#garbage fire of a state

[mitsdriveswhere]

[ghwosty]

I am unfortunately back in Florida

[preicia]

.

[butch-muppet]

🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

something something the Sheer Unimaginable Irony of seeing my studies of folklore as Dean Winchester RP-adjacent/ "hunting", getting accepted to present on SPN & Beowulf at a major conference, anticipating the presentation as though it were a rly important hunt, getting kinfeels from it for three months and then, the week before the conference, massively injuring my mid-lower back*.

I can still go to the con, I'm just in a good amount of pain but also this is kind of hilarious actually.

*tldr the prof said "these are very heavy, so lift in groups or ask for my help" and I went "ok im gonna deadlift it".

[bogleech]

Yesterday @revretch and I joined a small group of biologists to enter the cave in which Trogloraptor was first discovered and find more specimens for Oregon State University. The cave's name and location is protected for obvious reasons, though it still contained some garbage, graffiti and even pits of burnt wood where randos must have started fires and played Caveman I guess. Rev spotted tons of the spiders though, and I found a handful, especially babies, hiding on that burnt wood even:

I also met a real troglobite, a fully eyeless and colorless cave dweller, for the first time in my life when I found this millipede:

Plus this pseudoscorpion possibly carrying a couple babies on her head

I couldn't get a photo of it because it was so tiny, but I also uncovered a tiny white spider nobody recognized, and rev noticed it wasn't a baby Trogloraptor, but a mature male of some other species, because it had visible pedipalps. Another in the group found one of them too, and they've been collected for identification; nobody there (including several spider experts) could be sure it was a documented species or not :) I seem to be posting the first video clip ever taken of one since their discovery?? I have several others to upload though. I guess I'll be putting them on inaturalist with the location protected.

[stillalivebydemand893]

Too Many Nights

(hot)

An innocent spin the bottle game didn’t just break hearts,it blew the damn roof off.🤭

It was that time again,the annual Campbell Lake Trip, where brain cells go to die and dignity gets left in the driveway. Booze was stacked in the back of the Jeep, the aux was already plugged in, and Metro Boomin was hitting harder than your childhood trauma.

"LEEEET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!!" Julia howled with four different flavored vapes in her hand, puffing the clouds away .

"Bro, no. Don't smoke that banana ice garbage in my car," Erik groaned, already done with her. "I don’t want the backseat to smell like a tropical diaper for the next month."

You were on the hood of the Jeep, pre-gaming like it was the Olympics and vodka was your sport. Exams were DONE. Summer was HERE. Life was FUN.

"Do we have to leave Paco at home?" Bobby whined, stuffing bags in the trunk like a freshly divorced dad saying goodbye to his toddler. "What if Mom cooks him by mistake again?"

"You know in some countries, that’s considered a delicacy,” you giggled, throwing on your sunglasses already feeling the buzz.

“Get in the car, princess, or he’s gonna cry,” Erik chuckled, holding his hand out like the cocky bastard he was.

You jumped into his arms and oh hellooo??was it the booze, or did his hands linger just a little too long on your waist? Hot. Steamy. Illegal-in-some-states level hot.

“Damn, Campbell. Who made you king of this clown car?” you smirked, still nestled in his arms.

“Brat,” he grinned, letting you go with a tap on your ass as he turned to start the engine.

Your skin was on fire. But not like a rash,like, good fire. You’d crushed on Erik since the day you moved in next door four years ago,but you never said a word. The Campbells were your safe space. Your emotional support chaos crew.

“PEACH. AUX. PLAY CHARLI XCX,” Julia shrieked from the backseat already with a beer in her hand.You slid into the front seat.

“Hell no,” Erik said, smacking his hand over yours before you could grab the aux cord,like some kind of playlist police. He left his hand there, warm, dominant, suspiciously sexy.

“C’mon, Kiki,” you pleaded, batting your lashes like a Disney princess .

He lifted his hand only to grab your face and squish your cheeks. “I’ll drop your ass at the train station if you try that again.”

“COME ON, YOU JACKASS. Peach—show him your boobs!” Julia yelled with the subtlety of a car crash, now halfway through her second beer.

“WHAT?!” you and Erik yelped in unison, turning to look at each other in complete panic/horny confusion.

“Girl, do you even know how to manipulate a man?” Julia snorted.

You looked at Erik. Erik looked at the road, praying for strength .

You leaned over, mischief in your grin. “Fine. I’ll show you my boobs if you let me play whatever I want.”

He blinked. “Are you buffering?”

“HELLO??” you snapped.

“Deal,” he said way too fast. Then smirked. “Only if I get to pierce them.”

OH. OH. Devil? Is that you?

“You sneaky little motherfu-” you began, but let’s be real: having Erik Campbell pierce your nips was top 3 on your “do before death” list. “Deal,” you grinned.

“You guys are FREAKS,” Bobby sighed from the backseat, watching Paco on the home cam .

“You haven’t seen us yet,” Erik fired back, tossing a wink your way that had you considering sin.

Was this heaven? Was this hell? Who cares,you were on your way either way, with Charlie XCX on the aux and Erik’s devilish smirk burning holes in your soul.

After what felt like a six-year road trip powered solely by vape clouds and siblings figths you finally pulled up to the lake house.

The cousins were already down by the lake, beers in hand, making questionable playlist choices. A few of the Campbells' high school friends were pre-gaming hard on the porch like it was frat formal 2012.

“LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED, BITCHES!” Bobby screamed as he yeeted himself out of the Jeep .Turns out Julia had laced his protein shake with straight vodka. Again.

“Let’s LIT this party, Campbell,” you said, lighting a joint .

Erik put on his sunglasses, fist-bumped you like a bro with secrets, and boom: the party was officially unhinged.

You started floating through the crowd, saying hey to old faces and new bad ideas. Meanwhile, Erik was busy being charming,a little too charming,with his high school crush, freshly single, freshly annoying.

You’d heard that from Jules earlier and yeah… jealousy? It showed up like a clingy ex. You pretended you were chill. You were not chill.

To distract yourself from combusting, you grabbed their younger cousin and dragged him into the cabin to help with bags.

“C’mon, kiddo. You’re my emotional support now” you said, patting his back like a coach before the big game. It was his first invite ever, and he looked like he might cry from excitement,or fear. Same difference.

Then the sun went down, and the feral switch flipped.

Beer pong was raging. Teams were set. You and Erik vs. his crush and Bobby.

This was WAR.

“Don’t mess this up, Kiki. I’m already on my last brain cell,” you hissed at him.

He cracked his neck like a dramatic little shit. “Watch me, Peach. I’ve been training for this since the womb.”

He sank the last cup like a god. Victory.

“THAT’S MY BOY!!” you shouted, making eye contact with the Barbie doll across the table and drinking in her passive-aggressive glare.

“Told ya,” Erik smirked.

You ruffled his hair and swore you saw him blush,but it could’ve been the booze… or the emotional whiplash. Unclear.

“Victory piggyback. Pay up,” you demanded.

He crouched, and you jumped on like it was your Roman chariot. Legs around his waist. Arms around his neck. Dangerously close. Questionable choices? Activated.

He was laughing. You were swaying.

“Easy, princess. You’re gonna get us both killed,” he giggled, tipsy as hell.

You kissed his cheek. Just a quick peck.

Then froze.

What. The. Actual-

His ears turned bright red. You stared. He stared back.

You panicked.

So naturally… you did it again.

This time, slower.

“Why are you so cute all of a sudden?” you whispered into his ear .

He turned his head, and that SMIRK? That cocky, I-know-what-you-want smirk?

“Now I’m cute?” he said. “Wasn’t I a loser ten minutes ago?”

“You still are,” you whispered. “But you’re my loser.”

He groaned. Not fake. Not joking. Like he was actively fighting off a decision that would ruin both your lives in the hottest way.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Before you could say “then die madly in love”, Julia screamed from the backyard like a drunk war general.

“SPIN THE BOTTLE IS HAPPENING! IF YOU'RE NOT KISSING STRANGERS IN FIVE MINUTES, YOU’RE DEAD TO ME!”

Erik looked at you. You looked at him.

And just like that,you both knew.

Tonight was about to get so, so illegal.

Everyone crowded into the living room like horny sardines. Half the room was sitting on the floor. The other half? Already tipsy, already yelling, already one dare away from getting banned from family events.

Julia had somehow turned spin-the-bottle into a spectator sport.

Rules? None. Boundaries? Absolutely not.

The bottle spun in the center like it had a personal vendetta.

You sat next to Erik, still riding the high of your piggyback-kiss stunt, until Julia clapped and screamed:

“ALRIGHT, WHO WANTS TO TRAUMA BOND?”

First spin. Chaos. Second spin. A dare that may or may not have resulted in someone licking sunscreen off a cousin's abs. Third spin? Erik’s turn.

You were sitting pretty, thinking:

“No way fate’s that evil. No way it lands on her.”

It landed on her.

The blonde. The crush. The Barbie bitch.

His high school dream with the waist of a Coke bottle and the face of a girl who cries in a cute way.

You laughed it off. Totally chill. Not even bothered. (You were so bothered.)

“Go on, lover boy,” Julia grinned, already filming. “Seal your middle school fantasy.”

Erik blinked. Looked at you. Looked at her.

Then,he kissed her.

You saw red.

Like, actual fire-nation attack red.

It was a short kiss. Innocent, maybe.

But not to you. Oh no.

To you, it was a declaration of WAR.

And the bottle? Oh, the bottle KNEW.

Next spin? Yours.

It landed right. Back. On. Erik.

The room lost it.

Everyone was screaming. Julia dropped her vape. Bobby yelled, “OOOOH NOOOO” like it was the Super Bowl.

You looked at Erik. He looked at you. There was tension. No, it was heat. The room could’ve been on fire and you would’ve blamed it on whatever was happening between your legs.

“You gonna kiss me, Peach?” he smirked, clearly thinking he was winning.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said.

And then you kissed him.

No,you made out with him. Right there. In front of everyone.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a public service announcement.

It was a “that kiss with Barbie meant nothing and this means everything” kind of kiss.

Your hands in his hair. His arms locked around your waist.

Your bodies pressed together like the only air left was in each other's mouths.

People were screaming. Julia was waving a beach towel like a flag. Bobby was filming and chanting “SPIN THAT TONGUE.” One of the cousins screamed, “IS THIS ALLOWED?!”

Erik groaned against your lips, pulled you closer, kissed you like he’d been starving for four summers and you were the last cold beer on earth.

You broke the kiss. Eventually. Maybe. (Time was fake.)

You looked at Barbie. She looked like she’d just witnessed a crime.

Good.

“Fuck me,” Erik breathed, completely dazed. “What the hell was that?”

You wiped your lip with your thumb. Smirked.

“That? That was me winning.”

The second your lips left Erik’s, the air shifted.

The room was still loud, people were still shouting,but it all felt muffled.You could still taste him. You could still feel his hands on your hips like they were claiming something.

And the worst part? The blonde was still watching.

You turned your head, slowly. She looked like she wanted to hang you. Good. She should.

But the second Erik stepped back, just a little,just enough,a knot twisted in your stomach.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

That kiss? It was a dare. A joke. A game.

Except it wasn’t.

And the way Erik looked at you now,like he was still trying to figure out what the hell just happened,made it worse.

You shoved past him, beer still in your hand, walking toward the kitchen like you weren’t seconds away from combusting.

“Peach-”

You didn’t stop.

He followed. Of course he did.

“What was that?You fucking kissed me like you meant it,” he said behind you, voice low, tight.

You slammed your beer on the counter, spun around.

“You kissed her first.”

“Because I didn’t have a choice-!”

“No,” you snapped, stepping closer, “you wanted to. Don’t play dumb, Erik. She was your dream girl in high school, right? So congratulations. You got your kiss.”

He stared at you, breathing hard. “She’s not my dream girl anymore Peach.And it felt like nothing.”

You blinked.

“What?” you whispered.

He stepped closer. “You wanna know what that kiss with her felt like? Nothing. I felt nothing. And then you looked at me like you hated me. And then you kissed me and I haven’t been able to think straight for a goddamn second.”

You should’ve walked away. You should’ve said something smart. But you didn’t.

You grabbed his shirt, pulled him in, and kissed him like you were punishing him.

You didn’t even care anymore. Not about the people. Not about his blonde high school crush watching from the living room. Not about the fact that this was supposed to be a dumb game and a joke.

No.

You were past the point of caring.

You wanted him to feel what you felt-

That heat. That ache. That jealous, angry, horny madness burning you alive from the inside out.

Erik grabbed your hips like he owned them. Like he’d waited years to touch you like this. You kissed him like you were punishing him for making you wait.

He bit your bottom lip.

You gasped.

Your hands fisted in his shirt.

He pulled your legs up, hooked it around his hips.

And you nearly lost it.

“This is so bad,” you breathed against his mouth.

“Yeah?,” he growled. “So stop me.”

You didn’t.

You devoured him. Kissed him like revenge. Like hunger. Like the only way to kill the feeling was to climb inside his skin.

He picked you up like it was nothing,and sat you on the counter like it was his kitchen and his rules.

You moaned into his mouth. He swallowed it.

“Still jealous?” he whispered, lips dragging across your jaw.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“You think this is about her?” you hissed. “I’m not jealous, Erik. I’m obsessed.”

His breath caught. His fingers dug into your thighs. You felt everything,every inch of him pressed between your legs.

“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead against yours, voice wrecked. “Say that again.”

You kissed him instead. Sloppier. Hungrier. He groaned so deep it vibrated through your whole body.

Your lips moved to his neck. You bit.

He hissed.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he gasped.

You smirked, licking the bite.

“Then die on your knees.”

He groaned, buried his face in your neck, hands everywhere now,spine, ribs, under your shirt, up your sides like he wanted to learn you by touch.

You only stopped when Bobby walked into the kitchen, froze, and just muttered:

“I’m gonna go eat rocks outside.”

Except Erik, who didn’t even lift his head from your neck. He just muttered, deadpan, “Lock the damn door next time.”

You bit back a laugh, still drunk on adrenaline, lips swollen, heart racing. You looked Bobby dead in the eye.

“Good. Chew slow.”

He backed out of the kitchen like he saw Satan himself.

You finally peeled yourself off Erik, skin buzzing, brain short-circuited.

“Okay,” you said, straightening your top like it mattered. “That… escalated.”

He stepped back just enough to let you breathe but kept one hand on your waist like he wasn’t done with you.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low, eyes dark. “And we’re not even close to finished.”

Your stomach flipped.

He kissed your cheek. Innocent. Dangerous. Deadly.

“Room. Ten minutes. If you’re not there, I’m coming to get you.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

He just walked off, shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

You blinked. Exhaled. Tried to fix your lip gloss, but your hands were shaking.

Part 2 my loves?🤭

[dragongirlsnout]

Go Badge-Free: Tumblr is a multimillion dollar company that doesn't need your loyalty!

Some users ("many" by Tumblr's own unsourced metrics) might want to support Tumblr with something similar to regular donations. Great news! You don't need to, it's a multimillion dollar company, and its parent company, Automattic, was valued at around 7.5 billion dollars in 2021 as stated by none other than Tumblr's Elon-Musk-wannabe CEO himself! Tumblr isn't going to go broke any time soon, and any money you waste on it will just convince staff that the garbage fire they're currently tossing the site into is profitable!

Enter the power of not giving a fuck about useless badges and shitty merch of stolen memes. Everyone with a brain knows auto-renewable subscriptions aren't the way to a "user-led business model", and again, you don't need to show your support for a massive multimedia platform despite whatever their embarrassing ad campaigns that just want money may tell you!

How it works—or doesn't:

Tumblr doesn't care about the users, whether you're giving them money for nothing or not! So take the initiative yourself. Send them negative feedback about the pointless UI updates. Give Tumblr a 1-star rating on the app store or play store. Disable your badges. Block intrusive ads (and potentially dangerous flashing ones). Style the dashboard to look less like a 1 : 1 clone of Twitter. Install additions to fix basic site functionality.

Seriously, who is buying subscriptions besides staff:

The subscription badges do nothing. Nada. Zero. That is, unless staff decides to lock basic functionality behind a subscription in the future, so make so to make it flop before then.

Pricing:

A year's subscription for a useless cosmetic badge costs you $30 USD. Cheaper than Twitter Blue, sure, but it sure does a whole lot less! Meanwhile, fixing your own user experience and complaining to staff is permanently on sale for the low, low price of free. Spend your money on a nice treat instead!

More details:

I don't know how else to put it. This subscription service sucks ass.

That's all for now. No idea who exactly would buy a badge subscription of all things in the first place that staff probably designed in 5 minutes. Maybe someday Tumblr's will figure out how to interpret actual human behavior and user desires, but that day has yet to come. Stay weird, and Tumblr is not your quirky friendly hellsite company <3

[mariacallous]

This is a gift article

In the final week of this election season, the Republican Party is running two different campaigns. One of them is an ugly and angry but conventional political enterprise. Donald Trump and other Republicans make speeches; party operatives seek to get out the vote; money is spent in swing states; television and radio advertisements proliferate. The people running that campaign are focused on winning the election.

Last night, in New York City’s Madison Square Garden, we caught a glimpse of the other campaign. This is the campaign that is psychologically preparing Americans for an assault on the electoral system, a second January 6, if Trump doesn’t win—or else an assault on the political system and the rule of law if he does. Listen carefully to the words of Tucker Carlson, the pundit fired from Fox News partly for his role in lying about the 2020 election. Warming up the crowd for Trump, he mocked the very idea that Kamala Harris could win: “It’s going to be pretty hard to look at us and say, ‘You know what? Kamala Harris, she got 85 million votes because she’s so impressive as the first Samoan Malaysian, low-I.Q., former California prosecutor ever to be elected president.”

“Samoan Malaysian” was Carlson’s way of mocking Harris’s mixed-race background, and “low-IQ” is self-explanatory—but “85 million” is a number of votes she could in fact win. And how, Carlson suggested, could there be such a “groundswell of popular support” for a person he demeaned as a mongrel, an incompetent, an idiot? The answer was clear: There can’t be, and if anyone says it happened, then we will contest it.

All of this is part of the game: the Trump campaign’s loud confidence, despite dead-even polls; its decision, in the final days, to take the candidate outside the swing states to New York, New Mexico, and Virginia, because we’ve got this in the bag (and not, say, because filling arenas in Pennsylvania is getting harder); the hyping of Republican-early-voter numbers, even though no evidence indicates that these are new voters, just people who are no longer being discouraged from voting early. Also the multiple attempts, across the country, to remove large numbers of people from the rolls; the many claims, with no justification, that “illegal immigrants” are voting or even, as Trump implied during the September debate, that illegal immigrants are being deliberately imported into the country in order to vote; Vance’s declaration that he will accept the election results as long as “only legal American citizens” vote.

At Madison Square Garden, Trump doubled down on that rhetoric. He repeated past claims about the “invasion” of immigrants; about “Venezuelan gangs” occupying American cities, even Times Square; and he offered an instant solution: “On day one, I will launch the largest deportation program in American history to get these criminals out. I will rescue every city and town that has been invaded and conquered, and we will put these vicious and bloodthirsty criminals in jail.” But he left open the question of who exactly all these “criminals” might be, because he seemed to be talking about not just immigrants but also his political opponents, “the enemy within.” The United States, he said, “is now an occupied country, but it will soon be an occupied country no longer … November 5, 2024, nine days from now, will be Liberation Day in America.”

The insults we heard from many speakers at Madison Square Garden, including the description of Puerto Rico as “garbage” or of Harris as “the anti-Christ” or of Hillary Clinton as a “sick son of a bitch”—insults that can also be heard in a thousand podcast episodes featuring Carlson, Elon Musk, J. D. Vance, and their ilk—are part of the same effort. Trump’s electorate is being primed to equate his political opposition with infection, pollution, and demonic power, and to accept violence and chaos as a legitimate, necessary response to these primal, lethal threats.

As I wrote earlier this month, this kind of language, imported from the 1930s, has never before been part of mainstream American presidential politics, because no other political candidate in modern history has used an election to undermine the legal basis of the American political system. But if we are an occupied country, then Joe Biden is not the legitimately elected president of the United States. If we are an occupied country, then the American government is not a set of institutions established over centuries by Congress, but rather a sinister cabal that must be dismantled at any price. If we are an occupied country, then of course the Trump administration can break the law, commit acts of violence, or even trash the Constitution in order to “liberate” Americans, either after Trump has lost the election or after he has won it.

This kind of language is not being used accidentally or incidentally. It is not a joke, even when used by professional comedians. These insults are central to Trump’s message, which is why they were featured at a venue he reveres. They are also classic authoritarian tactics that have worked before, not only in the 1930s but also in places such as modern Venezuela and modern Russia, countries where the public was also prepared over many years to accept lawlessness and violence from the state. The same tactics are working in the United States right now. Election workers, whose job is to carry out the will of the voters, are already the subject of violent threats and harassment. At least two ballot boxes have been attacked.

The natural human instinct is to dismiss, ignore, or downplay these kinds of threats. But that’s the point: You are meant to accept this language and behavior, to consider this kind of rhetoric “baked in” to any Trump campaign. You are supposed to just get used to the idea that Trump wishes he had “Hitler’s generals” or that he uses the Stalinist phrase “enemies of the people” to describe his opponents. Because once you think that’s normal, then you’ll accept the next step. Even when that next step is an assault on democracy and the rule of law.

[solxamber]

Shark Tanks and Shady Deals - Azul Ashengrotto x reader

After narrowly dodging a one-way trip to the sharks, you've hit rock bottom, career-wise. Enter Azul: your friendly (totally-not-shady) talent manager. In a moment of desperation, you sign with him. Wait, he's actually really good at this. Like, too good at this. Maybe the near-shark experience was just the universe’s weird way of setting you up?

w.c: 10.5k

You were doomed. Utterly and completely screwed.

The day had started out as usual—you’d shown up for filming in your usual state of caffeine-induced autopilot. But the moment you stepped on set, you’d been hit with the news that the director wanted a small change to your next scene.

A small change, they’d said.

You weren’t sure how dangling over a pool filled with actual sharks for the sake of some cheap thrills counted as a "small" change.

Seriously. Actual sharks. And worse? The scene involved you trying to “seduce” the lead while balancing on a wobbly plank that dangled above the tank. Who wrote this script? Why was this being greenlit? This had to be breaking a law.

“You’ll be perfectly safe!” the director had assured you with that suspicious smile that directors give when they’re one day away from having a lawsuit slapped on their desk. “We’ve had the sharks… sedated. Probably. No need to worry!”

"Probably" wasn't exactly reassuring.

And that’s how you’d found yourself standing in front of your director and refusing. Actually refusing. You weren’t about to let yourself become the thumbnail for the next YouTube video essay about ‘Actors Who Died Stupidly for Garbage Art.’

“C’mon, what are you, chicken?” your co-star had sneered, all smug as if he wasn’t terrified himself. He’d been gripping the railing with white knuckles while trying to act all cool about it.

“Listen, if I wanted to end my career, or my life, I’d start a Twitter feud with a K-pop group,” you had deadpanned, crossing your arms. “I’m not doing it.”

What followed was a spectacular implosion. You could still see the disbelief on the director’s face, as if the concept of an actor saying “no” was alien to him. Your refusal? It kicked off a chain reaction: you were labeled “difficult,” your role was cut, and before you knew it, your agency had dropped you faster than you could say "shark-infested waters."

Now, you were sitting on a park bench, staring at the crumbs of your half-eaten sandwich, contemplating the life choices that had led you to being unemployed and blacklisted from any decent drama in the country. The sharks might’ve been preferable to this.

You sighed. Maybe you’d start a new life. Move to a remote island and become a hermit. Or maybe a fisherman! Fishermen didn’t have to deal with directors, right?

“Excuse me,” a smooth voice cut into your thoughts, breaking you out of your pity party. You blinked up, squinting into the sunlight, only to find yourself staring at a man who was entirely too polished for this park. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the afternoon light in just the right way that you almost thought he was some kind of model.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said, flashing a well-practiced smile. “But you seemed rather... troubled.”

Great. You were so pathetic that strangers were now approaching you out of concern. Fantastic.

“No, it’s fine,” you mumbled, trying to sound less pathetic than you actually were. “I’m just... processing life.”

“Well,” he said, taking a seat beside you with a confidence that made you think he owned the place, “I couldn’t help but overhear a bit about your recent… situation.”

You side-eyed him. “Do I have a sign on my back that says ‘Miserable and Fired’?”

He chuckled softly, and you realized that he probably did know your situation—if the sly look in his eyes was anything to go by. This guy was shady. No questions about it.

“But you know,” he continued, leaning back against the bench, “for someone with your talent, there are always… opportunities. You just need the right connections.”

The way he said "connections" sent a small shiver down your spine. Oh, great. This guy’s gonna offer me some dodgy deal involving pyramid schemes, isn’t he?

“Who are you, exactly? I don't want to sell MLMs by the way” you say, skeptical.

He flashed you a business card. Azul Ashengrotto, CEO of Mostro Corp. The card was ridiculously fancy—embossed gold lettering, sleek finish. It practically screamed ‘shady but professional.’

“I’m a manager,” he said smoothly. “I run an agency that helps clients… of a certain caliber.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Certain caliber?”

“Talented, of course,” he said, smiling like a fox who’d just found a henhouse. “And from what I’ve seen, you have the potential to be a star. It’s just a shame that such talent is going to waste.”

You stared at him for a moment, half expecting him to start laughing and reveal that this was some kind of prank show. But he didn’t. He just kept smiling that annoyingly charming smile, waiting for you to bite the bait.

And you were desperate enough to bite. “Alright, Mr. Ashengrotto. I'll bite. What’s your deal?”

What followed was one of the strangest business meetings you’d ever been part of. You found yourself in a dimly lit café that doubled as Azul’s office, where he laid out his plans for your career with the kind of precision and efficiency that made your head spin.

Everything seemed normal at first—he arranged auditions for you, connected you with stylists, and even got you a few decent roles to build your portfolio. But then, things started getting weird.

For one, Floyd Leech—the guy who looked like he enjoyed squeezing the life out of people for fun—was suddenly your bodyguard. You had no idea why you needed a bodyguard, but there Floyd was, lurking behind you with that predatory grin of his, ready to pounce on anyone who so much as looked at you funny.

“Oh, don’t worry about Floyd,” Azul had said with a dismissive wave when you’d asked about it. “He’s just there for… insurance purposes.”

Insurance against what? You’d wondered, but wisely kept your mouth shut.

Then there was Jade. Ever the smooth talker, Jade seemed to be involved in every part of your career—whether it was subtly manipulating the press or somehow making your critics mysteriously disappear from public view. He was polite and terrifyingly efficient, and you were certain he could make entire scandals vanish with a snap of his fingers. He was shady, but he was the PR manager of your dreams.

And then there was Azul himself. The man was shady, no question. Every time he smiled at you, you half expected him to ask you to sign your soul over to him. But strangely enough, you found yourself growing fond of him. Despite the underhanded methods and the vaguely mafia-esque vibes, Azul actually cared about your success. He was invested in making sure you succeeded.

He pulled out all the stops just to make sure you were taken care of. The small, thoughtful gestures that he tried to pass off as “business necessities” but were far too personal to be anything but affection.

One day, you came back from a particularly grueling audition to find a brand-new set of skincare products waiting for you. Attached to the box was a note: “You deserve only the best. – A.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest.

Azul falls first. And he falls hard.

It had been a good day—or at least, it had been a good enough day. You were walking down the corridor towards Azul’s office, ready to talk about your first gig under his management. You’d been feeling a little lighter lately, knowing that things were finally falling into place with your career. Azul had been a lifesaver, despite his rather... unconventional methods.

But as you approached the door, you froze.

Muffled voices were coming from inside. At first, you thought it was just a typical business negotiation. After all, Azul had many clients and was no stranger to... tense conversations. But then, the voices escalated. One, in particular, sounded agitated, bordering on furious.

You tiptoed closer to the door, the actor in you instinctively picking up on the subtext and emotional cues of the conversation. Whoever was in there was pissed off. You strained to listen.

“I don’t care what the contract says,” the voice spat out, dripping with indignation. “I’m the star of this show. Do you think I’ll let some washed-up nerd dictate how I do my job? I’ve got producers eating out of my hand. You’re lucky I even signed on with your pathetic little company.”

Oof. That was... rough.

There was a pause, and you could picture Azul’s composed expression, his steely calm always in place no matter how nasty things got. His voice was cool, detached. “As your manager, it’s my job to ensure you fulfill the obligations outlined in your contract. If you fail to adhere to them, there will be consequences.”

The other voice laughed—a nasty, derisive sound. “Consequences? Please. What are you going to do? Sue me? You’re just a glorified, ugly, little accountant with delusions of grandeur. I’m the star. Without me, your little operation crumbles. I suggest you remember who holds the power here, Ashengrotto.”

You could feel the insult hanging heavy in the air. Your fists clenched. You knew that comment had really hit. It wasn’t just about the power dynamic in the industry; this actor was taking a shot at Azul’s looks.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You weren’t just going to stand there and let some arrogant, entitled actor stomp all over him. You burst through the door.

“Excuse me,” you said, loud and clear, your eyes fixed on the offending party. They turned to you, surprised. “I couldn’t help but overhear your eloquent speech just now. Really, it was breathtaking. Almost Shakespearean in its delusion.”

The actor blinked, caught off-guard by your sudden entrance.

“And I have to say,” you continued, crossing your arms and giving them a once-over, “you must be so proud of yourself. I mean, to have reached such heights in your career despite having the personality of a wet sock? Incredible. Truly. I’m amazed the directors can tolerate you long enough to hand you a script.”

Azul’s eyes widened slightly as you strolled further into the room, all confidence and righteous indignation. He stood frozen, clearly stunned that you had shown up at just the right time.

The actor’s face turned red, their expression twisting into a snarl. “Who do you think you are?”

“Oh, me? I’m just the one who reads contracts before signing them,” you said sweetly, throwing them a sharp smile. “But hey, I get it—reading is hard for some people. That’s why we have professionals like Azul here. You know, people who are smart enough to handle things like legal terms and intellectual property, which are clearly out of your wheelhouse. Not everyone can be as brilliant as you when it comes to... what was it again? Oh, right, throwing tantrums because the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Azul blinked, still processing what was happening. You were... defending him? Fiercely? His heart did a little stutter-step, but he tried to pull himself together.

The actor sneered at you, puffing up their chest. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. I’m the one with the power here!”

You tilted your head, as if you were considering their words. “Oh, you’re so powerful. Look at you! Big, mighty star. But let me tell you something,” you said, stepping closer with an almost predatory grin, “in this industry? Power isn’t just about being on camera. It’s about the people who pull the strings behind the scenes. People like Azul, who are smart enough to navigate contracts, negotiations, and legalities. You know, the things you clearly didn’t understand when you signed your name on that dotted line.”

You turned to Azul, flashing him a grin before looking back at the actor. “And trust me, you wouldn’t last two minutes without someone like him watching your back. So, instead of throwing a tantrum, why don’t you go home, read your contract—assuming you can read—and think about how grateful you should be that someone as capable as Azul is even willing to manage you.”

The actor sputtered, unable to form a coherent response.

Azul, meanwhile, was still trying to catch his breath. He knew you were a talented actor, but this? This was something else. The way you stood up for him with such... confidence, such fire, had him reeling. His mind was spinning in ways he couldn’t quite grasp. You had stood up for him, defended him so fiercely, and made it look effortless. His heart gave another traitorous lurch in his chest. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way—certainly not about a client. But, wow, the way you had just handled that situation was...

The actor stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind them. You just stood there, hands on your hips, victorious. You turned to Azul with a grin.

“Problem solved,” you said with a wink.

Azul blinked, mouth slightly open. “I... What just...”

“You’re welcome,” you said, walking up to him and tapping the stack of contracts in his hand. “You’re too polite sometimes. Let people like me do the talking every once in a while.”

Azul’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. You could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he tried to process his emotions. All he could think about was how confident you were, how assertive, how... attractive.

Jade and Floyd would never let him live this down.

But right now, Azul couldn’t think about that. All he could think about was how you had defended him so effortlessly and how his heart was racing in a way he’d never quite felt before. Oh no. He was in trouble.

And as you shot him another smile, one of those dazzling, confident grins that made his stomach flip, Azul realized something else: He was falling. Hard.

You’re sitting in the lounge of Mostro Corp’s office, Azul across from you, his usual composed self with a pen in hand as he reviewed some new contracts. Everything felt calm—well, calm for him. You, on the other hand, were fidgeting in your seat. You needed to break the news to him about the offer, and frankly, you had no idea how to approach it.

“So,” you begin, trying to sound as casual as possible, “I got an offer from another agency.”

Azul’s pen screeched to a halt, freezing mid-signature as if someone had just told him that Mostro Lounge had run out of drinks during peak hours. He didn’t look up immediately—no, instead, his glasses slid ever so slightly down his nose, the slight twitch of his fingers giving away the panic brewing underneath his pristine exterior.

“What?” His voice came out strangled, halfway between an octave too high and a choking sound.

You, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in Azul’s brain, continued casually, “Yeah, it’s from one of those top agencies. They think I have a lot of potential and want to sign me on for this big, high-profile drama. Pretty exciting, huh?”

You were practically grinning like a child who’d just found a shiny new toy, but Azul? He was seconds away from a full-blown existential crisis.

Inside Azul’s mind, things were rapidly spiraling out of control. Top agency? High-profile drama? They want to sign you?! He’d invested so much time, so much effort—no, no, this couldn’t be happening. His precious investment… his precious person… stolen away by another agency?! Ridiculous! Outrageous! It was completely… utterly… breaking him.

Azul’s inner monologue was a flurry of despair and denial. He could almost see it now—some slick, rival manager swooping in with promises of red carpets and glamorous roles, tempting you away with glitzy trailers and five-star restaurants. No, this couldn’t be how it ended. He had to keep you with him!

On the outside, however, Azul forced his face into a tight, polite smile that looked more like a man moments from passing out. “I… see. And you’re… considering this offer?” The words left his lips like venom, though you didn’t catch the sheer level of devastation laced into them.

“Yeah, it seems like a good opportunity,” you replied, shrugging casually. “It might be good for my career, right? I mean, that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

Oh god, Azul thought, his brain short-circuiting as he stared at you. This is it. I’m losing them. They’re going to leave me for some flashy agency, and then—then what? I’ll never see them again!

Azul’s breath came out in small, controlled bursts as he tried to keep himself from visibly panicking. No, calm down, Ashengrotto. You’re a businessman. You can negotiate your way out of this. But a small part of his brain, the part that was definitely not a businessman, was screaming, Please don’t leave me!

“Ah, well… perhaps we should… further discuss your future endeavors?” Azul finally said, his voice tight. He placed his hands on his desk, knuckles white as he forced a smile that looked like it was causing him actual physical pain.

But you, bless your completely oblivious heart, smiled brightly and nodded. “Sure! I mean, I haven’t accepted it yet, so I thought I’d run it by you first.”

Azul nearly choked. Haven’t accepted it yet? His brain did a frantic backflip. Wait—there’s still hope!

His brain quickly switches to damage control mode. He straightened his posture, trying to regain some semblance of his usual composed businessman self. “You… haven’t accepted the offer yet?” he asked, voice carefully neutral.

“Nope,” you replied, reaching for a snack on the table. “I figured I’d talk to you first. You know, weigh my options.” You casually popped a cracker in your mouth, completely unaware that Azul was just about two seconds away from collapsing into a puddle of pure relief.

Azul’s heart soared. Okay, okay, we still have time. I just need to—wait, did they just say they wanted to run it by me? He blinked, his brain spinning in confusion. Why would they…?

He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “I see. I’m… honored that you would consider discussing it with me first.” The relief in his voice was palpable, though he tried his best to maintain his usual air of dignity. “Though… I would like to remind you of the benefits of staying with Mostro Corp. We have always prided ourselves on our… unique approach to talent management.”

He said this with the air of a lawyer arguing a life-or-death case, when in reality, you were just mulling over whether you wanted fancier sushi or Azul’s morally ambiguous but highly effective business tactics.

Meanwhile, Azul’s brain was going a mile a minute. I can’t lose them. I’ve put too much into this. There must be something I can do… His eyes flicked to you, who was munching happily on crackers, completely unaware of the dramatic turmoil unfolding inside his head.

“Well, of course, you know I value everything you’ve done for me,” you said with a smile, patting his hand. “It’s just nice to know that I’ve got other options, you know?”

Options?! Azul’s brain screamed. NO! I AM THE ONLY OPTION! But outwardly, he managed to laugh—albeit a little shakily—and nod. “Yes… options… how delightful…”

You went back to casually munching your snacks, while Azul sat there, mentally spiraling deeper into a pit of doom and gloom, trying to keep a lid on the emotional hurricane swirling inside him.

By the time you finally looked up at him again, his composure had cracked just enough for you to notice the slight tremble in his usually steady hands. “Azul… Are you okay?”

His mind raced, trying to find the words. “I… I just thought that… perhaps you’d prefer to stay with someone who knows you well. Someone who understands your… unique needs.”

You blinked at him. “Wait… Azul, are you jealous?”

Azul sputtered, the words catching in his throat. “I—what? No! Of course not!” His face flushed red, his voice rising in pitch. “Jealousy is for amateurs! I am merely… concerned about your future. As any responsible manager would be!”

“Uh-huh,” you said, a knowing smile spreading across your face. “Right. Of course. Well, just so you know, I haven’t made any decisions yet.”

Azul let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Okay. Okay. We’re still in the game.

“And besides,” you continued, giving him a reassuring smile, “I trust you, Azul. You’ve done more for me than anyone else has. I’m not going anywhere unless it’s something you think is best for me.”

Azul blinked, his brain stalling for a moment. They trust me? They’re not leaving?

The relief that washed over him was almost too much to bear. He slumped back in his chair, feeling as though the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. He smiled—a genuine, warm smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Well then,” he said, his voice softer now, “I suppose we’ll continue as we always have, won’t we?”

You grinned, leaning back in your chair. “Looks like it.”

And for the first time that day, Azul relaxed. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he was already planning how to lock you down even tighter in his company’s grasp… for purely business reasons, of course.

And maybe, just maybe, for something a little more personal.

You were leaning against the wall, sipping on a coffee Azul had bribed Floyd into fetching (after much grumbling and threats about broken kneecaps). Today was a rare break from the constant whirlwind of shoots, and Azul had dragged you along to an event where industry people could network and rub elbows with those who thought they could “make it big.” You were supposed to be schmoozing, but you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care.

From across the room, you watched as a tall, good-looking actor made a beeline for Azul, who was politely chatting with a producer. The actor had that annoying air of confidence, someone who clearly thought they were a big deal, but not quite there yet. They slid right into the conversation, flashing a brilliant smile at Azul, who raised an eyebrow, bemused but ever the businessman. The actor looked at Azul like he was a prize—no, like he was the prize to win.

“Azul Ashengrotto,” the actor began, their tone dripping with charm. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I’ve seen how much of a star you've made of your… client.” They gestured toward you, their eyes briefly flicking in your direction before they focused back on Azul. “I’ve been thinking—I could really use someone with your talents managing my career.”

You snorted into your coffee, nearly choking. Seriously? This guy wants Azul to manage them?

After that dumbass who couldn’t read had pulled that stunt, Azul had delegated all the actors he was managing to his employees, and he was now only managing you, which admittedly made you extremely giddy.

You straightened up from your position against the wall, deciding to interrupt before Azul could even entertain the notion of jumping ship.

With a wide grin and zero hesitation, you strode up to them, placing yourself squarely between the actor and Azul. “Yeah, no. Sorry, but Azul’s my exclusive manager.” You gave them a look that could cut glass, making sure the actor understood the weight of your words. “He’s not taking on any new clients.”

The actor blinked, taken aback by your sudden appearance and directness. “Oh, but—”

“No buts,” you interrupted, standing firm. “Azul is mine. I mean, my manager.” You could feel Azul’s gaze burning into the side of your face, but you kept your focus on the actor. “He’s not available to anyone else. Trust me, he’s busy enough keeping up with all my… uh, brilliance.”

Azul, to his credit, didn’t immediately burst out laughing. Instead, he simply pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What they mean to say,” he said smoothly, “is that I’m currently not looking to expand my roster at this time. But I appreciate the interest.”

The actor, visibly flustered, tried to salvage the situation. “I see… I didn’t mean to intrude, I just thought—”

“No hard feelings,” you said, patting their arm in what you hoped was a reassuring gesture. “But I’d suggest finding someone else. Someone… less exclusive.”

The actor gave a forced smile and mumbled something about needing to talk to someone across the room before scampering off. The moment they were out of earshot, you turned back to Azul, who was eyeing you with a raised brow, lips twitching like he was trying his hardest not to burst out laughing.

“Exclusive manager, huh?” he mused, his voice warm with amusement. “I didn’t realize I’d been promoted to such a prestigious title.”

You shrugged, not even slightly embarrassed. “Hey, I’ve got to protect my manager. I can’t have you getting distracted by someone else.”

Azul chuckled softly, but the laughter wasn’t entirely aimed at the situation. No, it was more for how ridiculously flattered he felt by your words. Exclusive, huh? He’d never thought he’d be the sort of person to get all giddy over being someone’s exclusive anything, but there it was. Something about the way you’d swooped in so quickly to claim him—without hesitation—made his heart do a strange little flutter.

Internally, Azul was practically doing cartwheels. You had no idea how hard it was for him to suppress the grin threatening to take over his face. But, ever the composed businessman, he simply adjusted his cufflinks, a faint laugh escaping his lips. “Well, it seems I’m in high demand,” he teased lightly, trying to mask just how pleased he really was.

“You’ve always been in high demand,” you shot back with a grin. “Just lucky for me that I got to you first.”

Azul's laughter this time was soft but genuine. “Indeed. Very lucky.”

But inside, he was absolutely beaming. Not even the prospect of losing a business opportunity could faze him—because honestly, how could anything compare to the feeling of being yours? Even if you didn’t fully realize it yet.

You’d been roped into having dinner with Azul’s family after a business trip to Coral Sea City went surprisingly well. Somehow, what was supposed to be a brief check-in had escalated into a full-blown family dinner at the Ashengrotto household, with Azul, Floyd, and Jade acting as your escorts (read: babysitters).

Azul, as always, had planned to keep things professional. Just a casual dinner. What could go wrong? Except, as it turned out, quite a lot.

The minute you walked in, you were greeted by the smell of delicious food and spices, courtesy of Mrs. Ashengrotto, who practically beamed when she saw you with Azul. “Oh! Azul! You didn’t tell me you were bringing your partner!” she exclaimed, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

You blinked in surprise. “Oh, no, I’m not—"

Before you could even finish, Floyd swooped in, grinning like cat who just caught the canary “Yup, they’re totally dating, Auntie! Azul’s been so secretive, but we finally got him to spill the beans, heh~”

You shot Azul a panicked glance, but his face had already turned a subtle shade of pink. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. “That’s… not exactly true, Mother. They’re my client.”

“Client? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Mrs. Ashengrotto asked, giving you both a knowing wink.

You were on the verge of correcting her again, but before you could, Jade, ever the schemer, chimed in. “Oh, it’s quite romantic, really. Azul’s always looking after them, making sure they’re taken care of, both in their career and in life. The dedication he shows is quite admirable.”

“That’s because I’m their manager,” Azul muttered, shooting Jade a glare that clearly said please stop helping.

“Manager? Oh, Azul, don’t be so modest,” Mrs. Ashengrotto said, her voice soft with maternal pride. “It’s wonderful that you’re so dedicated to them.”

Floyd, ever the troublemaker, leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Did you know that Azul practically handpicks all of their outfits too? He’s got a real eye for detail.”

Azul looked mortified. “I did not—”

“Isn’t that romantic?” Jade sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Choosing clothes for someone, guiding them through their career, always by their side…”

Azul pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to throttle his eels. “I’m just ensuring they look professional.”

Mrs. Ashengrotto smiled sweetly at the exchange. “That’s so thoughtful of you, Azul. Just like your stepfather—always looking out for the people he cares about.”

You opened your mouth to interject, but before you could get a word in, Azul’s grandmother shuffled in from the next room, her staff clicking against the floor. She was a small, wizened woman with sharp eyes that seemed to peer straight through you.

“Ah,” she said, nodding sagely. “So this is the one who has captured Azul’s heart.”

You felt like you were about to faint. “No, no, no! We’re not—”

“Don’t be shy, dear,” Azul’s grandmother interrupted, giving you a smile that somehow made you feel accepted. “Azul’s always been very particular, but I see why he’s chosen you. Strong-willed, intelligent… It’s a good match.”

Azul’s face was the color of a boiled lobster at this point. “Grandmother, they’re not—"

“Oh, it’s just like a fairy tale,” Floyd sighed dramatically, flinging his arms wide. “The manager and the star, united against the odds! Love blossoming amidst the contracts!”

Jade leaned in, his voice smooth and teasing. “I suppose we’ll have to prepare a speech for the engagement party soon. You wouldn’t want to be caught unprepared, would you, Azul?”

Azul shot Jade a look that could kill. “There will be no engagement because there is nothing to engage.”

You, meanwhile, were torn between laughing and crawling under the table. How had this situation spiraled so completely out of control?

“Ah, young love,” Mrs. Ashengrotto said with a fond sigh. “It’s a beautiful thing. Just like when I met my husband. He was so shy at first too, you know.”

“I am not shy!” Azul protested, but his voice lacked its usual bite. He glanced at you, clearly embarrassed, but you could see the way his lips twitched with a suppressed smile. He was as flustered as you were, even if he was trying not to show it.

You decided to just give up and lean into it. “Well, I guess if everyone’s so sure we’re a couple,” you said, throwing a look at Azul, “then maybe we should start acting like one?”

Azul froze for a second, then gave you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “You’re absolutely not helping.”

Jade chuckled. “Oh, but they are, Azul. They most certainly are.”

Azul sighed, shaking his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. His family continued to dote on you both throughout dinner, exchanging stories about Azul’s childhood and teasing him endlessly about your “relationship.” And while it was all a little overwhelming, you couldn’t help but find it… oddly heartwarming.

At the end of the night, as you and Azul finally managed to escape his family’s clutches, you caught him glancing at you, a rare softness in his eyes.

“You know,” he said quietly, “they’re never going to stop teasing us about this.”

You laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Well, it could be worse. At least they like me.”

Azul smiled, his expression warm despite the chaos of the evening. “That, they do.”

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t entirely opposed to the idea of them being right.

The role was wild from the start: you’d been cast as a “Hay-Witch.” Yes, you heard that right. A Hay-Witch. The small-time movie was hyped as the next indie darling—a quirky, fantasy-adventure flick where your character used the mystical powers of hay to cure ailments, summon the wind, and fend off demons. It was like a strange blend of Hallmark romance and someone’s fever dream. And of course, you had to research this bizarre profession to get into character.

Where do you even begin? Naturally, with a trip to the village of Elderstraw, home to the world’s last remaining Hay-Witch practitioners. Because yes, apparently, that’s a thing.

You were baffled, Azul was intrigued, and the both of you set off to the countryside, where adventure awaited—and perhaps a bit of weirdness, too.

The village itself was charming in a “smells like cows and fresh grass” kind of way. Everyone was far too friendly, as if they hadn’t seen an outsider in years. You couldn’t walk five steps without someone giving you fresh milk, yogurt, or, unsurprisingly, bundles of hay. It was bizarre but kind of sweet.

It all seemed manageable until one of the village elders, a sprightly old woman with a mischievous glint in her eye, mistook you and Azul for a couple.

“Oh! Look at you two, so in love!” she exclaimed, hands clasped dramatically to her chest. “It warms my heart to see young folks so smitten.”

Azul chuckled, clearly amused. You, however, were mid-sip of water and nearly choked on it.

“No, no, we’re just—” you began, waving your hands wildly.

“Deny it all you want,” she said with a wink, “but love speaks louder than words. It’s in your eyes! And don’t you worry—we’ll make sure you enjoy all the festival activities together as a pair.”

“What festival?” you asked weakly.

“The Hay Festival, of course! Only couples can participate,” she said matter-of-factly, grabbing your face and Azul’s, smushing them together. “There’s no need to be shy! We’re not a judging village!”

Azul, the absolute traitor, merely smiled and shrugged. “When in Elderstraw…”

You shot him a withering look, but it was no use. The village had already decided, and there was no backing out.

The day started innocently enough, with the village’s version of “couple activities.” First up was the “Two-Man Hay Bale Haul,” a ridiculous contest where you and your supposed partner had to lift bales of hay and stack them as high as possible. Azul, ever the perfectionist, approached it like it was an Olympic event. Meanwhile, you were doing your best not to trip over the giant, scratchy bales.

“Careful,” Azul teased, as he hoisted yet another bale. “We wouldn’t want to ruin that professional image of yours.”

“I’m already in a village hauling hay for a Hay-Witch movie,” you grumbled. “My professional image is long gone.”

Next up was the “Lovers’ Hay Ride,” where you were forced to sit in a tiny wooden cart filled with—you guessed it—hay, while the local farmhands pulled you through the fields. The villagers serenaded you with what could only be described as country ballads.

Azul, to your horror, looked positively relaxed. You, on the other hand, felt like you were one step away from a sitcom-level breakdown.

“It’s peaceful here,” Azul remarked, gazing out at the rolling fields. “Don’t you think?”

“Peaceful?” you muttered, shoving a piece of hay out of your sleeve. “I’ve got hay everywhere. I think it’s multiplying.”

But it didn’t stop there. The locals had arranged a series of “intimate couple activities” that only got more ridiculous. From attempting to weave “love charms” out of hay (yours looked like a sad clump of straw), to participating in a “Hay-Witch Fortune Telling,” where the village’s oldest resident peered into a bowl of dried hay and made proclamations about your future.

“You’ll marry before the harvest!” the elderly fortune teller cried, her wrinkled face lighting up with joy. “I see it as clear as day! Your love will thrive like our crops in spring!”

You coughed, feeling a bit light-headed from the sheer absurdity of it all. “Uh, thanks? I think?”

Azul snickered, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “You heard her. Before the harvest.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, elbowing him.

But the straw that broke the hay-witch’s back came when the village elders insisted you both join them in the “Festival of Eternal Union”—which was apparently just a fancy way of saying “giant group picnic where all couples feed each other.”

“I’m going to die here,” you muttered as an elder handed you a basket of homemade cheese and bread. “This is how it ends for me.”

Azul, ever the opportunist, merely handed you a slice of bread with a smirk. “Then I’ll make sure it’s a memorable end.”

And somehow, throughout all of it, you found yourself… softening. The ridiculous activities, the constant teasing, the stolen glances and easy banter—it was all so strange, yet it felt right. Maybe it was the quiet charm of the village, or maybe it was just Azul being… well, Azul.

Your heart started doing funny little flips whenever he smiled at you, or when his hand brushed against yours by accident (or, more likely, on purpose). You were used to his confidence, his calculated demeanor, but here, in the middle of nowhere, he seemed softer. More human.

At some point, as you sat under the shade of a giant oak tree, watching the sunset, you realized with a jolt: Oh no. I’m actually falling for him.

You stared at him as he casually offered you a piece of fruit from the basket, completely unaware of the internal crisis you were having.

I’m falling for Azul Ashengrotto. In a tiny village where they think I’m a Hay-Witch. In the middle of a field. Because of hay. How is this my life?

The universe had a twisted sense of humor, clearly.

Azul glanced over at you, noticing your silence. “Something on your mind?”

You blinked rapidly, trying to compose yourself. “Uh, no! Nope. Just thinking about… hay.”

Azul quirked an eyebrow. “Hay?”

“Yeah,” you said lamely. “Lots of it here.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, hand brushing against yours. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Oh god, you thought, your heart thudding in your chest. I’m really doomed.

You're no coward. You've realized your feelings and you're going to do something about it. You're almost certain he likes you back so all you have to do was confess right?

Oh, you sweet summer child. You wish.

The sun had barely crept up over the horizon, but you were already at work, trying once again to get through Azul’s thick, polished skull that you had a crush on him. It had been weeks—no, months—of subtle hints. Casual touches on the arm. Extra compliments on his outfits. Playfully stealing his pens during meetings. Even dropping lines like, “You know, if you weren’t my manager, you’d make a great boyfriend.” Nothing had worked. Not even a flicker of recognition in those brilliant blue eyes of his.

Across the room, Floyd and Jade were quietly dying. Well, Floyd was barely quiet. His cackling echoed through the office more than once, only to be shushed by a very flustered Azul.

You sighed, watching Azul as he flipped through some papers, oblivious to the chaos happening right in front of him. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was intentionally ignoring your advances. But no—this was Azul. The guy who was both brilliant and completely clueless when it came to romance. It was like trying to flirt with a brick wall that had an MBA.

“Alright,” Azul muttered, adjusting his glasses. “Here’s the agenda for today’s meeting. We’ll need to go over the contract for your next project and—”

You weren’t even listening. Not really. You were too busy devising your next plan of attack. Jade caught your eye from across the room, smirking knowingly, while Floyd had his face buried in a pillow, trying not to burst into laughter again. They both knew what was coming. They always knew what was coming. This time, you weren’t going to go subtle. No, subtlety had failed you. This time, you were going to drop a bomb so big, Azul wouldn’t be able to deny it.

“Well,” you began, standing up from your chair with a dramatic flair. “Azul, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Azul barely looked up from his paperwork. “Yes? Is it about the new script?”

“No,” you said, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. “It’s about something... much more important.”

“More important than the script?” Azul raised an eyebrow, finally looking up at you. “Are you feeling alright? Should we reschedule the meeting?”

Jade had already covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle his laughter. Floyd had given up any attempt at composure and was sprawled out on the couch, face buried in a pillow, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

“No, no,” you continued, ignoring the fact that your two audience members were on the verge of a breakdown. “I’m perfectly fine. I’ve just... I’ve been trying to tell you something for a while now, and I think it’s time I just come out and say it.”

Azul blinked, looking genuinely concerned now. “If it’s about renegotiating your contract, we can certainly—”

“Oh my god, Azul, stop talking about contracts for five seconds!” you blurted out, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “This isn’t about the contract! It’s about you!”

Azul blinked, confusion settling in. “Me?”

“Yes, you!” You took a deep breath, preparing yourself. This was it. The moment of truth. “I like you. Like, really like you. As in, I’m attracted to you. Romantically.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Azul stared at you, processing your words like you’d just spoken in an ancient, dead language. His eyes darted around the room, looking for some kind of logical explanation, while Jade’s shoulders shook harder with barely-contained laughter. Floyd was now actively biting his pillow to stop from shrieking in delight.

“...What?” Azul finally said, his voice full of disbelief.

“I. Like. You,” you repeated slowly, enunciating every word. “Like, in a romantic way. You know, feelings. Like affection, Azul. I’m saying I have a crush on you.”

Azul’s face flushed pink, and he shook his head rapidly as if trying to clear the fog. “N-no. That... That’s not possible. You must be mistaken.”

Floyd let out a loud snort of laughter, unable to hold back anymore. “Mistaken? About their OWN feelings?” he echoed, half-laughing, half-gasping for air. “Oh, this is too rich!”

Jade was trying to keep his composure, but he was wiping away tears now. “Azul, I do believe they’ve been quite clear.”

But Azul was undeterred. “No, no,” he said, standing up and pacing, hands flying around as he tried to piece together an explanation. “They’re clearly just being friendly. Maybe it’s a... a professional admiration! Yes, that’s it. A-and, perhaps, they’re simply appreciative of my management skills!”

Really? Right in front of your salad? If mental gymnastics was an actual sport, he would be the Olympic gold medalist without breaking a sweat.

Floyd was full-on howling now, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his sides. “Bro, I can’t breathe—what skills are you even talking about?”

“Azul,” you said with as much patience as you could muster, “I’m telling you that I like you in a romantic way. Like... I would very much like to go on a date with you. As in a romantic date.”

Azul stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening. “No,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else. “No, that can’t be right. It’s got to be a misunderstanding. you’ve never shown any romantic interest before. There must be some other explanation.”

“There isn’t,” you said, exasperated. “I’ve been dropping hints for months! I’ve been flirting with you this entire time!”

Azul looked at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait, what?”

You rubbed your temples in frustration. “Do you remember when I complimented your outfit every single day for a week?”

Azul blinked. “I thought you were just being polite.”

“And the time I said I’d love to have a boyfriend as organized as you?”

“I assumed you were just making conversation.”

Floyd rolled off the couch, clutching his stomach and wheezing from laughing so hard. “Boss, you’re killing me!”

Jade patted Azul’s shoulder, his face split into a wide grin. “Azul, perhaps it’s time to accept that they may actually like you.”

Azul stared at you, his brain doing backflips to try and comprehend what was happening. “But... why?”

“Because I like you,” you said with a sigh. “You’re smart, charming, and—despite being utterly oblivious—you’re incredibly caring.”

For a moment, Azul just stood there, mouth agape, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. “But... you’re my client. You can’t possibly like me in that way.”

Jade, at this point, was openly laughing. “Oh, Azul. You truly are one of a kind.”

You sighed again, this time with a fond smile. “You know what? Fine. Don’t believe me. I guess I’ll just have to be even more obvious about it.”

Floyd, still trying to catch his breath, managed to rasp out, “Can’t wait to see how that goes.”

Azul stared between you and his cackling friends, his mind still racing as you simply smiled at him, leaving the final blow for later. But little did he know, you had one more trick up your sleeve—the next time you had an interview, you’d make sure the whole world knew exactly how you felt. That should be obvious enough for even him to understand.

...Hopefully.

The interview was going smoothly—or at least, it was supposed to. You were doing your usual promo rounds for your latest movie, fielding questions with ease, and feeling pretty confident. Azul stood off to the side, clipboard in hand, monitoring everything with his usual meticulous care.

Then, the interviewer hit you with the dreaded question. "So, there's been some talk about your personal life. A lot of fans are dying to know... is there someone special in your life right now?"

You didn’t even hesitate. Flashing a coy smile, you leaned forward in your chair, eyes gleaming with amusement. "You could say that, yeah."

Azul, off to the side, blinked. His eyebrows furrowed, immediately sensing danger. Wait. What? They never mentioned this before... His brain immediately started scanning for any missed signs. Were you seeing someone and hadn’t told him?

The interviewer’s grin widened, clearly excited by the scoop. “Oh, really? Someone special, huh? Do we know them?”

"Well," you mused, pretending to think about it as you twirled the water bottle cap in your hand. “I’d say a lot of people know them. They’re... pretty well-known for being supportive, always looking out for me, and just being an all-around amazing person."

Azul swallowed hard. Supportive? Well-known? He tried to stay calm, but his heart rate was rising. Who the hell could they be talking about?

Jade, meanwhile, had the world's biggest grin on his face. He glanced at Azul, enjoying watching him mentally spiral. This was about to get good.

The interviewer pressed on, eyes practically sparkling. “Sounds like someone really special! Care to drop a hint for us?”

You laughed, a sound that made Azul’s pulse spike for entirely different reasons. “I don’t know if I should,” you teased. “But I guess I could say... they’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

Azul nearly dropped his clipboard. Wait, wait, wait. No way. No, it can’t be… Me? His mind was in chaos. There was no possible way, right?

Azul could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. His thoughts were racing at a million miles per hour. No, they’re definitely just being vague for the media. It’s probably all for the image... right?

Jade leaned over and whispered, loud enough for Azul to hear. “Sounds like they’re talking about someone we know, don’t you think?”

Azul shot him a panicked look. “It’s definitely not me,” he hissed. “They’re just... being friendly. It’s purely platonic. Definitely platonic.”

Jade’s smirk deepened. “If you say so.”

But the more confident you looked, the more Azul found himself spiraling. Your calm, collected attitude was doing something to him, stirring something deeper in his chest that he refused to acknowledge. Why were you so relaxed about this? Were you toying with the media for fun, or... were you serious?

Jade was, by now, thoroughly entertained, watching as Azul’s thoughts clearly spiraled. “Azul,” he said with mock seriousness, “I do believe you might need some water. You’re looking a little pale.”

Azul shot him a glare that could’ve frozen a lake. “I’m fine. They’re just being... vague.”

Jade hummed, unconvinced but highly amused.

But before Azul could continue to stew in his confusion, the interviewer asked the golden question. “So, this person... Is it someone from your current circle? Perhaps a certain... manager?”

Your smile widened. “Oh, absolutely. They’re in my circle. In fact... It is my manager.”

Azul’s heart skipped about six beats. He stared at you in complete shock, the world around him tilting slightly. No...

The interviewer gasped dramatically. “Your manager?! Really?”

"Yep," you replied breezily. "They’ve always been there for me, handling my career, keeping me on track... Honestly, I wouldn’t have come this far without them."

Azul's brain short-circuited. They’re talking about me... Wait, no. Maybe they mean it in a purely professional sense. Yeah. That’s got to be it. This is all just... a misunderstanding.

The interviewer was ecstatic. “That’s so sweet! So, you really admire them, huh?”

You met the interviewer’s gaze, your tone softening slightly. “Yeah... I do. A lot.”

Azul was trying very, very hard not to combust. His hands were shaking slightly, and Jade noticed, elbowing him with a wicked grin. “Still think it’s platonic, Azul?”

“I—” Azul stammered. “They... They must mean it... as a friend. Nothing more.”

Jade chuckled. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The interview finally wrapped up, but the damage was done. You were trying not to laugh as you rejoined Azul and Jade, who were both staring at you with very different expressions. Jade looked like he was about to burst from the sheer amusement of it all, while Azul… Azul looked like he was desperately trying to figure out how to delete your entire existence from the timeline.

“Why did you—?” Azul started, but you just patted his arm, snickering.

“Oh, come on, Azul. Don’t worry so much. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?!” he practically screeched. “You just told the world you have feelings for me!”

“Yeah, and?” You shrugged nonchalantly, finding his distress far too entertaining. “Everyone’s gonna find out sooner or later.”

Azul ran his hands through his hair, clearly nearing a full-blown meltdown. “They’re going to think we’re… we’re together! People are going to start making assumptions! What if it affects your career? What if—”

Jade clapped him on the shoulder. “What if you stop panicking and actually consider that maybe… just maybe… they meant what they said?”

Azul was about to protest again when your phone buzzed. You checked it and burst out laughing. “Oh man, Azul, you’ve gotta see this.”

“NOOOO, THEY’RE IN LOVE???” “Who’s Azul and why haven’t we seen them kiss yet??” “Okay, but like… I can’t even be mad, this guy is hot.” “I’m crying… I thought I had a chance 😭” “Azul? More like A-zuuulooooove 🥲” “Wait, isn’t he their manager? Damn, that’s hot.” “I SHIP IT SO HARD!!!” “Okay but let’s be real, they’re glowing lately, so Azul is probably good for them.” “I demand photos of them with this Azul!!! I need to see if he’s worthy!!” “AZUL IS LUCKY AF.” “I thought I was delusional, but NOPE, IT’S REAL!!!” “Lmfao, this is straight out of a K-drama. Is Azul secretly a billionaire?”

Azul just groaned, covering his face again. “I’m going to die.”

You patted his back with a grin. “Nah, you’ll be fine. Just think about all the fans you’re getting now.”

Jade was chuckling beside him. “Oh, I’m sure he’s enjoying this. Internally, he’s probably quite flattered.”

Azul just muttered something incomprehensible, which you chose to interpret as agreement.

All in all, it was probably the most entertaining interview of your life—though for poor Azul, it might have been the most traumatic.

It was supposed to be a routine day on set—a quick shoot, a few lines, and some light action. Nothing out of the ordinary. But of course, that was the day everything went wrong.

You hadn’t even realized anything was amiss at first. Just a small slip while rehearsing a particularly tricky scene. Sure, you scraped your knee, but it wasn’t exactly life-threatening. You shrugged it off as no big deal.

Except it was a big deal to Azul. Because the moment Floyd let slip that you had taken a “gnarly fall,” Azul exploded onto the set like he was auditioning for a telenovela himself.

The door to your dressing room burst open, and there he stood, eyes wide with horror. “You’ve been injured?!”

Before you could even respond, he was at your side, grabbing your hand and scanning you over with frantic intensity. “Where? Where does it hurt? Are you bleeding? Do we need an ambulance?”

“It’s just a scratch—”

“A scratch?! Scratches can get infected! We need antiseptics, bandages—perhaps we should take you to a hospital just in case!” Azul’s voice climbed higher with every word, his panic spiraling out of control.

Floyd, who was leaning against the doorframe, grinned mischievously. “Oh, it was brutal, boss. They were practically airborne, soaring through the air like a majestic seagull—”

“Floyd!” you interrupted, shooting him a glare. “I slipped, and my foot barely left the ground.”

“Details, details,” Floyd said, waving his hand dismissively. “But Azul’s right, you know. Maybe we should call in a medevac.”

Azul’s hands were now fluttering uselessly around your arms, his normally cool demeanor shattered into a thousand frantic pieces. “You could have a concussion! A torn ligament! Internal bleeding! We should get a full-body scan—what if this jeopardizes your career?”

You sighed, feeling both exasperated and oddly touched by his theatrics. “Azul, it’s a scraped knee. I’ll survive.”

But he wasn’t hearing it. “No, no, no. You don’t understand! This industry is cutthroat! We can’t risk even the slightest injury—what if this compromises your ability to walk in heels for a scene? Or worse, what if—"

Finally, you'd had enough. With one swift motion, you grabbed the lapels of his pristine suit and yanked him down to your level. Then, without hesitation, you pressed your lips to his.

Azul froze like someone had just poured a bucket of ice water over his head. His eyes went wide, his hands hovering in the air for a moment before slowly settling on your arms. You held the kiss for a few seconds, long enough for him to stop his rambling.

When you pulled back, Azul blinked, looking dazed and utterly bewildered. “Wha—what was that for?” he stammered, his cheeks flushed pink.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face. “To shut you up. Honestly, you’re being ridiculous. It’s just a scratch, and I’m fine.”

“But—” he began, only to stop short when he noticed the faint smile on your face. Slowly, he let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing a little. “I… may have overreacted.”

“You think?” you teased, still holding onto his suit.

Azul cleared his throat, straightening his posture, though he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. “Well, I suppose I was a bit... concerned,” he admitted, his voice softer now, more vulnerable.

You raised an eyebrow. “A bit?”

His lips quirked up in a sheepish smile. “Fine, more than a bit.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, Azul still holding you close, his earlier panic replaced by a gentle fondness. “You really scared me,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing against your arm in a rare display of tenderness.

You softened at his words, letting go of his suit and resting your hand on his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

Azul exhaled, the tension finally melting away from his shoulders. “Well,” he said, his usual confidence slowly returning, “I suppose I’ll forgive you. But only if you promise to be more careful.”

You smirked. “I’ll try. But no more medical emergencies, okay?”

Azul gave you a soft smile, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your arm. “Agreed.”

Azul still had a hand resting on your arm when Floyd finally disappeared, but the mood shifted slightly, the weight of the moment sinking in. He glanced at you, and though the frantic energy had dissipated, there was still something lingering in his eyes—a hint of hesitation.

You decided to go for it.

“Azul,” you began, your voice soft yet steady, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

He blinked at you, his brows furrowing in concern. “You’re not seriously injured, are you? I knew we should’ve gotten a doctor—”

“No, Azul, it’s not about that,” you cut him off gently, grabbing his hand again to keep him from spiraling. “It’s… about us.”

That got his attention. His body stiffened, and his eyes widened a fraction. “Us?” he repeated, like he’d never heard the word before.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I didn’t want to say anything at first because I thought you were delibrately ignoring my confession. But I think… I’ve fallen for you.”

For a solid three seconds, Azul just stared at you. Not a blink. Not a twitch. It was like his entire brain had momentarily short-circuited. “Fallen for me?” he echoed slowly, like he was trying to translate a foreign language in his head. “You’re in love with me?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I said,” you teased lightly, though your pulse quickened. “What, is it really so hard to believe?”

Azul swallowed hard, his voice still unusually shaky. “I—well—yes, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-expecting a quip or a deflection. “Why’s that?”

Azul suddenly seemed more flustered than when he thought you needed an ambulance. “I just assumed—well, this whole time I thought… I mean, I thought it was more of a… situationship,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower with each word, like he was embarrassed to even say it. “A temporary thing. Surely you couldn’t actually… love me.”

You let out a small laugh, though it was more affectionate than amused. “You’re really selling yourself short, Azul.”

He stared at you like he was still processing the information, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. “But I’m not… I mean, you could have someone better,” he mumbled, suddenly very interested in the floor.

You rolled your eyes, exasperated and endeared all at once. “Oh my god, Azul. You’re smart, funny, successful, and you care more than you let on. Why do you think I’ve stuck around this long?”

Azul’s cheeks were bright red by now, his lips parting slightly in a way that made him look like a fish out of water. “You… love me.” He repeated again, this time softer, almost like he was afraid to say it too loudly in case it turned out to be a joke.

You couldn’t help but laugh at how flabbergasted he looked. “Yes, Azul. I love you.”

He let out a breath he didn’t seem to realize he was holding, and for a moment, he just stood there, completely silent, his expression one of shock mixed with… something else. Something deeper, like a weight had finally been lifted off his shoulders.

Then, out of nowhere, his hands tightened on your arms, and before you could react, he pulled you into his chest in a sudden, desperate hug. His grip was so tight you were sure he was never going to let go.

“I-I love you, too,” he said, voice muffled against your hair. “I didn’t know how to say it… I thought you’d want something… less complicated than me.”

You smiled, pressing your face into his chest and letting the warmth of his embrace wash over you. “You’re more than worth the complications, Azul.”

His arms loosened just enough to pull back and look at you, eyes glistening just a little, his expression softer than you’d ever seen. “I can’t believe this,” he murmured, almost in disbelief. “I thought—well, I thought you’d tire of me.”

You wiped away a stray tear that had slipped from his eye, your heart swelling. “I don’t think I ever could, even if I tried.”

For a moment, he looked like he might cry again, but he quickly blinked it away, clearing his throat as he attempted to regain some composure. “You’re sure you’re not concussed? Perhaps this is the result of head trauma…”

You laughed, swatting his shoulder playfully. “I’m sure.”

Azul cracked a smile, though he still looked a bit overwhelmed. “Well… I suppose this changes everything.”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open again, and Floyd poked his head in with a devilish grin. “Sooo, I guess I should cancel that medevac, huh?”

Azul groaned, but this time it was more out of exasperated affection than anything else. “Floyd…”

Floyd snickered, winking at you as he sauntered in. “Aww, look at you two, all lovey-dovey. Makes me wanna puke.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Floyd grinned wider. “Nah, I think I’ll stick around. Never know when you might trip and need mouth-to-mouth.”

Azul threw a water bottle at him. “Out!”

Floyd dodged it easily, laughing as he slipped back out the door, leaving the two of you alone again.

Azul sighed, shaking his head, though there was a faint smile on his lips. “He’s never going to let us live this down, is he?”

“Nope, and neither is Jade.” you said, grinning. “But that’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Azul looked at you, his gaze soft and warm. “Together.”

“So,” you said after a moment, pulling away just enough to look up at him, “now that we’ve got that sorted, how about we go celebrate? Dinner? Something fancy?”

Azul’s eyes gleamed with excitement, the business side of him flickering to life. “I happen to know a very exclusive place. The best seafood in town, I assure you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seafood? After the whole shark tank incident?”

Azul blinked before laughing, realizing the irony. “Alright, maybe something more… neutral.”

And as you glanced at Azul, his hand warm and secure in yours, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the universe had thrown you into this crazy situation for a reason. After all, who else could say their manager turned out to be the love of their life?

Azul Ashengrotto, the shark in a suit, was all yours.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Masterlist

Okay the azul brainrot was real here, it went from 1k to 2k and i then suddenly was committed to a 10k fic Fun fact: The hay witch thing came from a movie idea that my friends and i came up with while being completely wasted.

[dajo42]

If you want to kill yourself so badly just do it; you fucking coward. I'm serious, I think you should. All I see on your blog is e-begging and godawful cringe art that looks like something a kindergartener threw up after eating too many crayons. 'Autistic' and 'trans woman' in the same bio is redundant, and so is your contribution to society. Stop pretending to be a woman, stop pretending to be worth a damn, either get a life or end it.

you are such an interesting weird little embarrassing creature because why did you use a semicolon there. thats not where a semicolon goes. "you fucking coward" is not an independent clause lmao.

anyway youre weird. lmao like. shut up lol why are you so obsessed with me but so ableist and transphobic. if i kill myself are you gonna get another tenant to live in your head rent free or will you just board up the place because your head is full of mould and you drank too much landlord white paint

anyways im not gonna kms because YOU told me to lmao if i kms its gonna be because the worlds on fire but yknow. gonna try my best not to.

im also gonna drop my paypal and kofi here AGAIN for FUNSIES and SPITE :3 seeing as thats all i have to do to make such a piece of human garbage angry why wouldnt i!!!

but maybe im gonna go a liiiiiiiiiittle bit further with the retribution today. maybe just being spiteful isnt enough. lemme tell you a lil story my hateful little venomous tadpole

several people have said at this point that whoever is sending me anon hate whenever i make a donations post has to be the same person. which is very interesting because in fact they are correct!! i have enough information now to confirm objectively yes they were right!!!!

so like you say im not worth a damn?? thats crazy because you have spent a LOT of time thinking about me. i know, objectively, youre the same person sending me other rude messages because using technology™ i can literally see your ip address and where you navigated to my blog from and you came to my blog DIRECTLY lmao

you have, on multiple occasions, typed dajo42.tumblr.com into your fucking browser and navigated directly to me to send me some anon hate that has only escalated in severity as weeks have gone by

but not the first time!! the first time you came to my blog from a totally innocent post i made about a pokemon npc who likes trains. this, somehow, filled you with enough vitriol at my existence to send me endless, endless anon hate, regularly. you come back r e g u l a r l y.

so based on all your messages you hate me for being autistic, for being trans, for asking for donations when im struggling, for drawing cute things, for asking for wishlist items for funsies,,,,,,, and youve decided to escalate that to the point of telling me to kill myself when im having a depressive episode??????

so i was gonna ask if theres anything you DONT hate but i cant do that,, because i know theres one thing i made you do enjoy. its another thing i know about you for sure because sometimes just clicking anonymous on these messages isnt gonna fully ensure your anonymity. because i happen to know from the aforementioned list of times you have visited my blog that during one of your visits you viewed a specific post on my blog and,,, liked and reblogged it,,,,,,,,, and yknow, looking through the blogs of the people in the notes on that post, theres only one person who talks with so much hate like you do, acts like you do, and posted recently about the college they attend, which, to the shock of nobody, is in the specific region of the united states of america that your ip address is in

and fuck like, wouldnt it be so funny if you also had your first name and a selfie on your blog and i could just straight up send an email full of fun screenshots to the college you attend who i have to imagine wouldnt be altogether thrilled to know one of their students is actively harassing people online and telling them to kill themselves

wouldnt that be so funny Liam?

:3

anyways,, to piss you off yet again,,,,,,,, if you like supporting disabled autistic trans women online you can via paypal and kofi if you can and want to help me be able to afford food and meds or if your name is liam and you go to salt lake community college and want to make it up to me for being so nasty. go bruins

[glassbxttless]

Maybe I want to see Sam being petulant. Just for funsies.

Like as soon as you sit down on the couch he’s saying he wants a snack. Or maybe could you get him a beer? Just this once please, his leg, you see, it really hurts today. Oh and the topical cream, makes his hands tingly and he can’t get up to wash them after, so…. Do you mind?

I just think it could be fun.

Counter-Offer

sam o’brien (warfare) x fem!reader

word count: 1k+

summary: You’re exhausted, but Sam’s having a bad leg day.

warnings: sam’s just a bit of an ass lmao. there’s some alcohol consumption and mentions of pain medicine. some swearing.

notes: i really do enjoy writing sam! all requests are written in my little sam universe unless otherwise explicitly stated. This one was fun, a little hard to write but fun nonetheless. thank you to @getaapologist for the request and for reading this baby over. and thank you to @peachyproserpina for editing! means the world!

It’s been a long day, between running late this morning on account of Sam’s whispers of “just come back to bed,” and hazy morning kisses, and the mountain of paperwork at your desk as soon as you stepped over the threshold of your office, and you wanted nothing more than to just come in and relax. Sam’s on the couch when you step inside. The remote resting against his chest and his leg and head are propped up on  pillows. You kick your shoes off and toss your bag and jacket into a heap on the floor to deal with later. You make your way to the recliner and you’ve barely just sat down— you didn’t get that end-of-day, full-body collapse kind of sit into your favorite spot that would swallow you whole if you let it. No, as soon as your ass brushes the cushion, Sam’s twisting his head around on the pillow to give you the most pleading eyes he could muster.

“Babe,” his voice is real soft when he speaks, like he knows that if he starts gentle, everything will work out in his favor. “You think maybe you could grab me a snack?”

You look over, your bones feeling weary as you want nothing more than the softness of the recliner to swallow you up. “You’ve been home all day. You had snacks when we were on the phone… twenty minutes ago.”

“Yeah,” his voice is still quiet, like he’s ten and being scolded. “But I ate them.”

Your eyes narrow. “You ate that entire thing?”

Sam shrugs, guiltily proud. “In my defense, you bought the good pretzels. The honey mustard ones.”

You stare at him for a few moments. He stares right back. The silence stretches between you. You’re in a weird half down, half up, sit. He blinks first. “Okay, okay, sweetheart, counter-offer?” he smiles a bit, wriggling his foot. “Just a beer. One beer. Yeah? I deserve one. My leg is killing me today.”

You raise a brow. “Is it?”

“Yes,” he says immediately, like he wasn’t being a petulant child. 

“You take your pain medicine?” You ask softly, if he has gotten himself into hurting as bad as he says; he can deal with it. 

“Yeah, of course I did,” he’s quick to answer. “With breakfast. A Jimmy Dean sausage sandwich.”

You sigh and stand up, making your way to the kitchen. You do indeed find his painkillers on the counter, a sausage biscuit wrapper right next to it, and an empty beer bottle already in the garbage. Sam grins, victorious. You can feel his smugness like heat from a fire. He’s basking in it. You sigh, placing the pill bottle back into the cabinet where all of the other medicines are. And then you’re brushing the wrapper into the garbage, along with the crumbs, grumbling to yourself about cleaning up after a grown man. You grab a beer from the fridge and make your way back to the living room. You hand him the beer and go to sit down again, but his voice stops you— again— right before you make contact with your seat.

“Oh, uh, babe? One more tiny thing, please? The topical cream.”

Your eyes close and you let a breath out your nose— calming, soothing, you can’t kill him right now. “The what now?”

He holds up his hands, in a mock surrender. “The one for my leg, you know the one? The one that makes my hands all tingly. I can’t— like, if I touch anything, I might ruin the couch. And I can’t get up to wash them after, so… do you mind?”

You glare at him from where you had finally given in and sat down. But he gives you those eyes. The big brown ones you had fallen in love with so many years ago. The ones that say, I’m annoying but adorable and you love me anyway. And damn it, he’s not wrong. You push yourself up and walk off to the bathroom for the cream, muttering under your breath about how this is exactly how divorces happen. Sam calls after you, “You’re a hero, babe, you know that? Gonna marry you one day!”

When you return, you step over Whiskey who had parked it right in front of the couch. And you carefully lift both of his legs, sliding in beneath them. He winces dramatically and says, “Ouch. My leg, baby. Show some compassion.”

You roll your eyes, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” You mumble as you roll the bottom of his shorts up to expose more of his skin. You uncap the tube and gently start to work the cream into his skin, even if he winces every now and again. Your fingers work diligently, quietly, eyes fixated on the scarred skin beneath your touch. You know it has to hurt, even if Sam has been playing it up more than he needs to. But you also know Sam tries his best to hide it away from anyone, even you, on his really bad days. You catch a glimpse of him, his eyes on the tv. Each time your fingers come close to a particularly tender spot— his jaw twitches, his eyes shut for just a moment, and he lets out a breath you know he’s trying to make soundless.

But now you’re finally sitting down. Actually sitting. Maybe not relaxing all the way, but you’re sitting. He cracks open the beer and clinks it against your arm like it’s a toast. “To you. The love of my life. My nurse, my bartender, my emotional support human.”

“You’re a fuck, you know that?” you mutter, moving your hand down to squeeze his shin lovingly anyway. 

He smiles, takes a long sip from the beer, and hums before he turns away from the tv, his eyes on yours. “God, I love you. We should get married.”

“After 10 years and you almost dying, this is what finally gets me a proposal?” You roll your eyes, still working the cream into his skin. You can feel the tension starting to melt away, he’s starting to relax finally. 

Sam just brings the bottle to his lips for a drink before holding it out to you, smiling. You take it and bring it to your own, letting your eyes close for just a moment as you drink. “I would’ve married you 10 years ago, sweetheart.”

tags ;; @getaapologist

[traincat]

Your Spideytorch fics are handsdown my favourite in the fandom and I re-read them more than I'm brave enough to admit but the one where Johnny was a virgin made me absolutely OBSESSED! And anything with Peter being protective/possessive is S-Tier and I started wondering if you have any thoughts on how Peter could've been protective of him after the Lyja nonsense since comics never really handled that the way they should've [and still don't]

Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like my fic enough to reread it at all, let alone multiple times.

I also love Peter being protective/possessive (two sides of the same coin with him?) and just like, slowly cluing into all the terrible things that have happened to Johnny beyond just superhero stuff as they begin a relationship. And then being absolutely ready to snap something or someone in half.

An interesting thing is that Peter is more aware than most about what went down with Lyja. He's witness to some of it, even.

(Fantastic Four #299) "You're getting married? You?!?" Okay big talk from the man who would also be married within like five months. (Their weddings happen extremely close to each other.) So Johnny and "Alicia's" wedding was supposed to be a small, private affair which is, you know -- it's interesting. On the one hand, I can see Johnny wanting a small, intimate wedding because he is, at heart, a romantic. On the other hand, looking at the big picture, it does feel a little suspicious that he just didn't want to hype up his marriage at all or announce it anywhere or talk about it. Peter, Wyatt, and Jen are basically the only people in his life who know, and while that is basically the grand total of his personal social circle, it's easy to single Peter out here because Jen was on the FF at the time and Wyatt was dating her.

Anyway, to fast forward through Johnny's incredibly boring marriage and get to the point where it stops being boring but starts being actively terrible, Peter also reaches out to Johnny when he finds out he's "getting divorced." (He and the real Alicia are filing papers to dissolve the marriage Johnny had with Lyja, who at this point of time was thought to be dead.)

(FF #362)

And by "reaches out" I mean "annoys into a chase through New York City." But it's fine because he did it to make Johnny feel better, actually.

(FF #362) They're normal.

It should be noted at this time that Johnny was trying to attend college for the third time. (The first time being State U, where he dropped out because he was clearly trying to get his M.R.S. degree instead, and the second time being the Evil Supervillain College Peter rescued him.) He's attending ESU, which is Peter's alma mater.

Anyway, uh, Johnny's College Try Number Three isn't going to work out either, for different reasons than him kicking his feet and twirling his hair and thinking he's going to get married at nineteen or because he's actually being kidnapped by an evil hypnotist.

Because Lyja's not dead!

(FF #370) There she is. In her Revenge Assless Chaps.

Anyway, she tries to kill him and essentially forces him to go nova to save his own life, and in the process he burns down ESU. (No one dies in the fire, which is comic book logic, considering when he goes nova he explodes, but whatever.)

Johnny is arrested for the fire but, while being led through an angry crowd, he sees Lyja in the crowd, understandably freaks out, and flies away. Peter, who had been photographing Johnny's arrest for the Bugle, reacts.

(FF #372) "Oh, Johnny... what have you done to yourself? Can anyone save you now?" To be fair, Peter does protest coming down hard on Johnny in the Bugle, but it's also, you know, his job.

To Peter's credit, he does try. He spends hours swinging around in the rain, looking for Johnny, who is currently huddled among a bunch of garbage bags because he could not possibly be a sadder or wetter sad wet kitten.

(FF #372) "Even he's turned against me!" Johnny, though, traumatized and terrified, thinks everyone is out to get him.

Once Johnny is actually booked, Peter is there to take the picture, too. Rough.

(FF #376)

And then in the Spider-Man 1995 Christmas Special, Johnny and Peter discuss The Fake Egg Baby Drama, although not in great detail.

So Peter is about as aware of the situation as anyone who wasn't along for the ride the entire time. I'd say Wyatt probably knows more, but Peter's more in the know than most.

Peter's got a lot of his own stuff going on during this time period. (When doesn't he.) Very notably, at the same time Johnny was getting arrested, the Android Parents plot was happening over in Amazing Spider-Man and The Death of Vermin was happening in Spectacular Spider-Man, so Peter kind of had other things on his mind, and while it hadn't quite arrived yet, the Clone Saga was looming on the horizon. So yeah, a lot going on.

One thing that always interests me as a little experiment is to imagine what canon looks like if you get Johnny and Peter together at like -- any point in it. So what does it look like if, after Lyja's initial death, Peter and Johnny start a relationship? (You do have to discount the Spider-Marriage for this, but hey! Marvel already did that so there are no rules. She and Gwen are living in a luxury condo in Los Angeles.) Peter is very protective, and I can see him taking the Lyja situation very, very badly. He would definitely be suspicious about the egg baby and I can see it causing drama, because he'd want to support Johnny but he'd want to be rational about things, which is not Johnny's strong suit.

I do also like the idea of Peter finding Johnny while he's looking for him while Johnny's on the run and hiding him from the authorities while Peter tries to unravel exactly what happened and exonerate Johnny. Like a less fun roommates issue! Although Johnny could still cook in his underwear.

I think, no matter what, in a Spideytorch post-Lyja setting, once Peter and Johnny do get together, Peter will start slowly putting together the pieces that the Lyja situation was much, much worse than he initially believed, and that's going to cause drama, especially since Johnny tends to downplay his drama. I could see Peter getting into a fight with Sue over the fact that she invited Lyja to stay after Johnny told her he never wanted to see her again and just generally being very angry, and I think Johnny would have complicated feelings about that. On the one hand, Peter being protective over him is nice, and it's not something he's really had before, but on the other hand, he does downplay that trauma, and he's convinced himself things weren't that bad. It's fun to think about the different scenarios!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Surveillance is inequality’s stabilizer

I'm in the home stretch of my 24-city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in LONDON NEXT TUESDAY (July 1) with TRASHFUTURE'S RILEY QUINN and then a big finish in MANCHESTER on July 2.

The "dictator's dilemma" pits a dictator's desire to create social stability by censoring public communications in order to prevent the spread of anti-regime messages with the dictator's need to know whether powerful elites are becoming restless and plotting a coup:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/26/dictators-dilemma/#garbage-in-garbage-out-garbage-back-in

Closely related to the dictator's dilemma is "authoritarian blindness," where an autocrat's censorship regime keeps them from finding out about important, socially destabilizing facts on the ground, like whether a corrupt local official is comporting themself so badly that the people are ready to take to the streets:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/24/pluralist-your-daily-link-dose-24-feb-2020/#thatswhatxisaid

The modern Chinese state has done more to skillfully navigate the twin hazards of the dictator's dilemma and authoritarian blindness than any other regime in history. Take Xi Jinping's 2012-2015 anticorruption purge, which helped him secure another ten year term as Party Secretary. Xi targeted legitimately corrupt officials in this this sweeping purge, but – crucially – he only targeted corrupt officials in the power-base of his rivals for Party leader, while leaving corrupt officials in his own power base unscathed:

https://web.archive.org/web/20181222163946/https://peterlorentzen.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Lorentzen-Lu-Crackdown-Nov-2018-Posted-Version.pdf

How did Xi accomplish this feat? Through intense, fine-grained surveillance, another area in which modern China excels. Chinese online surveillance is often paired with censorship, both petty (banning Winnie the Pooh, whom Xi is often mocked for resembling) and substantial (getting Apple to modify Airdrop for every user in the world in order to prevent the spread of anti-regime messages before a key Party leadership contest).

But there are a lot of instances where China spies on its people but doesn't censor them, even if they are expressing dissatisfaction with the government. Chinese censors allow a surprising amount of complaint about official incompetence, overreach and corruption, but they completely suppress any calls for mobilization to address these complaints. You can be as angry as you want with the government online, but you can't call for protests to do something about it:

https://www.science.org/doi/10.1126/science.1251722

This makes perfect sense in the context of "authoritarian blindness": by allowing online complaint, an autocrat can locate the hot-spots where things are reaching a boiling-over point, and by blocking public manifestations, the autocrat can prevent the public from turning their failings into a flashpoint that endangers the autocracy.

In other words, autocrats can reserve to themselves the power to decide how to defuse public anger: they can suppress it, using surveillance data about the people who led the online debate about official failures to figure out who to intimidate, arrest, or disappear. Or they can address it through measures like firing corrupt local officials or funding local social programs (toxic waste cleanups, smokestack regulation, building schools and hospitals, etc) that make people feel better about their government.

Autocracy is an inherently unstable social situation. No society can deliver everything that everyone in it desires: if you tear down existing low-density housing and build apartment blocks to decrease a housing shortage, you'll delight people who are un- or under-housed, and you'll infuriate people who are happily housed under the status quo. In every society, there's always someone getting their way at the expense of someone else.

Obviously, widespread unhappiness is inherently socially destabilizing. After all, no society can police every action of every person. From littering to parking in disabled parking spots, from paying your taxes to washing your hands before serving food, a society relies primarily on people following the rules without even though their face little to no risk of being punished for breaking them. The easiest way to get people to follow the rules is to foster a sense of the rules' legitimacy: people may not agree with or understand the rationale for a rule, but if they view the process by which the rule was decided on as a legitimate one, then they may follow it anyway.

This legitimacy is a source of social stability. Sure, your candidate might lose the election, or the government might enact a policy you hate, but if you think the election was fair and you believe that you can change the policy through democratic means, then you will be on the side of preserving the system, rather than overturning it.

A democracy's claim to legitimacy lies in its popular mandate: "Sure, I don't like this decision, but it was fairly made." By contrast, a dictator's legitimacy comes their claims to wisdom: "Sure, I don't like this decision, but the Supreme Generalissimo is the smartest man in history, and he says it was the right call."

You can see how this is a brittle arrangement, even if the dictator is a skilled autocrat who makes generally great decisions: even a great decision is going to have winners and losers, and it might be hard to convince the losers that they keep losing because they deserve to lose. And that's the best outcome, where an autocrat is right. But what about when the autocrat is wrong? What about when the autocrat makes a bunch of decisions that make nearly everyone consistently worse off, either because the autocrat is a fool, or because they are greedy and are stealing everything that isn't nailed down?

Every society needs stabilizers, but autocracies need more stabilizers than democracies, because the story about why you, personally, are getting screwed is a lot less convincing in an autocracy ("The autocrat is right and you are wrong, suck it up") than it is in a democracy ("This was the fairest compromise possible, and if it wasn't, we need to elect someone new so it changes").

The Snowden revelations taught us that there is no distinction between commercial surveillance and government surveillance. Governments spy, sure, but the most effective way for governments to spy on us is by raiding the data troves assembled by technology companies (for one thing, these troves are assembled at our own expense – we foot the bill for this spying whenever we send money to a phone or tech company). The tech companies were willing participants in this process: the original Snowden leak, about the "PRISM" program, showed how tech companies made millions of dollars by siphoning off user data to the NSA on demand:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PRISM

It was only later that we learned about another NSA program, "Upstream," through which the NSA was wiretapping the tech companies' data-centers, acquiring all of their user data, and then requesting the data that interested them through PRISM, as a form of "parallel construction," which is when an agency learns a fact through a secret system, and then uses a less-secret system to acquire the same fact, in order to maintain the secrecy of the first system:

https://www.eff.org/pages/upstream-prism

Upstream really pissed off the tech companies. After all, they'd been dutifully rolling over and handing out their users' data in violation of US law, risking their businesses to help the NSA do mass spying, and the NSA paid them back by secretly spying on the tech companies themselves! That's a hell of a way to say thank you to your co-conspirators. After Upstream, the tech companies finally started encrypting the links between their data-centers, which made Upstream-style collection infinitely harder:

https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2013/11/yahoo-will-encrypt-between-data-centers-use-ssl-for-all-sites/

But that hardly ended the mass surveillance private-public partnership. Congress continued to do nothing about privacy (the last federal consumer privacy law Congress gave Americans is 1988's Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video store clerks from telling newspapers about the VHS cassettes you take home) (we used to be a country). That meant that tech companies could collect our data will-ye or nil-ye, and that data brokers could buy and sell that data without any oversight or limitation:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/20/privacy-first-second-third/#malvertising

There's many reasons that Congress failed to act on privacy. Obviously, they face immense pressure from lobbyists for the commercial surveillance industry – but they also face covert and powerful pressure from public safety agencies, cops, and spies, who rely on private sector data as a source of off-the-books, warrantless, ubiquitous surveillance.

Why does America need so much spying? Well, because America has always been imperfectly democratic, from its inception as a enslaving nation where millions of people were denied both the ballot and personhood; and as a patriarchal nation where half of the remaining people were also denied the franchise; and as a colonialist nation where an entire culture of people had been subject to genocide, land theft, and systematic oppression. This is an obviously unstable arrangement. Whether in chains, on a reservation, or under the thumb of a husband or father, there were plenty of Americans who had no reason to buy into the system, accept its legitimacy, or follow its rules. To keep the system intact, it wasn't enough to terrorize these populations – America's rulers had to know where to inflict terror, which is to say, where order was closest to collapsing.

Some of America's first spies were private sector union-busters, the Pinkerton agency, who served as a private spy army for bosses who wanted to find the leverage points in the worker uprisings that swept the country. The Pinkertons' pitch was that it was cheaper to pay them to figure out who the most important union leaders were and target them for violence, kidnapping, and killing than it was to give all your workers a raise.

This is an important aspect of the surveillance project. Spying is part of a broader class of activities called "guard labor" – anything you might pay someone to do that results in fewer guillotines being built on your lawn. Guard labor can be paying someone to build a wall around your estate or neighborhood. It can be paying security guards to patrol the wall. It can be paying for CCTV operators, or drone operators. It can be paying for surveillance, too.

Guard labor isn't free. The pitch for guard labor is that it is a cheaper way to get social stability than the alternative: building schools and hospitals, paying a living wage, lowering prices, etc. It follows that when you make guard labor cheaper, you can build fewer schools and hospitals, pay lower wages, and raise prices more, and buy more guard labor to counter the destabilizing effect of these policies, and still come out ahead.

American politics have been growing ever more unstable since the 1970s, when oil crisis gave way to the Reagan revolution and its raft of pro-oligarch, anti-human policies. Since then, we've seen an unbroken trend to wage stagnation and widening inequality. As a new American oligarch class emerged, they gained near-total control over the levers of power. In a now-famous 2014 paper, political scientists reviewed 1,779 policy fights and found that the only time these cashed out in a way that reflected popular will is when elites favored them, too. When elites objected to something, it literally didn't matter how popular it was with everyone else, it just didn't happen:

https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/perspectives-on-politics/article/testing-theories-of-american-politics-elites-interest-groups-and-average-citizens/62327F513959D0A304D4893B382B992B

It's pretty hard to make the case that the system is legitimate when it only does things that rich people want, and never does things the vast majority of people want when these conflict with rich peoples' desires. Some of these outcomes are merely disgusting and immoral, like abetting genocide in Gaza, but more frequently, the policies elites favor are ones that make the rich richer: climate inaction, blocking Medicare for All, smashing unions, dismantling anti-corruption and campaign finance laws.

I don't think it's a coincidence that America's democracy has become significantly less democratic at the same time that mass surveillance has grown. Mass surveillance makes guard labor much cheaper, which means that the rich can make their lives better at all of our expense and still afford the amount of guard labor it takes to keep the guillotines at bay.

Cheap guard labor also allows the rich to strike devil's bargains that would otherwise be instantaneously destabilizing. For example, the second Trump election required an alliance between the tiny minority of ultra-rich with the much larger minority of virulent racists who were promised the realization of their psychotic fantasy of masked, armed goons snatching brown people off the streets and sending them to offshore slave labor camps. That alliance might be a good way to elect a president who'll dismantle anticorruption law and slash taxes, but it won't do you much good if the resulting ethnic cleansing terror provokes a popular uprising. But what if ICE can rely on Predator drones and cell-site simulators to track the identities of everyone who comes out to a protest:

https://www.wired.com/story/cbp-predator-drone-flights-la-protests/

What if ICE can buy off-the-shelf facial recognition tools and use them to identify people who are brave enough to step between snatch-squads and their neighbors?

https://www.404media.co/ice-is-using-a-new-facial-recognition-app-to-identify-people-leaked-emails-show/?ref=daily-stories-newsletter

Each advance in surveillance tech makes worse forms of oppression, misgovernance and corruption possible, by making it cheaper to counter the destabilizing effect of destroying the lives of the populace, through identifying the bravest, angriest, and most effective opposition figures so they can be targeted for harassment, violence, arrest, or kidnapping.

America's private sector surveillance industry has always served as a means of identifying and punishing people who fought for a better country. The first credit reporting bureau was the Retail Credit Company, which used a network of spies and paid informants to identify "race mixers," queers, union organizers and leftists so that banks could deny them credit, landlords could deny them housing, and employers could deny them jobs:

https://jacobin.com/2017/09/equifax-retail-credit-company-discrimination-loans/

Retail Credit continued to do this until 1975, when, finally, popular opinion turned against the company, so it changed its name…

…to Equifax.

Today, Equifax is joined by a whole industry of elite enforcers who use spying, legal harassments, mercenaries and troll armies to offset the socially destabilizing effects of the wealthy's misrule:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/launderers-enforcers-bagmen/#procurers

But despite centuries of American mass surveillance, America's oligarchs keep finding themselves in the midst of great existential crises. That's because guard labor – even surveillance-supercharged guard labor – is no substitute for policies that make the country better off. Oligarchs may want to tend the nation like a shepherd tends its flock, leaving enough lambs around to grow next year's wool. But they're all competing with one another, and they understand that the sheep they spare will like as not end up on a rival's dinner table. Under those circumstances, every oligarch ends up in a race to see who can turn us into lambchops first.

This is the dictator's dilemma, American style. The rich always overestimate how much social stability their guard labor has bought them, and they're easy mark for any creepy, malodorous troll with a barn full of machine-gun equipped drones:

https://twitter.com/postoctobrist/status/1909853731559973094

They accumulate mounting democratic debts, as destabilizing rage builds in the public, erupting in the Civil War, in the summer of 68, in the Battle of Seattle, in the Rodney King uprising, in the George Floyd protests, in Los Angeles rebellion. They think they can spy their way into a country where they have everything and we have nothing, and we like it (or at least, never dare complain about it).

They're wrong.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/26/autostabilizer/#slicey-bois

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[yoomiwrites]

Smoke without fire

Summary: (gn) Reader is kind. Kind enough to make Crocodile fall. Or sink. Deep.

Note: Enjoy! Don't have much to say, but this one is kinda mutual pining and, for Crocodile, maybe a bit soft.

You had known him for years.

Before the world called him a warlord, before his name carried weight like cannon fire, and long before you learned to read between the lines of his dry, rasping voice.

Crocodile had always been the same — all sharp edges and steady glances, slow to trust and even slower to admit he cared for anything, or anyone. He didn’t need to say much, and you’d never been the type to fill silences with nervous chatter. That was why he kept you around, you figured. That, and your habit of never overstaying your welcome, even when you were probably the only person he could stand sharing a room with for more than five minutes.

You had a talent for existing quietly in his world, moving around his habits, knowing when to speak and when to stay silent. It was a game you’d long since mastered — long before you realized your heart had started to get tangled in it.

And maybe the bastard knew. Maybe he always knew.

The lounge of Rain Dinners smelled faintly of cigars and old paper, the desert winds rattling the windows as the afternoon heat began to settle. You were seated in your usual place — the chair facing the bar, a glass of watered-down whiskey in hand, fingers tracing the rim while your eyes skimmed through a half-read paper.

The heavy sound of boots against marble told you he was near before you even glanced up.

Crocodile stood there, leaning lazily against the bar, his hand around his cigar. His gaze slid to you, slow and unreadable, and he let out a single, amused puff of smoke.

“You’ve been here all day,” he rasped, voice as dry as the desert wind.

You hummed in response, lifting your glass lazily. “And you’ve been lurking all day. Guess we’re both creatures of habit.”

A corner of his mouth twitched — the closest thing you ever got to a smile. You’d learned long ago that the real words with Crocodile were the ones left unsaid. The smallest curve of his lip, the briefest softening of his gaze, all told you more than anything he’d say out loud.

The truth was, the two of you lived in a constant state of quiet orbit. Close enough to feel the weight of one another’s presence, never close enough to cross that last line.

But today, something in the air felt different.

Night fell heavy over Rainbase, the streets empty except for the occasional lantern flicker and the whisper of shifting sand.

You were still in the lounge, legs stretched over the low table, sipping the last of your drink when you heard the door close behind you. He didn’t knock, of course. Crocodile didn’t knock for anyone.

“You’ll dry out your throat if you keep drinking that garbage,” he remarked, setting a fresh glass beside yours, already poured.

You arched a brow, but accepted it. “You’re sound like you care about that.”

A soft chuckle, low and dry, rumbled in his chest. “If you dropped dead from dehydration, I’d have to hire someone new. Too much paperwork.”

“Sure.” You leaned back in your seat, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “That’s the only reason.”

The silence stretched, comfortable, but heavier than usual. His gaze lingered on you, longer than it should’ve, and your heart — traitorous, stupid thing — fluttered in your chest.

“You should leave this place,” he said suddenly, voice quieter. “This town’s only good for rotting. You could’ve left long ago.”

You let out a breath, lips quirking just slightly. “And miss out on your charming company? Not a chance.”

For the first time, you saw it — the flicker of real emotion behind his eyes. The walls he kept up, always thick and unbreakable, looked thinner now, like a hairline crack had finally formed.

“You’re a fool,” he muttered, but there was no bite behind it. His eyes drifted to your hand on the glass, then back to your face.

You shrugged. “So are you. You haven’t told me to go, either.”

And there it was — the truth, raw and unspoken, hanging heavy between you.

His gaze softened, only slightly, and for the first time since you'd met him, he looked... unsure. Like the king of the desert had no idea what his next move should be.

But he didn’t need to say anything. You both knew.

This was mutual. It had been for a long, long time.

The days blurred, as they often did in Rainbase — the sun scorching the sand, the nights cooling the stone streets just enough for the desert to breathe. But something between you and Crocodile had shifted since that conversation.

You hadn’t named it, and neither had he.

But it clung to the air when you were around him. A heaviness in the glances that lingered too long. A softness in the way his voice lowered when speaking to you, even if his words remained dry and sharp.

The world might’ve called him a monster. You just saw a man trying very hard not to want.

It wasn’t until one night, at one of the more exclusive bars of Rainbase, that the line you two tiptoed finally began to fray.

You’d gone on Crocodile’s behalf — another business deal, another shady broker who was always just a little too eager to talk to you rather than him. Crocodile, as always, had stayed behind, leaving you to play the charming face while he smoked away in his office.

The meeting dragged longer than expected, the broker growing bolder with each drink, leaning in close with that brand of sleazy confidence that only men with no real power seemed to wear.

You should’ve seen it coming — the hand that drifted too close, the cocky lean toward you as he slurred some cheap compliment.

But before you even had the chance to shove him back, a shadow moved behind you.

The scent of cigars hit first.

And then his voice. Low, dry, and laced with enough danger to make the broker flinch.

“I suggest you take your hand off them. Before I decide to remove it for you.”

The man paled, stumbling back, and Crocodile didn’t so much as glance at him again. His eyes were on you — sharp, unreadable, but burning with something even the desert heat couldn’t match.

He didn’t speak until you were both outside, walking the dim alleys back toward Rain Dinners. The night wind played with the loose strands of your hair, and the silence between you wasn’t as comfortable as usual.

“You didn’t have to step in, you know,” you said after a while, voice quiet but steady. “I could’ve handled it.”

His only response was a quiet snort. “Doesn’t matter.”

You glanced up at him, trying to read the hard line of his jaw, the way his hand flexed slightly at his side. His usual mask wasn’t slipping, but there was tension in him — coiled and sharp.

And then, when the two of you reached your usual spot by the water, where the lights of Rainbase flickered against the surface, he finally spoke again.

“You don’t belong in places like that.”

You raised a brow. “I’ve survived worse.”

“That’s not the point.” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “I don’t like it.”

Your chest tightened, the words cutting through the night air sharper than any declaration could. Crocodile wasn’t the type for pretty speeches. But this — this was as close as he’d ever come.

You tilted your head, studying him, lips twitching into a soft, almost sad smile.

“I know,” you whispered. “And I don’t like seeing you there alone, either.”

The silence returned, but this time it was heavier.

And then his hand lifted to brush a stray piece of hair from your face, fingers lingering at your jaw, thumb tracing just lightly over your cheek.

It was the softest touch he'd ever given you.

His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, his voice low and rough.

“I won't be good with this..”

You smiled, leaning just slightly into his touch, unspoken words clear in the space between your heartbeats.

“You don’t have to be,” you murmured.

And for once, Crocodile let himself soften. Just for you. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, pulling you in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and deep — not rushed, not desperate.

When he pulled back, he still hovered close, his forehead resting against yours for a moment, exhaling a quiet breath.

“I’m not letting anyone else have you.”

You huffed a soft laugh, brushing your fingers against his chest. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, boss.”

[thewertsearch]

JADESPRITE: whats happening? DAVESPRITE: reckoning […] DAVESPRITE: the battlefield will probably be wiped out soon JADESPRITE: can we do something to stop it? DAVESPRITE: would there be a point

And I thought Aradia was defeatist.

This is incredibly sad to read. I remember how hyped I was when Davesprite first joined the team - I thought we'd gained a fifth Player, and that Dave had found a brother he could actually bond with.

In the end, though, Future Dave proved too traumatized to really bond with his co-Players. He drifted around LOHAC for a while, and then just floated about the Medium in what was probably a depressive fugue state.

Given time, he might be able to heal from what his timeline did to him - but right now, I'm getting increasingly worried that he doesn't have that time.

JADESPRITE: i felt like i was drawn to come here when i wasnt sure where to go DAVESPRITE: yeah me too

I really don’t like the implications of that.

Is this how the game garbage-collects used Sprites, then? Once the Reckoning is coming to an end, are they simply summoned to the Battlefield, to go down with their session?

Very cool, Sburb! What a generous reward your Sprites earn, for dutifully serving their Players to the end!

JADESPRITE: the meteors JADESPRITE: and all the fire… JADESPRITE: it reminds me of when i died JADESPRITE: and i was trying to wake john up JADESPRITE: i was scared then too JADESPRITE: but i didnt let the fear stop me from trying to save him DAVESPRITE: what would you want to do DAVESPRITE: if you werent scared

Jadesprite's a true-blue god, and I still don't think we've scratched the surface of what First Guardians can really do. As soon as she stops being afraid, everyone else should be a little afraid of her.