#meaning of venture capital

[violent-femmess]

capitalism ruined the meaning of life by brainwashing people into thinking life has any meaning at all

we are born to live, as is everything on this planet and everything on every other planet, the planets themselves were formed purely to exist, because they have the capability to exist in this universe, no other reason.

Plants do not exist to give us oxygen or food or any resources at all, they exist because theyre meant to, they thrive in earths soil and grow purely because the environment allows it to, a seeds only purpose is to grow, and after that the only purpose is to live. the resources from plants are there to aid nature in its growth, to aid the lives of everything naturally on this earth. the same with animals, and the same can be applied to humans.

generosity is the only thing we need to survive, what one person lacks another has spare, a task one person cannot perform another can. we should all aim to give people as many useful things to them as we can, memories, resources, time.

money is a meaningless concept corrupted by greed and neglectful of compassion.

memories cannot be escaped, the one thing we will have for the (majority) of our lives, memories unite all of us, people, animals, plants. memories have no language, they exist within every sense and exist within the lack of senses. history is a mandatory subject based purely on memories and keeping memories alive. memories have more meaning than money ever will.

a million pounds makes you rich in greed.

a million memories makes you rich in experiences, in knowledge and in life.

we exist to live, and we remember the ones that have lived before us, and we will continue to remember the lives of others because the meaning of life is to live it, remember it and keep those memories alive.

[girderednerve]

do you think academic librarians feel about the public adulation for jstor the way i feel about the public attitude towards libby (i.e., negative)?

[grandwretch]

im sorry but you cannot attribute every single human behavior to capitalism. yes capitalism has shaped literature for the worst. yes the bookish world would probably be a better place without goodreads or booktok.

however the concepts of bibliomania and tsundoku were created in the 1800s, well before there were thousands of ads for shiny covers and celebrity authors being flung into your face. people were already buying more books than they could ever possibly read when books were still made with manual typesetting. you can't blame this one on amazon.

that's not even touching the fact that bibliomania is sometimes a symptom of ocd, or the existence of hyperlexia.

sometimes, people just like to do something, and it makes them act irrationally. and, yes, capitalism corrupts that. but to pretend that all human excess is because of capitalism is simply erroneous. you need to stop pretending that eradicating capitalism will make us perfect creatures free from hedonism oh my fucking god

[whilewewereyetsinners]

Colossal says it hopes to use advanced genetic sequencing to resurrect two extinct mammals — not just the giant, ice age mammoth, but also a mid-sized marsupial known as the thylacine, or Tasmanian tiger, that died out less than a century ago. On its website, the company vows: “Combining the science of genetics with the business of discovery, we endeavor to jumpstart nature’s ancestral heartbeat.”

In-Q-Tel, its new investor, is registered as a nonprofit venture capital firm funded by the CIA. On its surface, the group funds technology startups with the potential to safeguard national security. In addition to its long-standing pursuit of intelligence and weapons technologies, the CIA outfit has lately displayed an increased interest in biotechnology and particularly DNA sequencing.

“Why the interest in a company like Colossal, which was founded with a mission to “de-extinct” the wooly mammoth and other species?” reads an In-Q-Tel blog post published on September 22. “Strategically, it’s less about the mammoths and more about the capability.”

“Biotechnology and the broader bioeconomy are critical for humanity to further develop. It is important for all facets of our government to develop them and have an understanding of what is possible,” Colossal co-founder Ben Lamm wrote in an email to The Intercept. (A spokesperson for Lamm stressed that while Thiel provided Church with $100,000 in funding to launch the woolly mammoth project that became Colossal, he is not a stakeholder like Robbins, Hilton, Winklevoss Capital, and In-Q-Tel.)

Colossal uses CRISPR gene editing, a method of genetic engineering based on a naturally occurring type of DNA sequence. […] The eponymous gene editing technique was developed to function the same way, allowing users to snip unwanted genes and program a more ideal version of the genetic code.

The embrace of this technology, according to In-Q-Tel’s blog post, will help allow U.S. government agencies to read, write, and edit genetic material, and, importantly, to steer global biological phenomena that impact “nation-to-nation competition” while enabling the United States “to help set the ethical, as well as the technological, standards” for its use.

Okay, am I the only one that finds the idea of US government agencies having the authority to use this technology completely terrifying?

I remember when CRISPR technology was first developed bioethicists were like yeah, you shouldn’t do that, and everyone else was like shut up and think of the children! We can eradicate birth defects with this!! And have they eradicated birth defects with this? Don’t be silly, of course not! No, we’re going to build supersoldiers or morally-vacant human robots or something, that’s way more important!

[joeygoldy]

Useful Tips for Becoming a Successful Agriculture Investor

Agriculture investment refers to the allocation of financial resources, capital, or assets into various aspects of the agricultural sector with the expectation of generating a return on investment (ROI). This could mean investing monies in agriculture land for sale such as coconut land for sale in Sri Lanka, or other types of investments. It involves deploying funds in activities and projects related to agriculture for the purpose of profit, income generation, or long-term wealth creation. Agriculture investment can take many forms, including:

Farmland Acquisition: Purchasing agricultural land for the cultivation of crops or the raising of livestock. This can involve both large-scale and small-scale farming operations.

Infrastructure Development: Investing in the construction and improvement of infrastructure such as irrigation systems, roads, storage facilities, and processing plants to enhance agricultural productivity and efficiency.

Technological Advancements: Funding the development and adoption of agricultural technologies, such as precision agriculture, automation, and biotechnology, to improve crop yields and reduce operational costs.

Agribusiness Ventures: Investing in agribusinesses, such as food processing, distribution, and marketing, that are part of the agricultural value chain.

Research and Development: Supporting research initiatives related to agriculture to develop new crop varieties, pest-resistant strains, and sustainable farming practices.

Input Supply: Investing in the production and distribution of agricultural inputs like seeds, fertilisers, pesticides, and machinery.

Commodity Trading: Speculating on the future prices of agricultural commodities, such as grains, oilseeds, and livestock, through commodity markets or futures contracts.

Sustainable Agriculture: Funding practices and projects aimed at sustainable and environmentally responsible farming methods, which can include organic farming, agroforestry, and conservation efforts.

Rural Development: Supporting initiatives that improve the overall economic and social well-being of rural communities, often through investments in education, healthcare, and infrastructure.

Venture Capital and Start-ups: Investing in start-ups and companies focused on innovations in agriculture, such as vertical farming, aquaculture, or agricultural technology (AgTech).

Agriculture investment is important for food security, economic development, and job creation in many regions. However, it also comes with risks related to weather conditions, commodity price fluctuations, and market dynamics. Investors often conduct thorough research and risk assessments before committing their resources to agricultural ventures. Additionally, they may need to consider factors like government policies, environmental regulations, and social impacts on their investment decisions in the agricultural sector.

How to become a successful agriculture investor

Becoming a successful agriculture investor requires a combination of financial acumen, agricultural knowledge, and a strategic approach to investment. Here are some steps to help you become a successful agriculture investor:

Educate Yourself: Gain a strong understanding of the agricultural sector, including the different sub-sectors (crops, livestock, agribusiness, etc.). Stay updated on industry trends, market conditions, and emerging technologies.

Set Clear Investment Goals: Define your investment objectives, whether it is long-term wealth creation, income generation, or diversification of your investment portfolio.

Risk Assessment: Understand and assess the risks associated with agriculture investments, such as weather-related risks, market volatility, and regulatory changes, whether you are looking at land for sale or any other type of investment.

Develop a Diversified Portfolio: Diversify your investments across different agricultural sectors and geographic regions to spread risk.

Market Research: Conduct thorough market research to identify promising investment opportunities and potential demand for agricultural products.

Build a Network: Establish connections with farmers, agricultural experts, government agencies, and industry stakeholders who can provide insights and opportunities.

Financial Planning: Create a budget and financial plan that outlines your investment capital, expected returns, and cash flow requirements.

Select the Right Investment Type: Choose the type of agriculture investment that aligns with your goals, whether it is farmland, agribusiness ventures, or agricultural technology.

Due Diligence: Conduct comprehensive due diligence on potential investments, including assessing the quality of farmland, the financial health of agribusinesses, and the technology's potential for scalability and profitability.

Sustainable Practices: Consider investments in sustainable and environmentally responsible agriculture practices, as they are gaining importance in the industry.

Risk Management: Implement risk management strategies, such as insurance, to protect your investments from unforeseen events like natural disasters or crop failures.

Continuous Learning: Stay informed about changes in the agricultural industry and adapt your investment strategy accordingly.

Legal and Regulatory Compliance: Understand and comply with local, national, and international regulations and tax laws that may impact your agriculture investments.

Monitor and Adjust: Regularly review the performance of your investments and be prepared to make adjustments or exit underperforming ones.

Long-Term Perspective: Agriculture investments often require a long-term perspective, so be patient and avoid making impulsive decisions based on short-term market fluctuations.

Seek Professional Advice: Consult with financial advisors, agricultural experts, and legal professionals to ensure that your investments are structured and managed effectively.

Successful agriculture investment often involves a mix of financial expertise, industry knowledge, and a willingness to adapt to changing conditions. It is important to approach agriculture investment with a well-thought-out strategy, and to be prepared for both opportunities and challenges in this sector.

[txttletale]

are there any critiques of AI art or maybe AI in general that you would agree with?

AI art makes it a lot easier to make bad art on a mass production scale which absolutely floods art platforms (sucks). LLMs make it a lot easier to make content slop on a mass production scale which absolutely floods search results (sucks and with much worse consequences). both will be integrated into production pipelines in ways that put people out of jobs or justify lower pay for existing jobs. most AI-produced stuff is bad. the loudest and most emphatic boosters of this shit are soulless venture capital guys with an obvious and profound disdain for the concept of art or creative expression. the current wave of hype around it means that machine learning is being incorporated into workflows and places where it provides no benefit and in fact makes services and production meaningfully worse. it is genuinely terrifying to see people looking to chatGPT for personal and professional advice. the process of training AIs and labelling datasets involves profound exploitation of workers in the global south. the ability of AI tech to automate biases while erasing accountability is chilling. seems unwise to put a lot of our technological basket in a completely opaque black box basket (mixing my metaphors ab it with that one). bing ai wont let me generate 'tesla CEO meat mistake' because it hates fun

[jcteamcapitals]

The venture capital industry has experienced substantial growth in the last few years. The financial market's most active sector right now is venture capital India. Professional investors known as venture capitalists specialize in providing financing to startups and developing creative. The potential to become important economic contributors

[seat-safety-switch]

If there is a truly painful part of our current existence, it is the decline of our most trusted brands. Venture capital scum are buying up the companies that made all of your dad's favourite junk, slapping the name on some absolute shit to make a quick buck, and then escaping with the profits to the cosmos.

Many of us grew up staring at the tools that our parents used. That kind of youth exposure – being forced through continuous exposure – trained us to know that these are the Good Tools. They will not let us down, not like the common garden-variety horseshit that clogs the shelves, in their ugly generic boxes. So it's extra harmful when their modern incarnations don't stand up to this childhood idyll.

Those of you who are regular readers of Adbusters will criticize us for ever trusting a brand name. And it's easy to see why, once you've been condescended at for long enough to understand what marketing has done to the human soul. These names mean nothing, and are easily manipulated by evil moneymen to induce an emotional attachment in the population rather than cold, hard, logical thinking.

The rest of us, who are apparently not visiting this cursed Earth from the halcyon era of late 2005, will waste at least two hundred dollars over the course of our lives. We do so by buying one of four identical piece-of-shit toy vacuums cynically wearing the Shop-Vac® name – at least twice – in case the first one was just a fluke. And it's not just sucky tubes that suck now: every brand with significant goodwill from the days of yesteryear is a victim of this. It's hard not to feel cheated.

There is good news, though. Paradoxically, it is now the ugly, dollar-store no-name brands that are pretty good. It's because those brands now mostly consist of the Taiwanese factories that got stiffed by these same vampire assholes in the first place. It turns out they make a pretty good power tool, too, as long as you're willing to buy them from Qwijibo Heavy Fabrication through a series of shell corporations, top-secret dead drops, and the sacrifice of a goat. I personally cannot wait the remaining six months to get my hands on a Qwijibo Throb-Master 9000, because I have a lot of mouse nests to pull out of my dad's old Ford. I'd buy a new one, but it's built like shit.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

No, Uber's (still) not profitable

Going to Defcon this weekend? I'm giving a keynote, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse," on Saturday at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

Bezzle (n): 1. "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it" (JK Gabraith) 2. Uber.

Uber was, is, and always will be a bezzle. There are just intrinsic limitations to the profits available to operating a taxi fleet, even if you can misclassify your employees as contractors and steal their wages, even as you force them to bear the cost of buying and maintaining your taxis.

The magic of early Uber – when taxi rides were incredibly cheap, and there were always cars available, and drivers made generous livings behind the wheel – wasn't magic at all. It was just predatory pricing.

Uber lost $0.41 on every dollar they brought in, lighting $33b of its investors' cash on fire. Most of that money came from the Saudi royals, funneled through Softbank, who brought you such bezzles as WeWork – a boring real-estate company masquerading as a high-growth tech company, just as Uber was a boring taxi company masquerading as a tech company.

Predatory pricing used to be illegal, but Chicago School economists convinced judges to stop enforcing the law on the grounds that predatory pricing was impossible because no rational actor would choose to lose money. They (willfully) ignored the obvious possibility that a VC fund could invest in a money-losing business and use predatory pricing to convince retail investors that a pile of shit of sufficient size must have a pony under it somewhere.

This venture predation let investors – like Prince Bone Saw – cash out to suckers, leaving behind a money-losing business that had to invent ever-sweatier accounting tricks and implausible narratives to keep the suckers on the line while they blew town. A bezzle, in other words:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/19/fake-it-till-you-make-it/#millennial-lifestyle-subsidy

Uber is a true bezzle innovator, coming up with all kinds of fairy tales and sci-fi gimmicks to explain how they would convert their money-loser into a profitable business. They spent $2.5b on self-driving cars, producing a vehicle whose mean distance between fatal crashes was half a mile. Then they paid another company $400 million to take this self-licking ice-cream cone off their hands:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Amazingly, self-driving cars were among the more plausible of Uber's plans. They pissed away hundreds of millions on California's Proposition 22 to institutionalize worker misclassification, only to have the rule struck down because they couldn't be bothered to draft it properly. Then they did it again in Massachusetts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/15/simple-as-abc/#a-big-ask

Remember when Uber was going to plug the holes in its balance sheet with flying cars? Flying cars! Maybe they were just trying to soften us up for their IPO, where they advised investors that the only way they'd ever be profitable is if they could replace every train, bus and tram ride in the world:

https://48hills.org/2019/05/ubers-plans-include-attacking-public-transit/

Honestly, the only way that seems remotely plausible is when it's put next to flying cars for comparison. I guess we can be grateful that they never promised us jetpacks, or, you know, teleportation. Just imagine the market opportunity they could have ascribed to astral projection!

Narrative capitalism has its limits. Once Uber went public, it had to produce financial disclosures that showed the line going up, lest the bezzle come to an end. These balance-sheet tricks were as varied as they were transparent, but the financial press kept falling for them, serving as dutiful stenographers for a string of triumphant press-releases announcing Uber's long-delayed entry into the league of companies that don't lose more money every single day.

One person Uber has never fooled is Hubert Horan, a transportation analyst with decades of experience who's had Uber's number since the very start, and who has done yeoman service puncturing every one of these financial "disclosures," methodically sifting through the pile of shit to prove that there is no pony hiding in it.

In 2021, Horan showed how Uber had burned through nearly all of its cash reserves, signaling an end to its subsidy for drivers and rides, which would also inevitably end the bezzle:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/10/unter/#bezzle-no-more

In mid, 2022, Horan showed how the "profit" Uber trumpeted came from selling off failed companies it had acquired to other dying rideshare companies, which paid in their own grossly inflated stock:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/05/a-lousy-taxi/#a-giant-asterisk

At the end of 2022, Horan showed how Uber invented a made-up, nonstandard metric, called "EBITDA profitability," which allowed them to lose billions and still declare themselves to be profitable, a lie that would have been obvious if they'd reported their earnings using Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/11/bezzlers-gonna-bezzle/#gryft

Like clockwork, Uber has just announced – once again – that it is profitable, and once again, the press has credulously repeated the claim. So once again, Horan has published one of his magisterial debunkings on Naked Capitalism:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/08/hubert-horan-can-uber-ever-deliver-part-thirty-three-uber-isnt-really-profitable-yet-but-is-getting-closer-the-antitrust-case-against-uber.html

Uber's $394m gains this quarter come from paper gains to untradable shares in its loss-making rivals – Didi, Grab, Aurora – who swapped stock with Uber in exchange for Uber's own loss-making overseas divisions. Yes, it's that stupid: Uber holds shares in dying companies that no one wants to buy. It declared those shares to have gained value, and on that basis, reported a profit.

Truly, any big number multiplied by an imaginary number can be turned into an even bigger number.

Now, Uber also reported "margin improvements" – that is, it says that it loses less on every journey. But it didn't explain how it made those improvements. But we know how the company did it: they made rides more expensive and cut the pay to their drivers. A 2.9m ride in Manhattan is now $50 – if you get a bargain! The base price is more like $70:

https://www.wired.com/story/uber-ceo-will-always-say-his-company-sucks/

The number of Uber drivers on the road has a direct relationship to the pay Uber offers those drivers. But that pay has been steeply declining, and with it, the availability of Ubers. A couple weeks ago, I found myself at the Burbank train station unable to get an Uber at all, with the app timing out repeatedly and announcing "no drivers available."

Normally, you can get a yellow taxi at the station, but years of Uber's predatory pricing has caused a drawdown of the local taxi-fleet, so there were no taxis available at the cab-rank or by dispatch. It took me an hour to get a cab home. Uber's bezzle destroyed local taxis and local transit – and replaced them with worse taxis that cost more.

Uber won't say why its margins are improving, but it can't be coming from scale. Before the pandemic, Uber had far more rides, and worse margins. Uber has diseconomies of scale: when you lose money on every ride, adding more rides increases your losses, not your profits.

Meanwhile, Lyft – Uber's also-ran competitor – saw its margins worsen over the same period. Lyft has always been worse at lying about it finances than Uber, but it is in essentially the exact same business (right down to the drivers and cars – many drivers have both apps on their phones). So Lyft's financials offer a good peek at Uber's true earnings picture.

Lyft is actually slightly better off than Uber overall. It spent less money on expensive props for its long con – flying cars, robotaxis, scooters, overseas clones – and abandoned them before Uber did. Lyft also fired 24% of its staff at the end of 2022, which should have improved its margins by cutting its costs.

Uber pays its drivers less. Like Lyft, Uber practices algorithmic wage discrimination, Veena Dubal's term describing the illegal practice of offering workers different payouts for the same work. Uber's algorithm seeks out "pickers" who are choosy about which rides they take, and converts them to "ants" (who take every ride offered) by paying them more for the same job, until they drop all their other gigs, whereupon the algorithm cuts their pay back to the rates paid to ants:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

All told, wage theft and wage cuts by Uber transferred $1b/quarter from labor to Uber's shareholders. Historically, Uber linked fares to driver pay – think of surge pricing, where Uber charged riders more for peak times and passed some of that premium onto drivers. But now Uber trumpets a custom pricing algorithm that is the inverse of its driver payment system, calculating riders' willingness to pay and repricing every ride based on how desperate they think you are.

This pricing is a per se antitrust violation of Section 2 of the Sherman Act, America's original antitrust law. That's important because Sherman 2 is one of the few antitrust laws that we never stopped enforcing, unlike the laws banning predator pricing:

https://ilr.law.uiowa.edu/sites/ilr.law.uiowa.edu/files/2023-02/Woodcock.pdf

Uber claims an 11% margin improvement. 6-7% of that comes from algorithmic price discrimination and service cutbacks, letting it take 29% of every dollar the driver earns (up from 22%). Uber CEO Dara Khosrowshahi himself says that this is as high as the take can get – over 30%, and drivers will delete the app.

Uber's food delivery service – a baling wire-and-spit Frankenstein's monster of several food apps it bought and glued together – is a loser even by the standards of the sector, which is unprofitable as a whole and experiencing an unbroken slide of declining demand.

Put it all together and you get a picture of the kind of taxi company Uber really is: one that charges more than traditional cabs, pays drivers less, and has fewer cars on the road at times of peak demand, especially in the neighborhoods that traditional taxis had always underserved. In other words, Uber has broken every one of its promises.

We replaced the "evil taxi cartel" with an "evil taxi monopolist." And it's still losing money.

Even if Lyft goes under – as seems inevitable – Uber can't attain real profitability by scooping up its passengers and drivers. When you're losing money on every ride, you just can't make it up in volume.

Image: JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LA_BREA_TAR_PITS,_LOS_ANGELES.jpg

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

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 bring back 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/2023/08/09/accounting-gimmicks/#unter

Image: JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LA_BREA_TAR_PITS,_LOS_ANGELES.jpg

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

[rubra-wav]

Vox x reader drabble

A/N Idk, man. I just wanted to write sumn softer with him, and this came out. Couldn't figure out a name for it

Cw: SFW, Gn!reader, use of the petname dollface/doll, bully him bully him bully him

You sat in Vox's lap as he worked, head on his chest, listening to the oddly comforting sound of his internal mechanisms whirring away under ear.

It had been rather tiring of a day for you to say the least, and although the demon had been rather surprised you had dare ventured into his observation room, he hadn't exactly been against you taking up the current position you held against him so long as you didn't distract him until he finished up.

The arm that had wrapped around your waist to pull you to sit in the space between his thighs had taken up residence on your hip, gently rubbed circles against it absentmindedly while his other hand typed rather loudly.

As you had been pulled against him, you'd practically melted into his embrace. The observation room was very cold so as to not cause all the technology (including Vox himself) to overheat, and he was much warmer than said room.

Your tired eyes cracked open, and you looked up at him through your lashes as you pressed your chin against his chest upon hearing Vox let out an irritated his.

His red eyes narrowed at the monitor before him, brows angrily furrowed as he grit his teeth. He could feel your gaze on him as his lip curled and somewhat pushed himself to calm down a bit.

"You okay?" You asked.

Vox sighed, eyes somewhat softening as he forced himself to look away from the screen displaying numbers in front of him. The ghost of a smile spread across his face as the light from his monitor illuminated your sleepy expression.

The demon would never be able to quite admit the way just seeing and feeling you pressing against him, looking up at him with somewhat messy hair and eyes, which shone with adoration made him feel.

He was sure you were aware anyway, as embarrassing as that was.

"I'm just peachy, dollface. Stocks are down slightly from last year, is all." He said, bringing the hand on his keyboard to rest on the top of your head, running his fingers through it to smoothe out the wayward strands.

You hummed at the contact, it petering off into a slight snicker as you considered his words. "You're loaded already. Would losing some really be that bad?" You watched his smile fade as his expression soured again, his hand in your hair coming to a stop.

"Yes. Yes, it would be." He said pointedly. You laughed at the way he said it and moved around to sit facing towards him, knees on the soft leather of the seat in between his legs as you leaned up towards his glowering expression.

Vox's cheeks tinted light blue as your face stopped just before your nose pressed against his monitor, your hands resting on his shoulders casually. "I know you're capitalism king, but you really ought to stop being so greedy, baby~" you cooed at him, grinning as his sour expression became irritatedly flustered at your tone.

"You know damn well what stock prices falling could mean. What if there's a crash or somethi- oh-!" he stopped short as your lips made contact with his monitor once on his cheek, then again and again and again - peppering him with kisses.

"Doll- (Name)!" He exclaimed, glitching slightly as you felt his display heat up under your at your sudden onslaught of affection. You chuckled as you felt his hands grip onto your hips as if he were trying to steady himself.

When you finally stopped kissing him, you leaned back with a somewhat smug look on your face as you looked at his pouting and flustered expression.

"It's not funny." He grumbled.

"Yeah, it is actually." You said. His pout only deepened, prompting you to tilt your head at him, laughter quieting to slight giggles.

Vox admired the way your eyelids drooped again, you looking at him with a mischievous smirk in a way only you were allowed to.

He sighed deeply, urging his heart to stop racing in his chest and tried to sound disappointed in you. "And would you look at that? You distracted me from my work. I ought to tell you to shoo." He said with a raised brow, expression now calm.

You raised your eyebrows right back at him, smiling as you already knew the answer to the question. "But are you gonna?"

You two engaged in a silent staring contest for a good 5 seconds before Vox grumbled a 'no' under his breath as he turned away from you bitterly.

You burrowed your face into his neck with a muffled proclamation of 'thought so', snuggling into him all the more and him begrudgingly reciprocating.

I'm probably gonna post this, then notice a ton of spelling or grammar errors tomorrow, but who cares~~ (morning me will)

Masterlist

[neo-techculture]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Summary:- Your friends with benefits situation with Colby takes a turn for the worse when you catch feelings for him. Just when you thought relationships were off his menu, he surprises you by wanting to make it official. The problem? His track record with girlfriends is shorter than a Snapchat story.

Pairing:- Colby Brock x Reader

Warnings:- Friends to lovers, reader and Colby are in love with each other; it's evident to everyone except the two of them.

The early morning sun illuminates your bedroom in light yellows and oranges. You let out a sleepy groan as you stretch your sore muscles. The sensation of a muscular body pressing against your bare back prompts you to recall the events of the previous night.

After a night out with friends, you returned home later than usual. Upon opening the front door, you were greeted by Colby, your friend and roommate, lounging on the sofa with crossed legs and an expression that was a mix of annoyance and the classic 'we need to talk' look. And then the argument had started which ended in him dicking you down into the mattress.

You let out a sigh and turned to lie on your left. You were greeted by Colby's sleeping figure, his face just inches from yours. Your eyes traced his features, gentle and soft in sleep. His dark brown hair, almost black, with a few purple highlights that only showed in the light, stuck out, with some strands falling across his eyes. Your gaze drops to his bare chest, noticing the 'lock your heart' tattoo on the left side. His right hand is adorned with intricate designs that you absolutely love.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? You were in love with Colby Brock. The feelings you had for him weren't sudden or fleeting. It wasn't a case of love at first sight. Rather, your affection for him had grown slowly, blossoming over time.

The first encounter with Colby dates back to your high school years. You were friends with Sam, who in turn was friends with Colby. Once you met, the three of you became inseparable, akin to the Three Musketeers, minus the swords and hats.

Eventually, the guys got the idea to launch their own YouTube channel. They kicked things off with a series of hilarious vines, and as their confidence grew, they ventured into the spine-chilling world of ghost hunting. You even made cameo appearances in a handful of their spooky adventures.

Although you always found Colby attractive, you never pursued those feelings, worried it might jeopardize the friendship. However, one night of slightly drunken truth or dare resulted in the two of you agreeing to a friends with benefits arrangement.

By that time, you were already too involved. Colby wasn't one for relationships, especially those that lasted more than a month or so. He was not a fuckboy by any means. He was a short-term relationship kind of guy, and the women he dated were well aware of the arrangement. However, you weren't interested in being just another conquest, so you decided to tuck your feelings away, hoping they'd fade in time.

He was the embodiment of trouble. From the moment Sam made the introductions, and your gaze landed on him, it was clear as day – he was trouble, with a capital T.

Brushing aside the cascade of thoughts, you reach out with a delicate finger to sweep Colby's dark brown locks away from his closed eyes. Your gentle touch rouses him from sleep, a lengthy yawn escaping his lips as his blue eyes flutter open, drowsy and blurred.

His lips form a slow, sensual smile as he rasps out the words, "Mornin', darling."

Oh, how you love his voice. Especially in the mornings, after you had gone at it like rabbits. But right now, his voice is deep and thick from the effects of sleep. Colby shuffles around to find a comfortable position before placing a hand on your bare waist. His warm touch on your slightly cold body causes goosebumps to erupt all over you, prompting you to snuggle back under the covers and closer to him.

You both lie there, quietly looking into each other's eyes as the sun ascends fully into the sky. Eventually, the sound of your alarm breaks the tranquility, prompting you both to start the day. You sit up in bed, rubbing your eyes as you observe Colby getting dressed.

"What are your plans for the day?" He asks, pulling on his xplr hoodie.

"I have the day off," you say, mustering the energy to rise from bed, pull on your own hoodie, and head toward the bathroom.

Something in the tone of your voice prompts Colby to wrap his hands around your waist and pull you closer to his body.

"We're good right?" He confirms, gently nuzzling your neck before placing a kiss there.

"Yep! All good," you force out with a smile, untangling yourself from him and walking into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

Despite your smile, there's something not quite right about it. Now that he thinks about it, you've been off for the past few weeks. Colby rakes his fingers through his hair, further tousling the already disheveled locks. He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls out his phone to text Sam.

As you peer into the mirror, a whirlwind of thoughts swirls in your head. The bathroom door stands as a lone sentinel, keeping Colby at bay, who is probably itching to burst in and grill you for answers. You're pretty certain he's onto you; you haven't been exactly Oscar-worthy in your performance of 'normalcy'. And Colby, being the human lie detector he is after years of friendship, is bound to pick up on your act.

With a sigh, you twist the faucet, letting the cool water cascade over your hands and onto your face. Teeth brushed and hair tamed into a neat bun, you swing the bathroom door open. As expected, there's Colby, lounging on your bed like he owns the place, utterly absorbed in his phone.

The creak of the door captures his attention. He quickly glances up at you, slips his phone into his pocket, and rises to his feet.

"What's wrong, darling? And don't even think about lying," he says firmly.

"It's nothing, Colby," you mutter, while an internal opera of sighs plays on. You're itching to spill your feelings, but the fear of wrecking whatever it is you two have—friendship, relationship, or that awkward in-between—clamps your mouth shut. You can't imagine a life where he and Sam are not a part of.

Colby understood that you were not going to share anything with him if you didn't want to; you had a stubborn streak. So he inched closer to you, extending his hand to gently hold your chin.

"If anything is on your mind, just let me know, okay?" He murmurs softly before leaning in to give you a kiss.

You absentmindedly nod, already hooked on the sensation of his lips on yours. Colby leans back after giving you a final peck, smiling gently as he takes a step back.

"I'm meeting Sam later to discuss the new video. Want to come?" he asks, hope shining in his eyes.

Shaking your head, you manage to force out another smile. "I think I'll take advantage of the rare day off and stay in for a bit. But hey, good luck with your video!"

Colby gives a nod, though his expression still suggests that he dosen't believe that you're actually fine. "Catch you later."

You observe him heading to his room. Shutting your bedroom door, you decide on what to do with your day off. Ultimately, you opt to tackle the looming pile of pending tasks.

-----

With each passing day, there's been this tension growing between you and Colby. You found yourself slowly retreating, responding to his texts at a snail's pace, and occasionally, his calls would just dance to the tune of your ringtone, unanswered. And when he'd question this growing distance, you'd toss him a salad of excuses, seasoned with the ever-reliable 'I'm swamped with work' or the classic 'It's not you, it's my schedule.'

Swinging open the door to the home you shared with the guys, you can't help but release a sigh that screams 'weekend vibes'. The plan? Full-on couch potato mode and binge-watching galore. But as you make a beeline for the stairway to heaven (your room), there's Sam and Colby, glued to the couch with their eyes locked on a laptop screen, editing their new video.

The sound of your heels clicking announces your arrival. They both glance up, a smile flickering across Sam's face.

"Hey! Welcome back! It's a weekend, are you excited?"

You laugh. "I sure am! I'm so ready to binge watch netflix and laze around."

Sam lets out a chuckle. You lock eyes with Colby, but his thoughts are a mystery. It's a strange kind of agony just to meet his gaze, and you can't help but feel a bit ridiculous for it. So, you opt for a simple nod and muster up a smile, which, to your surprise, he mirrors back to you.

Colby's gaze lingered on your ascending form. You appeared elegant with your hair swept into a ponytail, revealing your delicate neck, and wearing a charming blue dress featuring a sweetheart neckline and lantern sleeves, its hem grazing your mid-thighs. Your white heels highlighted the length of your legs.

Sam watches his best friend, struggling to conceal his grin.

"Just tell her," he suggests.

Colby jerks back, his eyes widening as he gazes at his best friend.

"What?"

Sam chuckles, observing that his friend seems to have lost the ability to speak today.

"I said, you should tell her. She genuinely thinks you only see her as a friend."

"How did you even-" He starts before breaking off with a sigh. "Never mind. It's obvious isn't it?" Colby glances at the blond, to which the latter nods.

Colby slumps into the couch, exhaling deeply. "How do I even start? 'Guess what? I've caught feelings and I'm ready to upgrade us from a casual fling to a full-blown romance'?"

"Exactly, dude!" Sam chuckles, giving Colby a hearty slap on the back.

Colby exhales sharply. Trust Sam to be the voice of reason. Yet, for Colby, it's not as simple as Sam suggests. Should things go south, it's not just a plan that falls apart—it's a whole saga of friendship at stake.

In the meantime, you've swapped your clothes for cozy pajamas and snuggled under the blankets, with a rom-com flickering in the background. Yet, your mind can't help but wander to a certain brunette. Almost as though your musings had magical powers, a knock echoes on your bedroom door, and like a scene from a movie, it swings open to unveil none other than Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

"Hey," Colby starts. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

You pause for just a second before giving a nod. Bad idea, you think. Because just being in his vicinity seems to be a recipe for heartache. Colby takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

"So.." he trails off. Fuck, what was he supposed to say? Despite Sam's advice to be direct, Colby struggles to utter a word. It dosen't help when you mirror his stance, shrinking the distance between you. His mind fizzles out with your proximity, every thought evaporating, leaving him with nothing but the gentle fragrance of your body wash teasing his senses.

Taking a deep breath, he prepares to speak but you beat him to it.

"I want to end this arrangement we have," you declare abruptly.

"What—Why?" he manages to utter, though he can't fully grasp your words. It's as though his brain has ceased to function.

"I just…" you try to explain, "I want to start dating. I don't want to hold you back, you know."

He's itching to tell you not to see anyone else, but that would be like the pot calling the kettle black. The mere idea of you with another person sends Colby into a whirlwind of emotions. Suddenly, it hits him – he's jealous. He rakes his fingers through his hair.

"Could we… perhaps consider dating?" he murmurs, his gaze intense.

You're momentarily stunned. "You mean, real dating? As in, going out, hand-holding for the world to see, that kind of dating?"

You're taken aback by his words, mainly because the Colby you're acquainted with is to dating what a fish is to a bicycle—utterly indifferent and slightly confused by the concept.

Colby laughs at your words. "I'm not sure what other version of dating you're picturing, but yes. The kind where we go out, hold hands, and let the whole world know we're together."

His face takes on a grave look. "I've liked you for a while now. So I really want to give this a try."

You pause to consider. Your feelings for him have been simmering for just as long. Despite being aware that his romances tend to have a shorter shelf life than a Snapchat story, you're willing to roll the dice. If things go south, at least you'll have the consolation prize of knowing you took the leap; even if the landing might sting a bit.

His blue gaze seemed to drill into you as you mulled over his words. At last, you faced him..

"Ok, let's try it."

Colby could feel his heart soar as you agree. Acting on impulse, he wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you in closer as he pressed his lips against yours. Despite having shared numerous kisses before, this one felt particularly intimate and surreal. Colby gently parted your lips, allowing his tongue to intertwine with yours.

After what seemed like an eternity, Colby takes a moment to catch his breath. He couldn't help but relish the taste of you.

"Fuck," he rasps. Just like the two ends of a magnet, your lips meet again with an undeniable fervor. Colby gently supports the back of your head with his palm, adjusting it slightly to get a better angle.

The knock on your bedroom door jolts you both into parting.

"Pizza's here," comes Sam's voice, slightly muffled by the door. "Better grab some before it gets cold."

"Be right there," Colby calls back. The sound of Sam's footsteps recedes with each step he takes downstairs. Turning to you, the brunette offers a soft smile. Your wide doe eyes and the flush of your lips, still tender from his kisses, paint a picture of innocent beauty.

"Shall we go downstairs?" he suggests, and you nod in agreement.

"Are you truly serious about giving us a chance?" he inquires.

"Mm-hmm, I want to give this a shot, Colby," you respond, a slight smile forming on your lips.

Colby rises, sweeping you into a whirl, his smile spreading wide.

"Well, get ready then because I'm about to woo the shit out of you."

His words causes a laugh to tumble out of you. "Ok, Mr. Perfcet. We'll see."

You pull his face down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"The pizza!" Sam yells from downstairs, prompting chuckles from both of you.

It took me a while to write this. Tell me how it is. Don't be shy to send in requests or ask stuff in general. If you simply want to talk, my asks are always open!

And as always, thank you so much for reading and supporting my works. Each and every one of you are precious! ❤️

HAVE A NICE DAY! :)

Credits to the amazing @cafekitsune for the cute line divider. Go check them out!

[princessbrunette]

when did you know you loved me? pt.3/4 ♡

deer!reader had never been more comfortable with anyone in her life. she enjoyed that she got to be herself around him — a little weird, sometimes quiet, simply enjoying eachothers company until she could think of something to say.

“it feels oddly good. like the contrast of the cold shells on my hot back? it’s therapeutic.” pope observes as you sit cross legged on the beach beside him, placing the collection of shells you’d gathered along his bare back, enjoying the peace it brought you.

“okay new business venture, i offer my services of shell-therapy where i place shells on peoples backs along the beach and they pay me lots of money.” you smile, watching your boyfriend shake his head from where his temple rests on his stacked hands.

“oh hell no, this is a special service for me only. far too intimate. also as much as i enjoy this, i wouldn’t pay for it. bad business move.” pope banters in response and you laugh openly. he always entertained your silliness, or your goofy ideas that logistically made his head hurt just a little. to this, you felt a wave of affection.

“i love you.” you grin, shaking your head. it’s the thousandth time you’ve said it, but the abruptness of it compared to the conversation makes pope lift his head, craning it around to look at you with a confused yet adoring smile.

“oh— well, i love you. a lot.” he reciprocates and you lean forward, kissing his sweaty temple.

“can i ask you something a little weird? there’s a segment missing in my ‘us’ section of my journal and i wanna fill it out.”

“ask away.” he croons as he settles back down in the position he lay in before.

“when did you know you loved me? was there a moment? or was it a slow gradual thing that just crept up on you?”

there’s a silence for a moment as pope considers, before he slowly rolls over — tipping all the shells off his back back onto the sand and laying on his back once more, breathing out a slow breath of consideration. the sad “hey” that you were about to mewl at him destroying your artwork on his back died on your tongue, more interested in what he had to say.

“you know… there’s part of me that wants to say the first moment i saw you i was in love with you. i mean, shit — it absolutely felt that way.” he splutters with a quiet laugh.

“really?” you return his tone, chuckling as you gather your shells once more, not wishing to lose them.

“i mean yeah. when i saw you struggling to walk all those dogs along the beach after the storm i remember thinking ‘okay, that is definitely the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen’” he relays, soft smile remaining as he closes his eyes once more, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face.

“aw…” you hum, pulling your knees to your chest and continuing to listen.

“and then of course i saw you again working at the library, and i knew i definitely had to have you, even though i kinda felt like a creep thinking that… because you barely knew me.” he cringes and you giggle, starting to place shells on his toned stomach instead.

“but i dunno… i think… i think i knew for sure that i loved you, like hard core— capital L loved you… was the first time you came to meet my folks. you came to dinner and you wore that pretty dress with the flowers on it? the one i love? and i could see the way my pops just thought you were everything, and my mom clearly adored you… and i realised i didn’t just love you… i wanted a life with you. like, the whole shebang… marriage, babies one day… all of it. you’re like… my forever. ugh, that was total cringe. but it’s true.”

he peeks an eye open, to see if you’d totally caught the ick for his sappy story, but was happy to see you grinning ear to ear. you launch forward, pressing a kiss to his mouth. it’s a little sandy and salty, but it’s pope — so you don’t care.

“i want you forever and ever.”

“yeah? good. i want that too.”

[probablyasocialecologist]

One of permaculture's earliest missteps was its belief that we should all become small-time capitalists in the service of the movement. This has led to a proliferation of permaculture-related small businesses—YouTube channels, personal brands, conferences, etc. I have no objection to this as a matter of survival; everyone has to make money somehow under the relentless demands of capitalism. But relying on businesses to do the work of evangelizing has essentially turned permaculture into a consumer trend, rather than a movement. A movement is not a stack of books, an endless series of Kickstarters, and a bunch of social media stars. A movement is a collective attempt to change society. Operating as businesses and personal brands makes the "collective" part impossible since those are necessarily individualistic ventures, and it also greatly limits what kinds of change can be made. We cannot move beyond capitalism—which is greatly accelerating the destruction of life on Earth—by being capitalists. We cannot spread permaculture by undermining the condition for our own survival. If permaculture is to become a movement rather than a consumer tchotchke, it will need to stop functioning as a constellation of small businesses and start building collective power on the basis of solidarity. This is called organizing, and it means working together to fight for our shared interests, as permaculturists and as humans living on an imperiled planet.

[debian-official]

hello system that operates my computer do you mind explaining the discord hate ty

hello software that runs on my computer of course :3

In summary, it's about enabling venture capital and complaining when they ruin the internet. It's not discord-specific. There's two components to it: monopolizing and enshittifying.

Once upon a day someone decided that their options for a chat platform weren't sufficient and built their own alternative. Then, some investors came along and who can say no to 20 million? With that kind of money you can undercut (read: offer a free service) the competition and become the default platform everyone goes to.

People love free services!

Sadly, the investors will come knocking again at some point. That's the second phase. Because people know only your service (or everyone else has gone bankrupt) they're very hesitant to move. That allows you to raise prices and paywall all kinds of features. At this point users will complain but that doesn't matter, enough of them will stay anyway and enough of those will pay up, as well.

Off the top of my head this has already happened at Google Search, Reddit and Twitter. Imagine my frustration when the same people who complained during the reddit thing, migrated to discord.

I will not address free vs. paid software here (and means to afford them). That deserves to get addressed as well but not in this post.

[levyfiles]

is it just me or is this kinda not a good idea?

I think it's a gamble. And like anyone who cares about something deeply, watching it take a high-stakes gamble can be terrifying.

What I think people don't take into consideration is just how flooded their recent youtube videos have been with scammy sponsors and cheap fast-product get-rich-quick scheming vendors. Sure, their writers and producers made it fun by adding some really excellent characters to the mix, but I wouldn't touch a thing like Mistplay if you paid me as much as they paid Watcher for their video. However, the thing is, look around at all the youtubers you know who are up and coming. You can't make it on that platform without advertising trash to your audience.

With the vimeo OTT program, i believe there is a shared revenue and more incentive to promote more simple dedicated engagement; it's not ad sense clicks; it's just clicks. It's a soft start and there are going to be some kinks to work out but if they get to control their brand more and decide what gets made without needing some nu-venture, cash hungry sponsor to look at it, then I think they could change media online for the better.

Having said all that, the execution? Not their best. Watcher--listen, I love them so much--has had a consistent and terminal administrative problem and that means stuff falls through the cracks. From a communicative standpoint, when you're about to take your company in a controversial direction, you should know two things.

The backlash! You gotta get ahead of it. You need your PR team on the go a MONTH before launch

Always soft launch a big move. Get your feelers out for how people react especially if you don't have the kind of shark PR person who would know already that people don't respond well to paying for something they didn't used to pay for.

Watcher is still a baby company in so many forms and I will wholeheartedly support their move to do what they can to keep control of their creative content today and in the future. I'm not in their offices so I can't make as prescriptive a judgement as Twitter feels emboldened to about capitalism and greed or whoever they think their audience is however I can and will say that with any form of growth, the growing pains are going to show. i'll give them grace as they pivot and figure out how best to move forward especially with the volume of vitriol the internet loves to spew when they feel entitled to art forms that used to be free.

I'll say it again. At least we're no longer having garbage peddled at us regardless how much I crave Fabian Sax biblically.

[petertingle-yipyip]

STRANGER (ii) - KAZ BREKKER

tags: @beekeepingageissome @shadowzena43 @nikfigueiredo @mp-littlebit // previously // next // i hope i didn’t miss anyone for tags! //

Pairing: kaz x davina rollins (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 6,271

Summary: Nothing is simple in Ketterdam. Davina learns a hard lesson when trying to expand her snakes. Bloodied with a bruised ego, she think she finds help in an unlikely ally, only to have to run. Again.

The next few months were uneventful. You continued your usual pattern of withdrawals and reconnaissance. You watched Kaz and the Dregs, even visited Nina Zenik a few more times to make a better acquaintance with her. You had no plans for her specifically in your overall schemes, but having her vote of confidence may prove useful for your potential alliance. Plus, it didn’t hurt to befriend a Heartrender.

But she always asked the same thing. “Your boss hasn’t claimed her little ring yet, has she?”

And your answer was always the same. “No. It’s not the right time, I suppose.”

And it wasn’t. Your gang, while managing decently filled coffers, was minuscule. You were a small, yet arguably skilled group. And it wasn’t just Kaz Brekker you had to convince. Even though he was the harder of the two to persuade, you’d need enough of a footing to convince Per Haskell. Unless a time came when Kaz took full control, he was technically Haskell’s lieutenant, and the old bastard could veto any deal you made with Dirtyhands.

“We need to start venturing out.” You told your lieutenant. You were seated in your office, spinning the tip of your blade against your desk. You had done it so much you had worn a little divot in the wood. “We need to start doing jobs or running cons.”

“Word is there’s a gambling hall near the Crow Club that’s struggling.” Melli offered up eagerly. “It’s a solid location.”

“Then why is it struggling?”

“Advertisement?”

“Melli.” You let your blade fall to the wood top and stared your lieutenant in the eyes.

“I think the Dreg presence keeps them from really capitalizing.” She answered, tugging at her sleeve.

“And you think adding snake presence will do anything towards pacifying Brekker and his Crows? They don’t trust me or any of us, and if Brekker finds out who I really am, he’ll burn down any business attached to us. Whether or not that is before he drags me, kicking and screaming and bleeding, to my father’s feet, I couldn’t tell you.”

“He won’t.” She tried but you simply raised a brow. “You’re careful, Davina. If he hasn’t figured it out by now, after he took you captive, he won’t find out unless you let

him.”

You tapped your finger against your desk in thought. You stared at your discarded knife and wondered if it was worth the risk, especially after your last encounter with him. The hits to your ribs had broken two and left your lungs bruised. Getting them healed was a pain and if you thought hard enough, you could still feel that pain in your chest.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw Melli fidgeting with her sleeve again and you redirected focus to her idea, though you made a mental note to talk to her about that tell. If you left Melli to run the hall, it could maintain your anonymity while also bringing in funds outside of your father’s unintentional donations. It could also be an opportunity to get in good with Haskell.

“Go see what the owner might sell for…” You waved her off, trying to ignore her giddy smile. “If it’s not an arm and a leg or my eternal soul, I will consider it.”

“Yes!” She celebrated.

“But.” You said firmly and her giddy movements halted. “It’ll be your passion project, meaning you will be responsible for any and all failures or success, and you’ll be compensated accordingly from the profits. And if we take it, I intend to use it as a foot in the door with the Dregs.”

At that, her mouth fell open.

“I can offer Haskell a small percentage of our profit to allow us to operate within his boundaries.”

“That’ll make us look weak!”

“We’ll look approachable.” You countered.

“We don’t need Dreg approval.”

“We’ll need Haskell’s good graces if we want to get Kaz.”

“We don’t want Brekker. You do.”

“You’re right.” You nodded. “And while I respect your opinion as my lieutenant, I’m not debating this with you. Dime Lions won’t hesitate if they get a chance to wipe us out, neither will the Razor Gulls. Especially if either of them figure me out. You want the gambling hall?” You made a platform with your fingers as your elbows came to your desk. You rested your chin on said platform. “You have my terms, Melli.”

She opened her mouth, likely to argue, but thought better of it. Instead, she nodded with a heavy, defeated sigh and stomped out the door. You dropped back into your chair and rubbed your tired eyes.

If you had known how tiring it was to run a gang, plot revenge, and seek alliance from your father’s sworn enemy, you may have thought twice.

You decided you wanted something stronger than the poor quality coffee Melli kept warm in the main room. You tossed your cloak over your shoulders, fastened it at the base of your throat, and slipped out your window. You slid down the peak of the roof from the building practically leaning against yours and caught yourself on the usual broken guardrail at the edge. It hung off into a sliver of an alleyway and the small space became a small altar to Sankta Alina.

You were always careful not to disturb it when you made your landing. Once, you even drew your own sun on the wall around it.

You pulled your hood up and blended into the streets. You were lucky to set up business in a building that was near the edge of the Barrel. It was out of your father’s reach and that was what was most important. But in the nights you needed the comfort of bustling nightlife and drinks, you wished you had found something a few blocks closer.

At the end of the night, you were safe when you slept. You were warm every night. You were fed, not always well but you and your snakes never went without necessities. It was all you could ask for to start with, yet did nothing to quell the need for more.

You didn’t end up at any clubs or bars. Instead, you ended up walking the canals until you reached the one spot that you hated, yet always found a way back to. There was a small space where you could see Reaper’s Barge. It was far enough that you couldn’t make out any specific bodies, if there were any, and you couldn’t smell the rot or decomposition. It was just the salty tang the ocean always left in the air and the ever present mist hovering. You used to wonder if the Council of Tides had put that mist there, but you came to be thankful for it. It seemed to keep the worst of the dread away.

“When they said the monsters were in the shadows, it was supposed to be a story.” You threw over your shoulder after you felt the stare at your back. “You weren’t supposed to take it literally.”

“There’s enough truth in every story. Besides, I am the nightmare.” He answered. 

“So I’ve heard…” You nodded. “Some say you’ve got bones for hands, the flesh rotted away by all your misdeeds. Others that you don’t have hands at all but are just cursed with phantom fingers. I’ve also heard you have claws, so which story has your truth?”

“All of them. Or none of them. You can pick, really.”

You were surprised to find he seemed relatively docile and it made you wonder how long it would take for you to say something that provoked him. And part of you wanted to try.

He came and stood by your side.

“Are you here to slice me open again?” You joked and turned your head. He stared ahead and you stuck your arm out, exposing your bare forearm. “Go on then.”

He glanced down then and pushed your arm away with a sound that almost resembled a chuckle. Then his eyes found your face, tracing the length of scar from his cane. It burned with the memory and you almost felt the stream of blood down your face again.

“I think it adds a certain charm. Don’t you?” You tried another joke and he shook his head, looking away. You frowned to yourself and looked back to the water. “Why are you lurking in the shadows anyway?”

“Midnight stroll.” He answered calmly.

“With a leg like that? I don’t think so.” You scoffed. “Is it even midnight?”

As if on cue, the bells began to ring.

“Oh, Saints.” You muttered.

“Let that be a lesson.” He commented and you turned towards him. “I’m almost never wrong.”

“Almost? So it is possible.”

“Nothing is impossible.” He shrugged. “Improbable, yes, but not impossible.”

“The Wraith told me pride would be my downfall, yet here you stand.”

“As I’ve mentioned, Dear, I’ve already died.”

You nodded slightly and looked back to the water nearer the Barge. When you went there, your thoughts always strayed to Jordie. You wondered how long he had been in the water, if there was anything left of him. You wondered if Kaz had been in the water or did someone have to pry him off his brother’s body, screaming for the only family he had? You always shuddered at the thoughts.

“How is Davina?” Kaz asked suddenly.

Your eyes moved, head staying forward. You saw he was leaning his elbows on the railing. His leather clad hands were fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt beneath his coat, and the moonlight bounced off the silver crow-topped cane at his side.

“She worries.” You confessed. You had missed Kaz so dearly, so you were taking the small opportunity he had given you to just talk. “She’s not sure we’ll have enough to offer when she needs to make the deal. That’s part of why she doesn’t come out often.”

“Why she sends you, Melli?”

Your comfort was yanked away at his words and your hand began to creep towards the blade inside your collar. You were a fool to think there was anything other than malice in his intent. “What?”

“Yes.” He turned towards you and you took an instinctive step back. “You see, after our last run-in, I looked into the little clutch she’s built. Fortunately for her, not many know her roster, but her lieutenant’s name has a few whispers.”

You felt a swell of panic. If Melli’s name was known, how long did you have until yours was tied to your face? Was the gambling hall a ruse to lure Melli, thinking you would show, for capture? What would happen to Melli?

“I am not Melli.” You said firmly, maintaining eye contact even though you wanted to bolt to the gambling hall.

“Are you telling me-“ He lifted that cursed cane and you pulled the blade from the sheath. “-that my sources are wrong?”

“Not quite.” Another step back. “There is a snake named Melli and Davina trusts her, but I am not Melli.”

“Then who are you?”

“You're Kaz Brekker, aren’t you? Figure it out.”

In a swift movement, the blunt end of his cane slid under the fabric of your cloak, where the clasps met, and he pulled you forward. You stumbled slightly and his free hand grabbed your face, leather-clad fingers digging into your cheeks. You could’ve sworn you had felt the sharpness of the fabled talons he hid, but you knew it was your imagination.

Kaz was human. You knew that, but he was also dangerous.

“If you value your hand, I suggest you let go.” You threatened but with his grip your words were mumbled.

He just raised a brow and pushed you to step back. Your empty hand grabbed his forearm desperately as he bent you backwards over the railing. You felt yourself lifting off the ground, toes of your boots scraping the ground and you scrabbled for purchase.

You could feel the dull end of the cane pressing on the underside of your chin. You gripped his arm tighter and you saw a change in expression. His jaw tensed, the grip on your face faltered, his entire body seemed to go rigged. In that hesitation, you acted.

You found the upside down crow’s head and slammed your foot down on the beak. You felt it slide away before it clattered to the ground. You slashed your knife in a careless move, seeing it skate along the front of his hip. He winced slightly but you let go of his arm, holding to the railing instead. You put the knife’s handle between your teeth and braced the other hand against his chest.

You shoved as hard as you could and he stumbled back. You tumbled over the railing, slamming your side into it as it spun your arm in your socket. You glanced down and the darkness made the water seem hauntingly endless. You turned back to climb up and you saw the silver arc. You yelped and had to switch hands in a hurry, the impact of the crow’s head vibrating through the railing. You thought to yell at him for trying to break your fingers but he swung the cane again. In a panic, you simply let go and fell into the waters.

You were dripping wet when you got home. Your cloak was sticking to your chest, hood heavy against your forehead. Your knife was lost to the waters and your teeth were chattering, loose hairs sticking to your face.

“Send Melli to my office when she returns.” You told one of the snakes in the common room as you stomped away, leaving squishing sounds and wet footprints in your wake.

Almost immediately after you slammed the door, a light knock sounded before it opened. You turned and saw Melli.

“You’re unharmed?” You asked. You were worried but your voice was level. The cold waters had seeped the heat of your anger and worry away.

“Yes.” She nodded and you could see her trying to hide the smile. “The owner’s willing to sell, but he isn’t the majority owner. He says that’s why it doesn’t seem as profitable lately. Once ownership changed, he stopped advertising or putting in much effort other than paying the bills and bringing in enough for his family!”

“Fine. How much does he want?”

“5,000.”

You blew out a sigh and unclasped your cloak, draping the fabric over your desk with a wet thump. “I supposed it’s fair if he doesn’t own it all. What can you put in?”

“What?” Her smile fell.

“You wanted it. You’ll run in. You need to put in. I’ll cover some and the snakes’ coffers will do the rest. So what can you put in?”

“Um.” She tugged her sleeve and you glared at the nervous movement of her hand. “Maybe… 1200?”

“Good. I can give 1800, and then the other two wi-“

“If you put in more than me, doesn’t that undermine what I put in?”

“First.” You held up a hand. “Don’t cut me off, Melli. I’ve had a horrid night, if you couldn’t tell, so I’m in no mood.”

She closed her mouth tightly and nodded.

“Second, it’s not about you or me putting in more. It’s about lessening the strain on our gang’s funds. We’ll meet tomorrow night with him. Now, who’s the majority owner?”

“You won’t like it.” She sighed.

“Who, Haskell? Because I swear if I have to deal with Brekker again so soon.”

“You saw Dirtyhands?” She quirked a brow. “I suppose that explains why you look like a wet cat.”

“Yes, and he is continuing the infuriating habit of making my life difficult. He nearly broke my fingers before throwing me into the canals. And he thinks I’m you.”

“What?” She laughed.

“He found out your name as my lieutenant and he thinks my hooded charade is you, which means you need to be more careful for a while with your name. Understood?”

“Of course.” She began fiddling with her sleeve. “Do you still want an alliance?”

“I want to watch my father suffer.” You said plainly, leaning your palms flat against your desk. “I want to take from him the same he took from me as a child, and if it takes wooing Kaz Brekker - who wants the same thing, mind you - into some sort of partnership, so be it. Now for Gods’ sakes, Melli, quit picking at your cursed sleeve and be a lieutenant! Who’s the majority owner?”

Her hands folded behind her back and she righted her posture. She drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

“Pekka Rollins.”

“Truly?” You smiled and she nodded. “Well, maybe this is a good idea after all.”

The next night, you dressed for the first public appearance of Davina Rollins since her disappearance. You left your hair loose and left your cloak. Instead, you wore a fitted vest, similar to a corset but with thicker straps and less restriction of your breathing. It was another Grisha made item but this one had been far cheaper than your cloak. You had gotten it from a Fabrikator at port who had deserted the Second Army so she was willing to give it away for practically nothing. It had several knife sheaths and was damn near impenetrable.

You wore it over a dark blue long sleeved button up, tucked neatly into your pants, with two knives tucked into their homes. You wore your usual boots and added a pair of black leather gloves. The accessory made you think of Kaz and you found yourself wondering why he had added the gloves. Was it simply for mystery or something more?

You shook the thought away and reached for the last thing you needed. A dark piece of fabric that you had cut and sewn into a makeshift mask. It would cover the lower half of your face and loop over your ears before you pinned it into your hair. The hooded cloak could hide most of what you did, but you needed a statement with a true appearance.

Well, as true as you could risk.

Your deal with the man was easy enough. Paperwork for the sale would be submitted in the morning and you had him send word to your father that he was selling and the new owner wouldn’t pay him anything. You also had him add that you would be at his doorstep at midnight. Melli tried to talk you out of it, but your own spite drove you to it.

“You should meet in neutral territory. Is that what that square is for?” She reasoned and gestured towards the area most deals between gangs were made.

“I don’t know enough about the way it works there.” You shook your head. “Besides, it’s too open. Stadwatch can be bought, people can turn. I won’t risk it.”

“It’s riskier doing this!”

“Well, I’m sure dear old Dad will be too shocked to try to kill me.”

“Davina.”

“Go home, Melli. You know your tasks if I don’t return.”

“Abandon the revenge against Rollins. Forget allying with the Dregs. Make our own name.” She listed with a nod to punctuate each command. “I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to. The deal is the deal.”

You were ushered into your father’s office quickly. Two large Dime Lions stood post and your father kept seated at his desk. You crossed your arms and your fingers grazed the handle of the blades. You were glad to know they were easy to reach.

“What business?” He finally spoke.

Hearing his voice sent a chill through you. He sounded the same, yet completely foreign. He had no warmth towards you, no yearning or longing. He wasn’t your father. Just the Barrel Boss, head of the Dime Lions, Pekka Rollins.

“Is that how you speak to your daughter?” You tried and raised a brow. “The power you claim to have has made you cruel.”

“Am I to believe you’re Davina?” He laughed. “My daughter wouldn’t hide. She’d face me as she is.”

“I wouldn’t hide?” You cocked your head. “Papa, I’ve been hiding for years. Who do you think has been building the snakes that have been making neat little dens all across your precious Ketterdam?”

You thought about taunting with the account, but if you lost those funds, your gang might drown unless the gambling hall proves fruitful.

“Snakes.” He spat. “Vile little creatures.”

“Maybe we’re more alike than I wanted to believe.”

A Dime Lion kicked at the back of your knee and you fell. Your father came around his desk and knelt in front of you, jerking your head towards him by your chin.

He stared into your eyes, scanned your face, looked at your hair. He was looking for some resemblance and you hadn’t realized how much you had changed until then. Yes, you had changed your hair, but also the set of your shoulders had changed. You didn’t cower from eye contact. Your voice matured. You held your head higher. Your round, childish cheeks had sharpened.

Even under your mask, after staring enough, he recognized you.

“I thought you were dead, Davi.” He said softly. “Where were you?”

“I tumbled with the Reaper.” You smiled beneath your mask. “I knew my time was coming when I left. I could either die at twelve or at ninety three. You’d be surprised how many thought I was so pretty, they bought a room.”

His mouth opened for a response but you spoke again.

“Yes, my tongue’s grown quite sharp with spite in my time away. I sold off my pride, figured it was easier to focus on that price you put on my head. Ego never pays so I found men who would.”

“You went into the Pleasure Houses?” He sounded disgusted.

“There was no one I wouldn’t fight to get what I wanted. Can’t you see? Worthless parents make stupid kids. Your conscience never compromised, not even when it killed the only two friends I had growing up. Looks like the apple didn’t stray very far.”

“You aren’t my daughter.” He shook his head. 

“I am Davina Rollins.” You said firmly. A hard right hook that you didn’t expect hit your jaw.

“I am the only daughter of Pekka Rollins.” A left hook that made your head jerk.

“I am the leader of the snakes.” You saw the next hit coming so you leaned away. “And I will not cower from you.”

You could taste the blood in your mouth while you got back to your feet. You made a show of dusting off your pants before you ran your tongue over your bloodied teeth. You turned your head, pulled your mask down, and spat on the floor, scanning the room to see it was still the two thugs at the door before replacing your cover.

Them plus your father. You might be able to do it. You had two blades but no pistol. Disarming one of the three was a possibility.

“That how you greet your children now?” You commented and adjusted your shirt sleeves. “I feel bad for the boy.”

“Do not speak of my son!” He shouted. “You abandoned your family!”

“Maybe.” You nodded. “And I miss my mother dearly, but that was all I left behind in that house.”

“Watch how you speak to me, Daughter. You may bear my name but you gave up your place here.”

“No, you never intended a place for me here. I was part of your schemes, always, but your empire was never going to be mine… You think I didn’t hear your whispered conversations with Mama? Maybe that’s part of why I decided to build my own. Not why I left, of course, but I’m sure we’ll get to that.”

“Why are you here?” He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“I came to face you.” You explained, putting your arms out to either side dramatically. “As I am, of course. I’m taking possession of that neat little gambling hall a few blocks from the Crow Club.”

“That pisspot?” He laughed. “It brings in pocket change, Davi.”

“First, stop calling me that. You have no right.” You said firmly and you saw one of the men make a move toward you. Your head snapped in their direction. “If you like the bones of your leg intact, do not kick me again.”

He hesitated but stepped back so you faced your father.

“Second, if it’s so poorly, you should be glad I’m taking it off your hands.”

“I keep it as a thorn in Per Haskell’s side.” He explained, waving his hand through the air. “A reminder that I am everywhere.”

“Save me your dramatics, please.” You rolled your eyes. “The paperwork will be submitted and you, dear Dad, will not be involved in my new project.”

“Why do you want it so bad?”

“Profit.” You shrugged. “Isn’t that what it’s all about in Ketterdam? In Ghezen’s name and such.”

A faint explosion sounded from outside and you wondered what gang was riled up now.

“That place won’t feed your snakes.” He shook his head.

“I didn’t come for advice.”

“And yet clearly you need it, Little One. How about this? You bring your snakes and come here. We will welcome them with open arms and I can teach you how to truly become what you wish.”

“No.” You said flatly. “My snakes are mine and mine alone. I’d rather die than ever consider your help.”

“You’re a child.” He laughed, the condescension heavy in his words. “You won’t best me.”

A shadow passed by the office window and you could’ve sworn you had seen a glint of silver.

“Like calls to like. I’m sure I’ll make allies.” You answered.

You heard a pistol draw behind you.

“Tell your man to stand down.” You warned and your hand inched towards your blade.

A second pistol.

“You should’ve called to meet in neutral territory, Davi.” He sighed, then signaled to the men behind you. “It was nice to see you, one last time.”

You felt the hand on your arm and you reacted. You freed your knife and slashed, cutting a deep line across the man’s face. You whirled and saw the pistol raising. You gasped and dropped to the floor, the bullet landing somewhere in the wall. You reached forward and grabbed the man’s pant leg, yanking it towards you till he fell to his back and the gun fell away.

You sprung for it but the heavy foot of the other pinned your hand down. You cried out and you felt the squish of your flesh against the ground. Your other hand guided your knife along the back of his ankle, slicing through the tendon, and the man’s leg gave out. You rolled away and clutched your hand to your chest.

With heavy breaths, you jumped up and held firmly to your knife, the other hand still pulsing from the pain.

Another explosion, this one close enough to rock the building. You glanced towards the window but you saw your father pointing a gun at you.

“Oh Saints.” You complained, missing the safety of your cloak. “All this trouble just to kill me, Papa?”

“It’s not personal, Davi.” He almost looked regretful.

“Feels personal.”

You threw the knife in your hand before he fired. The blade buried itself to the hilt in his shoulder and it made his arm jerk, his shot going off course and he fell into his chair. The bullet burrowed into your own shoulder - of course it managed to miss the protection - and you couldn’t help but cry out. The force of the bullet made your arm jerk back and you stumbled towards the wall behind you. You slammed your hand against the wound as the pain shot down your arm.

You took in the scene ahead of you and quickly plotted a way out. There was only one Dime Lion standing, still armed. The fallen one had dropped his gun, as did your father. You could see he was torn between helping your father and going after you. You, however, needed to get out. You figured the gunshots would’ve called more Lions on the other side of the door, and the office was too high for you to take the window, so you needed a pistol of your own. You took a deep breath, clenched your jaw, and dove for the closest gun.

As soon as your wounded shoulder hit the ground, you winced sharply but refused to let it stop you. You held the pistol tightly, ignoring the way it felt slick in your bloodied hand, and dared a glance at your father. His Dime Lion had decided to help him instead of pursue you so you ran.

You burst through the door and found a surprisingly empty hallway. You didn’t hesitate, barreling down and taking the stairs two at a time. Every step sent a jolt through your arm and you cursed your father’s name each time. When you made it to the ground floor, that’s where you found the rest of his gang.

They were shooting at something in the streets but a few saw you come into the room. They pointed and opened their mouths, but your bullets came faster than their voices. You shot at their chests, bullets piercing lungs and hearts, before you ditched the gun and climbed through a nearby window. It took you into an alley and you crept along the building till you reached the street.

Habitually, you reached for your hood but found nothing. You sighed and ran a hand over your face, smearing the still wet blood along with the sweat on your forehead. The cold feeling of the leather was a stark contrast to your burning skin and the searing pain, so different you flinched away from it, but it also reminded you of Kaz. You groaned slightly and wiped your sleeve across your eyes instead.

You shook the thought and peered out into the streets. Your meeting had gone completely array and with the fire fight and explosions in the street, you needed a new way home. You took a few steps out and looked deeper into the night, trying to figure out what they were shooting at. You saw nothing, not even return fire. Curious, you dared another couple steps.

“Hey!” Someone yelled. “It’s Davina!”

“Get her!”

“Don’t kill her! The boss wants her alive!”

No he doesn’t.

You turned and ran. The pumping of your arms caused more blood to seep from your shoulder and you tried to ignore the pain. You looked over your shoulder just once and saw three of the Dime Lions in pursuit. They were smaller than the build your father usually employed, but you assumed it made them better for chases like the one you were currently involved in.

You knew you couldn’t go straight home. You’d lead them right to your snakes. There was a smaller place closer, a safe house that you had commandeered from the Razor Gulls before you had your current building. It wasn’t much but it was safe enough, with what you’d need to clean and bandage your shoulder.

You made a mental note to put out word you were looking to employ a Healer.

As you were running, a hand grasped your wrist and pulled you into an alley. You screamed but their other hand covered your mouth as you were pinned to the wall. Their body was pressed lightly against yours, your back flat against the wall, while they watched the streets instead of looking at you.

Your eyes were wide until you recognized who it was.

Kaz.

You sighed deeply in a strange sense of relief. Kaz was in no way your ally but at least he was familiar and unlikely to kill you in the alley. You two stayed huddled in the alley until the Lions ran by, shouting about which direction you went.

When you could no longer hear their footfalls, he backed away.

“You’re bleeding.” He said with a frown.

“I’m aware.” You said through heavy breaths. “Hurts like hell too, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

You rolled your eyes slightly. “Why are you here, anyways?”

“Are you really questioning me when I just saved you?”

“Yes, because you don’t just appear when someone needs saving, Kaz.”

“I heard you were meeting with your father. I wanted to see if it was true.” He said with a small shrug, as if you should’ve known.

“And do you believe it?” You asked.

He stared at you in study for a minute. His eyes seemed to take the same path your father’s did. Your eyes, your nose, your face shape, your hairline. He looked you up and down before the ghost of a smile graced his lips and he gave you a small nod.

“Hello, Davina.” He finally answered and you smiled behind your mask.

“Hello, Kaz.” You replied, relief plain in your voice. “It’s good to finally talk.”

“We should get you to a Healer.” His tone changed and you saw a shift in his body language as well. Tension, control, like elastic ready to snap. Your brows furrowed and suddenly felt no relief in his sudden appearance.

And he hadn’t answered what he was doing there.

“No.” You said carefully. “I don’t want to go to Nina Zenik.”

“I didn’t say Zenik.”

“You didn’t have to. Why are you here?”

“I’ll explain later, but you won’t hear any of it if you decide

to bleed out in an alley.” He snapped.

“You’ll explain now.” You pulled your blade. You knew he was right. You were still losing blood, though it had slowed. You were tired, light-headed, growing weary with every step. Your bulleted arm was growing heavy, more useless with every pump of blood that left. But you would die fighting the Bastard of the Barrel if that’s what it took. “Or you can bleed out with me.”

“Dammit, Davina.” He sighed. Another figure appeared at the entrance to the alley and you whirled on them quickly.

You grabbed their shirtfront and slammed them against the wall. His hands went up in surrender as your blade threatened his throat.

“Woah!” He said quickly. “You wouldn’t slit my throat if I’m unarmed, would you?”

It took you a second but you recognized him.

“You’re Jesper Fahey. You’re never unarmed.” You countered.

At that, he grinned widely. “True, but you can see my hands, Love.” His eyes darted to your shoulder. “And I think you’ve already taken one bullet tonight.”

You shoved off him and glared back to Kaz.

“Oh, Saints. Kaz!” Jesper complained. “You shot her?”

“I did no such thing.” He said plainly. “The idiot got herself shot somewhere else.”

“A parting gift from my father.” You spat. “If you were just here to verify I was alive, why bring your sharpshooter?”

“If you think I’m daft enough to plot against the Dime Lions alone, then you’re a fool.” Kaz countered and you didn’t miss the hint of condescension.

It made you think the figure from before wasn’t just shadows. “No, I suppose that’s my job, as you do so like to point out.”  You looked to the rooftops.

“The Wraith here too?” You asked.

“She’s good.” Jesper praised. “Maybe we shouldn’t-“

“Shut up.” Kaz muttered. “Davina, Dear, we really should go.”

“What were the explosions?”

“Wylan’s handiwork.” Jesper said proudly. “Nothing dangerous, moreso just sound and some bright lights.”

“It shook my father’s building.” You deadpanned.

“Well.” He grinned again, his face alight with the thrill of a fight. “Maybe a little dangerous.”

“This wasn’t curiosity.” You turned on Kaz, his expression as unreadable as ever but he gave up the charade. “This was a heist. You wanted to kidnap me. Was my lieutenant not enough? Breaking her ribs, throwing her into the canals, that wasn’t enough?”

“You think me a fool?”

“You don’t want to know what I think you are.”

“Your lieutenant is a girl named Melli. She was visiting a small gambling hall last night and, funny enough, she didn’t wear that little cloak. And her hair was a different color, different cut, and her face was rounder than the hooded one. So, either you have multiple lieutenants or the girl you send out is someone else. Which is it, Dear?”

He knew something. You could see it in his eyes, even in the minimal light. You could hear it in his voice. He knew more than he was claiming, and he wanted to goad you into a confession.

“I’m going home.” You said firmly, though you could feel your hand with your blade trembling. “I’m hurt. I’m tired. I’m pissed off and in no mood to fight with you, Brekker.”

“No, we’re due for quite the chat.”

You sighed and tucked your blade away. You looked to Jesper, who was a bit uncertain of what to do next.

“Sorry about this.” You muttered.

His brows furrowed and as he opened his mouth to speak, you punched him in the throat. He coughed and grabbed his throat, so you grabbed his forearms and shoved him at Kaz. Both men fell in a heap so you took off running towards your little safe house.

You’d clean your wound, pry out the bullet, sleep off the worst of the pain. In the morning, you’d meet with your unnamed Healer before you returned home and planned what the hell you were going to do next.