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[roki58750]

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | part twelve

MASTERLIST (series) | Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, asshole, and has mood swings.

You had no choice. Newly orphaned with two acquired guardianship, on the brink of homelessness, you caved into desperation. You started to steal; pick-pocketing unsuspecting tourons and swiping valuables at island parties.

The latter is how you came across Aaron. He saw you stole from one of his clients and struck up a conversation. You thought you would be arrested, or done worse as retribution, but he gave you his number to contact. Said you could call him if you were strapped for some cash. When you learned more about him through JJ—and how Luke owed him money once, leading to a bad dispute that ended in the loss of his job and a black eye—you realized you were dealing with a bad guy.

The consensus was to stay away from Aaron because of his shady conduction of business and excessive use of violence. But you were in a deadlock. No one would offer you a loan because of your bad credit and you were on the cusp of losing your family's legacy. So, you did it.

Now, it's back to bite you in the ass. The reason why loan sharks are dangerous is their exorbitantly high interest rates and lack of regard for the law. If you're unable to pay them back within strict deadlines, they will double the initial amount you owe and go to extreme lengths to threaten friends and family for payback. It's a tactic that works best because you can't turn to the police.

When you finish your anecdote, the atmosphere falls into an eerily silence. You can hear the sound of a pin drop or the soft laughter of your sisters three doors down. You're perched on the end of Rafe's bed while he's leaning against his desk, back pressed against the counter, digesting your words.

Your throat feels dry. It wasn't even a long explanation but something about the way Rafe's watching you, his eyes never straying, and the lack of response afterward. You feel like you're burning under his gaze.

This must be how he felt when you were silent.

"Say something," you urge, voice smaller than intended. His eyes shift and observes the look on your face with an indiscernible expression.

"How much did you borrow?"

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth before answering. "30K."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters under his breath, exhaling sharply. Guilt gnaws at your stomach and your eyes pinch with a wave of sodden emotions. This is one of the reasons why you hesitate to tell him; you don't want him to take your burden as his.

You sigh tightly. "I told you it's bad."

"Does this mean you owe him sixty grand now?"

"No." You shake your head. "I paid back ten."

The numbers still aren't optimal. "So forty then?"

"No," You blurt out, before retracting. "I think. I–I don't know. He hasn't contacted me..." You trail off, not wanting to imagine your debt doubled. If you had paid the required amount, as scripted in your contract, within the due date, you would've been fine. Now, you're in an ambiguous grey zone with no clear direction on where to go next.

"But when he does?"

You look up from your crestfallen gaze to find Rafe's jaw set, his eyes searching your face. Frustration rolls off his strong demeanor, and you take it as a sign of his irritation—at your negligence—that you can't help but feel obligated to alleviate the feeling. "It's fine." You say evenly. "I'll figure it out."

"It's not that." He declares roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose, and exhaling another deep breath. Recognizing his own turbulent emotions are flaring, he doesn't want to take it out on you. "I offered you money. We could've avoided this. At the start of our deal, I offered you—"

You cut him off. "I know."

His expression is sharp. "Then why didn't you take it?"

"I—" You draw in shaky breath, fingers grabbing at the sheets beneath you and tightening them into fists. "I had a plan."

"You had a plan?" Rafe repeats, his voice dripping with disbelief. While he's trying to be patient with you, he can't gauge how your mind works. How it's so set on an independent mode that now—even now—you seem to want to do it all alone. "Does it look like your plan is working?"

This time, it came harsher than he intended, and he wanted to take it back immediately but it was too late. His words were laced with a certain venom that spewed onto you.

But instead of being upset, your own anger erupts.

"Were you going to drop 20K for a couple of fake dates?" You snap, standing from your own seat. You knew what you had done was moronic and you can't take it back but you did have a plan. When Rafe doesn't give you a proper answer, you take his silence as complicity. "Exactly. It would've been stupid on your end and I would've never agreed to such a ridiculous deal. I've already made that mistake once."

He knows you just called him stupid, but Rafe can't stop the rising smile on his lips. In your scorn, you're almost back to your old self.

"Why are you smiling?" You cross your arms, attempting to maintain your level of authority, but his grin broadens. "Stop it."

"I miss you."

Your heart stutters and all your momentum drops. Rafe uses the opportunity to cross the small distance and capture your face in his palm and you lean into his touch, shoulders sagging. You can't believe you're reduced to putty in his hands.

Trying to regain some sense of control, you avert your gaze from his face, and both your palms flatten against his chest. "You're mean, Rafe."

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmurs, running the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. "What was your plan?"

Part of you didn't want to tell him, to withhold the information, but when he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, the earnest look behind them shatters that desire. With your heart leaping in your throat, you explain slowly. "When you get Cameron Development, the plan was that I was gonna get a steady income as your regular caterer. Therefore, when payments were due, I would have a reliable source of income."

His breath hitches at the implication behind your words. Rafe's expression hardens. "That's dependent on me getting the company."

You keep his gaze. "I know."

"You based your entire plan on me?"

You can't exactly decipher the tone behind his sentence, and you feel the need to lower your gaze to his chest, grabbing a handful of his shirt. You mumble, "You make it sound like it's stupid."

"It's not—" He grabs your chin again, forcing your gaze up to his. Your eyes are soft and big, while his darkened one scans your face, trying to read your intent. He asks lowly, "You believe in me that much?"

Your voice is gentle when you answer. "Of course."

His heart sings. Rafe can't believe what he's hearing, or rather what he's not. It's the same subtle underlying language he's used to translating; the unspoken. Your entire plan is contingent on his success. That means your trust in him started since the beginning of our arrangement.

He never had someone who had that much faith in him that they would bet it all. It's an indescribable feeling, that's first met with doubt, before transforming into something else. To know someone is always in his corner, always rooting for his success, always believing in him.

Fuck.

He's in love with you.

His eyes stray to your lips and the urge to kiss you overwhelms him. His actions have always been better at demonstrating his emotions than his words ever can. But he resists with a couple of measured breaths. Then, he nods once. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

You're in a dazed state. "We?"

He doesn't want you to think you have to do this all alone. You have him now. "Yeah, but later. I can't focus right now."

Before you can seek clarification, his other hand cradles your cheek and Rafe slams his lips onto yours.

It catches you by surprise and a small moan slips out that Rafe swallows. He wants you. Mind, body, and soul. All of it—the taste of you, the feeling of your skin on his, your words against the column of his throat. He wants to feel you writhing beneath him with pleasure, to save all your best memories for him, and to know that you're completely and unequivocally his.

Rafe parts, just a breath of distance, and whispers against your swollen lips. "God, I miss you."

Your fingers thread through his hair. "I've been here."

His eyes are hungry. "Not what I meant."

He silences any reaction by resuming the kiss, forcing you backward against the bed, and your back lands on the mattress with a soft thump. Rafe hovers over you, his weight pressed comfortably against your body while he kisses you like a starved man.

Even if you don't say it, you missed him too. The feeling of him against you, your heart meeting his at precise beats. When Rafe moves to plant kisses along the curve of your neck, a small whine escapes you. You want to feel his lips on yours, to feel his warmth on your tongue, but he wants to satisfy every inch of you.

His hand starts to caress the hem of your shirt—his shirt—pushing up the fabric to reveal more of your exposed stomach to your bare breasts. With little words spoken, like a coordinated dance, you move enough for Rafe to pull the material completely off of you.

"Shit," he swears, taking a moment to take you in, "I'm never going to get used to this." Then, he descends to your nipples and captures one between his teeth.

You let out another moan, feeling his tongue swirl around your sensitive bud, clashing with the metal barbell. Your legs spread wider, allowing Rafe to slot between your thighs. The boxers he let you borrow are thin, and you feel his hardened erection rocking against your heated core.

Your fingers find the button of his jeans. "Rafe," you whisper, aching with desire. "I need this off."

"Need, huh?" He teases, his hot breath fans against the valley of your breasts and you shiver. "Tell me how much you need me, baby."

He wants to hear it all. Even if it's fake, even if it's just dirty talk spoken during sex. For a brief, fleeting moment, he wants to pretend you need him as much as he needs you.

You draw your hands up to cup either side of his face, forcing him off your tits and tilting his gaze to yours. "Rafe Cameron, I need you inside me. Badly."

Hearing the desperation behind your voice—and his name rolling off your tongue, Rafe removes his clothes and helps you out of yours. Before you have the chance to say anything else, Rafe's fingers are between your folds, spreading them apart, and a sound of satisfaction is heard from the back of his throat. "God, you're wet."

You are. Your arousal coats his digits, and with a slow stroke of his hand, your hips buck into his palm that rest against your clit.

"Rafe," you whine, knowing he's toying with you. His fingers stroke your pussy, but not enough pressure to give rise to your climax. "Inside, please. I'll be so good."

He grins and retracts his hand. When he lines his swollen cock against your entrance, he pauses for a moment. Rafe's eyes connect with yours. "Did you take your pill?"

When Rafe went out this early morning, with your sisters, he went to the pharmacy to pick up some birth control for you. It currently sits on his desk, opened and with one missing tablet. "I did."

"Good, I need to feel all of you."

Without another word, he thrusts into you, causing your back to arch off the mattress.

Rafe doesn't go hard and fast like normal but instead bends forward to capture your lips against his teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest regardless, the feeling of your walls wrapped around him, the way he fills you—like a puzzle finding its missing piece—makes your head spin.

"Feel so fucking good," he whispers against your heated skin, his hand reaching out to take yours, intertwining with your fingers. "Can't believe I almost lost this."

You can't believe it either, but you couldn't say it. Rafe angles himself where his cock hits right against your cervix, causing your head to tip back and dig into the sheets, moaning wildly at the pleasure. Rafe easily kisses you to swallow the noise of your open mouth, reminding you that your sisters are just a couple of doors over.

You should care. You really should. But you don't. You need him. Closer. Harder. Faster. Your legs wrap around his torso, trapping him. "Need you," you whimper, as each thrust grows more choppy. "Need you so fucking bad, Rafe."

He can't control himself. Removing his constraint of trying to keep it sentimental, to keep it sweet. He loves how desperate you need him. How rough you want it. His pace quickens with the rut of his hips, and you feel the familiar white-hot pleasure searing through your body, climaxing.

"More," you beg, arms wrapped around his neck, fingers clawing against his back muscles. You're removing all the space between him and you, until there's nothing but skin-on-skin. "Please, more."

"Baby, I'll give you everything," he grunts breathily, scraping his teeth against the curve of your neck, hitting a sensitive spot that leaves you whining. "Everything and more if you'd let me."

Something about his words twists inside you and you come hard. Rafe feels you clenching around him, so tight, that it causes him to slow his thrust but the pleasure is unbearable. Easily, he follows after, coming inside you with the familiar hot cum filling you up.

Rafe lands on top of you, careful not to crush you under his weight. You welcome it, nonetheless, liking the way he presses against you. Both your breaths are heavy, clambering to catch up on missing air, and Rafe's still inside you. You like that too.

Your hands are still intertwined, and you're the first to retract from the hold to place your warm palm against the side of his profile, causing his head to lift to meet your gaze. He's settled between the valley of your breasts, his stubble tickling your skin, and you take the moment to lean forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

It feels sentimental. Vulnerable. Almost too real.

"Okay, now get off," you say jokingly, undercutting the tension in the room. Rafe scoffs but listens, rolling off, slipping out of you. The loss of him makes you frown, but you quickly wipe away the expression as you turn on your side, facing him.

Rafe studies you. This time, the sex felt different. More. He'll never say it, in fear of it scaring you away, but he truly never felt as vulnerable as he did moments ago when he was inside you. The memories flooding through him could easily get him hard again, but he tries to distract himself, taking a strand of your hair between his fingers.

You smile softly, noting how mesmerized he is with your hair. Of the color and the texture. It draws you into your thoughts, and you're suddenly reminded of a question that's been stuck in your head for the past twenty-four hours.

You say his name, causing him to stop and look at you. "Why were you with Leila the other night?"

"She called me." He answers truthfully, and before you can question him further, he adds. "I was coming over anyways."

This surprises you. "You were?"

"Couldn't leave you like that."

"You didn't stop me."

"I know, I fucked that up," Rafe admits, eyes scanning over your face, trying to express his sincerity.

You study him, recognizing his truth, but you still have some doubts. Another question about your relationship hangs in the air, and as your lips part, Rafe recognizes the question before you even have the chance to ask.

"We're not broken up."

A sense of relief fills you, but there's also the remnant of heartache.

Your voice is soft. "I said a break."

"We're not doing that either."

You don't know if you can separate from him. You don't know if you want to. But you wanted this extra layer of protection, just in case. "If you were worried, I was still committed to doing all the things you needed with Ward—"

"I don't care." He sharply cuts you off. "If someone asks you who you're with, don't answer that it's complicated. It's not. You're with me, got it?"

He's addressing the moment when Kelce asked if you were in a relationship with Rafe and you answered vaguely. It must've been stuck in his mind. Rafe never set perimeters on who knows the truth behind your little farce, only that his father remains oblivious, but you guess it also extends to the rest of the Kook public.

You don't answer him, not wanting to taint the aftermath of good sex with discussions about logistics and labels. You want to enjoy the fleeting moment, even if it's all you get.

Rafe sees your silence and softens his voice. His hand cups the side of your face, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "You're mine, you know that?"

You do, but you don't think it's in the way Rafe realizes. The lines are so blurred, you don't know what's real or fake anymore. You don't know if this is a sentiment shared during intimacy or a parade with the public, or if he does want you. Asking for clarification has burned you twice and you'd rather not put yourself in that situation again.

You're silently asking Rafe to tell you more. To give you more words. To speak. If he reveals that he has feelings for you, telling you he wants you—truly wants you—beyond this arrangement, you would be his. All his.

But Rafe's never been the one to willingly talk and reveal things. You have to break an arm and a leg for him to consider giving you the time of day. You rather not break your heart too.

A banging on the locked bedroom door absolutes you from answering him. "Rafey!" Amara screams from the hallway, "You promised you'd see my dress!"

"Dress?" You turn away from the door. "What dress?"

Rafe says nothing, but the small smirk on his face reveals everything. "Rafe. What did you get them?"

You didn't go with your sisters on their early morning excursion with Rafe. You were too tired and were catching up on sleep. When you woke up, they were already back and had been gleefully locked away in the guest bedroom the entire afternoon.

"Don't worry about it."

Rafe slips off the bed and gets redressed while you watch. You admire the planes and ridges of his chest, and when he finishes, he picks your clothes off the floor and throws them at you, telling you to get up too.

You do, and after you're no longer bared and exposed on his king-sized bed, Rafe unlocks the door to reveal an impatient Amara standing behind the door. She's carrying a foreign doll between your arms; something handmade and name-branded, something she definitely didn't have before.

"Rafe..." You warn lowly, but it lacks the critical threat behind its tone. He just grins at your attempt, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of his bedroom. Amara leads you to the living room, where the registration of how much Rafe bought your sisters comes to light.

Scatters of large shopping bags, of various shops and boutiques you never heard the name of, litter across the floor. Leilani is sitting on one of the couches, messing with something in her hands. A phone. Amara’s ruffling through one of the bags, trying to find her dress.

You turn back to Rafe. "You got to be kidding."

"Just because you won't let me buy you nice things doesn't mean you should deprive your sisters of that opportunity," Rafe shrugs, taking a seat on the closest couch, and tugging you along. There's plenty of room on the cushioned chair, but Rafe decides to pull you onto his lap.

You don't even mind; you like your spot on his lap. His arm lazily wraps around your waist while your legs dangle off the side. While Amara recruited Leila along to search for their dresses—because they have that much stuff—Rafe playfully bites your exposed shoulder.

Finally finding their princess gowns and diamond tiaras, Amara grabs Leilani's hand and drags her off to the nearest bathroom. They're giggling while they skip away, bouncing on their feet, behaving the exact opposite of what you expected them to be after a traumatic experience.

"They're happy."

"Of course they are." He scoffs, "We spent the entire morning ransacking every store downtown, buying everything they set their eyes on."

You chuckle softly, and gratitude passes through you. "You didn't have to do that."

"Nah, I had to," Rafe slides you closer. "Got to stay on their good side, you know?"

You shake your head, hiding a smile. The sound of a door opening is heard and you turn to the source of the sound, expecting to see your sisters return with their costumes, but instead find the sudden appearance of Sarah Cameron standing in the middle of the foyer.

"Sarah." Rafe stiffens under you, surprise evident in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my house, Rafe," She says with the roll of her eyes.

"It hasn't been your house since you ran away three months ago," he snaps, a hardness to his words. "Where's your Pogue boyfriend now?"

She ignores her brother, shifting her attention to you. "Who are you?"

You feel like you're caught in the crossfire of their rivalry. Before you get the chance to answer, Rafe cuts in for you.

"She's my girlfriend," Rafe sneers, his arm tightening around your waist. "Which is none of your business."

"Gee, Rafe, really a great welcome home party," Sarah says sarcastically, adjusting the large bag over her shoulders, which you presumed is stuffed with her things. She looks back at you. "You're the Pogue my dad mentioned, right? The one who owns the bar near the docks?"

Something about the Cameron siblings minimizing you to a social class. Nonetheless, you nod. "Cool. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry you have to deal with that one," she points to her brother, who's shooting daggers at his little sister. She ignores the look. "Well, I hope you had a good... shopping trip. I'm going to go unpack."

Before you have a chance to correct her, she walks away, and Rafe shouts after her. "Don't unload too much, just in case you wanna run away again," he reminds, to which Sarah responds with a flip of her middle finger, turning onto the stairwell and disappearing.

You don't know how to deal with a Rafe post-Sarah, especially because you've heard of his long-winded rambles about the golden child. You don't even want to step into it, because what Rafe feels for his younger sister is none of your business. It's his complicated family. You can't fix that.

Instead, you pull him back to Earth, turning his head away and tilting his gaze back onto you. His heated eyes, darkened and full of resentment and anger, soften upon meeting yours, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

Leaning into him, the both of you say nothing, doing nothing, until Amara and Leilani emerge from the dressing room with glamorous princess gowns and a crown over their head. Then, they did a little show for you.

The moments spent with you make him forget about his issue with his sister. With her return and what it means to the company. Who earns in favor with their father. 

She’ll be a problem for another day. 

Not realizing how true those words will be. 

★ part thirteen ★

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[nevadancitizen]

-> PROLOGUE: THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA

synopsis: you meet with a mysterious woman on an old californian dock.

word count: ~850

ships: Arthur Morgan/modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: inspired by @heart-of-gold-outlaw !! go read their modern reader fic i really like it. also we'll be getting into the actual time travel stuff after this teaser lololol :3

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

It’s a bracing, misty evening – supposed to be spring, but doesn’t feel like it. The waves are choppy and the gulls are huddled on the pylons with their beaks tucked under their wings, their feathers ruffling in the cold wind. 

Three hulking great ships, all freighters, are tied up on the beat-up dock. This isn’t one of those fashionable wharfs with dockworker unions or passenger liners – no pretty girls on their balconies, clinking champagne flutes to celebrate the start of the cruise. Just a couple of red-faced salts in pea jackets tramping by, trailing cigarette smoke, boots crunching on dried-up gull shit.

They spare you glances as they pass by, surely wondering what you were doing here in the early hours of the morning. Were you waiting for someone to get off work? Were you waiting for a drug deal? Or were you just admiring the way the waves spray water onto the dock?

(In reality, it was none of those. You’re waiting on something much worse.)

A woman, sleek and modern in style and rugged and worn in looks, approaches you. She has a quiet intensity about her — something about the way she squints against the ocean spray mixed with the permanent-looking scowl on her face. 

She tilts her head toward you, and you nod. You walk towards her and meet her halfway, leaning in close on her insistence. 

“You’re the one in need?” She asks softly. You just barely hear her over the waves crashing against the dock.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, just as soft. “It’s my sister’s daughter. My eleven-year-old niece. She’s… she’s in a really bad way.”

“What does she need?” The woman asks. 

“A pancreas,” you say. “She’s got acute recurrent pancreatitis. There aren’t a lot of affordable child-sized organs lying around. God knows I’ve turned not just California, but the entire Mojave upside-down trying to find one. I’ve called hospitals in Arizona, Nevada, even New Mexico. I – I’m not asking you to kill a child! I just… I need the money for the operation. It’ll put her on the waiting list, and… once we show the hospital we have the money, I’m sure she’ll be okay. Somehow.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you just take out a loan? Or take on debt?”

“I can’t,” you say. “None of us can. I foreclosed on my last house. My sister has thousands of dollars in credit card debt, counting all the interest. Please, just trust me when I say I need this money. I don’t think anyone has nearly half a million dollars in their junk drawer. If I did, why would I be here, asking you for it?”

The woman looks you over and tucks her jacket closer around her. The outline of a gun at her hip becomes glaringly obvious – she wants you to notice it.

“Ma’am, I’m begging you.” You clasp your hands together as tight as you can. “I come from a family of deadbeats and addicts. I was an addict myself, and I quit just to save money for her operation, but it’s just not enough. I need this money. I won’t misappropriate these funds – won’t use them to pay off other debts, won’t use them for drugs. Just… please, miss.”

The woman holds up her hand. “Stop groveling.”

What the fuck else am I supposed to do?! You shout in your head. I need money, and you’ve got the money! My niece is going to fucking die if I don’t get it!

Instead, you just nod politely and put your hands behind your back. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies. I’m sure you can understand my desperation.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman hums. “I can get you the money. Just give me your banking details and I can wire it to you.” 

You pull out a pre-prepared index card with your bank information written down. The woman checks that it has your full name, address, account number, and routing number before speaking again.

“Do you have life insurance?” She asks, as if offhandedly.

“Uh, yes?” You say, unsure. “It won’t come out to a lot, so I couldn’t have an “accident” at work. Maybe just under 200,000 dollars? Nowhere near enough to cover her operation.”

The woman hums and tucks the card into her pocket. “I’ll get you the money.”

“Thank you so, so much,” you say. “You have no idea what this means to me – no idea what you’ve done for me and my family.”

“I have some idea.” The woman’s hand lingers at her waist. It takes you a few seconds too long to notice that –

A loud sound. A raging pain. The bullet hit something vital, but doesn’t grant you the mercy of dying in that instant. 

You stagger back, holding yourself. “What…”

“You’re dumber than you look,” the woman says, her voice fading in and out. “I’m just helping your family.”

You inhale shakily and take a step back. There’s a sense of falling, and something cold surrounds you, but you can’t make out much of anything in this condition. 

The last thing you think before the black takes you? It’s May. Who the fuck gets shot in May?

[mostlysignssomeportents]

At long last, a meaningful step to protect Americans' privacy

This Saturday (19 Aug), I'm appearing at the San Diego Union-Tribune Festival of Books. I'm on a 2:30PM panel called "Return From Retirement," followed by a signing:

https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/festivalofbooks

Privacy raises some thorny, subtle and complex issues. It also raises some stupid-simple ones. The American surveillance industry's shell-game is founded on the deliberate confusion of the two, so that the most modest and sensible actions are posed as reductive, simplistic and unworkable.

Two pillars of the American surveillance industry are credit reporting bureaux and data brokers. Both are unbelievably sleazy, reckless and dangerous, and neither faces any real accountability, let alone regulation.

Remember Equifax, the company that doxed every adult in America and was given a mere wrist-slap, and now continues to assemble nonconsensual dossiers on every one of us, without any material oversight improvements?

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/07/20/equifax-settles-with-ftc-cfpb-states-and-consumer-class-actions-for-700m/

Equifax's competitors are no better. Experian doxed the nation again, in 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/30/dox-the-world/#experian

It's hard to overstate how fucking scummy the credit reporting world is. Equifax invented the business in 1899, when, as the Retail Credit Company, it used private spies to track queers, political dissidents and "race mixers" so that banks and merchants could discriminate against them:

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

As awful as credit reporting is, the data broker industry makes it look like a paragon of virtue. If you want to target an ad to "Rural and Barely Making It" consumers, the brokers have you covered:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#axciom

More than 650,000 of these categories exist, allowing advertisers to target substance abusers, depressed teens, and people on the brink of bankruptcy:

https://themarkup.org/privacy/2023/06/08/from-heavy-purchasers-of-pregnancy-tests-to-the-depression-prone-we-found-650000-ways-advertisers-label-you

These companies follow you everywhere, including to abortion clinics, and sell the data to just about anyone:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/07/safegraph-spies-and-lies/#theres-no-i-in-uterus

There are zillions of these data brokers, operating in an unregulated wild west industry. Many of them have been rolled up into tech giants (Oracle owns more than 80 brokers), while others merely do business with ad-tech giants like Google and Meta, who are some of their best customers.

As bad as these two sectors are, they're even worse in combination – the harms data brokers (sloppy, invasive) inflict on us when they supply credit bureaux (consequential, secretive, intransigent) are far worse than the sum of the harms of each.

And now for some good news. The Consumer Finance Protection Bureau, under the leadership of Rohit Chopra, has declared war on this alliance:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/08/16/cfpb-looks-to-restrict-the-sleazy-link-between-credit-reporting-agencies-and-data-brokers/

They've proposed new rules limiting the trade between brokers and bureaux, under the Fair Credit Reporting Act, putting strict restrictions on the transfer of information between the two:

https://www.cnn.com/2023/08/15/tech/privacy-rules-data-brokers/index.html

As Karl Bode writes for Techdirt, this is long overdue and meaningful. Remember all the handwringing and chest-thumping about Tiktok stealing Americans' data to the Chinese military? China doesn't need Tiktok to get that data – it can buy it from data-brokers. For peanuts.

The CFPB action is part of a muscular style of governance that is characteristic of the best Biden appointees, who are some of the most principled and competent in living memory. These regulators have scoured the legislation that gives them the power to act on behalf of the American people and discovered an arsenal of action they can take:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Alas, not all the Biden appointees have the will or the skill to pull this trick off. The corporate Dems' darlings are mired in #LearnedHelplessness, convinced that they can't – or shouldn't – use their prodigious powers to step in to curb corporate power:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

And it's true that privacy regulation faces stiff headwinds. Surveillance is a public-private partnership from hell. Cops and spies love to raid the surveillance industries' dossiers, treating them as an off-the-books, warrantless source of unconstitutional personal data on their targets:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/16/ring-ring-lapd-calling/#ring

These powerful state actors reliably intervene to hamstring attempts at privacy law, defending the massive profits raked in by data brokers and credit bureaux. These profits, meanwhile, can be mobilized as lobbying dollars that work lawmakers and regulators from the private sector side. Caught in the squeeze between powerful government actors (the true "Deep State") and a cartel of filthy rich private spies, lawmakers and regulators are frozen in place.

Or, at least, they were. The CFPB's discovery that it had the power all along to curb commercial surveillance follows on from the FTC's similar realization last summer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/12/regulatory-uncapture/#conscious-uncoupling

I don't want to pretend that all privacy questions can be resolved with simple, bright-line rules. It's not clear who "owns" many classes of private data – does your mother own the fact that she gave birth to you, or do you? What if you disagree about such a disclosure – say, if you want to identify your mother as an abusive parent and she objects?

But there are so many stupid-simple privacy questions. Credit bureaux and data-brokers don't inhabit any kind of grey area. They simply should not exist. Getting rid of them is a project of years, but it starts with hacking away at their sources of profits, stripping them of defenses so we can finally annihilate them.

I'm kickstarting the audiobook for "The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation," a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and make a new, good internet to succeed the old, good internet. It's a DRM-free book, which means Audible won't carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

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

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

[gunilslaugh]

Need Some Help Darling?

Kwak Jiseok Summary: Bad Guy Jiseok always seems to be around whenever you find yourself in trouble. (non-idol au) WC:~1.1k Warning: Reader gets threatened with a knife (but doesn’t get hurt)

part 2 part 3 epilogue!

photo not mine credits to owner.

The first time you met Jiseok he had taken you hostage. Your dad had taken a loan from him and was yet to pay it back, so Jiseok decided to take you until your father paid him back. 

“Jiseok, leave them alone!” Your father frantically tried to get you away from Jiseok. Jiseok tightened his already bruising grip around your middle. 

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you just paid me back.” Jiseok chuckled sinisterly. “I’ll give you three days to give me the money. If you don't, your little precious here gets it.” He caressed your face with the back of his hand making you flinch. He then proceeded to drag you out of your home and throw you into the backseat of a car. 

“You don’t need to look so afraid,” he said, sounding annoyed. 

“You just kidnapped me!” you argued. 

“Blame your father. If he paid me back this wouldn’t have happened,” he argued back. 

“What if he doesn’t get you the money?” you asked worriedly.

“I said it back there didn’t I? You get it,” he leaned forward and lifted your chin with his fingers.

“What is ‘it’ exactly?” you asked, leaning away from him. He lets go of your chin.

“I haven’t decided yet. Do you have a least favorite finger?” He looked down towards your hands. Resulting in you curling your fingers and pulling your hands further up your lap. You can hear him chuckle at your action. 

“I didn’t do anything though. Why should I have to lose a finger?” you pointed out. 

“It’s called collateral damage darling.” He shot you a cheeky smile. 

“Don’t call me that,” you grumbled. 

“Well I never got your name, darling,” he called you the pet name again. 

“Y/n, my name is y/n,” you told him. He hummed. 

“Darling suits you better,” he says. 

“Asshole suits you better,” you muttered. 

“Hey don’t mean now. I’m the one with the power here,” he reminds you. 

“You kidnapped me and said you cut off my finger,” you justified your meanness. 

“I said I haven’t decided yet. If you keep talking like this, maybe I’ll make it your tongue,” he threatened. Your mouth immediately closes as you fall silent. “That’s what I thought,” he tsked. “For your sake let’s just hope your father pays me in time.”

Two of Jiseok’s men held you in place while Jiseok stood off to the side in front of you talking with your father. 

“So do you have the money or are things gonna get ugly for darling over there.” Jiseok gestured towards you.

“Jiseok please just let them go and we can figure something else out. They didn’t do anything,” you dad said. Jiseok sighs walking over to you.

“I guess I overestimated how much you care about them.” Jiseok pulled out a knife. He ran it alongside your face. “Where should we start?” He pretends to think and looks over to where your father stood. “Or maybe we should just get right to it,” he held the knife against your neck making your breathing hitch. 

“Stop! Stop! I have your money. Let them go, don't hurt them,” you dad pleads. He goes and gets an envelope full of the money.

“You should have just handed it over,” Jiseok states, annoyed. “Let them go,” he tells his men while he counts the money to make sure it’s all there. The men release their hold on you. Your dad rushes over to you uttering a thousand apologies. 

“Let’s not have any business together again,” he tells your dad. “Goodbye darling,” he tells you as he exits your house. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stretched your aching muscles after finally finishing your work. Your boss thought that it would be nice to make your department team completely redo a project that was due tomorrow morning. Most of your colleagues had already headed home while you stayed behind to tie up the loose ends. You gathered up your belongings and started to head out of your work building. All you wanted to do was go home and sleep. 

Once you arrived at the nearest bus station you took a seat on the bench and waited for the bus to arrive. 

“Hey pretty, what are you doing out all by yourself?” A group of guys approached you, making you immediately feel uneasy. You decided to ignore, praying that the bus would hurry up and arrive.

“Cat got your tongue?” another one spoke. They took a seat next to you on the bench. You stood up to distance yourself from them. One of them caught your wrist. 

“Oh come on. There’s no need to be scared. We just want to talk,” one said.

“Yeah we don’t mean any harm, how about we go grab a drink or something?” one suggested. 

“I’m not interested,” you said firmly, pulling your wrist away.

“Looks like we got a feisty one,” one notes. You begin to quickly walk away. Trying to get to the nearest building for safety. You can hear them follow behind you. You picked up your pace to walk even faster. 

“You’re gonna miss your bus,” they taunt you. 

You’re ready to start sprinting when, “There you are darling. Didn’t you say we’d meet at the bus stop?” It was Jiseok. He comes and wraps his arm around your shoulder and looks at the group of guys behind you. 

“Do we have a problem here?” He looked at the guys darkly. He moved his shirt out of the way to show the knife he was carrying on his hip. Safe to say the guys bothering you quickly scampered away like a bunch of scared kittens. 

“Thanks,” you said softly. 

“You should be more careful. It’s not safe at night, especially in this area,” he tells you. You nodded. 

“I’ll head home now,” you dismissed yourself. 

“I’ll take you,” he used his arm that was still around you to keep you in your place. “This place is full of bad guys.” 

“Like you,” you joked. Jiseok scoffs. 

“Yes, like me, so let this bad guy take you home before another one makes you end up on the news,” he says. He then guides you to his car. The ride back to your place is silent other than the radio that is playing. 

“Thanks for driving me back,” you thanked him once you arrived at your house. 

“Here,” he hands you a piece of paper. 

“What is this?” you asked. 

“My number. If you work late again and have no one to pick you up, call me,” he tells you. You stare at the paper. You didn’t know what to make of it. 

“Thanks, goodnight.” You folded the paper and opened the door to get out of his car. 

“Goodnight darling,” he called after you.

part 2 part 3 epilogue!

Taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143

[bitchesgetriches]

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about How to Pay off Debt

Understanding debt:

Let’s End This Damaging Misconception About Credit Cards

Season 2, Episode 10: “Which Is Smarter: Getting a Loan? or Saving up to Pay Cash?”

Dafuq Is Interest? And How Does It Work for the Forces of Darkness?

Investing Deathmatch: Paying off Debt vs. Investing in the Stock Market

How to Build Good Credit Without Going Into Debt

Dafuq Is a Down Payment? And Why Do You Need One to Buy Stuff?

It’s More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Making Decisions Under Stress: The Siren Song of Chocolate Cake

How Mental Health Affects Your Finances

Paying off debt:

Kill Your Debt Faster with the Death by a Thousand Cuts Technique

Share My Horror: The World’s Worst Debt Visualization

The Best Way To Pay off Credit Card Debt: From the Snowball To the Avalanche

The Debt-Killing Power of Rounding up Bills

A Dungeonmaster’s Guide to Defeating Debt

How to Pay Hospital Bills When You’re Flat Broke 

Ask the Bitches Pandemic Lightning Round: “What Do I Do If I Can’t Pay My Bills?” 

Slay Your Financial Vampires

Season 4, Episode 3: “My credit card debt is slowly crushing me. Is there any escape from this horrible cycle?” 

Case Study: Held Back by Past Financial Mistakes, Fighting Bad Credit and $90K in Debt 

Student loan debt:

What We Talk About When We Talk About Student Loans

Ask the Bitches: “The Government Put Student Loans in Forbearance. Can I Stop Paying—or Is It a Trap?”

How to Pay for College without Selling Your Soul to the Devil

When (and How) to Try Refinancing or Consolidating Student Loans

Ask the Bitches: I Want to Move Out, but I Can’t Afford It. How Bad Would It Be to Take out Student Loans to Cover It?

Season 4, Episode 4: “I’m $100K in Student Loan Debt and I Think It Should Be Forgiven. Does This Make Me an Entitled Asshole?” 

The 2022 Student Loan Forgiveness FAQ You’ve Been Waiting For

2023 Student Loan Forgiveness Update: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly 

Our Final Word on Student Loan Forgiveness 

Avoiding debt:

Ask Not How Much You Should Save, Ask How Much You Should Spend 

How to Make Any Financial Decision, No Matter How Tough, with Maximum Swag

Your Yearly Free Medical Care Checklist

Two-Ring Circus 

Status Symbols Are Pointless and Dumb 

Advice I Wish My Parents Gave Me When I Was 16 

On Emergency Fund Remorse… and Bacon Emergencies

Should You Increase Your Salary or Decrease Your Spending? 

Don’t Spend Money on Shit You Don’t Like, Fool

The Magically Frugal Power of Patience

The Only Advice You’ll Ever Need for a Cheap-Ass Wedding 

The Most Impactful Financial Decision I’ve Ever Made… and Why I Don’t Recommend It 

3 Times I Was Damn Grateful for My Emergency Fund (and Side Income) 

Buy Now Pay Later Apps: That Old Predatory Lending by a Crappy New Name 

Credit Card Companies HATE Her! Stay Out of Credit Card Debt With This One Weird Trick 

Ask the Bitches: Should I Get a Loan Even Though I Can Afford To Pay Cash? 

The Bitches vs. debt:

I Paid off My Student Loans Ahead of Schedule. Here’s How.

I Paid off My Student Loans. Now What?

Hurricane Debt Weakens to Tropical Storm Debt, but Experts Warn It’s Still Debt

The Real Story of How I Paid Off My Mortgage Early in 4 Years

Case Study: Swimming Upstream against Unemployment, Exhaustion, and $2,750 a Month in Unproductive Spending 

That’s all for now! We try to update these masterposts periodically, so check back for more in… a couple… months??? Maybe????

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sugar Mama Chapter 1

And another one! New story involving #sugarbabybucky Summary: Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him. 

bucky barnes x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut, sexual assault (not from Bucky)

Next chapter

Bucky was exhausted.  He had been working three jobs for four years now just trying to get by, and this was his sixth sixteen hour day in a row.  Student loans and credit card debt was eating him out of house and home, in the most literal sense.  Even living in a rent controlled building wasn’t helping with the bills piling up.  He had gone to college for architecture and interior design, which he was doing now working as an assistant during normal working hours for one of the many local interior designers.  Then he would go straight to his second job as a waiter in a high end restaurant in downtown Manhattan, then at the end of the night go home and do a few more hours of online tutoring.  He had ended his 20s and entered his 30s feeling like an old man, with no end in sight of ever getting a break or being able to break even with his debt.  Forget about dating or having a family someday.  That all seemed like a ridiculous pipe dream now.

“Heeeeyyyy Buckaroo?” Steve sidled up to him as he was cleaning off wine glasses.

“No,” Bucky cut him off.  

“But it’s just–”

“Steve, it’s Friday night, I’d really like to go home and get in bed at a normal time tonight,” Bucky interrupted him, the dark circles under his eyes that he tried to ignore looking more prominent by the day.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.  But Peggy has been hounding me about going to that new burlesque club that just opened and I told her I was working but we haven’t had a date night in a long time–”

“Ugh, fine.  But I’m not sharing tips,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his face as he pulled a 5 Hour Energy out of his apron pocket and quickly downed it like a shot.

“Those are bad for you, Buck,” Steve gave his friend a worried look.

“Well maybe a heart attack in my 30s will put me out of my misery,” Bucky half-joked.  Steve was silent.  Bucky turned to him and scoffed.  “It’s a joke.  Go, I’ll take the closing shift.  Say hi to Peg for me.”

“I’ll take your next closing, I promise.  Thanks punk,” Steve gave him a quick hug.

“Yeah whatever, jerk,” Bucky laughed.  As Steve went to the back to change, Bucky went to the host stand and figured out who was his next table.

“Whatcha got for me, witchy woman?” he leaned against the stand.  Wanda gave him a quick glance.  

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she sighed, looking back down at the list.

“It’s not my fault you got witch eyes.  And I never said that was a bad thing,” Bucky said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah whatever,” she rolled her amber eyes.  “You’re gonna love this one.  A Wall Street investment heiress, with some famous friends,” she gave him an unimpressed look.

“An heiress, huh?  Well maybe she’ll be my next sugar mama,” he joked, giving her a wink as he adjusted his apron.

“You wouldn’t know how to be a sugar baby even if you tried,” she sassed back at him.  “Table 42.  She’s all yours.”

“Thanks babes,” he sing-songed at her before heading towards his section.  As he approached table 42 he tried to see who the heiress was, but she was unfortunately facing away from him.  Her friends, though, he easily recognized from some of the most recent films that had just hit theaters: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov.  Jackpot, he thought with a wry smile.

“Good evening, folks, welcome to Marea.  My name is Bucky and I’ll be your server tonight.  Could I get you started with some drinks?  Or a review of our wine list?” He gave them all a friendly smile as he looked each of them in the eye at least once.  The actors gave him quick smiles and glances before ordering generic wines and waters, then the heiress caught his eye.  He almost did a double take once he realized who she was.  Y/N Y/L/N, the daughter of Wall Street Tycoon Gerald Y/L/N.  She was set for life and beyond.  Her father was the investment king, knowing just when to buy in or sell out.  She had taken on his legacy by doing the same but instead of investing in huge corporations she was investing in smaller businesses and projects, being the key investor until the business could truly thrive, giving her investment a return and getting a chance to grow in an area like New York City.  She was the reason the new burlesque club opened that Steve was going to with Peggy.  Not only was she wealthy, she was beautiful.  Short in stature and plus size, she was an anomaly surrounded by her tall and slim friends, but she embraced her size and used it as a way to both literally and figuratively take up space in the industry and bring attention to the issues of body image, fatphobia, and investing in plus size companies and designers who she exclusively worked with for clothing her for events. 

Bucky tried not to ogle and quickly gave her his best flirtatious smile.  “And for you?” he asked her.

Y/N gave him an appreciative smile and her bright Y/C/E eyes seemed to really look at him rather than a passing glance like her friends.  “I’d like to hear the wine menu, please.”

“Wonderful, we have a…” As he listed off the wines Y/N watched him intently, her eyes searching his face.  He felt like he was the one being ogled and yet he persevered, trying not to sound nervous while serving some of the most influential and popular people in the world.

“It all sounds delicious, but I’m a creature of habit, so I think I’ll stick with my favorite Rose, the Billecart-Salmon.  And I’ll also have water on the side.”

“Excellent choice, ma’am.  Give me a moment and I’ll get those drinks out to you all,” he glanced at them all again before slipping away to the bar for the drinks.

Y/N watched him leave, a small smile on her face, before turning back to her friends.  They eyed her ruefully with mischievous smiles.  “What?” she asked.

“He’s cute,” Natasha commented, one eyebrow raised at her.

“Very cute.  One could even say hot,” Clint added, watching Bucky walk back to the bar.  “He’s got a great ass.  Too bad he’s working here.  He’d look divine in a Prada campaign.”

“You two stop it,” Y/N whispered, giving them a wide eyed glare.  “Yes he’s cute.”

“You gonna go for it?” Natasha asked, her grin twisting into something conspiratorial.

“Oh do it!  If you won’t, I’ll try my luck,” Clint shifted in his seat as he continued watching Bucky.  “See if he goes both ways.”

Bucky was walking back with the drinks on a tray.  Y/N narrowed her eyes and made the gesture for them to zip it.

“Alright, here are your drinks!  Your waters, and the Sauvignon blanc for you,” he set it in front of Clint, “the Stella Artois for you,” he set it in front of Natasha, “and the Billecart-Salmon Rose for you.”  He delicately set it in front of Y/N giving her another warm smile.  She reciprocated it as she reached for her wine.  She took a quick sip and her eyes fluttered shut.  

“Perfect, thank you Bucky,” she said as she licked her lips.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly before he caught himself.  “Well, would you like to start with any appetizers?  Or jump right into the good stuff?” he huffed a laugh.

“I’d like the lobster with the salad,” Clint ordered.  “And could you make sure that the lobster is really big and thick.  I like them meaty.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at him and his not-so-subtle innuendo.  Bucky knew what he was doing and just let it slide, nodding in agreement.  “I’ll put in a good word with the chef.”  

Natasha next to him giggled before ordering.  “I’ll just take the scallops and shrimp.”

Bucky nodded before turning to Y/N.  “I’ll have the crab cakes and risotto, please.”  He nodded again and gave her a smirk.

“My favorite,” he gave her a wink, making her blush. “I’ll get those in and come back to check on you all in a little bit,” he swept the table with a smile before walking back to the kitchen.

“Stop it, don’t embarrass him,” Y/N chastised Clint.  “I’m sure he and the other servers get enough grief from creepy patrons all the time.”

“Oh it was just a little fun.  Besides, he’s all eyes for you, honey, he barely even looked at me,” he shot back at her as he sipped his wine. 

“It’s true,” Natasha said, then gave her an exaggerated wink. Y/N rolled her eyes.  “I think you should ask him out.  Or maybe he can be your next sugar baby.”

“Oh don’t bring that up again,” Y/N groaned.  “It was a one time thing and ended badly.  I just wanted to try it.”

“It ended badly because he was an ass, not because of anything you did.  You gave him charity and he gave you an attitude.  This guy seems sweet, nothing can hurt from just asking,” Natasha chided her, reaching out and pinching Y/N’s arm lightly.  

Y/N considered her words.  She had wanted to try out the lifestyle of being a sugar mama to a sugar baby.  She had a lot of events to go to throughout the year, and as much as she enjoyed spending time with her friends and networking with people, she was getting really tired of these high-class, ridiculous men who thought that just by being famous or wealthy that she would throw herself at them.  They wanted to use her for her name and connections.  They never really cared about her.  So she had tried being a sugar mama to a man who wasn’t famous, down on his luck, and just trying to get a leg up in life to escort her to these functions and give her companionship.  But once he’d gotten his debts paid off by her and a taste of luxury he quickly became influenced by the rich douchebags around him and started treating Y/N disrespectfully, so much so that he’d made front page news of some tabloids and embarrassed her.  She kicked him out after that and blacklisted him from any upcoming events.  If there was one thing that she would never condone it was when others tried, directly or indirectly, to humiliate or embarrass her.

Bucky did seem nice, and very tired.  The dark circles under his eyes and his shirt not being as ironed as some of the other servers were small giveaways that he was struggling.  She didn’t want to embarrass him either by asking to be her sugar baby and assuming that he was struggling financially.  

“He is very handsome,” she conceded, a larger smile spreading across her face.

Natasha squealed, clapping her hands joyfully.  “Do it!”

The night dragged on as they ate their delicious meals and ordered more glasses of wine.  Other patrons were clearing out as it got later and closer to closing time.  As tired as Bucky was, doing his nightly closing duties quietly and discreetly so his table couldn’t see, he was banking on their tips.  High end restaurants meant high end clients meant high end tips, and he had rent coming due next week.  He packed on the compliments to Y/N and her friends, gave them warm and flirty smiles, offered complimentary items, and gave all his attention to them exclusively.  Y/N had asked to compliment the chef and when he came out and talked to her table she whispered something to him that he quickly agreed to and jogged back to the kitchen.  Bucky gave him a questioning glance but the chef waved him off.

Bucky watched carefully until he saw Y/N’s hand raise and her eyes searched for him.  His cue for the check, which he quickly grabbed and brought it over to her.  As he glanced at the insane price he noticed an extra meal that wasn’t supposed to be on there as he got to the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry Miss Y/L/N, there seems to be a mistake on the bill, I apologize, let me go–”

“No mistake, Bucky,” Y/N reassured him just as the chef came back out with a doggy box.  He handed it to her and thanked her for coming.  Y/N shook his hand and slipped something into it before  he disappeared back to the kitchen wearing a rare smile.  “Thank you,” she reached for the bill and slid her black American Express into the folder.  

“Oh, alright, I’ll be right back then,” Bucky composed himself after the mini heart attack he just had from thinking the bill was wrong as he walked back to the stand to take her payment.  Once everything was paid he brought back the folder, this time seeing her friends standing and putting on their coats while she stayed seated.  

“Thank you, Bucky,” Natasha said his name seductively as she passed him.  Clint gave him a little wave and a smirk as he left with her.  

“Have a good night!” He called after them.  He approached the table as Y/N was opening her wallet.  “Here’s the receipt Miss Y/L/N.  Thank you for coming in tonight.”

“No thank you for such excellent service, Bucky,” she complimented him as she took the folder again.  “Will you sit with me for a moment?”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised and he glanced back at the bar.  The manager, Pietro, and Wanda motioned to him to do as she asked.  “Yes, of course,” Bucky accepted and sat himself in the chair across from her where Clint sat previously.  

Her gaze flicked over him as she opened the folder, took the pen provided and filled out the parts of the receipt meant for her.  She closed it and slid it over to Bucky who thanked her and placed it in front of himself.

“I have a proposition for you, Bucky.  And please understand when I ask this that you are under no obligation to accept it and I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she started, looking a little nervous.

“Okay,” Bucky stated lamely as he watched her.  

Y/N cleared her throat and put her fidgeting hands down in her lap.  “I would like to offer you a type of job.  As an escort, a sugar baby, to me.”  Bucky’s eyes widened comically as he processed what she said. “I know it’s a strange request.  But it’s something that I enjoy trying and it helps others…sometimes.  I don’t want to assume anything of you, but I can tell when someone is struggling, and you look like life has not always been the easiest or kindest to you.  I mean no offense.”

“None taken,” he replied automatically.  “I…yes,” he looked down as he confessed to her.  “It’s been, uh, rough, to say the least.”

“Hm,” Y/N hummed.  She reached a finger out and pointed to the closed folder.  She gestured for him to open it.  He did and took a look over the receipt, nearly choking when he saw the amount on the tip line.

“No, no Miss Y/L/N, this is too much,” Bucky protested as he stared at the number. 

“That’s what your service was worth.  You are worth every cent, and more,” Y/N praised him.  “You don’t have to decide tonight, Bucky, but in the meantime, here’s my card,” she slipped a business card over to him. “Think about it,” she said as she stood up.  Bucky quickly stood up with her.  Y/N stepped closer to him and reached for his hand.  They shook hands and she leaned in and whispered to him, “By the way, you’re very handsome.”  Bucky’s eyes bulged and he swallowed hard as she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek then turned and left.  Bucky realized as he watched her leave that she had slipped something into his hand.  He opened his hand to find a small folded wad of one hundred dollar bills in his palm.  “Oh and that’s for you!” She called out and motioned towards the doggy box still sitting on the table.  “Your favorite.  Dinner’s on me,” she said and gave him a wink then twirled back around and out the door.  

After she was out of the restaurant and beyond hearing Wanda and Pietro ran up to him.  “How much did she give you?”  Wanda squealed as she looked at the bills in his hand.  He quickly counted it.

“$1000,” he whispered as he gawked at the money.

“Give me that,” Pietro demanded as he took the folder from Bucky.  He opened it and gasped.  “She gave you a $2500 card tip??  What did you do, Barnes, give her and everybody at her table a blow job?”

“Wow…I don’t know if I want to be her or be on her,” Wanda said wistfully as she looked back out the glass door where Y/N had already gotten into her car and drove off.  

Bucky felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he stared at the bills, the $2500 floating around in his mind.  He was not comprehending just how much she had given him.  He looked at her business card again and knew he had to at least meet with her and find out what she was offering.  But to become an actual sugar baby?  To have a sugar mama?  To have his debt disappear?  To be taken care of?  He smiled as his fingers touched where her lips had been. 

**this picture has me SALIVATING. This is what I imagine sugar baby!Bucky to look like in this. Hope y'all like it!**

[happy-beeeps]

for the prompt list you just reblogged, what about "i didn't sign up for this" with either obi-wan kenobi or the bad batcher of your choice?

I’m on the run (with you my sweet love)

Pairing: obi-wan x reader

WC: 1.2k

Summary: after hearing that obi-wan is living in exile, you do your best to find him, determined to live out your lives together as you’d dreamed.

Suggested listening: Chemtrails over the country club by Lana Del Rey

A/N: IM SO BAD AT ANSWERING OH MY GOD. Thank you for the request I’m so excited!!! tbh, I struggled with this so hard because I physically cannot give Obi-Wan an angsty situation but we made it work hehehe. Obi-Wan is both my fav Star Wars man (which surprises people sometimes) and one of the characters I write the least, so this was SO fun! Sorry it’s so short, but I plan on writing much more for him soon!❤️🫶🥰

The house was small, really just a small kitchenette and living space with a bed nook off to the side. Like all houses in the dune sea, it was low in the ground, slatted windows up high on the walls to offer light with as little heat as possible. You wouldn’t call it nice by any means, not compared to what you’ve lived in before, but it had a certain coziness that had excited you. You had flushed out your credits just as soon as Bail had told you of Obi-Wan’s exile, and gotten yourself on the first ship to Mos Eisley that you could. The house had been easy enough to find, there were plenty of people in Mos Eisley eager to sell property to someone, particularly when that someone came with a sack of credits.

The hard part was finding Obi-Wan.

You spent the morning in the center of Mos Eisley, gathering supplies and what small furnishings you could transport for your new home, listening intently for anything. Any word of a newcomer, any whispers of the fall of the Jedi. Unfortunately (or fortunately) no one said anything.

Beru and Owen were the obvious next choice, and they came with much greater information than you had anticipated. You hadn’t met Anakin’s brother and sister-in-law before, but you had seen holos of them during your nights in with Padmé. Owen had been… reluctant to talk to you, but Beru had quickly pointed you in the direction of the cave Obi-Wan had been hiding out in the past few rotations, not terribly far from your home or the Larrs homestead.

Which is how you found yourself here, at the mouth of a cave, a fabric shawl draped carefully over your shoulders to protect as much of you as possible from the blazing Tatooine suns.

It was easy to walk into, and the dark walls and open space gave the whole space a chill in the air that hung itself uncomfortably around your shoulders. He wasn’t here, but there were signs of him present. A rucksack with some rations and credits, his robes and tunic–carefully folded in a pile resting on a large stone, and a small lamp. You ran your hands down the soft fabric of the robe, before picking it up and bringing it close to you. It smelled just like him, and for the first moment in what felt like a millenia, you let yourself ache in your chest. You had missed him something awful, worried something awful. When Padmé had explained what had happened, what he would have to do, you had feared the worst.

When none of them came back, you had all but accepted it.

“Don’t move.”

The voice that came from the cave mouth was cold and cautious, strong and intimidating. It was also home.

“Ben,” you whispered, using the nickname you had given him some night who knows how many moons ago, hoping to show him you were you. You were here.

You removed the shawl slowly as he stepped out of the mouth of the cave, his form no longer silhouetted against the blinding sun. His hair was looking slightly ragged, the tunic he wore now hung awkwardly on his frame–it must’ve been a loan from Owen you decided.

“Is it really you?” he asked, walking up to you cautiously, moving slowly as if you were made of mist that would simply vanish if he got too close. The sun had already begun to bring out even more freckles across his skin, growing ruddy with exposure.

“I’m here to take you home with me,” you murmured, closing the gap between the two of you and pulling him close to you, one hand cradling the back of his head while he pressed soft kisses into the crook of your neck.

“You can’t, I have to stay here. I can’t return to Coruscant with you.”

You pulled back for a moment, brushing the hair away from his face, “who said anything about Coruscant?” Before he could answer, you pressed your lips to his, capturing him in a kiss meant to soothe yourself and reassure him. He was alive. You were here. The rest you could figure out together.

* * *

You hadn’t said much on the walk back to your home, hadn’t been able to. Obi-Wan refused to let go of you, his hand lingering on a spot on your body at any moment. It was as if he was finally allowing himself these open, semi-public touches at last, though you knew the price of this freedom had been costly.

When you approached your home, you led him down to the living quarters and quickly worked at getting a small iced tea ready while he settled in. Well, attempted to settle.

“You bought this? Here?”

“You think I’d rent? In this economy?” You scoffed, and he gave you a lighthearted smile in return as you guided him towards the small sofa in the middle of the room. “I’ve only been here a few rotations, been looking for you,” you moved to settle beside him, knees clinking into one another with a familiarity you had been longing for. “You’re a hard man to find Master Kenobi.”

“I didn’t realize you’d be looking,” he reached over to place a hand on your cheek, steadying himself against you for a moment. It had taken you the better part of the afternoon to get from the cave to your home, and your living room was now painted in the orange and magenta hues of the setting suns, low light making him look even softer than you had imagined. “To be quite honest, I feared you’d assumed the worst.”

“Then you don’t know me at all.”

He pulled your head closer to him, bringing his forehead to yours in a sweet, intimate gesture. “I cannot put you in danger, I will not. You’re a senator, you cannot give up your life for me. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I’m more than just a senator you know,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering open to look into his while his breath hitched in his throat, “as per that night on Chandrila, I’m your wife. You think I don’t want to be here? That I didn’t sign up for this? I said "till death”, Kenobi, and I meant it.”

“I couldn’t contact you, I’ve had to close myself off to the Force since arriving. I’ve lost so much. I cannot lose you dearest.”

You moved closer to him to bridge the gap between your mouths again, breathing a simple, “you’ll never have to,” as you did. This time you kissed him with the fervor and passion of a woman coming home, and he drank you in like a man lost in a desert. Which, you suppose he was. Here was your Obi-Wan, your Ben, wrapped in your arms and in your home for as long as you’d like. You were free to press yourself against his freckled chest and trace the starlight colored scars across his skin. You could live in the serendipitous bliss of him, his smell of caf and leather and something woody, the kind way he carried himself.

It had cost you both everything, had cost the Republic, but at last you were free to be Obi-Wan Kenobi’s wife in more than just secrecy, your sanctuary guarded by the twin suns of Tatooine.

[xclowniex]

I've had this opinion (as a non-Jewish person) for a while, but I feel like every bigoted Jewish stereotype is just a lot of white people projecting their own actions and desires onto the most vulnerable groups to avoid having to admit they're not exactly saints, or that they're the ones doing what they accuse Jews of doing.

I feel like that is a contributing factor however its not the only reason.

For example, the stereotype surrinding jews being rich came from way back when Christians couldn't give out loans cause that was against the bible so jews did it for them. it was really the only job a lot of jews could get in Christian countries as we were banned or discriminated against with other jobs. Jews then became really good at it, turned a profit and not all, but the major loan places were rich and jewish owned and therefore Christians got mad and it became an antisemitic trope. it is definately perpetuated by white people who are mad that there are a lot of sucessful jews, but it didn't originate as such.

With leftist antisemitism in the modernday, what you said is very much correct. A lot of white people will project their white guilt onto jews so they can be seen as "not the bad guys". Instead of the problem laying with rich people as a whole, it lays with rich jews being the reason for capitalism. Instead of actual white colonisers being labeled as the problem, jews suddenly get labeled as white and told that returning to our homeland is colonialism. And it just goes on and on and on.

And the wider issue it stems from with white guilt, is stuff that black people, especially in the US, have been saying for years. White folk are more comfortable ignoring their own prejudices against minorities and blaming it on another group, usually sub groups of white people, eg instead of working through racism and acknowleding bias they themselves have, they would divide white people into two groups of racist vs not racist and deem themselves to be not racist and never work through any bias they have.

Whilst it's something that all minority groups face and have been facing for centuries and people from all affected minority groups have talked about it, I will credit black activists with really bringing that behviour to light in the main stream.

[askgildaseniors]

Meet Wilson Ramirez and his rock, Saundra Marie. These two are the definition of a power couple, having gone from those scary “how will we pay rent?” days to Wilson becoming one of Hollywood's cool supporting acts. You’ve probably seen him killing it in TV shows like "Lucifer," "Agents of Shield," and "Mayans M.C." But let me tell you, the journey to the big screen was anything but easy.

We’ve all been there, right? The paycheck seems to disappear the moment it hits the bank. Wilson knows that all too well. Acting gigs weren't always in the picture – he did whatever job he could get, and rap music was his first taste of the limelight.

Wilson and Saundra’s love saga kicked off in ‘96. They made tunes with the Mary Jane Girls and the legendary Evelyn "Champagne" King. They tied the knot in 2000, and it's been them against the world since, fighting through some really tough times and even facing homelessness with California’s crazy rents.

They found their haven in Atlanta, swapping the West Coast for Southern charm and a fresh start. But life's got a funny way of throwing curveballs. Just as Wilson's star was rising in Hollywood, Suandra fell ill, and then the Pandemic hit – talk about bad timing.

Things got so tough their car became their temporary crib. They dreamed of owning a place in Greenberg, Atlanta, but life threw every financial hurdle their way. Bad credit scores, denied loans – the works.

But if you know Wilson and Saundra, you know giving up isn’t in their DNA. They tightened their belts, made some tough calls, and Wilson took a step back to reevaluate and grow. Positivity became their North Star.

So, if you’re up for a real, unfiltered, pull-no-punches story of bouncing back from the brink, you’re in the right place. Wilson and Saundra's journey is about facing the music and turning every setback into a killer comeback. Spoiler alert: It’s a rollercoaster, but who doesn’t love a wild ride to the top?

Stay tuned for Part 2 of Wilson's real-life behind-the-scenes narrative and more on Wilson's son's boxing career and dealing with high-functioning autism. We will update the description once it is available.

DISCLAIMER: The following program contains material, situations, and/or themes that may disturb some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised.

[abigail-pent]

very frustrated with the "there's no moral choice on the ballot" crowd. because here's the thing: no human being is perfect. even random ass humans don't live up to their own moral standards all the time. and a human being who is elected to government is, by definition, creating compromises and balances between multiple sets of different parties who all want different things - and who often don't share the same set of moral priorities.

(there is not one true good set of moral priorities in the world. there are some things many people would agree are always moral, but there are a whole lot of other things where many reasonable people either disagree or would say "it depends on the circumstances." claiming there's only one correct morality is, uh. very religious fundamentalist flavored.)

so when you have a government that isn't a total autocracy, its actions aren't a 1:1 reflection of the morality of the person in charge. they're the outcome of many people's preferences, and that outcome can be shaped to an extent by the person in charge, but not entirely. so you can't look at that outcome and say "well Joe Biden didn't make peace in the Middle East so he's immoral" - because a large, large percentage of the decisions that have happened with this war are not actually in his control. which isn't to say the president has no influence - he certainly has some, and the outcomes do partially reflect his influence.

but the real question then is not "why didn't Joe fix this yet" but rather "how bad could it/will it get if Trump were in charge" and the answer is "pretty fucking bad for everyone actually". he is unambiguously worse if you care about Palestinian lives - would you rather have someone who wants to get the killing to stop, or would you rather Bibi gain a buddy and enabler in the White House? calling Biden "genocide Joe" doesn't make the war more or less likely to end, but calling for people not to vote for him because "morality" actively helps Bibi by putting Trump one vote closer to the presidency.

and closer to home: if you want a far-right Supreme Court forever, by all means you should let your "morality" stop you from voting. Trump + Heritage have this agenda called Project 2025. they want to get rid of abortion in a comprehensive way. they want to roll back protections for queer people, and yes that includes marriage. they are staunchly against any DEI initiatives or protections for people of color. they want to get rid of fucking IVF. they want the Department of Justice to fall under *partisan* control, which is giving major Stasi vibes tbh. they want to stop promoting green energy or anything pro-environment, and double down on fossil fuels. they want to criminalize pornography. do you want that future? does your sense of "morality" extend to protecting yourself and your fellow citizens against a white Christian nationalist agenda by showing up and casting a fucking ballot?

because if you don't vote, this is what we will get. and thanks to the makeup of the Supreme Court, the consequences of your decision to vote or not will stick around for at least the next 50 years. that's you and your children and maybe their children too that will have to deal with the fallout.

we don't elect presidents to be a perfect conduit of our morals onto the world stage. they can't be. it isn't possible. but even so, Joe has done a shit-ton of moral things - masses of tax credits for clean energy, HUGE and unprecedented amounts of student loan forgiveness, slashing child poverty in half with expansions of the child tax credit, the list goes on and on. he's one of the most pro-labor presidents we've ever had. he isn't perfect, but saying there's "no moral candidate to vote for" is ridiculous. it sets the standard for morality higher than any president could ever reach. in doing so, it creates a false equivalence between Biden (one of our better presidents maybe ever) and Trump (arguably the worst president we have ever had). they're not the fucking same.

[odinsblog]

I swear to God, from mass incarceration crime bills, to undermining abortion rights, to healthcare, to Clarence Thomas, to student loan forgiveness, it feels like Joe Biden’s entire presidency has been him tepidly and ineffectually “fighting” against every bad thing that he was instrumental in creating when he was a Senator, but reliably failing to completely repeal or correct as POTUS.

Sorry if this truth upsets some 🙈🙉🙊 neoliberal diehards, but it’s infuriating to see how student loan forgiveness was thrown under the bus in the name of “bipartisan compromise” that Biden values so fucking much. Acquiescing to the GOP’s manufactured “debt default crisis,” no matter how marginally, only guarantees that they will continue using these hostage taking tactics in the future.

And before any braindead Blue MAGA sycophants regurgitate their tired lines about how the act of even remembering these facts is somehow “helping Trump,” or “oh you must be a Russian bot,” I fucking dare you to 1) refute anything in this post as misleading, patently untrue, or false, Or 2) search through my blog and see what I’ve posted regarding Republicans, Donald Trump, Ron DeSantis, and Russia. NONE of that changes the fact that Biden, bipartisanly partnering up with Republicans, helped plant the seeds of many of the problems that we face today. The bad guys being bad guys does not magically absolve Biden for helping them achieve so many of their goals in his “younger” days.

[cinewhore]

One Way or Another

Pairing: Marcus Pike & Fem!Reader (Carmen Sandiego AU)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: angst!

Summary: You’ve been working your entire life to become an ACME agent. When things get too quiet, you grow comfortable with the silence. Too bad it doesn’t last for long. 

A/N: It’s been a while. Wanted to get something out. No beta. Credits to the gif maker. 

After three years of radio silence, a buzz was made. 

The agency has been nothing short of chaotic for a fucking week. 

You could already tell that late nights and early mornings were going to be a thing, so you set up shop in your office. You barely left, scanning over documents and photos, earning more headaches by the hour. 

You weren’t the only dedicated agent. 

Marcus Pike was sent in by the FBI, a stunt you didn’t understand nor did you agree with but you figured if they were going through the trouble of getting him to HQ then he must be the real deal. ACME was best of the best in terms of an international agency, it made all the other agencies look like babies. Out of your entire training class, you and two other people were the only ones left. 

You were sure Marcus was going to come in with his britches tight and ego inflated but he rendered you speechless as he stated that he was there to assist you the best he knew how. He was polite, diligent and ambitious. 

That made him dangerous. 

Currently in the state conference room, you sit in a chair with your feet propped up on the table, mouth working furiously at your lip. It was a terrible habit and you made up for the nagging voice of your mother in your head by constantly applying a new layer of chapstick on whenever you felt the tiniest hint of dryness. 

A large map of the world was displayed on the screen in front of you, police scans from all over steadily streaming in through the speakers. It had become white noise to you. Glancing up at your partner, you crease your eyebrows. 

Marcus looked different. 

He was no longer the shiny new toy being paraded around. Instead, he was sporting a patchy beard, unkempt hair, and wearing a ruffled suit you’re sure he’s been in for the past two days. 

He was murmuring to himself, eyes dancing across the screen like it was a lifeline. Posture no longer rigid, he sort of slumps over as he sits perched on the table. 

Your gaze lingers on his arms, muscles bulging through the white button down. He was a good looking toy but one that was off limits. The Chief made sure you knew that. 

“Hey,” you rasp your knuckles on the table, garnering Marcus’s attention. “We’re gonna get her.” 

His brown eyes blink a few times, the vacant glaze holding your own. Marcus nods and clears his throat. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

You poke a thumb at the takeout that had been picked through earlier. 

“Should I reheat this? Eggroll is gonna be a bit soggy but the cafeteria should still be open so-“

An alarm dings. 

A red dot appears on the map. 

Moscow, Russia. 

Marcus flies up to the screen, hands waving frantically at you. You jumped at the sound as well, tapping away on your laptop to alert the chief. 

“Gotcha,” Marcus whispers, facing braking out in a crazed smile. “Can you tran-“

“Already on it.” 

As soon as the alarm went off, the map picked up on the reports coming out of Russia and you were hard at working translating everything over to a staff memo. 

The ACME agency in Russia would be alerted immediately and agents would be dispersed. Everyone was waiting anxiously, ready to rush out at the drop of a pin. 

“What the hell is she doing in Moscow?” You whisper aloud. 

“There’s going to be transportation of a Faberge egg, it’s on loan currently.” Marcus replies without skipping a beat. 

The guy really knows his stuff. 

You shake your head. “Doesn’t make sense. Why take the egg? She’s too dumb to keep it and too smart to sell. Something like that pops on the market and we’ll know its her. There’s something else at play.” 

Marcus rubs a hand against his faint mustache. “Let’s hope you’re wrong.” 

“Moscow team is already in route plus we have escorts with the egg. She won’t be able to come close.” 

Another ding. 

Bogota, Columbia. 

And another. 

Paris, France. 

Xi’an, China.

Cairo, Egypt. 

Once it started, it didn’t stop. The police chatter now sounded like an angry swarm of bees. A mesh of languages, some of which you understand but others you didn’t. 

You did understand one thing in every language, though. 

Carmen Sandiego. 

You lean back in your chair, dumbfounded. More than fifty dots had shown up on the map in over a hundred countries. It was unlike anything you had ever seen. 

You look over to Marcus, the half smile now replaced with a scowl etched so deep into his face you swore he was a different person. 

“Marcus?” 

He whips out his phone, the screen illuminating him. He quickly shields it from view, gunning for the exit. 

“I need a second.” 

You stare at him as he leaves, slowly turning your head back to the map. Your own phone vibrates itself off the table, clattering onto the floor. 

Marcus heads outside, undoing another button on his shirt. How long had he had this on? There was definitely a mustard stain on it from a few days ago. 

His phone continues to ring, the unknown caller ID mocking him. Marcus answers the phone, not bothering to utter a greeting. 

“It’s unlike you to be up at this hour, Texas.” 

Marcus swallows thickly. 

“Where are you?” 

The voice on the lines laughs, the sound akin to slow dripping molasses. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Marcus wanders away from the building some more, obtaining a more firm and hushed tone. “We didn’t agree to this.” 

“You didn’t agree to this, all I said was that I was going to play nice.” 

“Nice? You think this is nice?! I’ve got warrants out for you on six out of the seven continents, not including your so-called friends. This is not a game.” 

“Oh, but it is, isn’t it?” The voice answers back gleefully. 

Marcus exhales deeply, rocking his jaw. 

“I’m trying to give you a win, here. Ivy is on the move in Berlin. She’s sloppy and careless. A walking liability.” 

Marcus didn’t like handouts. However, in this instance, he was in no shape to deny it. 

A brief silence lingers over the phone. 

“Marcus, please.”

He hated how much he loved her saying his name. He hated that it happened on numerous occasions. He hated that he wanted her to do it again. 

“Fine but I want three more lined up by sunset. No funny business.” 

A light chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’ll wrap them neatly for you.” 

Marcus scuffs at the ground with his shoe, feeling like a little boy with a school grade crush all over again. 

He looks back at the building. “I should get going.” 

“Yes, you should.” 

Another beat. Then, “I miss you.” 

The line clicks. 

Marcus doesn’t give himself time to process what was just said, hurrying back into the conference room where you were likely battling almost every agency in the world trying to ensure operations ran smoothly. 

A few more people has entered the room since but you’re the only one who offers him a smile and a cup of coffee as he returns. 

You look him over, taking note of his flushed cheeks. “Everything ok?”

He gives you a reassuring pat on the arm, taking a swig of his beverage. Just how he likes it. 

“Yeah, everything’s good. Cancel all units except Germany’s.” 

You scoff, pointing up at the map. Everyone in the room stills. “What are you talking about? We’ve got reports-“

“And I’ve got a gut feeling. Let’s close in on Berlin.” 

Marcus doesn’t stand down, looking rather confident in his decision. You glance towards the door and back at him. Reluctantly nodding an affirmative, you instruct the other agents to coordinate a sweep of the area. 

“One hell of a gut you got there, Pike.” 

Marcus squints his eyes, hands firming around his cup. 

“I’m aware.” 

[buntsuki]

We’re at a point of desperation now. That hospital stay again ruined me. Mom got a $1700 loan, we’re waiting for the check to reach the vet. Paid another $620 out of pocket and now I’m scared. The $1700 should buy us 2 maybe 3 treatments. That’s 3 weeks…

Today the Vet tech/assiatant came out to give me his discharge paper and told me to give him something extra super yummy from her! Said it’s such a huge improvement and difference from his first visit to now. They’re super happy, and he’s doing great! They have a little routine, and he was even going up to the vets and rubbing against/bumping them while wagging his tail!

Everyone is rooting for him!

My fiancée is applying for loans, we’re looking at credit cards and applying. Sending the gofundme to the list of foundations. They’re entirely overwhelmed though, long wait lists, limited funds, strict requirements. We’re sending the gofundme to social media pages, I sent it to the Weratedogs gofundme application, they only share 1 gofundme a week though.

Selling things, doing commissions, just everything I possibly can! I am so incredibly grateful for all the help and support so far, please no one feel bad if you can’t help, and no one feel like I am dismissing all the help so far! I am eternally grateful and I swear when I’m in a better position I’ll pay it forward!

Please any shares, donations…just anything helps. He’s doing so well, truly..