,” Street applauds as he extends his phone toward you. “That microphone is nice, I should get one.”

“Priorities, Street!” Deacon yells from the back of the store.

“Thank you for coming,” you tell Street. “I need to pay for my stuff and then- I actually need to get up first.”

Luca holds your arms carefully, and Street lays a hand on your back as you stand. Once you’re on your feet again, Luca wraps his arm around your waist.

“These are so on the house,” Elizabeth tells you, passing two bags over the counter. “I’m going to the hospital with Jane but thank you for everything.”

“Thank you,” Luca tells her, pulling the bags to his side. “Now, we’re going home.”

You smile and lean tiredly against Luca. As he helps you into the passenger seat of your car, Street runs over and hugs you. Luca shoves him away from the back door before sitting in the driver’s seat and sighing.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he tells you, holding your hand against his thigh. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you reply.

“Isn’t it cute?” you ask, spreading the police van onesie over the table before you.

“Not cute enough to risk you getting shot at,” Luca mumbles against your temple. “But very cute.”

“Then you’ll really like this one.”

You pass the folded cloth to Luca, leaning harder against his side. He unfolds the onesie, reads it, and laughs. The sound feels like home, and as you curl up beside Luca, you know you and your baby will always be safe.

“Proof my mom loves policemen,” Luca says after a few minutes. “That’s funny.”

“And true.”

“Prove it,” he requests, smiling as his lips brush over yours.

[nitrateglow]

If you'd like a good Christmas movie that's also a fantastic thriller, look no further than Cash on Demand, a lovely B-movie gem from Hammer Film Productions in its heyday.

Peter Cushing plays a meticulous, rather ruthless manager of a small bank. He is rigid, precise, and impersonal with his employees, harping on the smallest errors or breach of workplace protocol. You really hate the guy and wonder how you'll be able to stomach a movie with such a shitwit as the protagonist-- and then Andre Morrell slithers into the picture. Posing as an insurance representative, he worms his way into Cushing's office and tells him upfront that he has his wife and kid held hostage, and they're both dead meat unless Cushing helps him rob the bank.

For all his iciness, Cushing's character genuinely loves his family. They're all he has in the world and he is desperate to save them, even if it means undermining the pride he takes in being The World's Bestest Bank Manager. Any initial hostility towards this jerk turns to sympathy as his world unravels.

Cushing is AMAZING in this role, undergoing a heartwrenching psychological journey over the film's taut 80 minutes. If you've only ever seen him in Star Wars or horror films alone, you need to see him here to understand how insane his range was.

The film itself is one of the best thrillers I have ever seen. It largely stays confined to the bank building, so there is a strong sense of claustrophobia.

Highest recommendations from me.

[gwynndolin]

remember when those employees in china held their boss hostage until he paid them their wages

[specialagentartemis]

trick or treat!! 😋🎃

Happy Late Halloween!

Have a fanfic snippet inspired by a conversation from the Preservation Tree Server. Where is it going? Who knows but the concept was very funny to me.

Pin-Lee was frowning at her feed screen and tapping her fingernails on the table arrhythmically when Mensah sat down. “You said there was an update on the TranRollinHyfa suit?” Mensah asked her.  Pin-Lee’s expression was causing her stomach to twist.  Deep breaths, let her chest fill with cool Preservation Station air and release it calmly.  It couldn’t be that bad.  Surely it couldn’t be that bad. “Yeah.”  Pin-Lee grimaced slightly and laid her screen down.  Seeing Mensah’s expression, Pin-Lee’s eyes widened just a little and her grimace turned apologetic.  (Was her own face that bad? Was she that obvious?)  “It’s not bad!  It’s… I mean.  We’re fine.  We’re.  Okay.  So you know that the governing board of shareholders for TranRollinHyfa sued us for the mess we made on their station.  And we counter-sued them going, are you fucking serious right now.” Mensah nodded.  “I’m aware,” she said dryly. “Yeah.  So we sued them for, y’know, allowing you to be held hostage on their station for twenty-two cycles and not only doing nothing about it, taking bribes to actually prevent our ship from docking.  Also letting GrayCris’s asshole lawyer carry around an illegal gun.  Also emotional damages for you, and for me, Ratthi, and Gurathin for good measure.  Approving SecUnits to come after you trying to kill you.  Lots of stuff to counter-sue for.  And it was intentionally overkill.  Trying to send them a message to knock it the fuck off.  I expected them to settle for dropping their suit.”  Pin-Lee’s smile was pained.  “But.” “But?” Mensah prompted.  “You look concerned.  Did we lose?  Do we owe them money after all?” “No,” Pin-Lee said.  “I’m too damn good at my job, I guess.  We won.” “… I don’t follow.” “We were awarded everything we asked for.” “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.” Pin-Lee tilted her head back and forth in a gesture of ambivalence.  “Turns out they don’t have the money to pay it.” “So we’ll take exactly what they were suing us for, and call it even.” “Can’t. TranRollinHyfa is going into bankruptcy and liquidation for this.  But for something the size of a station, that’s really, really bad, and tends to end up with assassinations and a bunch of employees dying rather than having their contracts auctioned off and it’s a whole fucking nightmare.  So.  They offered to settle for everything.” “And when you say ‘everything,’ you can’t possibly mean…” “I sure do,” Pin-Lee said, spreading her arms to mean either expansiveness or defeat, Mensah couldn’t tell which.  “Preservation is now the sole owner and proprietor of TranRollinHyfa Station.”

[eretzyisrael]

This account, first published in JewishNews, is written by an anonymous London-based Guardian employee who has family living on a kibbutz in southern Israel. It offers a look at life in the newspaper’s offices in the days since Hamas’s attack on Israel.

I wake up on October 7 to a text from my brother-in-law: “Thoughts are with your family in Israel. I hope everyone is safe.”

I check the news. Hamas has entered southern Israel. They’re in a kibbutz. My partner’s family is in that kibbutz. His cousin is nine months pregnant. He’s in contact with them; they’re in the safe room. Terrorists are outside.

I check social media. Reports of hostages, maybe three. I check again; perhaps ten.

There has been a massacre at a music festival. I look at the video. Who do I know there? I check social media again; there are videos of hostages. I look at their faces. Do I know them?

We lose contact with family in the kibbutz. I tell myself that the phone lines are down because the IDF are there. I watch Hamas footage as it is coming out. I go on Telegram for the first time in my life and I see a room full of bodies covered in blood. I see children gunned down. I see the bodies of raped women. I see families holding each other as Hamas livestreams atrocities. I look for people I might know.

My partner and I walk 30,000 steps. There’s nothing we can do. Late that evening we hear that his family is safe but their house is gone, neighbors are dead.

I don’t understand. I could have easily been there and part of me thinks I was.

I look at the papers the next day. The newspaper I work for has a tank on the front page: ‘Hundreds die and hostages held as Hamas assault shocks Israel’—victorious terrorists hold a Palestinian flag. The subheading reads ‘Netanyahu declares war as 150 Israelis die. 230 Palestinians killed in air strikes.’

I don’t understand. I know people, Israelis, who were murdered. They did not “die,” as if in some kind of accident. I saw footage of terrorism. It was not an “assault.”

The front page of The Observer, The Guardian’s sister Sunday newspaper, on October 8, the day after the Hamas massacre. (via The Observer)

On Sunday, we get more information about what happened to my partner’s family, about how Hamas set the family’s house on fire when they thought it was empty, how my partner’s cousin screamed for her life when the room filled with smoke, how her husband had to pin her down to stop her cries, how Hamas laughed when they realized the family would need to crawl out of the room, how they refused to leave the burning building. We hear that they somehow survived and walked out through pools of their neighbors’ blood, pieces of dead children littering the street; kids who’d been playing on a Saturday morning.

I’m safe, I’m fine, but I can’t comprehend the color of the sky or the rustle of the trees. I look around at people enjoying their Sunday and I think: Do they not know what is happening? I check the news again and see there are more hostages. I look through the names.

There are still terrorists in Israel.

I listen to the radio, one Israeli interviewee and then one Palestinian. I can hear that the interviewer is struggling as defenders of Hamas justify terrorism. I don’t understand. Is this how they reported the Russian invasion of Ukraine? Did they platform Putin’s people?

I check social media. A friend has posted: “They’ve broken out of jail.” Another has said: “Today is a day of celebration,” and someone else has shared an infographic of “Settler colonialism for beginners.” My old flatmate tells her followers she will be at the demonstration outside the Israeli embassy and she invites people to join her.

On Monday I go to work. How are your family, a colleague asks. When I answer, she squirms. Can’t they just leave, my colleague says. No, they can’t actually.

I look at the morning newsletter for the newspaper I work for. It breaks down the number of dead Palestinian children. It does not mention dead Israeli children.

My group chats are exploding as family and friends work out what has been happening, who is alive. I go back to the news. I type the name of the kibbutz into the wires. Nothing. I read how Hamas invaded “settlements.” They’re not settlements! They’re small, pre-state kibbutzim.

I find out that a friend of a friend was at the music festival and is missing. I’m shaking at work.

I see a colleague who had posted about “decolonization” all over social media over the weekend. They’re laughing with the rest of their team. They’re having a great day. I used to love their podcast, full of hot takes and celeb gossip. Now they’ve evolved into an expert on the Middle East. It doesn’t look like their family is in the middle of it, though.

No one else at work speaks to me about it. I nod my way through conversations about fonts and I stumble home.

I go back the next day. I look at the front page. A photo of Gaza and “violence escalates.” Israelis “dead” but Palestinians “killed.” If they can’t empathize with the Jews now, they never will.

I email the editors. I tell them that my newspaper’s coverage has been upsetting. They tell me that their thoughts are with my family but they stand by the paper’s reporting.

I hear colleagues complaining about the newspaper’s “American readers. They’re always accusing us of antisemitism.” They’re laughing.

I leave work early to go to a vigil outside Downing Street. People quietly weep. Everyone there is Jewish.

I’ve seen on social media that I know people going to a demonstration. Later, I see photos of it: people on lampposts, red flares, Jews hiding inside, the Israeli embassy boxed in. All kinds of people are united in the chant, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” In Sydney, they are shouting: “Gas the Jews.”

On Tuesday, I find out that my friend’s friend at the music festival is dead. I remember the day I’d spent with him on the beach in Tel Aviv last month. He’d gotten back from South America and was excited to travel again. He had been gentle and sweet. I don’t understand.

On Wednesday, I go to work again, and the next day, and the next day. Finally, the pictures from the kibbutz come out. I look at all of them. I rewatch the footage. I bear witness. No colleague asks me how I am again that week.

I go to synagogue at the weekend and cry with my community. The rabbi holds space for pain. I say Kaddish for the boy at the music festival I will never talk to again.

Back at work I see someone pointing to a photo of the Israeli flag burning in the newspaper. They laugh, “This is my favorite picture.”

I remember telling my family that when I next went to Israel I’d lie to my colleagues and tell them it was Spain. I’d lie because my colleagues had said to me of Israel: “You gotta go while you still can.”

Now another colleague asks me what I think of Netanyahu. Do I hold him responsible? I explain that I have protested against Netanyahu but the only people responsible for October 7 are Hamas. She keeps asking me about the settlements. I tell her they’re bad but she won’t stop. “Don’t you think Bibi has a lot to do with this?” I ask her if she has family in the region. She does not.

I’m on social media again. Friends share infographics from Jewish Voice for Peace and heavy-hitting images from the Gaza Health Ministry. I don’t disagree with what they’re posting but they said nothing when October 7 happened. I start unfollowing decades-old friends.

In the days that follow, my synagogue receives a bomb threat, my local rail station has photos of missing children ripped off, I hear of more friends of friends who have been killed. I hear of others who are now enlisted. I hear that a synagogue president in America has been stabbed to death and synagogues all over the world have been vandalized and destroyed.

The newspaper I work for is covering the bombardment of Gaza and I watch in horror. I think that Israel must defend itself. Yet when I say this, people will tell me I am justifying the murder of children. They will tell me it is a genocide.

As the events of October 7 draw on collective Jewish memory of pogroms and the Holocaust, the newspaper I work for will dispel that myth, publishing a piece entitled “Israel must stop weaponizing the Holocaust.” Am I wrong to connect our grief today with that of our past?

In the weeks that follow, I will apply for other jobs and speak exclusively to Jewish friends and family. I will hide myself away from the streets of London and the waves of social media.

I will not forget the photos and videos I saw on October 7, but I start to think about how this day will be marked; how my children’s children will take part in a new commemoration, where we will remember not the Romans or the Persians or the Nazis but Hamas, and how we survived.

Intergenerational trauma has been retriggered but now is not the time to dwell on our historical violent oppression. Now is the time to rise up, speak out, and defend our right to exist. Now is not the time for colleagues to dismiss Jewish pain or publish inflammatory op-eds that will spark more violence.

I will keep applying for other jobs.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

“An emergency contact…” Yuu scratches their head. “Well, there’s one adult who stands out. Someone who has welcomed me with open arms, listened to my needs, and someone I really look up to and trust. Headmage Crowley! Do you have Trein’s cell number?”

Not gonna lie, you had me bawling in the first half 😂

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

Up until now, Crowley had been nodding enthusiastically to your every comment. Feathers fluffed, eyes shut, as he bathed in the unearned praise. You could almost see his ego inflating right before you.

One adult who stands out.

A smile formed.

Someone who has welcomed me with open arms...

It grew, elevating the apples of his cheeks.

... listened to my needs...

He was glowing with pride, the most excited you had ever witnessed him.

... and someone I really look up to and respect.

His face might actually rip in half.

The you had dropped the bomb, and Crowley's entire demeanor collapsed in on itself. His shattered smile landed atop of the heap.

“Wh-What?! Professor Trein…!!” he managed to stutter out. “Did I hear you correctly?!”

"Yeah," you replied calmly. "Professor Trein."

"Wh-What exactly makes him a standout?!" Crowley demanded. When you gave him a queer look, he quickly deflected. "N-Not that I am envious, of course! I am asking as his employer so that I may take student feedback into consideration when calculating end-of-the-year performance-based bonuses."

"He's done so much to look after me and all of his students,” you patiently explained. “Professor Trein chaperoned us to the City of Flowers and taught us about its history. He ensured our safety when there was trouble afoot and even shed a tear for our moral character. I also heard from Ace and Deuce that Professor Trein oversaw NRC when Charon invaded campus.

“He always makes time to speak one-on-one with his students even on matters outside of schoolwork. Professor Trein cares about us like we're his real children and grandchildren. I'd totally trust him as my emergency contact.

“Compared to that… I seem to vaguely remember a certain someone who shirks his responsibilities at every opportunity, wastes his time on walks and snacks instead of running the school, offloads his duties onto children, and ignores my SOS calls when I was being held hostage over winter break.”

“I wonder who it could be that you’re speaking off.”

“Gee, I wonder,” you said sarcastically, staring right at Crowley. “Sucks that we’ll never know. Anyway, do you have Professor Trein's number or not?"

"W-Well!!" Crowley bristled, disarmed by your demand. "It wouldn't be very professional of me to hand out my employees' contact information as though it were Halloween candy! It's strictly confidential, I'm afraid I cannot divulge it."

He folded his arms smugly, waiting for you to change your mind, to beg for his cell phone number instead.

"Aaah, I get it." You shrugged, cool as a cucumber. "That's okay, I can ask Professor Trein directly myself. It was worth a shot to ask you anyway, headmaster. See ya!"

With that, you turned and exited his office. No fanfare, no groveling. Just... nothing.

Crowley completely deflated, cradling his head in his hands. He teased out a whiny groan.

"For them to overlook their most generous headmaster in favor of Professor Trein... Ooooh, where did I go wrong with that child...?"

[byuntrash101]

bonnie & clyde

switch!reader x dom!hongjoong ft. ateez

smut | nsfw | mdni

gangster!hongjoong, switch!reader, reader is kinda bratty, cameo!ateez, 1 gun fight scene w/ 1 death of a nameless character (in a non seggsy setting), striptease, pet names, blood kink, some knife play (hongjoong cuts your underwear), fucking in a pile of cash, spit play, name calling (whore), hair pulling, tits slapping, possessive joong, honestly you both are just two psychos fucking

requested | part of my 2023 prompts event [closed]

there's something so primal and enticing about your leader taking a life to protect the crew at all costs

[❛ shut up and kiss me already. ❜ + ❛ and where do you think you’re going? ❜]

TUMBLR IS BASED ON REBLOGS. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK 🖤

They called you the pirates of the concrete seas. Bank’s safes were your treasure chests and the streets were your ocean. You were pillaging and robbing bank after bank. Outlaws always on the run, looking for the next big shiny thing. You always found the name kind of cheesy but in the end it suited your group pretty well. Not worrying about tomorrow, living off the money you stole and drinking until sunrise.

Hongjoong, your captain, reigned over the concrete seas like an almighty and ruthless king. He only had two things in mind. Keeping the crew together and get the gold.

That’s exactly what you were about to do.

When Yunho parked the van outside the bank. Hongjoong revised one last time the plan of action before everybody slipped on their mask. You felt the adrenaline course through your veins, keeping your head into unwavering focus.

You all worked like well oiled machinery. Everyone knew exactly what they were doing. Seonghwa and Yeosang were breaking into the safe. Jongho and San gathered the hostages. Wooyoung and Mingi stuffed the bags full of cash while you were in charge of communication. Making sure everyone played their role and the plan went accordingly.

Hongjoong had the most important role. He had to make sure everyone stayed calm. 

And when it went south Hongjoong was the one that had to make sure every single member of the crew came out unharmed. 

So when Wooyoung got caught one the guard as you were rushing out with the booty, Hongjoong had to step in. The guard held your younger crewmate one arm hooked around his neck, the other holding a gun to his temple. 

San threw a deadly eye to Jongho who let the guard slip out of his grasp. Wooyoung let a guttural cry as the guard pressed harder on his neck.

“Freeze” the middle aged man shouted. Aim alternating between Wooyoung’s head and Hongjoong standing right in front of him. The middle aged man was panting, large beads of sweat wetting his thick salt and pepper mustache.

��Let’s not do anything we could regret here” Hongjong said calmly, motioning for the rest of you to lower your weapons. 

“You’re all gonna stay put until the cops arrive” the man panted, his eyes darting between all of you. His finger on the trigger became dangerously tense.

“Let him go” Hongjoong ordered in a stern yet tranquil voice.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I’LL BLOW HIS BRAINS OUT” the guard shouted, pressing the canon of the gun into Wooyoung’s forehead, his hands desperatly clawing at the man’s forearm around his neck.

The sudden yelling made one of the bank employees cry and the guard turned his head to the noise. Breaking eye contact with Hongjoong was a fatal error.

The captain didn’t hesitate one second. He lightly tipped his face to the side and Wooyoung knew what to do. He imitated him and in a split second, the booming sound of Hongjoong’s weapon clattered in the large hall and the guard's face was ornamented with a gaping hole, blood splattering all over Wooyoung’s masks and clothes. The lifeless body thumped on the ground, waiting to get cold as you all rushed to the van.

You felt the adrenaline when Yunho was punching the gas and the van slalomed between the police cars and eventually lost them. That feeling of euphoria when you all took off the masks to laugh and shovel the cash out. This time there was enough that you could all bathe in it. 

You were all playing in it. Mingi was shuffling the bills in his face while Yeosang and San danced in it. Crystal clear laughs resonating in the huge room.

Even Wooyoung seemed to have forgotten about the dried up blood on his clothes.

Then Jongho called from the big entry.

“Guys, let's go order some drinks” he yelled. All of the crew followed lead by Yeosang with you on their heels.

“And where do you think you’re going?” The captain asked as he put down his gun on the table.

“I was gonna go get a drink” you spoke. 

“No i don’t think you are”

The captain’s face was unsoundable. Emotions perfectly gate kept behind his glacial features staring at you blankly.

Hongjoong motioned at Seonghwa, still waiting for you at the entrance to leave. So he gave you one last smile and closed the heavy door behind him.

Soon the laughs faded and you two were left in complete silence.

“Come here” Hongjoong motioned you to come closer, curling his index finger.

Hongjoong liked the adrenaline. It gave him a high that was incomparable to any other. Except one, the kind of high he could only experiment with you. 

You approached him slowly, taking your time to prance to him like a panther about to pounce. 

Hongjoong’s impenetrable face let through a small smirk pulling lightly at his lips.

“You asked for me, Captain?” you asked, voice already soaking with seductiveness.

“ Yes I want you to do me a favor” You lift a quizzical eyebrow. “Go over there” he pointed at the pile of wrinkled bills in the middle of the big hangar.

“Dance for me”

Hongjoong said before turning on slow sensual music from the speaker settled on the small table.

That was unexpected but you gladly obliged.

You reached the pile of money and started to seductively dance, swaying your hips to the rhythm. Your hands gliding from your thigh, slowly up your stomach and past the side of your breasts to rub your neck. 

“Yes that’s it baby”. Hongjoong slowly walked up to you. Admiring you dance for him. The dance went he felt himself grow thicker for you.

“Strip” he ordered. Voice firm. Already a little lower than his usual tone. It reminded you of the voice he took before shooting that man right in the face and you felt your stomach stir in excitement.

You reached out for the hem of your tank top but Hongjoong clicked his tongue.

“Slowly baby. Nice and slow”

So you opted for the strap of your top instead. Slowly pulling at it.

“Yesss” Hongjoong pulled on the word, dragging it off his tongue.  “Just like that” 

He started to palm himself through his denim jeans. Rubbing circles on his member becoming more and more constricted in his clothes.

One by one you stripped out every article of clothing until you were only left in your underwear.

By the time you were done Hongjong’s cock looked like it was about to rip out his pants. 

“Did I tell you to stop ?” 

You could have gone back to slowly unclasping your bra but you didn’t. You didn’t feel like being good today. You wanted to infuriate him.

When Hongjoong saw you weren’t moving an inch he started to smirk. Even if it was fun to play with a good girl there was something so empowering in breaking you into his will. Resorting to any means to make you snap, to make you beg for him.

Taking his fate into his own hands was Hongjoong’s specialty after all.

He walked to you as you provocatively held his glacial gaze fixated on you. 

His fingers grazed over your forearm going up your limb and reached your neck. His touch was gentle, lifting goosebumps on your naked skin. He gently wrapped his hand on your nape, pulling your face closer to his, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Did I tell you to stop, kitten?” he whispered, lips pulling into a wicked smirk, his grip onto your nape growing stronger.

The hot air in your ear sent a shiver down your spine. You felt his cool tongue slide over your ear, producing the lewd wet noises you loved so much. Already you felt your arousal pooling in your underwear.

“Shut up and kiss me already” you whispered, your fingers digging into his side. You didn’t really deserve it but you also knew Hongjoong couldn't resist you.

Immediately Hongjoong stepped back to have a good look at your face. You looked exactly like him, insatiable. That was why you two were such a good match. 

The Joker and Harley Quinn.

Bonnie and Clyde.

Hongjoong crashed his lips onto yours. Your two bodies immediately going up in flames, burning passion coursing between you. You dug your nails further on his back, he smiled at the familiar sting while his hand left your nap to untangle around your hair. He gave a sharp pull earning a moan from your playful lips. You immediately retorted by catching Hongjongs’s bottom lips between your teeth. Hongoong groaned and smirked as you bit harder. Until you tasted his blood on the tip of your tongue. He immediately tightened his grip around your hair, pleasure burning on your scalp while his other hands pushed your hips onto his. 

“Hmmm” Hongjoong moaned against your lips. Hand gliding from the small of your back to your thigh to your clothed center. Slender fingers applying just the right amount of pressure to your sensitive area. “My angel is not in the mood to be a good girl, is she?” he said, as he licked his own blood off your stained lips.

“No” you said with assurance. Pushing him as he stumbled back into the huge pile of wrinkled bills. You continued your infernal carousel by straddling him. You started to unbutton his white shirt that joined his fur coat laying at his sides. You licked your way down leaving a trail of burgundy kisses on his chest. 

You started to palm him through his pants. You would have wanted to make him wait a little linger but you just couldn’t inflicted that to yourself. You wanted to see it. Without waiting anymore you unzipped his pants to get the aching member out. It joyfully sprung free before your avid eyes.

“So eager for me, angel?” Hongjoong mocked. You hated that he was right.

You grabbed the base with one hand while the other one teased the leaking slit at the head. One finger sliding up and down the head making Hongjoong hiss at every slow touch. 

You briefly let go of the hand holding the base to spit in your palm and started jerking him off. Hongjoong growled as he felt the warm saliva mixing with his precum. 

You snickered malovently when he started to pulse in your hand. Taking a malicious delight to slow down everytime he became more vocal. Driving him to the edge of sanity. Exactly where he feels comfortable, he’s been flirting with this edge since birth. Just as you have too. Two psychotic minds finding each other in folly.

Soon he can’t hold back anymore. His hand fly to yours catching them in a strong grip. You lift your eyes to meet his. He’s absolutely feral. Looking back at you like a rabid wolf. You’ve done it, you woke the beast. A side of him that was only for you. Only you who could bear to look in the face of his darkest side. The side that relished to hold the right of life or death at the end of his gun. That enjoyed spilling blood.

He grabbed the small knife strapped to your thigh with one movement he slipped the blade under between your breast cutting in a clean half your bra as it fell along your arms. He grabbed a handful of your breast while he slowly dragged the blade across your stomach. The cold metal lifted goosebumps on your skin until he reached your underwear.

You held your breath as he cut it, the blade running on your skin, lightly scratching you delicious, leaving a red trail behind it. He threw across the hangar the shreds of lace along with the blade. The metallic tinkling bouncing on the high ceiling.

With his newly free hand he grabbed you by the throat, a strangled moan leaving your mouth as anticipation pulled your lips into a smirk.

“I’m done playing” he growled, the threatening hold growing tighter. “Ride me now” he commanded as he pulled you up by the neck.

Your breath still restricted you manage to guide his length to your drenched center. His grip only loosened when you sunk your hips. Hongjoong's cock gliding so smoothly inside you. taking its rightful place deep inside your little cunt.

“That’s it baby” he praised, letting go of your throat to grip your thighs. “Make me feel good with that pretty pussy of yours”

You instantly bounced your hips up and down along his shaft. You both moaned and groaned without restraint. The sinful symphony resounding in the hangar.

“Faster baby” he ordered as he pinched one of your nipples. The burn encouraged you and you settled at a brutal pace. The familiar build up in your stomach rapidly progressing. You felt Hongjoong's thighs tighten under your own and you knew he was close too.

“Hongjoong… I’m-” you moaned. But as your mind went blank almost giving up to the pleasure you were interrupted. By a harsh slap on one of your breasts.

“No you’re not” Hongjoong slapped your tits again.

The sharp pain taking you by surprise and brings you back to him. Before you could protest Hongjoong flipped you on your back and he was above you.

“You’re here to make me feel good” he clarified as he entered you once again. You did not really have time to let the pressure go down. Pleasure picked up right where it left off. Your eyes rolled back into your head when he so deliciously filled you up again.

“Fuckkk” you cursed. 

“Look at me” he said, he pulled on your hair again. Making your eyes snap back to him. “You cum when I tell you too”

You were way too close to your release to talk back with words but there was still one thing you could do. 

Without even thinking in a sort of reflex you spat right into his face. Hongjoong’s shock pulled your lips into a satisfied smirk, an amused laugh almost escaping your lips but you don’t have time to.

“You fucking whore” he hissed though gritted teeth. 

Immediately he starts to fuck you as brutally as he can. His hips smashing into yours. fucking you so deep and could feel him hamerring the imprint of his cock into your brain forever.

“You’re mine” he growled while he wrapped his hand around your neck once again this time completely preventing you from breathing. Taking this vital resource away from you. Soon you feel lightheaded, you feel like your body is defying gravity, losing its anchoring in the solid earth. The unspeakable pleasure dulling your other senses. In this moment there's only him and you. You and your captain's mindless bodies floating in this sea of cash.

“Cum now. Whore” His voice commanded and you released all over him soaking him and the bills under you while he delivered thick ropes of cum deep inside you, lazily spilling out of your clenching walls when he pulled out.

After a while of catching his breath he looked back at you.

“Let’s meet with the others I really need this drink”

a/n: i struggled so much with this one. i hope it isnt too obvious but yeah for getting out of my comfort zone. please tell me if you enjoyed it it would make me sooo happy to know it didnt completely suck balls lolz anyways thank you for reading <3