#hiring assessment tools

[salesfuelinc]

Best Employee Hiring Assessment Tools

Optimize your hiring process with our advanced employee hiring assessment tools. These tools are designed to help HR professionals identify the best candidates for each role by evaluating their skills, qualifications, and fit within the company culture.

[mossyivy]

Hi tipsy!!! Hope you’re doing okay bestie! <3

I had a dream about this last night—DI Cowboy Leon and Spoiled/Bratty City Girl User…😜

Let’s just say, he took my attitude away in the best way possible…(Wink Wink 👀) ((In the stables 👀👀))

- Anon! 🎀

Ugh DI Cowboy Leon! You lucky mf I never have dreams like that 🥺

NSFW Under the Cut

CW: Fingering, Praise(kinda?)/Degradation, Man handling (if you squint), Begging, and inappropriate use of a saddle rack.

[Not Proof Read]

You're a new hire from the city after inheriting farm land from your grandfather after he dies and you don't know the first thing about running a farm. But thankfully there's another farm at the other side of town that focuses on animal by products and the owners was good friends with your grandpa. More than happy to teach you the ropes to get the farm back into shape.

So you go to work for Leon on his farm for the next few months per your agreement. What Leon didn't realize was how much of an ungrateful little brat you are. So spoiled by that daddy of yours he saw leave for the city and not turn back when he was a kid.

Constantly arguing with his reasoning (throwing tantrums), rolling your eyes, wasting his time but acting like he's wasting yours and most importantly having no god damn manners. He was doing something nice for a, seemingly, complete stranger and not once had you uttered a single "please" or "thank you". Not that he expected anything out of his kind gesture but he at least expected a thank you.

One evening after sending everyone home, he's irritated, having one of this worst days. He just needed to fix up one of the saddle upholstery and be done with everything for the night. He was on edge entering the stables. Reaching the storage area, he sees you. You're setting the riding gear back up. He specifically told you not to do this. But here you were. Not listening to him as usual.

"I told you not to put everythin' back." You look at him, huffing and rolling your eyes. He swears if you roll your eyes one more time...

"I thought you'd be thankful for me putting everything back. Since apparently no one else could do it." He feels his body tense as you drop the saddle on the floor. Bits of hay and bedding bursting up from the ground as you look at him. Moving past him you grab the few saddles you've put up on their racks, pulling them off to drop to the floor. Leon clenches his jaw, arms crossed as he stares you down.

"Happy?" You mutter, looking at him again. His lips pursed, smacking gently as he opens them.

"Are you a toddler?" You eyes go wide as he steps forward, moving into your personal space. Grabbing the damaged saddle off the floor and steps away throwing it on the standing rack.

"The hell do you mean by that?" Your anger rises as he scoffs, almost like he's about the blow the question off while he looks for his cobbler tool kit.

"You act like a god damn child. How you survived this long I honest to God have no idea!" That got under your skin, watching him turn towards the saddle, starting to assess the damage.

A child? You're not a child! How could you say such a thing? He doesn't know you.

"I'm not a child. You don't know me." He scoffs, glaring at you as you got closer. Getting into his personal space. He knows your type enough to not feel threatened or even anxious by how you're acting.

"Oh, I don't know you? I think I do."

"Enlighten me." He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to hold onto that small shred of rationality he had left before you used that mocking tone. He moves, putting you in between him and the saddle rack. His hands touch the leather of the saddle behind you, arms stiff and trapping you.

There's no escape.

"I know exactly how much of a selfish, entitled lil' brat you are. Walkin' 'round here acting' like you know everythin'." You move your legs, his foot plants between your legs, knee bending into thighs.

"I'm doin' this out of the kindness of my heart for you and you haven't even shown so much as a scrap of appreciation for it." The anger dies in his throat, his leg slipping forward, that's when he feels it.

Wetness seeping through the knee of his jeans, your pussy planted directly on top of it. A small whimper rips from your lips as you look away. Immediately embarrassed by your bodies reaction.

He doesn't even look remotely surprised as he looks down, bending his leg further up into you. Your hands going to grip the saddle behind you as your body moves on it's own. Forcing you on your tip toes. A scoff escapes him, smirk meeting your eyes as he pulls your gaze back to him by the chin.

"Shoulda known. It's always you uptight types that eat up bein' put in your place. You must think I'm delectable, don't you sweetheart?"

"F-fuck you..." His smirk quickly turns to a full blown grin.

"Is that an invitation?" You stutter out bits and pieces of words, making him chuckle as he leans down to your level.

"Lemme guess, those city boys ain't treatin' you right? Left you high and dry. Don't know how to handle your attitude? I could put you back in line if you let me." He moves in closer, lips brush against your neck as he plants wet kisses up to your ear.

"Come on, sugar. Tell me no and I'll stop." His hands fall on your hips, gliding around to your ass with a tight grip as he kisses your neck. Leaving a trail of hickeys to the front of your neck. A soft moan falls from your lips, making him laugh against your skin. Hands slide to your waist, starting to fiddle with your belt.

Unbuckling it enough to get your jean shorts undone and down your legs to the hard floors of the storage area. Leon whistles, looking down at your panties, juices soaked through the thin fabric. Clinging to you lips.

"You always this wet darlin'?"

"No..." He huffs with a cocy grin, thumbs making circles in your hip bones while he stares.

"Figures a stuffy ol' bitch like you would be like this. Just a couple'a words get you actin' up. Soakin' through your own undies like some kinda slut." He watches the fire in your eyes ignite, grabbing the frilly fabric and peeling it off your weeping cunt with a deep groan.

His hands move, fingers guided between your folds, brushing against your clit with a few teasing circles. You bite your lip, muffling a pathetic moan from coming out. He pushes the saddle off the rack with one hand, forcing you against the hard wood. Lips meet lips as he swallows your cries with his kisses, tongues dancing in a flurry of passion.

His fingers slip off your clit and circle your entrance before plunging forward. Tightness envelopes his digits, curling into that spongy spot that makes you pull away from his lips and gasp.

"Feels good don't it darlin'?" You just nod, thighs tightening around his arm when his thumb meets your clit. His name curling from you like the prettiest sound he's ever heard. Thighs shaking as he feels you tightening around his fingers. His hand pulls back, thumb, hand pressing flat against your mound with a gentle squeeze.

"Wha... Why'd you-"

"Beg for it." His hand rubs over your mound with the most gentle of touches, thumb poking past your lips to graze your clit.

"I..."

"You've been nothin' but a God damn thorn in my side since you got here. Beg for it. Prove you want it, be thankful I'm even thinkin' about letting you cum."

"Please, please Leon. I'm- I'm sorry I've been a pain." His lips curl, fingers moving past your lips again and slipping back into place. Thumb on clit and fingers working your g-spot. Your head falls back, a louder cry coming from you as he grabs the front of your neck.

"I didn't tell you to stop." You nod, huffing out a small curse.

"I'm so use to knowing and doing everything I'm just..." You tighten around him again, feeling that warm sensation in your stomach.

"A mouthy cunt." He finishes for you, you nod again, shutting your eyes tight, hips bucking into his hand.

"Yes, yes! I'm a mouthy cunt and I should have been more grateful! But- Please, I just wanna cum. So close." He picks up the pace, holding onto you. You mumble out incoherent "thank you"s as you cry out his name in a sharp breath. Cumming on his fingers. He rolls his hand against you, helping you ride out your orgasm, panting as your body falls limp against him. Huffing and puffing as he kisses the shell of your ear.

"Good girl, knowin' exactly what to say to make it up to me." He gives you a kiss on the lips, and a slap to the ass as he pulls back.

"You gonna be good from now on? Might come with a reward if you follow through with it."

"Yes, Sir." He chuckles, giving you another kiss.

"Sir... I like the sound of that."

[thefrogman]

You asked in a tag if anyone wants photos restored. I'm actually looking to get some of my mum's old photos restored, if possible! Are your services for hire? And if not, can you recommend anyone?

I am for hire!

Some things to know...

Not all photos are good candidates for restoration depending on their condition. While almost every photo can be improved, I cannot guarantee a perfect restoration on every photo. And some may be so far gone that you may not find it worth the expense.

I will do an initial assessment for free and give you an idea of what is possible. Since some photos require a much more complicated restoration I cannot give you a set price. Once I have evaluated the photos you want restored I will give you a quote for each one depending on complexity. You can choose which photos you want to restore from there.

Also, I am able to do colorization on *some* photos. So please indicate if that is something you may be interested in.

(I am working on a system to give people an idea of the cost before they inquire about my services but I'm afraid I am just starting this side hustle and do not have all of the details worked out yet.)

To get the best results it helps to have a very high quality scan of the photo. I can still do magic if all you have are old scans or smartphone snaps, but a proper high resolution scan will always give you the best end result.

If you have a scanner...

Send me the brand and model of your scanner. I will research the best settings and give you a step-by-step guide for how to scan the photos.

If you do not have a scanner...

I can give you instructions for how to take high quality photos of your photos. A smartphone is fine for this process. Please send me the brand and model of the phone or camera you have access to.

Or you can send the photos to me and I can do a high quality scan and return them.

If you no longer have access to the physical photos...

I can work with whatever form the photos are in. With my new upscaling tools I can even work with very low resolution images and get surprisingly good results.

I restore digital photos as well...

*Any* type of photo can be restored or improved. Even if was taken on your iPhone last week. If it is a special memory and you want the best version of that, I can help. I can also do re-editing. For example, if you have wedding photos and don't like how they were edited, I can match any style of editing you prefer.

For the initial evaluation you can just take quick smartphone pics and email them to me.

Please email any restoration inquiries to frogman54@gmail.com and I will happily take a look.

Thanks for your interest!

[spinchip]

BEEN THERE ONCE BEFORE AND I WISH THAT I NEVER DIED

Pairings: none Word count: 6500 Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and death. Gore, murder, Ear trauma and limb loss tw

Summary: Zane would do anything to keep the ninja safe.

*

There is a pot of tea between you, sitting in Master Wu's private garden right outside the door to his room, and it’s some sort of oolong blend with a sweet smelling screen hanging over it. Osmanthus flowers float in your cup and you trace their pattern, watching them shift idly in what little breeze this summer day has brought you. The tea is too bitter despite the honey you’d added, over-steeped and thick on your tongue.

There is a sword on his lap, a sleek red sheath and neatly wrapped handles. There are no adornments on this blade, it is plain and unassuming, a tool for its master and whatever that may entail. Master Wu had asked you out here, months after the desperate fight for Ninjago at the corridor of elders (even longer after you had been torn apart by a power that was never yours to hold,) and the rattlesnake smile he’d offered as he’d led you out vanished the moment you were hidden from prying eyes. He makes your tea silently, and he burns it.

He looks at you in a way that makes you bristle, with eyes that no longer see you as human. Your silver skin itches, your tea tastes like ash.

“Do you know what a ninja is, historically?” He asks you finally, his voice quiet but clear over the space between you.

You do not, but you could look it up in an instant. You don’t do that either. He does not expect you to answer.

“They were said to be assassins. Hired blades sent to the house of the lands lord to slaughter them- the last recorded deaths by these assassins was years and years ago, but that was not the end of the era of the ninja. They snuck between the shadows, they pulled their hidden weapons, and they eliminated their targets cleanly and efficiently.” He waits, gauging your reaction. You can feel his eyes sit heavy on where your hands are deceptively calm around your tea cup, assessing, searching for something like he had that day he’d first laid eyes upon you in the frozen pond.

A phantom of a red flashes across your HUD that screams DANGER- and despite how there is no real warning clawing its way across your eyes, you know you should be afraid anyway. Tread carefully, you are in dangerous territory. Do not react. Control.

“Is this a history lesson?”

“Perhaps.” Master Wu murmurs, finding something in your expression with those dark eyes.

“The best way to defeat my enemy is to make him my friend.” You can’t help but say, a parrot of his own words, your eyes calculating.

“And if your kindness is rejected?” He does not skip a beat.

You hesitate, the clink of your cup as you set it down on the table too loud on your ears.

“You are no longer a child, Zane. Your innocence died with the Overlord. The others still have that innocence.” You jerk, the reminder of your death bruising on your soul, but he doesn't handle you with kid gloves, “You’ve killed once, to protect them.” Sensei Wu does not touch his tea, and there is a rising sickness in your stomach, “Can you do it again?”

He draws the blade and it’s blood red, holding it out to you, handle first.

To protect them?

His eyes are dark and there’s a danger there, but he has always been kind to you. Like a father when yours had vanished, warm smiles and encouraging words flashing across your eyes. Visions of fire and blood and death color your head along with it, superimposed on top of your friends and family. You’d do anything to protect the people you love, wouldn’t you?

The sword is a healthy weight in your palm.

---

Police tape surrounds a dilapidated old building, great yellow swathes of it wrapped down the sidewalk into the street and officers at each corner standing vigil over the body slumped half in the gutter and covered by a sheet. News vans line the street waiting for the opportunity to film once the coroner has packed away the gore and it’s mostly family-friendly for the afternoon broadcast. Flood lights and lamps are set up around the premise, little yellow evidence markers salting the earth down the doors of the warehouse and up to the body. Apparently deceptively unassuming, the Mechanics home base is filled to the brim with his lackeys and stolen tech- or, it was.

“I guess the Mechanic got tangled up with the wrong guy.” Kai says breathlessly, spooked as the camera pans over the overflowing body bags being loaded into the coroner's van.

The Commissioner taps the remote to his VCR on his leg anxiously, “You heard on the news already, i’m sure, but we suspect the unsub used a long blade of some kind,” He’s visibly shaken, “A sword, perhaps- the evidence was very…” he makes a slashing motion from his throat, miming blood striping the wall behind him.

A blood spattered window, the killing so brutal a heavy streak of gore laced up the glass, is still visible to the probing crime scene photographer.

The graying man slides a manila folder thick with printed pictures across the table and Jay pointedly pushes it away from himself, looking queasy. You reach out and pick it up with hands that seem to float endlessly away from your body, but you’ve felt like this since stumbling home two nights ago when the moon was full and no one else was awake. You don’t hesitate to open it, staring down at the first photo with mild surprise.

Cole jerks away before steeling himself and glancing back over. The picture shouldn’t surprise you, but it does anyway. It looks so messy. The body in the street can barely be recognized in the photo, too mutilated- the only identifying feature being the mechanical hand resistant to the blades of a sword. The mechanic had been reduced to mince meat, blood seeping up through shredded flesh and broken bones. Blood flows in a river down the stairs of the warehouse, down onto the sidewalk, flowing into the gutters.

“This seems… motivated.” Lloyd grimaces at the image but doesn’t look away.

“That’s certainly one word for it,” The commissioner huffs, “We’ve been calling it ‘unhinged.’”

You flip to the next image. Bodies piled on top of each other, strewn across the room, throats slit and bellies gutted and in one particularly horrific scene brain matter and skull fragments rendering a man unrecognizable.

Your memories of that night are fuzzy and nebulous.

Nya takes one of the photos, “Who would do something like this?”

“We were hoping you knew,” A beat- the man sighs, “The mechanic, he’s hard to keep tabs on. We didn’t really know who his enemies were other than those present, and you all had the most contact with him, but it’s too much to hope you have a lead for us, huh?”

He blows out an explosive breath, “Tell me, does the attack itself look familiar in any way? Anyone who comes to mind who has the capability to do something like that?”

You shake your head, blue boring holes into the eyes of a henchman who died trying to hold his intestines inside his gut, “No,” Your voice doesn't waver, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

---

Wu touches your shoulder firm and bruising but your skin cant purple under his nails anymore, “It gets easier.”

---

You stand in the threshold of the jail cell, the body in the room covered by a sheet. You had wondered if that really happened, bodies covered up by the police like in television dramas- this is the second time you’ve seen it. It won’t be the last. It’s interesting to know how fiction gets it right, sometimes. Kai distinctly can’t look, turned away, but you haven't been squeamish in a long time. You crouch low, reaching for the edge of the blanket to see, and Nya makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat when you lift the sheet to look.

This death is far more refined than the massacre you’d investigated this month- A clean cut across his throat, blood coating his sleep shirt and dried to the corners of his mouth. Droplets of red sprinkle his face where he’d tried to breathe through the ruined hole of his throat, coughing a plume of blood into the air that rained down on him as he died. His skin is waxy and his eyes glazed and clouded, he’s been dead for hours- but you knew that already.

Nya coughs, “Can you cover him up, please?”

You oblige, “I was trying to see what Information I could gather.” the sheet falls back over his face, hiding him away. There’s no reason to cover him up, the other inmates are locked in their cells until the investigation finishes and the body is removed. Privacy is a moot point, but maybe it’s about respect.

Lloyd turns away from where he’s shifting through the inmates belongings, “Well, anything?”

“He was killed hours ago. He’s been dead for a long while.” How much to say? “The murder weapon was a blade.”

“Same as the Mechanic.” Jay says from where he’s outside the cell and out of line of sight, the dead body and blood making him sick, “Did Fugi-Dove and him have any connections?”

“Not that we know of.” Nya frowns, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to convince everyone she’s unaffected by this, “Only us. It just seems so weird- He’s a small fry compared to the mechanic, why kill him? He’s harmless!”

“He broke Jay's elbow last week,” You remind her, “He was not harmless. Perhaps he had more secrets than we thought.”

“Who found him?” Cole murmurs, carefully keeping away from touching the crime scene.

“Eight AM guard round,” You answer him, standing up, “The four AM patrol missed him. Both officers were interrogated, but nothing came of it. It doesn’t appear to have been an inside job.”

“The culprit snuck into kryptarium prison, killed a man, and snuck out with none the wiser?” Nya snorts, “This place has gone to the dogs.”

Jay taps his foot impatiently and it echoes down the hallway, “Well, it’s not like Warden Noble runs a very tight ship around here, despite what he wants you to think. How many escaped convicts do we deal with on a weekly basis?”

“So what do we do about this?” Kai asks, frowning at the lump on the ground.

Fugi-dove was half slumped off his bed, his back flush to the ground and his legs still thrown over his bed and tangled up in his bedsheets. He’d been awake when he was attacked, his cheeks bitten to hell as if he’d attempted to scream through a hand sealed over his mouth that only let go once his vocal cords had been slashed through, and in his desperate attempt to stop from bleeding out or drowning in his own blood he’d thrashed himself right to the floor.

“We’ll look at the tapes and see what we can find.” Lloyd answers casually. Darkleys prepared him for death and gore, it didn’t bother him like it should.

“I thought officer Pey told us we were in a blind spot,” Cole points out, stepping out of the cell followed by Lloyd.

“Warden Noble used to be the principle of Darkleys,” the green ninja waits for you to join them on the other side of the cell. You feel cold all over, “And if there’s one thing I'm certain of, the man has eyes everywhere.”

“Does he?” You ask, fingers going numb.

Lloyd nods and locks the cell door behind you, “There will be tapes. He should be here any minute now, Officer Pey says he comes in at 10:00 on Saturdays.”

As if on cue, the Warden appears in a frenzy, tearing into the hallway and bee lining for the cell. He grimaces at the covered up body, “I leave Pey in charge for one night…” He sighs, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes, “Great.”

“Good morning, Warden.” Jay greets cheerfully.

“Says who?” The man replies darkly, “The media is gonna tear me a new one. This is going to lower our reputation even more.”

“Let us help you put the culprit behind these bars,” Lloyd offers, stepping forward with green ninja grace.

“I don’t think that’d do any good, he already got out once.” Kai mutters.

The warden graciously ignored Kai’s comment, “I haven't even had coffee yet.” He complains, running a rough hand over his mouth as he glares at the body.

“You had hidden cameras?” Lloyd pushes and the Warden nods, motioning to an inconspicuous looking fire alarm.

“It’s fake,” He tells him.

You walk towards it. A strange sense of doom washes over you, numbness following it. A camera. Evidence. How clearly would they be able to see the killer's face?

“Let me be of assistance,” You offer, casually making it to the alarm first. The moment you manage to open the glorified nanny cam and your fingers close around the USB, you focus a concentrated pulse of electromagnetic energy and wipe it clean. Anything saved to the storage space will have been obliterated, gone, corrupted and unsalvageable. You can feel your hands again.

“How could this have happened?” The warden asks, clicking through the empty USB over and over looking for footage that no longer exists.

Lloyd glances at you, but there’s no suspicion, “Was there anything weird about the camera? Had it been tampered with?”

You touch your chin and try not to let your hands shake, “No, but it was not a very complex mechanism. It could easily have been opened by someone familiar with this type of surveillance.”

“Someone from Darkleys?” Nya suggests.

Lloyd hums in thought, “I don’t know. It’s worth looking into.”

“When did we become detectives?” Jay complains, “Can’t you guys just call us when you need us to spinjitzu this guy?”

“Don’t be a baby.”

Jay pulls a face at that, “I’m a ninja! I shouldn’t have to put up with all this- this blood!”

“Do you know what a ninja is, historically?” you murmur.

No one hears you.

---

There are four more deaths the following month, both somewhat well-known villains with a penchant for collateral damage. The same slashing wounds as the last. Lloyd is the only person in the group who doesn’t look affected by the barrage of gore he’s being subjected to- other than you, of course. He’s reading over the newest police report that’d come their way with a hum, “He’s getting bolder.” He concludes, flipping through the crime scene pictures at the end.

“Bolder?” Cole questions, “It seems to me like he’s winding down. His first kill was the Mechanic and everyone working under him- 16 deaths on that one alone. Now he’s down to one.”

“The Mechanic was messy,” he examines the pictures, noting just how clean the newest death was. Not a drop of blood out of place other than the pool growing under the body, “He was surprised by all the people- he never intended to kill anyone other than their leader, that’s why that kill was so disorganized. It’s why the mechanic was nearly able to escape, before he caught him in the street. The bank barely needed to mop the floor for this one. He’s refined his skill.”

“He left Reflectras sidekick unharmed.” Kai pointed out, “What’s different between then and now?”

Lloyd flipped a picture his way- it’s a still from a grainy security camera. Reflectra is already dead in the photo, her blood turned black on the monochromatic footage. The teen girl she’d been toting around with her was cowering under the teller counter, and standing just outside the blood was a figure dressed in all black. From the girl's testimony, the gray toned lion's mask he wore was red and gold in person, lips drawn back in a snarl that showed off fangs, a thick head of coarse blonde hair coming out of the mask to hide any other possible identifying features.

“He is wearing a mask.” You say, peering down at the picture.

“He’s hiding his face.” Lloyd clarifies before banging out a few words into the computer's search engine, pulling up a street festival that happened two weeks ago and swiveling the computer screen around so everyone could see it, “And it's a new purchase.”

Staring back at them was a picture of downtown Ninjago filled with people, food stalls and other vendors lining the sidewalks as people milled about. Half the people walking the street were wearing the same exact lion mask as their killer, now in vivid technicolor. You could see the stalls selling them- masks lined wall to wall. It seemed everyone was buying them. It wouldn't have looked out of place at all for the murderer to buy it for himself and squirrel it away for his late night acts.

“He killed the Mechanics goons because they saw his face. He doesn’t want witnesses.” Nya connects, “Aimi was only spared because he has a way to kill anonymously.”

“And with a virtually untraceable origin. That mask is everywhere, now.” Jay continued with a frown.

“It’s not a total dead end. We can still talk to the stall owners, maybe see if they noticed anyone strange buying from them.” He navigates to the festival's website, opening up the vendor list.

There are twelve souvenir stalls in total, and five of them are solely dedicated to masks.

You make a surprised noise in the back of your throat, “Saori Sato. I recognize that name. I believe I taught her son when we were working at the school.” You comment, “I have a rapport with her, I should be able to get her to speak with me easily.”

Lloyd accepts your lie with a nod, “The rest of us will work on the others, then. Hopefully we’ll have some luck.”

You don’t go to see Saori Sato. You sit on the rooftop of her apartment complex and meditate. You try to meditate. There’s a peace that’s absent in you, now, that doesn’t let your mind slip into calm like it used to be able to. There’s always a buzzing under your skin, in your wires.

You brought your sword, the one with the red blade.

You sharpen it until your mind stops racing. It’s like a razor blade now, and you imagine the sting it would cause as you run your metal fingers up the sharp side. You can perfectly imagine how blood would drip down it, now. You go home.

Everyone comes up empty, of course, because Saori Sato sold that mask, and you didn’t speak to her.

---

“You seem unphased with the murders.” You say to Lloyd, after the others have gone to bed and it’s just the two of you up, pouring over the case files. When Lloyd goes to bed, so will you.

He shrugs and sips at his coffee- filled to the brim with cream and sugar, “Darkleys wasn’t just about ruling the world in the big picture. They taught us the small stuff too, including desensitizing us to death.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so you don’t respond. You go back to looking over the papers again, pretending to search for an angle they hadn’t considered yet.

“You want to know something funny?” He says with a little laugh, staring down at the Mechanics' torn up body.

“What is it?” You ask.

A darkness settles over the room, thick and viscous. It seems to flood your mouth and fill your chest. Lloyd looks at you with bright eyes that pin you in place, “I checked your roster. I went through all the kids you taught at the school- and I didn’t find any Satos in the class.” he says with a lopsided smile, eyes burning your skin, assessing, searching for something, “Isn’t that weird?”

Your coolant has turned to ice in your limbs and your body feels numb, “Not at all,” You say cooly, “Sato is her maiden name. Her son has his fathers last name, Maeda.”

He finds something in your expression and- his shoulder slump, “Oh,” He says, blinking. “FSM, i’m sorry- I just-”

“It is alright, Lloyd.” You say graciously, “This has been stressful for us all, and you haven't been sleeping. Perhaps you should get some rest.” rising from your chair, you go to his side and help him to his feet. He allows you to walk him back to his room.

“Let’s start fresh tomorrow.”

“That sounds good.” Lloyd allows with an exhausted yawn. He disappears into his room.

---

Everything hurts.

Your eyes are blurred and blocked by another pop up- WARNING! WARNING! DAMAGE- you dismiss the banner as quickly as it arrives, but that doesn’t stop you from miscounting a step and slamming into the stone staircase, all your weight cracking down on the pointed edges. You scramble to hold onto the steps with your working arm before you can go tumbling back down to the bottom, taking a few breaths that you don’t need to take to help center yourself.

Clambering back to your feet, you check you haven't splattered coolant or oil on the stairwell before you continue up. Clean.

Reaching the monastery, you avoid the main gate. Instead, you shimmy up the courtyard wall and slink silently across the roof until you’re standing above your room. It’s easier with two hands, but you manage to swing yourself off the roof by the tiles and onto the window ledge, barely finessing your way inside without causing a commotion or accidentally falling off the cliff face. You don’t collapse no matter how badly you want to.

First things first- you pry up the loose floorboard under your nightstand and stuff the sword and mask inside, sliding the stand on top of the hiding place. You strip the bloody clothes off and grit your teeth as you peel it away from the mess of your left arm, refusing to scream. Not even allowing a whimper. You’ve had worse- this- this is nothing. Loose pants, loose shirt- long sleeve, of course, just in case anyone was up late getting a glass of water.

It’s late enough that even Jay should be asleep, and the empty garage confirms it.

It takes you two hours to knit the delicate machinery in your arm back together, and another hour fitting a new plate cover so nothing would seem amiss. You take the ravaged pieces of your arm up stairs and pack it under your nightstand too, so there’s no chance of evidence possibly being found.

You collapse now, face first on the bed, and not three hours after that you’re shaken awake.

Nya looks grim, “There’s been another murder.”

In your exhausted, near delirious state, you barely manage to catch yourself before you say I Know.

---

It’s cold this time of year, and it shows. The others are bundled up against the incoming chill of the season, coats and scarves worn on top of their ninja suits. You’re wearing a sweater too, but there’s a cold in you that will never be warm. You’re all behind Laughys Karaoke bar deep in the alley while the police guard the mouth of it, refusing to let reporters or curious civilians get a look.

There’s a detective with you, hanging back and allowing you all to examine the scene.

“Who is this guy?” Cole eventually asks, resisting the urge to nudge his face into view.

The detective steps forward, “His name is Killow. Ninjago PD have had their eye on him for a while- he’s been arrested for petty crimes in the past, but from the intel they’d begun to gather he’d joined an up and coming gang and had climbed pretty high in the ranks. They called him the Big Man.”

‘Big” was an understatement. The man was a brick house, every muscle worked until it bulged. It seems his gym habits had helped a little, even if the end result was still the same.

Lloyd examines his throat, “The first cut didn’t go deep enough.” He comments. There's blood splattered all over the alley, obvious signs of a struggle. Trash was everywhere, torn open bags and the big blue dumpster was dented from Killow slamming the assailant into the metal, more chipped bricks and dented cans revealed just how close Killow had come to walking away from this attempt on his life.

That same dumpster with the largest dent was where Killow had dug his fingers into the murderer's arm and torn through it, spraying metal and wiring across the ground with barely a flick of his wrist. No one knew that but you, and you didn’t share it. The area had been scrupulously cleaned.

“He got him.” Kai commented, “He hurt him pretty bad.”

“How do you know that?” Nya questioned.

Kai gestures to his hands, “Look at his nails. He scratched him, and no one is walking away from that unscathed.” Killows nails were broken and bleeding, torn and snapped off nearly at the cuticle with how hard he’d fought.

“It didn’t help him enough,” Lloyd sighs, standing up, “The second cut was vertical, sliced right through the artery from cheek to chest. He bled out."

“Poor guy.” Jay commented, slowly getting used to the sight of death as he frowned down at the man.

They didn’t know who he was, or what gang he was in- if they did, they’d understand why he had to be put down. The Sons of Garmadon was new and already it was strong, the ranks thick with people who didn’t care about harming others if it furthered their own goals. They were excellent at keeping a low profile while they gained power. It doesn’t escape your notice that the detective avoided naming the gang he was part of. Killow was a bigger cog in that machine, but he wasn’t the only leader the gang members looked to. Your research and surveillance had revealed three of the four ringleaders to you- Killow, Ultraviolet, and, a man you had never seen but had heard referenced several times, Mr. E. They reported to the highest ranking member of the gang, the Quiet One. All you knew about her was that she was a woman.

You stare down at his body and feel no sympathy.

---

“Is there a reason you don’t want me in your head?” Pixal asks bluntly one day, once you’ve gone to visit her at Borg Tower.

Once you’d gotten back to Ninjago City proper, you’d dropped her off with her father with every intention of picking her up later. She’d offered to stick around in your mind for a while, and you’d been happy at the idea- but then Master Wu gave you that sword, and things got more complicated. She hadn’t brought it up for the past few months, but each time you left her without a hint of bringing her along, she had certainly noticed. Now it was her breaking point. She stopped you in the doorway with her words, on your way out.

Your heart had turned numb the moment you took the sword from Wu. In another life, you could have loved her like she deserved.

“My feelings for you…” You turn back to the room, to the screen she's projected her image to so she can look you in the eyes, “…Have changed.” you finish hollowly.

She blinks. She’s perfectly still, “I see.”

“Thank you.” You say softly, “For everything.”

There’s a pause as she studies you, “Is this the end? Will you no longer come to see me?”

The part of you that wants her in your life twinges in pain, the first emotion you’d felt in days, “I believe that is for the best.”

You won’t take her down this path with you.

“Goodbye, Pixal.”

“I will respect your wishes,” She folds her hands in front of her, the perfect picture of poise, “Goodbye, Zane.”

---

Humans are so fragile. Ultraviolet liked to pretend she was tough, like she could take hits others couldn’t- but when it came down to it, her throat sliced just as easily as any others. Her hands were coated in her own blood from where she’s grabbed at her throat, but it was too late, and the slice was too technically perfect. Her knees had hit the ground first and she’d tried to twist, searching for something, eyes wild and mouth gurgling with words that couldn’t form around the blood in her mouth. She fell sideways, skin turning even paler than it already was, and then everything had stopped. The sprinkling rain washed the blood off her lips and diluted the river flowing from her neck. She almost looked like she was sleeping.

You stand over her motionlessly.

“Hey!” A voice cracks across the cool night air, and you turn to the side. You’re on the sidewalk in front of a motorcycle store that Ultraviolet had been intending on robbing, in plain sight. Across the street, up the road, is Nya. She’s not dressed in her ninja suit and her hair is down loose, the wet jeans and soaked hair hindering her sprint as she tears down the road to get to you.

You’re moving before you can think, clambering up the front of the store and up to the roof in record time, purposefully doing something that would be nearly impossible in skinny jeans to deter her. You don’t hesitate to race across the roof and leap to the next, jumping down the fire escape to the next alley and slipping through a thin corridor between two buildings. The sounds of the chase fade to nothing as you outpace her, weaving through back alleys and neighborhoods you’d become intimately familiar with that she didn’t know. After ten more minutes of running, you spin around and head straight for the monastery.

Nya wasn’t expecting to see you, or be witness to the next murder- it was raining- she wouldn't have her phone. That’s your only salvation. She didn’t have her phone.

You take all the shortcuts you know, running until your screen flashes with warnings. You recover from any stumbles in a millisecond. You get home in record time, basically throwing yourself into your room and ripping the mask off. Flinging your mask and sword into your closet and stripping off your wet turtleneck, you close the closet door and dive into bed. The blankets get yanked up to your shoulder and you close your eyes, feigning sleep, and wait.

Android stamina will always outpace humans. You beat Nya home.

She shouts for you all the moment she's through the door, throwing open your doors in her haste to get you up and mobilize after the murderer. She opens your door to you sitting up in bed, clearly woken up from sleep and giving her an openly bewildered expression.

You jump out of bed and throw on your ninja suit, joining the others on the porch as you all gear up.

---

You don’t find the murderer. No one else does either.

Kai looks at you, once you’re all home and exhausted after the all night search. Everyone is soaked and ready to go to bed, dispersing with low spirits and tired eyes. Kai stands in the entryway, dripping wet, and he really looks at you.

You give him a questioning eyebrow raise.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He says finally, “I won’t judge you.”

“…I know.”

He stares at you, eyes smoldering. He’s in pain. “There’s blood on your collar.” He says finally.

You look down at it- it’s barely noticeable. There must have been a few droplets on your chin that ran down with the water. If you’d been wearing black, he wouldn’t have been able to tell. Your ninja suit is white.

“It’s oil.” You say softly, the patch is just old and watered down enough that you could pass it off for brown.

“Okay.” Kai says. He looks like he’s going to cry.

He looks like he’s afraid of you.

---

Mr.E vanishes after Ultraviolets assassination. You look for him during SoG meetings and you keep an ear out, but he’s nowhere to be seen or heard. The gang is falling apart, half the newer members jumping ship- chances are Mr.E saw the writing on the wall and got out before his neck was next. You could respect that. You might even thank him for it, because if he hadn’t abandoned his post there’s a chance you would have never found out who the quiet one was.

There’s three totally unqualified people at this meeting so far, the members that had ranked directly below the previous three. Their skills were lacking, but their loyalty was rock solid. That was the Quiet Ones main priority after Mr.E’s Irish goodbye. The three were clearly nervous even though they were trying to appear tough- the taller girl even attempting to do tricks with her butterfly knife to appear cool and intimidating. It might have worked if she didn’t drop the blade every other trick.

A door opens and shuts in the silence, the black night outside offering no clue to the newcomers identity. She doesn’t leave them in suspense, though, striding into the light with a stormy expression. She starts talking immediately, taking their names and offering her own.

“You may call me the Quiet One.” She instructs them.

“You’re really the quiet one?” The man says, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yes. Is there an issue?”

“None at all, ma’am.” He responds gruffly, dipping his head.

That’s all the confirmation you need. You slide to the edge of the exposed beam you’re sitting on, swinging down by your arms before you drop straight into the middle of the group. Your feet slam onto the table and the things tilts- you hadn’t anticipated it, so you end up going left instead of right. Instead of the single clean kill you came here for, you’re thrown into butterfly knife girl and the scene becomes a lot more grisly. Your stumble gave them time to process your intentions- you relied on surprise. Now this would get messy.

Knife girl stabs you in the chest. Her knife gets stuck. While she’s trying to rip it out of your skin, you sever her hands at the wrist. She screams and doesn’t stop.

The bigger male lunges for your throat and you hold your sword up so it plunges straight through his chest, his own momentum forcing it through muscle and the delicate capillaries in his lungs. That doesn’t stop him and his hands are on your throat- it doesn't do anything, of course, because you don't need to breathe. He keeps squeezing, and your neck strains. He could pop your head off if he tried. Your sword is buried in his chest and you can’t back up enough to get the space to pull it out.

You reach up and fumble for the butterfly knife, ripping it out of your chest and whipping it around to slam it directly into his ear. He howls in pain, releasing your neck to scrabble at his head before you use the knife to slice him from ear to collarbone. He collapses and the sword slides out of his body.

Knife girl has gone silent, bleeding to death from the ruined arteries in her wrists.

The other woman throws something the moment her shot is clear and on reflex you catch it. It’s a throwing knife and dangling from the handle-

You dart it back at her before you can finish understanding the word bomb. She’s not expecting such fast reflexes, so she’s not prepared for the knife to bury itself in her chest.

Then it explodes.

You spin around, preparing for the Quiet One to attack you next-

The door is open, and she’s gone.

The worst part about all of this is that you didn’t recognize her. Running her face through your facial recognition software came up empty too- so did cross checking any and every news outlet, hoping to see her face maybe in the back of a crowd. Nothing.

That could have been your only chance.

---

“I have been in your shoes before, I know this is hard. You must be prepared to do everything to protect them.” Master Wu had said after you had vomited up your dinner the night of the Mechanics murder, “This path will cost you everything.”

“Everything?” You questioned, staring down at the toilet bowl.

“But they will be safe.” He reassures you, gripping your shoulder tightly.

---

You don’t let the two parts of your life overlap. You don’t. The nights you go out, you are a serial killer. The next morning you are Zane, elemental master of ice, the titanium ninja. Zane is not tainted by all the blood and death and gore. Zane is not a murderer. You don’t ever use your sword as Zane, and you never use your shurikens as the serial killer. Everything would fall apart if you couldn’t keep them separate.

As you stand in the palace and the emperor introduces his daughter, your hands twitch for your sword the moment she opens her mouth. The face paint. You weren't able to discover her identity because of the face paint. Caked on so thick that her bare face looked like a completely different woman-

The emperor's daughter Harumi, and the Quiet One. Two parts of her life that aren't supposed to overlap.

“-Zane: The cold and calculating android.” She names you sweetly, voice honey thick. There’s a manic, wild edge to her eyes that the face paint can’t hide.

It makes sense. Her three most trusted advisors were murdered or abandoned her, and their replacements were slaughtered immediately after. The Sons of Garmadon had begun to collapse, fractioning off into smaller gangs with their own leaders. The main faction still had a substantial number of die-hard loyalists who were growing more and more extreme by the day. Robbery, assault, murder- they were wreaking havoc on Ninjago. They even managed to steal the Oni Mask of Vengeance. Now, her eyes slid over to Lloyd and locked onto him. She slipped a new mask on, one that was shy and flirtatious. The Quiet One wanted Lloyd wrapped around her finger.

But Harumi and the Quiet One weren’t supposed to exist at the same time.

Neither were Zane and the serial killer.

Inevitably, though, two worlds will always collide. Maybe the two parts of her and you were never supposed to live separate forever. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken that sword from Wu. Maybe you should have brought it with you so that Zane didn’t have to use his shuriken.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” You say clearly into the cold, cold room. Or maybe you’re the cold one, “I will not let it pass me by.”

There’s blood on your shuriken.

You collect your mask and your sword from underneath the floorboards in your bedroom and run.

They’re safe. They’ll always be safe.

[iww-gnv]

As firms increasingly rely on artificial intelligence-driven hiring platforms, many highly qualified candidates are finding themselves on the cutting room floor. Body-language analysis. Vocal assessments. Gamified tests. CV scanners. These are some of the tools companies use to screen candidates with artificial intelligence recruiting software. Job applicants face these machine prompts – and AI decides whether they are a good match or fall short. Businesses are increasingly relying on them. A late-2023 IBM survey of more than 8,500 global IT professionals showed 42% of companies were using AI screening "to improve recruiting and human resources". Another 40% of respondents were considering integrating the technology. Many leaders across the corporate world hoped AI recruiting tech would end biases in the hiring process. Yet in some cases, the opposite is happening. Some experts say these tools are inaccurately screening some of the most qualified job applicants – and concerns are growing the software may be excising the best candidates. "We haven't seen a whole lot of evidence that there's no bias here… or that the tool picks out the most qualified candidates," says Hilke Schellmann, US-based author of the Algorithm: How AI Can Hijack Your Career and Steal Your Future, and an assistant professor of journalism at New York University. She believes the biggest risk such software poses to jobs is not machines taking workers' positions, as is often feared – but rather preventing them from getting a role at all.

[yeetmyboi]

Don’t Feed a Stray if you Don’t Intend to Keep it.

Chapter 1 : A Wandering Stray

Nothing in this line of business was consistent nor guaranteed. Money, weapons, comrades— even your own survival. Fate and fortune were just two sides of the same coin that dictated each and every one of your missions.

That’s just the way it was. And you were fine with that.

Embraced it, even.

You’ve worked for a US Private Military Company, Hollow Inc, a up-and-coming PMC for a year now. Which has allowed you to keep those skills that were drilled into you sharp.

All that’s really left from your time in the military.

Being the US’s ‘legal’ version of a mercenary, meant that you were always on the move. Contract after contract. Getting paid large sums of money to act on whomever hired you. Some were with groups of other US military, others by yourself acting on part of the US. Miles and miles of places you’ve visited adding up like the ever growing number of scars and marks that littered your body.

In turn, you learned to be adaptable. With too many unknown variables involved in your line of work, it was best to assess information quickly and effectively, then act. ‘Think flexibly, cope with change easily, and always maintain a good attitude’ as a wise friend once told you.

Well, that last part you were still working on…

Your mission contract had just expired with your previous employer. Just another successful job under your belt. Already on your way back. To a small ‘luxury’ apartment in a bustling city, that was where you called home. Not even a few minutes of walking in and dropping your duffel bag, the burner phone you were given started to ring. Buzzing in your pocket with that annoying default ringtone. With it being given to you just before the end of your last contract, you suspect it was another ‘job’ calling. At least work has been consistent lately. A rare thing these days due to the company’s still developing reputation. Even if your bones begged for a break.

Idle hands are the devil’s tools, you reminded yourself.

“Hello?” You answered. Flipping the phone open and pressing it to your ear. Static filling the air for a moment before a female voice could be heard.

“Ah, Lieutenant. Glad to know you’re back on US soil.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. This voice wasn’t one you’ve heard before. Let alone, this woman was addressing you by your old title.

One you no longer held…

“I have a job for you. When’s the soonest you can get to the café down the street?”

In your mind’s eye, you knew exactly where it was. A quaint little place run by a sweet older lady whom you’ve exchanged pleasantries with numerous times. It had quickly become your favorite place to read and enjoy a hot cup. Merely 5 minutes away.

“I can be there in 15.”

“Excellent.”

Then the line was dead. Short, simple, and sweet. At least this job was already seemingly cut and dry, if that single conversation was anything to go off of.

You quickly change into something more casual. Going for civvies rather than something that screamed ‘military-trained killer’ that you are. Can’t be scaring the locals now, can we? Active wear being your most comfortable choice.

Given your hair has seen better days, you opted to wear a light gray beanie. Just to hide the awkward indent your hair held onto. All from being in a tight ponytail for far too long. Slipping on your white tennis shoes, you headed out the door.

The café wasn’t too busy this time of day, the late morning. Most people having already gotten their caffeine fix by now. Making it easy to spot the person you were to meet up with. A lady sitting in the outdoor patio section, the only one with two coffees.

She was a petite woman, looking up to see you through her blonde bangs. Slowly, she rises and welcomes you at the sleek metal table set. The steel squealed on pavement as she pushed her chair back, rising to extend her hand out to you in a well-practiced handshake. Her coffee, half drank, implied she had been here for a short while.

“Hello, Kate Laswell, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Please, have a seat,” gesturing to the adjacent seat, she slid back into her chair.

You join her, briefly glancing at the coffee set before you then back up to her. Business first. Catching your drift, Kate gave a tight lipped smile and continued, “Your file is quite impressive, and you’ve come highly recommended from your company.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“We went ahead and ran a quick check on you. You’ve been cleared and given the green light.”

You give a small nod, itching to get at the meat of the conversation.

“See, we don’t really reach out to others. Rather, we are the ones others reach out to. However,” Laswell paused, moving to pull out a manilla folder. Your folder. Her deft fingers flipping it open, and pulling out a pen, “We are looking to expand our team for an indefinite time, due reasons I can’t yet discuss. With the skills you possess, it would make a great fit.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes stay steady on her. Working with a team wasn’t unusual for you. Done it multiple times. Even when you rather preferred your own company. What was unusual was that there wasn’t a set amount of time.

Moving forward to lean on your elbows, resting them against the cool metal table, you nodded once more. Conveying your interest but not wanting to interrupt her.

“But there’s one thing I have to ask. Tell me, why did you leave the military in the first place? Only to continue your work elsewhere just a year later?”

There it was. That dreaded question. Same one you’ve been asked over and over this past year. Yet it still had a habit of making your throat instantly go dry.

Surely your file already explained it? Your contract with special forces was just about up when it happened. You remember the exact moment your commander broke the news to you while out with your platoon. That you were heading home, and quickly.

Next thing you knew, it was 18 hours later, and you were there— kneeling bedside by the last person you considered your true family.

It’s just a quick psych evaluation on the subject, you reminded yourself.

You give a small nod while clearing your throat. Your smile not faltering. Reaching out to that coffee in front of you, you take a sip. The coffee had long since lost its warmth. It’s bitter and barely lukewarm as it travels down your tight throat.

“An unexpected death in the family. I was needed to come home to sort a few things out.” You state simply, setting the cup back down. “I was put in charge of settling everything.”

“Ah,” Laswell nods, “I see. Apologies for your loss.”

You watch as she clicks the pen and scribbles something down in red ink. Your eyes flickered down to her writing before snapping back up. You manage to keep a polite smile, but already wanting to move off the subject. Still, you could tell she was trying to be understanding.

“Well, that’s it then. Welcome to the team,” Laswell clicked her pen and closed your file.

“Thank you, ma’am. How soon am I shipping out?” You asked, gauging how much time you had to wait before being pulled right back into action.

“That burner will text you the location and time. Dress warm.” Laswell gave a warm, knowing smile while moving to stand. You mirroring her movement. Both of you shake hands and part ways. While she walked away, you turned to head inside the café. A hot coffee, sweetened to your liking, you found yourself suddenly craving.

[veronicaphoenix]

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: nightmares, implied ptsd, angst, fluff, comfort, Noah being the perfect boyfriend best friend | Word count: 2.1k | Cross posted on AO3 | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

         "Sometimes, it amazed me how easy it was to make her happy, how simple life had to be to get her to genuinely smile."

Lia’s hands were dirty with wet soil.

         The day  before, at the grocery store, she had picked up gloves and a few gardening tools. Today, she was planting the seeds she had picked up and that she had added to the pile of items I had to carry in my arms. When I had complained again, Lia had just shrugged her shoulders and pointed out that I had long arms, so I’d have to deal with it. I just rolled my eyes.

         That early morning, she did wear the gloves when she started working in the back garden of the house, but soon abandoned them because she said they dulled her sense of touch, preventing her from feeling the soil, the plants, or the petals of the flowers.

         I stayed close by, engaged in a conversation with her for a while. I was curious about her gardening choices, observing her focused efforts as she worked in different areas of the garden. It was refreshing to see her absorbed in the task, providing a temporary respite from the worries that plagued her day and night, especially at night. 

         After pouring us each a glass of orange juice and having a little argument with Lia because she asked me to bring her a beer can instead, I settled into one of the hammocks on the porch, sunglasses and headphones on.

         As usual, time seemed to slip away whenever I lay there, under the sun. I was granted a rare moment of peace for the first time in weeks.

         Lia continued her gardening nearby, moving from one end of the garden to the other with dedication. Despite my music, I caught snippers of her conversation with the flowers, which brought a smile to my face. It was such a tranquil morning, marred only by the lingering shadow of Lia’s past with Mitch.

         When a sudden black cloud obscured the sun, I removed my sunglasses and headphones, standing up to assess the changing weather.

         Lia sat cross-legged in the center of the garden, crafting a flower crown, triggering memories of that day in her mother’s house, when I was fifteen and she was fourteen. I recalled that day, when we were just teenagers and I had had to explain to her why I had decided to drop out of school. With her sad eyes looking straight into mine, I suggested she could move in with me and Mike when she turned eighteen. I had stayed the night with her, and we had woken up together. A slight blush kept up my cheeks as I remembered what had transpired that morning between us.

         Trying to shake off the memory, I called out to her.

         “Hey, princess.”

         Lia’s head snapped up, a smile playing on her lips as she seemed to be recalling the same memory, the moment I placed the daisy crown on her head more than a decade ago.

         “How does it look?” she inquired, motioning towards the flowers she had planted in clusters around the garden.

         “I might just hire you as my private gardener,” I quipped, though the garden truly seemed rejuvenated, as if life had just brought by a sudden miracle.

         I found it ironic how Lia, navigating through her own struggles, had this knack for bringing life and light to her surroundings, including me.

         “I must tell you, my services are quite expensive,” she teased, rising and brushing soil from her knees.

         “I’d pay with my soul,” I replied, eliciting a tender smile from her. The sunlight illuminated her face, lending her a healthier glow as the bruises on her skin seemed to be fading. I hoped her heart would heal as her body did.

         When it came to my split lip, it still hurt, but it was also getting better.

         “I’m serious. It looks amazing,” I told her, surveying her handiwork. “How’s the crown coming along?” I asked, nodding towards the floral creation in her hands.

         “Hmm,” Lia’s smile flattered momentarily as she focused on the string of flowers. “I’ve lost practice,” she admitted. I could feel the sadness in her voice.

         “Need a hand?” I offered.

         Lia raised an eyebrow skeptically. “You’re not exactly skilled at making flower crowns, Noah.”

         Raising my hands, feigning offense, I replied, “All right, Flower Queen. I was just trying to be helpful.”

         “I wasn’t teasing you,” she clarified. “It’s just a fact.”

         “I know…” It was true. I had no freaking clue as to how to make a flower crown, not even after so many years of having a flower enthusiast as my best friend. “So, what’s on the agenda today? What do you feel like doing? Do you want to go to the Botanical Gardens?” I suggested. “We could spend some time walking around, grab a hot chocolate from the café, and maybe pick up a few more plants.”

         “Aren’t you tired of flowers?” Lia questioned, probably concerned about me.

         “Who could ever tire of flowers?” I exclaimed, swinging my leg over the hammock to stand. I collected our drinks, ready to return them to the kitchen. “Flowers are fucking pretty. I could never get enough, even if I’m hopeless at making crowns.”

         “You’re just saying that to keep me happy,” Lia countered. She couldn’t hide the tiny smile peeking from her lips, though.

         “I’d say anything to keep you happy, but no, I actually mean those words. Flowers rock. Now go take a quick shower, and let’s go to the Botanical Gardens. I’ll see if Jesse wants to join us.”

The botanical garden adventure turned out to be a more delightful experience than I expected. A new section had recently opened, and Lia’s excitement bubbled over as we explored it thoroughly. She was so fascinated by the new multitude of plants that she left Jesse and me trailing behind her, lost in our chatter about work and music.

         When she ventured further ahead, Jesse lowered his voice and asked me about her well-being. I hesitated before responding because the truth was that I wasn’t sure. At times she looked… okay. Other times, I would hear her or catch her crying. I had no clue if a pain like the one she carried could ever disappear; if a wound like that could ever be mended.

         During our time there, I noticed Lia occasionally drifting into moments of distraction, her smile fading as troubling thoughts crept in. Sensing her vulnerability, I made a point to stay close, wrapping an arm around her shoulder whenever I sensed her faltering. Redirecting her attention, I guided her to the next exhibit, peppering her with random questions about the flora, to which she surprisingly had all the answers. Lia's depth of knowledge was captivating, and I wasn't the only one to notice. Jesse, too, was struck by Lia's genuine passion for nature and flowers. It was heartwarming to witness how she retained that childhood love amidst her life's challenges.

         Standing outside the cafeteria, positioned on the elevated area overseeing the gardens, I waited for Jesse to return from the restrooms and for Lia to pick up her hot chocolate from the counter inside the café. As I glanced at the sky, latte in hand, I felt grateful for the brightness of the day. Suddenly, Lia’s arms wrapped around me from behind, squeezing me tightly as her head nestled against my back. Some coffee spilled from my cup, and a bit of chocolate dripped from the one she held in her left hand.

         “Lia, Christ,” I exclaimed, turning around to face her, taken aback by the sudden unexpected affection. With a sheepish grin, she released her hold, cheeks flushed.

         “Sorry, that was… awkward,” Lia mumbled, her apology hanging in the air.

         “No, not at all,” I reassured her, reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It was rather lovely,” I added, a warm smile gracing my lips. “You feeling alright?”

         Her response came accompanied by a slight shake of the hot chocolate cup in her hand. “Now I am, yes,” Lia replied, her smile returning.

         Sometimes, it amazed me how easy it was to make her happy, how simple life had to be to get her to genuinely smile.

         Before long, Jesse joined us, his hand ruffling through his hair as he adjusted his glasses. “You’re all set?” he asked, casting a glance at the drinks we held.  

         “Yep,” we replied in unison.

         “Great. My mom’s birthday is coming up. I thought I’d browse the shop for some plants before we leave,” Jesse announced. “Maybe Lia can give me some advice?”

         “Sure,” she agreed readily.

         “She’ll do that gladly,” I mumbled. “She’s going to give herself some advice, too.”

         “And pick out a few more plants for the garden,” she added, a playful grin dancing on her face as she strolled alongside us.  

         Sure enough, Lia ended up selecting a couple of pots of pelargonium, gardenias, and some bamboo sticks, envisioning how they would complement the minimalist aesthetic of my room. As Lia and Jesse explored the shop, leaving me behind to wonder why the fuck some plants were so weird, they discussed which flowers would be best suited for Jesse's mom. Lia shared her expertise on which blooms would last longest indoors and explained the symbolic meanings behind each flower and color. Jesse listened attentively, deciding. He finally selected a thoughtful assortment of white and orange plants that he hoped his mom would like.

         Later that day, back in the comfort of the house, the three of us settled in to tackle some work. Jesse attended to his band obligations, handling a few phone calls and online meetings while Lia and I retreated to the studio.

         The gentle sound of pencils scratching on paper and crayons on textured surfaces served as a comforting backdrop to the tunes I was playing on one of my guitars. Having Lia nearby, even in her quiet presence, felt good; I definitely preferred her close where I could sense her mood rather than distant and out of reach. I didn’t want to find her locked in the bathroom crying her eyes out and feeling guilty for what had happened to her.

         It hadn’t been her fault, and while I didn’t mind reminding her of that as many times as necessary, I didn’t want her to dwell on those thoughts alone. I believed it was healthier for her to externalize her feelings and emotions through lyrics or drawings.  

         Midafternoon, I took a brief break to make coffee and grab a snack, taking the time to check the messages on my phone —a few from Jolly, another bunch from other friends and work— and give Matt a call.

         Lia joined me in the kitchen just as I was in the midst of the conversation, gesturing for me to pass her the phone when I was finished. In the meantime, she retrieved a beer from the fridge.

         When she spoke with Matt —and I entertained myself chewing on chocolate-chip cookies—, her tone seemed overly cheerful, which was odd. Somehow, she decided it would be a good idea for all of us to meet on Saturday night, grab some pizzas, and spend some time together as we used to do. With Jolly’s return scheduled for Friday, Lia asked for my approval. I could only shrug and reply with a casual “yeah”. If it meant she could relax and enjoy the company of our friends, then I was fully supportive.

          As the day melted into evening, the house overflowed with tranquility. The strumming of the guitar filled the air, punctuated by the occasional recording breaks to capture snippets of sound for an on-going musical project. Meanwhile, Lia was deeply engrossed in her creative zone, sitting on the sofa facing the desk where I was sat at. She was working with a pen and a worn-out notebook in hand, sketching designs and penning songs’ lyrics with a focus that made her bit her lip. Every once in a while she would lift her head and make a comment about the sounds coming out from the speakers, complimenting the music I was creating. There was something so undeniably comforting about being in this creative bubble together, just doing our thing and enjoying each other’s company.

         We vibed off each other’s energy effortlessly. It was like we were in sync, riding the same wavelength of inspiration. It felt like home.

         At quarter to seven, Lia rose from the sofa, stretching her arms and humming, and placed a few sheets of paper on the desk beside the keyboard.

         “There. Take a look. They’re not my best work, but I think they might work for a t-shirt design," she casually said, enthusiasm lacking her tone.

         The sheets were filled with new drawings —roses, daggers, demons—, potential additions to our merchandise lineup.

         Before I could respond, she left the studio, mentioning something about grabbing another beer and preparing dinner.

[malebodyexhibit]

Room 214 (a Next Door Boy tale)

The dude with the fair hair leaned over the rail, looking over the ocean. The lull in the crashing of waves gave way to the sounds of excited beachgoers. He wore a loose tank top colored in an abstraction of the horizon at sunset. The tank top was of the sort to cover less than half his torso. The sleeveless article showed his sun-kissed shoulders, the bulging biceps, and the vascularity of his forearms. The gaping sleeve holes revealed a portion of his pecs and the length of his side. The sculpted obliques of his core slowly contracted with each breath. As his arms, thick and roped with muscle, lay over the railing, a wild shock of armpit hair danced lazily in the breeze. Yet, despite the toned upper body of a surfer, he ass demanded equal, if not all your attention. It filled his board shorts and the fabric clung all to intimately along the creases. It was when he straightened himself that his full presence could be seen below.

His name was Adriano.

I reclined the seat back. The tint of the car window obfuscating myself as I observed him across the parking lot. I pulled out a pocket notebook and wrote some notes. Among the scrawls of details  were the start of plans.

Adriano turned towards me, but I reminded myself he doesn’t know me. He hadn’t suspected anything these past weeks. I slid on a pair of sunglasses and shifted in my seat to hide an obvious erection. While the glimpse of his body from behind was hot, his chest was smoldering. From the lip of his tank top collar, wisps of chest hair caught in the sunlight. A line of sweat from his neck trails down and followed his collar bone and down along the crease of his pecs. He started towards the lockers.

I pulled up the collar of my loose tropical print shirt and stepped out into the public.

I followed him. My erection tucked under my belt. I was usually controlled in these matters. My line of work has me around all types. Growing up with a father who loved the bottle had me mask my true feelings. Yet, Adriano was something. He wasn’t your typical hottie. That must be why I was hired to follow him.

A month ago, I received an e-mail. The job was simple: find Adriano, learn his schedule and inner circle of friends, gain access to his residence, and receive further instructions. I was a cat burglar by trade. Don’t expect me to steal the Mona Lisa, but I do well enough not to have a record. Espionage was new however. I managed to find Adriano quickly. I could’ve accessed his shitty studio apartment immediately, but I decided to develop a comprehensive schedule of his before attempting breaking and entering.

Adriano was in the locker area. He had already stripped and was in the process of pulling out a pair of trunks. As I entered, heart thumping, he stood up, clothes in hand, dick flopping out.

“Sorry, dude,” he said. He gave me an apologetic smile. His hand pulling a different pair of board shorts up and his other hand readjusting his package after snaking it back in. Then Adriano shut his locker and headed back out. I couldn’t help but notice the bounce of his member while he went commando.

After he left, I took quick assessment of the space. The structure had a basic shower and an adjoining locker area. For a small fee he rented a spot and it was alfays the same locker. Number 14. There was no one around. I walked over to the locker. I pulled out some delicate tools. In a matter of seconds I managed to lock pick the cheap security.

The locker screeched open. I took out his tank top.

It was the abstract sunset from earlier. It was gradient of violet and magenta hues. In the center was a circle of auburn; an impression of the sun. There were still stains of sweat  along the collar. The fabric warmed my hands. I ran my fingers over it. Over where the nape of his neck was. I buried my face in the center of the clothing where I imagined where his chest would be. I breathed in the sweat and pressed my lips over the wet sweat stains. My other hand came along the back where I imagined his back would be. I rubbed myself against the imagined body. My hands tracing the length of cloth, thinking of the curve of his ass. And as I pressed him closer to me, my hand came over my member. I gasped into the shirt, my mouth sucking in his scent. I rubbed my hand against my erection and the sensation grew in intensity as I drowned in his smell. I gasped as I came into my pants and relaxed into a stupor of satisfaction.

I sorted myself out and tossed his shirt back into the locker. I dug around in the locker, finding a myriad of items. I found spare change, receipts, chewing gum, wallet, and Adriano’s apartment keys. Bingo. I was about to turn and leave with the keys in hand when something caught my eye. Condoms. Ribbed for her pleasure. It was stuffed into the faux-leather wallet like spare change. The plastic thin foil was crumpled, but the wrapper read clearly: Magnum. Clearly he thought to highly of himself. But maybe not. I turned the condom in my fingers. The image of his flaccid dick replaying in my mind. I pocketed the condom and tossed the wallet back into the locker. It was stupid, but it was the only way I could pull myself away and back to the task at hand.

I pulled back into the parking lot near the locker building. I had copied Adriano’s keys at a local locksmith and I sent an e-mail to the client about the development. While waiting for a response, I walked back into the locker room. It was busier than before. I slipped past changing men. Most old, some young and toned, but Adriano wasn’t among them. Through the locker’s grill, I dropped in Adriano’s key. And with that, I returned to my car.

After an hour or so, I saw Adriano return to the locker building with a girl. From my observations, Adriano was a ladies’ man who could sweet talk most women back into his apartment. She was a pretty thing, I guess. She had curves, a chest of fake breasts, a horrendous sun tan, and she laid on the seductive charm so thick. She twirled her hair around her fingers, and ran her other fingers up and down Adriano’s abs. With a coy grin, she slipped a finger under his shorts.

Adriano was enjoying this. His face flushed and his eyes widened with arousal. He gave a smile. His chest rose and fell as he pumped himself up, hands at his waist, looking like Superman. They kissed and he combed his fingers through her hair. His free hand curving around her back. When he pulled back from the kiss, he mouthed something in her ear. His lips tickling her ear and she giggled. He shifted and noticed me staring from my car. He must have recognized me, because he gave me a smile and a wink.

My phone chimed with an e-mail notification.

“To ___, thank you for your hard work. It is greatly appreciated. You will be paid for your services, but I am offering greater compensation for another task. Do you accept?”

I responded, “Yes.”

I left Adriano at the beach. The next set of instructions required me to race to his apartment before he arrived. It was so risky, but so profitable. I needed to make a quick stop at the location of a dead drop given to me in the response to my acceptance. The package contained some strange contraptions with a set of instructions. But before I could read them, I needed to be secured at his apartment.

His apartment building was a four-story historic building. It was here I first laid my eyes on him when he went out for his morning run. The client mentioned to me Adriano’s running spots. That’s how Adriano caught his attention. His shirtless running in 5-inch athletic shorts.

Room 214. I unlocked the door and walked in. An aroma of body odor and Axe body spray greeted me. The blinds were closed. I had tried to get visual from the windows before, but I guessed either his frequent hookups or a possible nudist lifestyle (I can dream) caused him to value privacy here. The studio apartment was a mess. Clothes littered the ground. Boxers, pants, shirts, socks. I picked up a gym sock gray with use. I gave it a smell and dropped it from surprise. I didn’t know how to appreciate that smell or wash it from my fingers.

His bed was a futon resting on pellet boards. It didn’t have any bedsheets and there was only wrinkled blankets and a pillow strewn across it. I pressed my hand into it. The bed springs groaned. It smelled equally rank to the room. It got hot during the summer nights. I imagined him twisting around his bed, screwing on his bed, coming on his bed.

I rummaged in his drawers. Aside from his shirts and regular clothing, I browsed his underwear. He collected many brands. Some were worn to the elastic. But I now knew he went commando as well. Then I found his wrapped latex. I toyed with one with mixed arousal and admiration. Finally I tore one open. The gold wrapper glimmering like his fair hair in the sun. I pulled down my pants. I rolled it over my cock. It was snug, but not enough to convince me that I could wear it. I wasn’t fooled. This was only fit for him. I pumped myself at the thought. I sprawled out on his bed, buried my face into the musky smell of his bed. I pulled a dirty sock toward my face, imagining tasting his sweaty body after a workout. “Adriano, Adriano,” I breathed with each pump. I closed my eyes as I came. I slid the condom off my member. The spermicide and lube coating my hand. I rubbed the gross sensation off onto the bed. He wouldn’t notice.

I settled myself deep into his closet. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but it also reminded me of hiding during father’s weekend binge drinking. I was lost in memories when I heard the apartment door jiggle and unlock, then open. A girlish laugh greeted the dark room. The door slammed shut, shaking me loose from a memory.

I heard clothes being tossed onto the bare floor.

“Like what you see?” I heard Adriano say.

“Yeah,” the one-night fling responded. I heard the wet kissing and soft moans. Without seeing what was happening, I only imagined what sounds meant what. The sucking sounds and the deep grunting must be Adriano getting his mind blown. The increasingly loud moans must be the expertise of Adriano in practice. Eventually the sounds cooled down and ended with a grunt from him as he came.

They got dressed in silence with the hook up trying to start up the kissing again, but a hushed whisper and a closing door told me she was gone. Then I heard Adriano throw himself back onto the bed and in a few minutes I heard the soft snores.

I carefully left the closet. The device in my hand from the dead drop. I saw AdrIano in his splendor on the bed. He hadn’t bothered to dress. It was a hot summer night and he was sprawled spread-eagle, face down. I appreciated how his fair hair clung to his sweaty neck. A trail of hair along his back came down to his ass. From his groin I saw his testicles and his shaft peeking from beneath him, just hanging out from underneath him.

I needed to act fast to complete the mission.

Gingerly, I took the device and attached it at points around his head before settling  a spiderweb netting on top. I started up a handheld device and once it glowed green I pressed the button.

I’m not sure what I expected. Probably a flash of light or an electric shock, but nothing really happened. I thought I saw Adriano twitch, but it could be a trick of the light.

There was a knock at the door. Just like the directions detailed.

I opened the door, unsure if the device worked or if Adriano would wake up suddenly.

At the door were a couple of men. One was young and didn’t emote. He was stoic despite the situation. He carried a bag and headed straight to Adriano’s body. The other was an older gentleman. He carried himself carefully. He wore a rich-looking peacoat that ill fitted him. He must have known as he took it off and rested it on a nearby chair.

“Greetings, ___,” he said to me. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for all that you’ve done. It mustn’t have been an easy job.”

“It was an alright job,” I said. I glanced toward Adriano who hadn’t moved, but still continued to breathe and snore. The spiderweb netting still wrapped around his head. The other man was tinkering with extra devices and running wires to a laptop.

“No doubt I underestimated you.” He said, smiling. He shuffled over to Adriano, looked around the room, and picked up a sock. “Oh, the joys of being young. Even in filth, the beautiful thrive.”

“What are you planning to do with him?” I asked. Now the other man was fixing wires to the old man, connecting him to the laptop. “Why all this? Why have me collect the schedule and names of his friends?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Adriano is a man I come to love. Ever since I saw him running. I envied his youth and beauty. Of course, he wouldn’t be with someone like me. So I made connections with some entrepreneurs from the Next Door Boy agency. Adriano isn’t a talent. If he was this would have been easier. Instead he selfishly keeps that body for himself. He could be rich but instead lives in squalor. I intend to make his life worth living by living his life for him.”

I was speechless but said nothing as I watched the other man finish his work and eventually I watched as the final switch was flipped and Adriano’s body spasmed and shake on the futon. The old man’s body followed likewise. The only difference was that it was only Adriano who stood up and carefully gazed at his hand in amazement. He ran his hand over his face and down his body. He felt each curve of muscle and each hair on his body. Then he looked up at me and smiled that coy smile.

“It worked!”

The other man had already packed up his devices and started to heft the old man’s body over his shoulder. In a minute the apartment was emptied save the two of us. Adriano, or rather the old man who wore the young surfer’s body, and I stood looking at each other. I tried not to look down at his member.

“So why are you still here?” I said. “I thought you’d have left with… him.” I was at a loss for the lack of names. The situation was surreal.

“I’ll be blunt,” Adriano said. His voice strong and well enunciated. It lacked the surfer drawl and the clipped slang. “This is not exactly legal. Paying you off and paying for that expert costed me a lot. That’s why I had you do that research. I can’t exactly go back to my old life. It doesn’t exist for me anymore. I intend to live here, as him, and remake myself again.” He walked over to his peacoat that hung from the chair. He dropped it over his nude body. The effect was equally ridiculous and arousing. His muscled frame wore the coat well. It followed the slender but toned arms and hugged the tight core. His cock hung openly beneath the coat. He must have realized how ridiculous it was as he started to play with himself. He looked back at me. “I can tell you like this body.”

“He is hot. I mean… you are hot.”

“Yeah. I guess I should get used to calling it my body.” He looked around him at the surfer jock’s apartment. “And my apartment.” Then he looked at me. “And my… friend?”

I laughed. “I don’t think making friends is that easy.”

“It can be. You’re an attractive man. If not a friend, then maybe a warm mouth for my cock?”

He brought me in for a kiss. His strong hands felt my back and grabbed my ass. I stripped off his coat and ran my tongue around his nipple. We fell back onto the futon. I was getting used to the smell of stale sex and sweat. Adriano grabbed my ankles and held them in the air, my ass ready for him. Before he could enter, I slowed him down  and reached for a condom from my pocket. It was the condom I taken from Adriano’s locker earlier. He smiled, ripped it open with his teeth, and rolled it on.  We both took a moment to appreciate how well his cock filled out the magnum. He thrusted into me and I wrapped my legs around him. He was going harder and harder as if he could barely contain his own strength. He was getting louder as well. He was animalistic in his moans and when he came, he collapsed on top of me. We laid there, basking in exertion.”

“Sorry if I got a little rough. His body feels so strong. I feel everything so powerfully.”

“It’s alright,” I said. And without realizing it, I rested my palm atop Adriano’s chest and listened to his heart pound in my ear.

[salesfuelinc]

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[mesetacadre]

Re: flexibility, I've been wondering - what is there to say about the impact of remote work on productivity and profit, inasmuch as it can be measured?

I can only comment on the IT sector, and only superficially: multiple employers have cited the transition to remote/hybrid work as the primary cause of the not-insignificant decrease in efficiency currently observed in companies worldwide. On the managers' end, it's being portrayed as e.g. a shift in priorities, with younger people especially being more willing to change jobs frequently and not feeling tethered to a single employer - at least according to recent Microsoft Work Trend Index reports that I (unfortunately) had to analyze LOL. Does flexibilization yield tangible profits in the "white collar"* department, too, or is it primarily and exclusively a tool of exploitation of "unskilled"* laborers, migrants, et cetera?

Asking this because the surge in popularity of remote work is certainly an unprecedented development, I'm trying to find the correct framework within which to assess its importance. (Unless this is outside your area of interest/expertise...)

Hi Adam, first I would be cautious of what some employers attribute to be the cause of lost productivity, they can lie as much as they want. It is well known how, for example, retailers in the US state of California assign loss from imagined future profits as well as actual losses from other causes to shoplifting when actual lost sales from shoplifting is as significant as a small accounting error. Taking them at face value still, I'd argue that the context of remote work is far from neutral, having been instituted rashly during the economic slowdown that the pandemic forced. I've also heard the complete opposite from other employers, such as my mother's, which has instituted a hybrid work regime *after already having established the required infrastructure and protocols* and it seems to increase productivity by the same mechanism that a shortened work week increases productivity, worker morale.

A well-implemented hybrid or completely remote work regime does increase productivity, not only because of better employee performance in some cases, but also because it can allow the capitalist to cut down on costs, a very intuitive example of this could be having to afford less physical space for an office, since not everyone has to be present to work, and there could not even be an office. Flexibilization, when done well for the employer, always increases profit margins because it makes the worker more subservient to the needs of the capitalist, it allows them to choose when and for how long the worker works, for example, or to never have to pay the salary corresponding to a full work week.

I'd also tell you not to confuse the general trend for what a subset of workers want. The trend towards flexibilization and the higher mobility of young workers between jobs is imposed on them by this trend, by shortening average contracts (Taking again Spain as an example, the average contract for people younger than 30 got as low as 17 days last year, and nowadays 0-day contracts are becoming more common). Nobody wants to work for less than a week for a salary lower than the minimum wage, it is being imposed in the name of "flexicurity", as they call it. Look it up, the European Commission avows it.

Perhaps traditional office jobs can benefit less from this very rapid hiring-firing process because of the needed education for some positions, but as long as there is a reserve labor pool of people who have worked at multiple of these places, and as long as they can continue to play with work schedules and regimes, they very much still benefit from flexibilization.

If things like the 4 day work week or remote work are popular within the general working population it still doesn't change that the class who ultimately benefits from it is not our own, and our efforts should be directed to educating workers so they understand that no benefit can be gained within capitalism that does not benefit the bourgeois class 10 times as much, and that it still does not change the immutable exploitative nature of salary work.

[mariacallous]

As the United States prepares for the upcoming November election, misinformation and disinformation have spread through memes. Memes are any idea, expression, or opinion that uses text, visual imagery (e.g., a photo, video, or gif file) with or without sound, which can be copied and shared online. For researchers, they are co-constructions that have meaning primarily in humor, which can be shared by multiple users, and in the case of the internet, across various platforms. The convenient availability of commercial artificial intelligence (AI) tools has also contributed to the existing meme economy. Software like X’s AI chatbot called Grok can quickly generate such images, especially with its ability to use famous peoples’ likenesses, copyrighted material, violent content, or pornographic image generation.

The reality is that AI-generated memes have been inserted into the political conversation. These altered images often seem harmless to voters, particularly because they are sometimes shared by people they trust in their personal and professional networks. It can be difficult for policymakers or content moderators to definitively assess their impact because the humor or profile of memes makes them appear innocuous. In the current policy environment where content moderation and domestic AI policy are still evolving, those who develop and disseminate memes can potentially influence voter information about candidate issues, character, and other relevant election information without the usual guardrails that either regulate speech in the U.S. or trigger attention based on the manipulation of political content.

What are memes?

Tugging on the emotions of voters is a critical part of influencing them to act. Memes present unique opportunities because they can disseminate information and foster a sense of community through humor and other apolitical ways. Examples of the persuasive power of memes have appeared in efforts to spread political messaging, alter the stock market, or even influence the way the public thinks about war.

The current campaign efforts on both sides are also no exception. The Trump campaign and his allies have created an assortment of AI-generated memes to uplift the former president, which have been shared on the social media platform X and Truth Social. There has also been a share of visualizations that have ridiculed the other side, including one of Vice President Kamala Harris leading a communist rally, while another showed many Taylor Swift fans endorsing his campaign. Trump supporters like Musk have even reposted an AI-altered, “parody” video of Harris calling herself a “deep state puppet” and “the ultimate diversity hire.”

On the other side, Vice President Harris’ campaign and allies have generated their own share of memes. During the 2024 Democratic National Convention, the highest number of content creators and online influencers ever were in attendance to capture these and other messages for attendees and viewers. Throughout the event, robust online content was created, including the dissemination of memes to capture emotional responses to the various activities and speakers. Doug Emhoff, the second gentlemen, was often the subject of memes as he openly conveyed his support for his wife, Kamala Harris. Tim Walz’s son, Gus, also became a viral meme as he mouthed his admiration for his father during the acceptance speech. The Harris campaign and allies have been equally culpable in their use of satirical tools. Her team has also been accused of falsely captioning AI-generated videos and memes of the former president. Through their use of clips from a Trump rally in North Carolina, the Harris social media account played up the theme that the former president was “lost and confused” in his suggestion that he was in another state—a point that was later fact-checked and clarified by the Harris team.

Probably the most viral memes being shared by both parties and their allies have been those AI-generated memes of cats on social media platforms, which tout the conspiracy theory and disinformation reference by Trump regarding Haitian immigrants eating pets in Springfield, Ohio—some of which were posted by the former president himself.

As these visualizations continue to become a part of the political landscape, memes will increasingly feed into misinformation and disinformation efforts, and cloak facts in humor and satire to elicit more emotional responses from voters. Due to congressional inaction on copyright protections for the data training large language models (LLMs) or more stringent legislation to curb the flow of false information, memes can flourish and, under current election laws, be perceived to be harmless in nature.

Memes are also not necessarily deepfakes

Congress has also made it clear how they categorize memes when it comes to election and other voter interference. Pending legislation, including the DEEPFAKES Accountability Act, create carve outs for memes, humor, satire, parody, and other commentary as a justification of an individual’s freedom of expression. However, the task of deciphering what is parody and what is deceptive can be very challenging. Despite the deceptive posts by Trump and Musk, for example, the label of satire provides some immunity from liability. Such posts also receive additional protections under Section 230, which shields online platforms that disseminate the information from any liability or association—even if vile or offensive.

Memes also can provoke “rage-baiting,” which refers to using online content to elicit strong negative emotional reactions from users. However, the significant gaps in policy make their dissemination possible and plausible. An examination of the handling of memes in a global context makes the case for stronger guardrails and increased community awareness.

Globally, memes have been perceived as fueling extremist behavior. In 2024, a memo from the Netherland’s National Coordinator for Counterterrorism and Security (NCCS) considered memes to be an “online weapon,” suggesting that the lack of strong content moderation on online platforms has made it easier for memes to thrive and nest themselves in mainstream messaging that disguise their goal of radicalizing unsuspecting online users. In their new book “Lies That Kill,” co-authors Darrell West and Elaine Kamarck point to these and other examples that persuade not just voters, but other everyday people, to consume false information at rapid speeds.

Memes are the next form of political influence

Misinformation and disinformation will continue to be a focus leading up to the November election. While the time has run out for any meaningful legislation to counter deepfakes prior to this election cycle, AI-generated memes are something that policymakers, and especially campaigns, need to monitor. Because of their ability to cloak deeply hateful and vitriolic messages into humorous and satirical images, they have been downplayed in the flow of political rhetoric. Given this, Congress should reconsider the carveouts from pending legislation to quell deepfakes, especially in their use of copyrighted materials and their role in rapidly spreading disinformation. Such loose creation and dissemination of memes should also encourage Congress and other lawmakers to consider some real investments in AI literacy for everyday people to understand the consequences of what they share online. In the meantime, campaigns need to be on the lookout for memes that are harmful or that could potentially lead to violence.

[nothorses]

Hi I have a question/discussion? about public schools and ik this is your area of expertise so I thought I'd ask your opinion. When I ponder the problems of schooling, I think about things like: how we value grades more than actual learning and information retention; how late work policies aren't representative of how the real world works and needlessly puts extra stress on students; how we don't give students that need it the additional support they require to succeed; how we overemphasize success on the first try rather than allowing multiple attempts, which isn't reflective of how to appropriately navigate life; how we require students to be unnaturally quiet, still, and non-disruptive, which is genuinely difficult for a lot of kids, especially younger ones, and can impact their ability to learn; how we give them too much work for too many subjects at once...

And it genuinely feels like the root of a lot of these problems, aside from teaching philosophy, is a simple lack of manpower- we don't have enough competent teachers for the amount of kids we have in public schools. A lot of these problems, in my opinion, don't result from teachers or administrators who have a meanspirited or incorrect philosophy about teaching, but from the fact that it is impossible to manage an ideal classroom environment in a room of 30 kids to 1 adult (or 2 adults if the teacher's lucky enough to have an assistant). We require kids to be silent and still because in a room of 30 children if all of them got to fidget and move around, no one would be able to focus on the lesson or even hear it. We have late work policies because the teacher needs to be able to get a move on on the curriculum and can't spend forever on a few students for one topic. Etc etc

I struggled immensely in public schools, so much so that continuing to go to school there irreparably damaged my mental health. I was lucky enough to get transferred to a private school with a max of 4 kids per class after being hospitalized when I became a danger to myself. The learning environment there was so much better and it pretty much solved every single issue I ever had with school; I was able to build a personal relationship with all my teachers and I learned more effectively there than I had anywhere else. The teachers also had room to diverge from the curriculum as needed and move as quickly or as slowly as the class required, so we could spend more time on important, interesting, and difficult topics and skip past the easy ones within a week. My history teacher was able to make his own unit on greek philosophical history just because he wanted to and we were all interested in it. I really think the small class sizes was what made all the difference.

How accurate is that assessment? And is there really a solution other than simply more people going into teaching so we can have smaller classes?

That's a huge chunk of it, yeah- large class sizes cause a lot of those problems, and smaller class sizes create a lot of flexibility for teachers that we currently lack in the public ed system.

The thing about it, though, is that those policies are often not even up to the individual teacher. They do usually have control over late work policies, accommodations they can personally offer, and how much fidgeting they'll allow; but they often don't get a say in things like curriculum, the physical classroom they teach in, school policy, and certainly not in standardized testing and the prep that comes along with it.

Education as a whole is designed to be "optimized", in a way, in order to run as effectively as possible on a shoestring budget.

You'll often see that schools in wealthier areas tend to have smaller class sizes and better learning environments on the whole, and that's because school funding is partially local property taxes, and they have the money to hire more teachers, reduce class sizes, fund classroom furniture and accommodation tools, and give them more control.

But even then, they still have to follow district- and state-mandated curriculum requirements, they will definitely still have to go through standardized testing, and their schools will still be limited by the larger, system-wide roots in that sort of "optimization".

How many students can we educate? Where can we best put our money to support learning? is that gonna be 24-32 new exercise ball chairs and a box of fidget toys, or is it gonna be new learning materials with updated content, informed by modern learning science?

These aren't obvious choices, these are genuinely difficult questions to answer. A lot of people spend a lot of time doing research and writing papers and having discussions in attempts to answer them.

A lot of future-teacher education that I've been through has talked about what we as teachers can do with the tools we're given, and less: democratic classroom environments, anti-racist and culturally-responsive teaching practices, trauma-informed care of students and classroom culture, critical literacy and student empowerment, and removing unnecessary access barriers (late work, testing, etc.).

As a student teacher, I worked with my teacher to redesign his whole grading structure to be more equitable- all according to what I had been learning at my university. But according to the school, I still had to take attendance, mark tardies and absences, and make sure only one of my (high school!!!) students was out of the room at a time. And I felt like a fucking warden.

It's not just that we need more people to go into teaching; I assure you, lots of people want to teach. Lots of people love teaching. And there are things we need to address to enable them to teach: teachers usually go into debt in order to get their degrees and certifications, and the whole field pays so little that they are extremely unlikely to ever pay off that debt without significant outside help. You have to be able to afford to teach.

Not to mention it's an extremely emotionally intensive- even traumatizing- job, and access to mental health support is reliant upon income that, again, does not exist.

We need to pay teachers more; not because They Deserve It (they do, and so does everyone else on the fucking planet), but because if we don't, we won't have teachers. They will leave the profession, they won't enter it in the first place (I'm getting higher degrees partially so I can go into education in a better-paying position), or they'll burn out, undergo trauma, won't have the care they need- and that impacts the health, wellness, and safety of students, too. And that means more funding toward education.

The other piece of it is, again, school culture; schools being run on these shoestring budgets means they have to answer these difficult catch-22 "what's more important" questions, and those answers will never be good enough. It will never be "good" to choose better text books over fidgets, or to choose engaging readings over experiential learning opportunities.

Schools- not districts, not higher-ups in the system- should have enough money that they can run the way they want to run, that their students need them to run, without having to worry about whether this field trip to a science museum is going to deprive other students of filling, nutritious school lunches.

I know "fund education" isn't the most controversial take here, but I do think it's important to emphasize just how much of an impact that has on the system overall: not just the day-to-day decisions, not even just the teachers, but the culture and the fundamental structure of our schooling.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

The nation’s millionaires and billionaires are evading more than $150 billion a year in taxes, adding to growing government deficits and creating a “lack of fairness” in the tax system, according to the head of the Internal Revenue Service.

The IRS, with billions of dollars in new funding from Congress, has launched a sweeping crackdown on wealthy individuals, partnerships and large companies. In an exclusive interview with CNBC, IRS Commissioner Danny Werfel said the agency has launched several programs targeting taxpayers with the most complex returns to root out tax evasion and make sure every taxpayer contributes their fair share.

Werfel said that a lack of funding at the IRS for years starved the agency of staff, technology and resources needed to fund audits — especially of the most complicated and sophisticated returns, which require more resources. Audits of taxpayers making more than $1 million a year fell by more than 80% over the last decade, while the number of taxpayers with income of $1 million jumped 50%, according to IRS statistics.

“When I look at what we call our tax gap, which is the amount of money owed versus what is paid for, millionaires and billionaires that either don’t file or [are] underreporting their income, that’s $150 billion of our tax gap,” Werfel said. “There is plenty of work to be done.”

“For complex filings, it became increasingly difficult for us to determine what the balance due was,” he said. “So to ensure fairness, we have to make investments to make sure that whether you’re a complicated filer who can afford to hire an army of lawyers and accountants, or a more simple filer who has one income and takes the standard deduction, the IRS is equally able to determine what’s owed. And to us, that’s a fairer system.”

Some Republicans in Congress have ramped up their criticism of the IRS and its expanded enforcement efforts. They say the wave of new audits will burden small businesses with unnecessary bureaucracy and years of fruitless investigations and won’t raise the promised revenue.

The Inflation Reduction Act gave the IRS an $80 billion infusion, yet congressional Republicans won a deal last year to take $20 billion of the funding back. Now they’re pressing for further cuts.

The Treasury Department said last week it estimates greater IRS enforcement will result in an additional $561 billion in tax revenue between 2024 and 2034 — a higher projection than it had initially stated. The IRS says that for every extra dollar spent on enforcement, the agency raises about $6 in revenue.

The IRS is touting its early success with a program to collect unpaid taxes from millionaires. The agency identified 1,600 millionaire taxpayers who have failed to pay at least $250,000 each in assessed taxes. So far, the IRS has collected more than $480 million from the group “and we are still going,” Werfel said.

On Wednesday, the agency announced a program to audit owners of private jets, who may be using their planes for personal travel and not accounting for their trips or taxes properly. Werfel said the agency has started using public databases of private-jet flights and analytics tools to better identify tax returns with the highest likelihood of evasion. It is launching dozens of audits on companies and partnerships that own jets, which could then lead to audits of wealthy individuals.

Werfel said that for some companies and owners, the tax deduction from corporate jets can amount to “tens of millions of dollars.”

Another area that is potentially rife with evasion is limited partnerships, Werfel said, adding that many wealthy individuals have been shifting their income to the business entities to avoid income taxes.

“What we started to see was that certain taxpayers were claiming limited partnerships when it wasn’t fair,” he said. “They were basically shielding their income under the guise of a limited partnership.”

The IRS has launched the Large Partnership Compliance program, examining some of the largest and most complicated partnership returns. Werfel said the IRS has already opened examinations of 76 partnerships — including hedge funds, real estate investment partnerships and large law firms.

Werfel said the agency is using artificial intelligence as part of the program and others to better identify returns most likely to contain evasion or errors. Not only does AI help find evasion, it also helps avoid audits of taxpayers who are following the rules.

“Imagine all the audits are laid out before us on a table,” he said. “What AI does is it allows us to put on night vision goggles. What those night vision goggles allow us to do is be more precise in figuring out where the high risk [of evasion] is and where the low risk is, and that benefits everyone.”

Correction: The IRS has collected $480 million from a group of millionaire taxpayers who had failed to pay. An earlier version misstated the amount collected.