#media bargaining code

[motorsportbarbie13]

Post It - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

warnings: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT. (spoiler alert, it's not) (i blame @lestapiastrisgirl. She’s a bad influence 🤭) no warnings really, i just needed to have some soft boyfriend coded lando in my life again after how dirty i did him in 'aftermath'. ENJOY THE NEW SERIES MY BABIES! 🫶🏻 pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3.7k words (plus SMAU posts)

Lando should have been paying attention. He should have been paying attention to Jack Whitehall standing up on stage, making jokes at Max and George’s expense. He absolutely should not have been using the down time between livery reveals to stalk your social media profiles but here he was. It wasn’t his fault trying to figure you out was way more interesting than anything the FIA and this stupidly awkward night had to offer. 

He had been scrolling his FYP earlier in the day while McLaren comms staff had bustled around the Hilton conference room, his attention pulled away from the boring media briefing Zak and Andrea were trying to get him to care about, when you had popped up on his screen. It was an innocent video, one that he usually would have flipped right on by but something had his thumb pausing, hovering over the screen instead of swiping away. 

You were in well lit hallway, lip syncing to that new Gracie Abrams song that was all over the place looking like you didn’t have a care in the world. Your smile was infectious as you held eye contact with the camera, arms thrown to your sides as you sang your heart out. It looked like you were about to go somewhere, a gray woolen overcoat tugged over your shoulders as a pink and white knit jumper peaked out from underneath. 

It was only when Oscar had asked him how many times he was going to listen to that thirty seconds of song that Lando realized he’d been watching your video for an embarrassing length of time. Turning crimson, Lando had quickly favorited the video to come back to later and closed out the app. 

He’d been caught up in preparations for this stupid F1 75 event for the rest of the evening but the moment he’d had a break, he was back stalking your socials. Your Instagram was conveniently linked to your TikTok account so it wasn't hard and the moment Lando started scrolling, he was hooked.

yourusername posted

909,102 likes liked by lando, yourbff, hannahstjohn, and others yourusername lots to catch up on... user0298 body is teeeeeea user1112 that gray dress tho! where is it from??? >>>yourusername @/aritzia!!! lando 🔥🔥🔥 (liked by author) >>>user0200 landooooo what are you doing here??? >>>user555 first in the likes too. he was QUICK

The Monegasque sun was blindingly bright, reflecting off the pristine white of Lando’s apartment balcony. He was trying to enjoy a rare moment of peace, something that he’d miss when the season started up in two weeks. Right now though, he had been back from testing in Bahrain for a few days and was leaving for Australia sometime next week. This was the last weekend of peace and quiet he’d have until summer break.

An insistent buzz shatters the quiet calm that he’d cocooned himself in, his phone blinking to life. He glanced at the screen. Rich. His personal PR manager that he’d hired after his last messy breakup to help with his image. 

“What is it, Rich?” Lando sighs. 

“Lando, we need to talk about this weekend.” Rich’s voice was sharp, a glaring contrast to the relaxed atmosphere of Lando’s apartment. 

“What about this weekend?” He asks, a knot forming in his stomach. Lando knew where this was going. 

“Allegra.” Rich says, his voice bright with faux enthusiasm. “She’s coming to Monaco this weekend. We need some content before the start of the season. Really amp up the exposure before you get too busy.” 

Allegra. Or Allie as she insisted Lando call her in private, but always Allegra in public. She was also managed by Rich, who was the one that had introduced them last year with the sole purpose of having them hit it off and start dating. When that hadn’t materialized, Rich had started meddling, sending her to events that he knew Lando would be at, having her come to Monaco and follow him around like a lost puppy. 

It had worked though. The rumors started swirling and before he knew it, Lando and Allie were rumored to be dating. He had never confirmed the relationship, always insisting that he was single and Allie had followed suit, coyly grinning in interviews when the model had been asked specifically about him. He hadn’t fought it though. Maybe he was a coward or maybe he just liked the attention, but it had certainly brought a certain degree of recognition to his name in the months that he had been linked to her. He never confirmed it but he never denied it either. 

And then he had met you. 

“No.” Lando says flatly, cutting him off. “Nope. I’m done with this.” 

“Done?” On the other end of the line, Rich sputters. “What do you mean, ‘done’? Think of your brand, your image! You have a merch drop happening in a few weeks and a rebrand with Quadrant! You need this attention.” 

“I don’t need her to bring me attention.” Lando scoffs. “I’m tired of playing this game. I’m tired of Allie. She’s…she’s weird, Rich. And this whole thing is a joke. I know you’ve seen the gossip pages laughing at me. Laughing at her. I’ve had enough.” 

“Lando.” Rich tuts, his tone taking on that of someone scolding a small child. The heat rises in Lando’s cheeks as he stands, pacing the balcony. “She’s a social media powerhouse. She brings in millions of impressions. People love talking about her, speculating about if she’s with you or not. This is a business.” 

“Business?” Lando laughs, cold and bitter. “This is a manufactured relationship, Rich. It’s fake and it’s draining. I don’t want her here. I don’t want her anywhere near me anymore. Either you tell her I’m done or I will, you choose.” 

“You’re being irrational. This is a PR strategy and it’s working! We’re getting the numbers, the attention! It’s everything you hired me to do!” 

Lando drags his hand over his face, scrubbing at the migraine that he feels forming behind his eyes. “I don’t care about the numbers.” He says tightly, his mind flickering to you and the way you’ve been a bit distant this week. “I care about my sanity. I care about being genuine and this? This thing with her? That is the opposite of genuine.” 

“You’re throwing away a huge opportunity.” Rich warns, frustration sneaking into his voice. “This is so unprofessional.” 

“Unprofessional?” Lando shouts, his anger getting the better of him. “You’re the one being unprofessional. You’re treating me like a product, not a person. The only thing you care about is your fucking paycheck, nothing else.” Lando’s chest heaves, his breath coming in short spurts. 

“Lando, calm down -” 

“No.” Lando spits. “No, I won’t calm down. I’m done with this. I’m done with you and I’m done with Allie. This whole charade is over.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to control his rage. “You’re fired, Rich.” 

He slams the phone down, not even giving Rich the opportunity to respond. The abrupt silence amplifies the sound of his pounding heart as he sits down again. He stares out at the glittering expanse of the Mediterranean, the anger still simmering within him. He feels a strange mix of relief and anxiety. He had just burned a big bridge but it was a bridge he had never wanted to cross in the first place. He knew there would be consequences but for the first time in a long time, Lando felt like he was in control. 

Now, if only he could get you to return his calls. 

You thought you’d been prepared for the activity of the paddock. Hannah had spent enough time during the flight over telling you what to expect but the crowds in Shanghai were nothing short of overwhelming. The smell of engine oil and popcorn permeated the air, a strange mixture that tickled your nose in a slightly unpleasant way. You tried to calm the anxiety that was settling deep in your chest, the tight constricting feeling pulling at your ribs in a way that had you desperately wanting to go back to the hotel room. 

You knew it was strange, someone with as much anxiety and issues with crowds being an influencer like you were but most of the time you had control over it. You had asked Hannah so many questions about what to expect but nothing could have prepared you for the way the crowds crushed in on you even in the paddock. 

Liam had come to the track early to meet with his engineers before the practice and sprint qualifying. and Hannah had been left to your own devices. The crowds were one thing, you knew you’d get used to them eventually and that you just had to work your way through the panic but there was something else causing your shoulders to hitch up tightly towards your ears and your jaw tighten with every flash of orange you saw: Lando. 

It had been a few months since he slid into your DMs and at first is had been fun. He was charming, texting you nearly all day with all sorts of questions and banter, FaceTiming you while you were curled up in bed in your Boston apartment, talking about the fast lives you both lived. It was intoxicating getting attention from someone like Lando. His attention felt like the sun, all warm and welcoming. You knew there was chemistry there but you lived in Boston and he split is time between London and Monaco. You had expected him to invite you out to see him soon or at least bring up meeting somewhere half way.

But then the pictures had surfaced online. 

Lando walking around the busiest part of Monaco with his best friend Max, Max’s girlfriend Pietra and a blonde model named Allegra. It was so painfully clear he was with her from the shots of him driving her around in one of his many cars three weekends in a row.

You felt so stupid. Getting with a guy that was clearly comfortable being publicly seen on a double date was a hard no, you had more respect for yourself and Allegra to even touch that kind of drama. Of course, there was an endless debate on if they were even together or not, it didn’t take much to find the online gossip pages that spent a lot of time trying to figure out if they were an item. Lando had never publicly confirmed the relationship and neither had Allegra, both insisting they were just friend and Lando was single. 

But the pictures were hard to deny. 

So you had ghosted him. 

You didn’t want to be drug into the drama that seemed to surround the model, not with how well your content was doing lately. You had a huge following in the states and were starting to get attention internationally. You knew the last thing your PR manager would want to see was stories about you plastered all over the gossip pages. You had worked too hard to cultivate a wholesome reputation to be drug into a love triangle controversy, even if it ended up being manufactured by the press. You walked a fine line between wanting to be talked about and wanting to avoid being laughed at.

So when Hannah, one of your best friends from the influencer world, had invited you to tag along with her to the Chinese Grand Prix in April, you had hesitated. No one knew about you and Lando talking, not even your best friends. Sure, Lando had followed you and commented on a few of your posts but everyone chalked that up to you being friends with Hannah and Lando’s reputation to hit on pretty girls whenever he was active on social media. It hadn’t gained a ton of attention so you were able to pretty much ignore it.

But you couldn’t turn down Hannah��s invitation without raising some sort of suspicion. China had been on your bucket list of places to visit since you were little and you had enough miles saved up this year to be able make the long flight in a lie-flat first class seat with to your group of friends. You really had no excuse, so in the end you had agreed. 

But now that you were here, the possibility of running into Lando in the flesh after you had ghosted him hanging heavy over your head and the crowds pressing in, you were totally regretting your life choices. 

“You okay?” Hannah’s voice breaks through your racing thoughts, pulling you back to the present. 

“What?” You stutter, trying to bring your focus back to where you were in the moment. 

“Are you okay?” Your friend asks softly, eyeing you like she knows something is going on but can’t figure out what. “You just seem a little…tense.” 

You reach up to pull your hair off your neck, suddenly feeling like your skin is just a little too tight for the rest of your body. “I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed. This place is a lot.” 

Hannah’s eyes soften. She’s well aware of your anxiety and how you sometimes struggle with crowds. While she doesn’t struggle with the same issues, if there’s one thing you appreciate about your friend its that she has an uncanny ability to read your moods and empathize with you when it matters most.

“I know, but you get used to it quick. Liam has some engineering meetings before practice so he’s busy for another hour or so. Do you want to go hang out in hospitality? Get cooled down before practice?” 

You adjust your sunglasses on your nose before nodding, “Yeah, that sounds good. I’m sorry, you don’t have to stick around with me all day, I know you want to be with Liam.” 

Hannah waves a hand, dismissing your concern with one movement, “Stop that. That man gets so locked in before he gets into the car, he probably forgets I exist. I told him I’d be in the garage for practice but we’re free until then. Come on, we can get some content for TikTok. Didn’t you say you wanted to do a Chinese travel vlog?” 

Suddenly, a blur of green and yellow catches your attention from on your left. A scooter, driven by a distracted man in a green racing suit, was flying down the sidewalk at breakneck speed headed straight for you. He was going so fast you didn’t have enough time to react once you registered what was about to happen. 

You shut your eyes, bracing for impact, as a startled gasp tumbles off your lips. But the impact doesn’t come when you expect it as a strong set of hands pulls you out of the path of the scooter. The man on the scooter continues on, zipping down the sidewalk without so much as an apology as you stumble back, straight into the arms of the person that just saved you from being paddock road kill. The body is warm, muscled and the set of hands go straight to your hips, steadying you when you fight to maintain your balance. 

“Oh my god!” Hannah shrieks as you struggle out of the person’s embrace, spinning around to see who you had just collapsed into. 

“Jesus Christ, thank…” The words die in the back of your throat when you see the papaya and black race suit of your savior. 

“You.” The British accent that you’d spent the last few weeks trying to forget sends shivers down your spine. 

Shit. 

“Oh. Hi, Lando.” You say sheepishly, lifting your sunglasses off your face so you can make eye contact with the driver. 

“Oh hi Lando?” Hannah sputters, clearly confused. “Do you two know each other?” 

“No.” You reply at the same time Lando says “Yes.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to figure out if it would be bad for your reputation if you punched him. Hannah’s eyes bounce back and forth between you and Lando, who is standing there looking just as confused as she is. If you’re not mistaken, there’s also a touch of hurt that flickers in his eyes as he looks you up and down. 

“Are you okay?” Lando asks, breaking the tension. 

Your eyes dip to your waist, where Lando’s hand still rests heavily on your hip. When he notices he’s still holding you, he pulls his arm back quickly, running it through his curls trying to look casual while his brows dip together, confusion still clearly settled on his handsome features. 

“Um. Yeah, I am. Thank you, I was almost roadkill.” You laugh, but it comes out too shaky to be taken seriously. 

Hannah crosses her arms over her chest, eyes narrowed as she tries to figure out the weird tension that has settled over the two of you. 

“So, ‘yes' you two know each other but ‘no’ you don’t?” Hannah raises an eyebrow, clearly not willing to let this go. 

You shoot Lando a look that could curdle milk. “It’s…complicated.” You mumble, avoiding Hannah’s gaze. 

“Complicated how?” Hanna presses, her curiosity piqued. 

Lando shits his weight, a nervous energy radiating off of him. “We were talking for a bit.”

“Talking? Like, flirting talking?” Hannah turns to you and you swear you see a bit of hurt in her eyes. “And you didn’t tell me?” 

Guilt washes over you. You hadn’t really meant not to tell your friend, it just had never come up. “It was nothing.” You say quickly. Out of the corner of your eye you see Lando wince and your heart catches. “Just some DMs, it fizzled out after a while.” 

“Fizzled out?” Lando scoffs, his frown deepening. “You ghosted me.” 

“I’m sure you had your hands full with that other blonde to miss me that much, Lan.” You bite back, voice sharp. 

Lando’s brows furrow, “Other bl…" He pauses, the dots seemingly connecting in hsi mind suddenly. "You mean Allie? What does she have to do with you and me?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” You say with a shrug. “You looked pretty busy with her in Monaco before the season started. I just assumed you didn’t have time for me.” You try your best to sound as nonchalant as possible but you can’t keep the anger from slipping into your voice. The fact that he has a cute little nickname for her burrows under your skin more than it should.

Deep down you know you had zero claim over him, so being this angry feels over the top. You know you’re overreacting. You had never even met Lando in person before this moment, so why was the jealousy burning through your bloodstream so intense? 

Hannah’s eyes dart between you and Lando, her expression a mix of confusion something else you couldn’t place. “Okay, so this is a bit more intense than I expected.” She raises her hands in surrender. “You know what? I think I’m going to go check on Liam. He’s probably wondering where I am.” 

She gives you a knowing look, a look that says ‘I’ll let you sort this out but I expect a full rundown of what the fuck just happened here later tonight.’.

“Maybe you two should talk, alone. Just try not to kill each other.” 

With that, Hannah turns on her heel and disappears towards the Red Bull garages, leaving you and Lando standing awkwardly in the middle of the bustling paddock. The noise of the crowd presses in on you, amping up your already high anxiety and filling the silence that stretches between you. 

Lando looks at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and frustration. He digs his hands deep into his pockets, unsure of where to go from here. The absolute last person he’d expected to see here today was you. Finding out you were mad at him just when he had made the decision that you wanted nothing to do with him and he needed to move on was a little overwhelming. He’d been hurt when you’d stopped returning his messages and answering his calls. Frustrated that you hadn’t given him an answer when he asked you what was wrong. And then the season had started and he couldn't handle it all. It still ate at him at night, the fact that he had allowed you to slip out of his fingers, especially since firing Rich and ending things with Allie.

So maybe this was the universe giving him a second chance.

“So,” He starts, voice low. “We’re just going to pretend like nothing happened?” 

You throw your arms out to your side, exasperated sigh falling from your lips. “What was I supposed to think, Lando? I open up my Instagram one morning to see a shit ton of pap photos of you and her, the day after you and I spent almost five hours on FaceTime together!” 

Lando cards his fingers through his curls, “I can explain that.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you can.”  

Deep in Lando’s pocket, his phone chimes. Reluctantly he pulls it out, checking the new text message from Sophie, his press officer. “Fuck. I’ve got to go get in the car.” He sighs, scrubbing his large hand over his face. “Listen, can you please give me a chance to explain?” 

You cross your arms over your chest, mirroring Hannah’s stance from just minutes before. Your first instinct is to tell him to fuck all the way off, you’ve been too careful with your reputation to be drug into any sort of drama that that girl seems to bring. Lando gives you a look though, his green blue eyes pleading with you and you’re all but powerless against it. 

“Come on.” He coaxes, reaching out to brush his fingertips against your bare arm. You ignore the riot of goosebumps he leaves in his wake. “You’re going to look at me and tell me you didn’t come all the way to China, to a place where you knew I would absolutely be, not hoping to at least run into me?” 

“Bold of you to assume that you even cross my mind anymore, Norris.” You snip back but your words hold no bite to them and you both know it. 

Now it’s Lando’s turn to roll his eyes. “Come on, baby.” Your traitorous heart stammers but you mange an indignant look as a reaction to the nickname. “I’m done with race stuff around dinner time, let me take you out somewhere nice and we can talk. Please?” 

Again with the puppy eyes. This was going to be a problem. 

“Fine.” You huff after a moment. “But don’t make me regret this, Lan.” 

The biggest smile you’ve ever seen crosses Lando’s face at your agreement. He reaches out, catching your waist in his hands, pulling you in for a hug. Neither of you notice the cameras pointed in your direction. 

“You won’t. I promise.” He murmurs in your ear before dropping a chaste kiss on your cheek. 

You don’t wipe if off. 

Grinning like a fool, Lando spins on his heel before bustling off towards the McLaren garages. He’s about 30 feet away when his head swivels back, his gaze instantly finding yours. He grins again, liking that you’d been watching him go. 

yourusername posted

602,928 likes liked by lando, hannahstjohn, redbullracing, and others yourusername Boston >>> Shanghai LETS GO hannahstjohn pretty girl! so glad you made the trip with meeeee user0029 my fave influencer and my fave sport?! YES PLEASE user928 i wish these brands would stop inviting random influencers to races and get some REAL FANS there instead >>>user9299 she's there with hannah, liam's girlfriend. just say you're jealous next time. user0299 ok but i need to know...is she a mclaren girlie or red bull??? >>>user454 she gives me ferrari vibes user223 lando in the likes again, huhhhhhh

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

UK publishers suing Google for $17.4b over rigged ad markets

THIS WEEKEND (June 7–9), I'm in AMHERST, NEW YORK to keynote the 25th Annual Media Ecology Association Convention and accept the Neil Postman Award for Career Achievement in Public Intellectual Activity.

Look, no one wants to kick Big Tech to the curb more than I do, but, also: it's good that Google indexes the news so people can find it, and it's good that Facebook provides forums where people can talk about the news.

It's not news if you can't find it. It's not news if you can't talk about it. We don't call information you can't find or discuss "news" – we call it "secrets."

And yet, the most popular – and widely deployed – anti-Big Tech tactic promulgated by the news industry and supported by many of my fellow trustbusters is premised on making Big Tech pay to index the news and/or provide a forum to discuss news articles. These "news bargaining codes" (or, less charitably, "link taxes") have been mooted or introduced in the EU, France, Spain, Australia, and Canada. There are proposals to introduce these in the US (through the JCPA) and in California (the CJPA).

These US bills are probably dead on arrival, for reasons that can be easily understood by the Canadian experience with them. After Canada introduced Bill C-18 – its own news bargaining code – Meta did exactly what it had done in many other places where this had been tried: blocked all news from Facebook, Instagram, Threads, and other Meta properties.

This has been a disaster for the news industry and a disaster for Canadians' ability to discuss the news. Oh, it makes Meta look like assholes, too, but Meta is the poster child for "too big to care" and is palpably indifferent to the PR costs of this boycott.

Frustrated lawmakers are now trying to figure out what to do next. The most common proposal is to order Meta to carry the news. Canadians should be worried about this, because the next government will almost certainly be helmed by the far-right conspiratorialist culture warrior Pierre Poilievre, who will doubtless use this power to order Facebook to platform "news sites" to give prominence to Canada's rotten bushel of crypto-fascist (and openly fascist) "news" sites.

Americans should worry about this too. A Donald Trump 2028 presidency combined with a must-carry rule for news would see Trump's cabinet appointees deciding what is (and is not) news, and ordering large social media platforms to cram the Daily Caller (or, you know, the Daily Stormer) into our eyeballs.

But there's another, more fundamental reason that must-carry is incompatible with the American system: the First Amendment. The government simply can't issue a blanket legal order to platforms requiring them to carry certain speech. They can strongly encourage it. A court can order limited compelled speech (say, a retraction following a finding of libel). Under emergency conditions, the government might be able to compel the transmission of urgent messages. But there's just no way the First Amendment can be squared with a blanket, ongoing order issued by the government to communications platforms requiring them to reproduce, and make available, everything published by some collection of their favorite news outlets.

This might also be illegal in Canada, but it's harder to be definitive. The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms was enshrined in 1982, and Canada's Supreme Court is still figuring out what it means. Section Two of the Charter enshrines a free expression right, but it's worded in less absolute terms than the First Amendment, and that's deliberate. During the debate over the wording of the Charter, Canadian scholars and policymakers specifically invoked problems with First Amendment absolutism and tried to chart a middle course between strong protections for free expression and problems with the First Amendment's brook-no-exceptions language.

So maybe Canada's Supreme Court would find a must-carry order to Meta to be a violation of the Charter, but it's hard to say for sure. The Charter is both young and ambiguous, so it's harder to be definitive about what it would say about this hypothetical. But when it comes to the US and the First Amendment, that's categorically untrue. The US Constitution is centuries older than the Canadian Charter, and the First Amendment is extremely definitive, and there are reams of precedent interpreting it. The JPCA and CJPA are totally incompatible with the US Constitution. Passing them isn't as silly as passing a law declaring that Pi equals three or that water isn't wet, but it's in the neighborhood.

But all that isn't to say that the news industry shouldn't be attacking Big Tech. Far from it. Big Tech compulsively steals from the news!

But what Big Tech steals from the news isn't content.

It's money.

Big Tech steals money from the news. Take social media: when a news outlet invests in building a subscriber base on a social media platform, they're giving that platform a stick to beat them with. The more subscribers you have on social media, the more you'll be willing to pay to reach those subscribers, and the more incentive there is for the platform to suppress the reach of your articles unless you pay to "boost" your content.

This is plainly fraudulent. When I sign up to follow a news outlet on a social media site, I'm telling the platform to show me the things the news outlet publishes. When the platform uses that subscription as the basis for a blackmail plot, holding my desire to read the news to ransom, they are breaking their implied promise to me to show me the things I asked to see:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-need-end-end-web

This is stealing money from the news. It's the definition of an "unfair method of competition." Article 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act gives the FTC the power to step in and ban this practice, and they should:

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

Big Tech also steals money from the news via the App Tax: the 30% rake that the mobile OS duopoly (Apple/Google) requires for every in-app purchase (Apple/Google also have policies that punish app vendors who take you to the web to make payments without paying the App Tax). 30% out of every subscriber dollar sent via an app is highway robbery! By contrast, the hyperconcentrated, price-gouging payment processing cartel charges 2-5% – about a tenth of the Big Tech tax. This is Big Tech stealing money from the news:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-must-open-app-stores

Finally, Big Tech steals money by monopolizing the ad market. The Google-Meta ad duopoly takes 51% out of every ad-dollar spent. The historic share going to advertising "intermediaries" is 10-15%. In other words, Google/Meta cornered the market on ads and then tripled the bite they were taking out of publishers' advertising revenue. They even have an illegal, collusive arrangement to rig this market, codenamed "Jedi Blue":

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

There's two ways to unrig the ad market, and we should do both of them.

First, we should trustbust both Google and Meta and force them to sell off parts of their advertising businesses. Currently, both Google and Meta operate a "full stack" of ad services. They have an arm that represents advertisers buying space for ads. Another arm represents publishers selling space to advertisers. A third arm operates the marketplace where these sales take place. All three arms collect fees. On top of that: Google/Meta are both publishers and advertisers, competing with their own customers!

This is as if you were in court for a divorce and you discovered that the same lawyer representing your soon-to-be ex was also representing you…while serving as the judge…and trying to match with you both on Tinder. It shouldn't surprise you if at the end of that divorce, the court ruled that the family home should go to the lawyer.

So yeah, we should break up ad-tech:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Also: we should ban surveillance advertising. Surveillance advertising gives ad-tech companies a permanent advantage over publishers. Ad-tech will always know more about readers' behavior than publishers do, because Big Tech engages in continuous, highly invasive surveillance of every internet user in the world. Surveillance ads perform a little better than "content-based ads" (ads sold based on the content of a web-page, not the behavior of the person looking at the page), but publishers will always know more about their content than ad-tech does. That means that even if content-based ads command a slightly lower price than surveillance ads, a much larger share of that payment will go to publishers:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

Banning surveillance advertising isn't just good business, it's good politics. The potential coalition for banning surveillance ads is everyone who is harmed by commercial surveillance. That's a coalition that's orders of magnitude larger than the pool of people who merely care about fairness in the ad/news industries. It's everyone who's worried about their grandparents being brainwashed on Facebook, or their teens becoming anorexic because of Instagram. It includes people angry about deepfake porn, and people angry about Black Lives Matter protesters' identities being handed to the cops by Google (see also: Jan 6 insurrectionists).

It also includes everyone who discovers that they're paying higher prices because a vendor is using surveillance data to determine how much they'll pay – like when McDonald's raises the price of your "meal deal" on your payday, based on the assumption that you will spend more when your bank account is at its highest monthly level:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Attacking Big Tech for stealing money is much smarter than pretending that the problem is Big Tech stealing content. We want Big Tech to make the news easy to find and discuss. We just want them to stop pocketing 30 cents out of every subscriber dollar and 51 cents out of ever ad dollar, and ransoming subscribers' social media subscriptions to extort publishers.

And there's amazing news on this front: a consortium of UK web-publishers called Ad Tech Collective Action has just triumphed in a high-stakes proceeding, and can now go ahead with a suit against Google, seeking damages of GBP13.6b ($17.4b) for the rigged ad-tech market:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/17-bln-uk-adtech-lawsuit-against-google-can-go-ahead-tribunal-rules-2024-06-05/

The ruling, from the Competition Appeal Tribunal, paves the way for a frontal assault on the thing Big Tech actually steals from publishers: money, not content.

This is exactly what publishing should be doing. Targeting the method by which tech steals from the news is a benefit to all kinds of news organizations, including the independent, journalist-owned publishers that are doing the best news work today. These independents do not have the same interests as corporate news, which is dominated by hedge funds and private equity raiders, who have spent decades buying up and hollowing out news outlets, and blaming the resulting decline in readership and profits on Craiglist.

You can read more about Big Finance's raid on the news in Margot Susca's Hedged: How Private Investment Funds Helped Destroy American Newspapers and Undermine Democracy:

https://www.press.uillinois.edu/books/?id=p087561

You can also watch/listen to Adam Conover's excellent interview with Susca:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N21YfWy0-bA

Frankly, the looters and billionaires who bought and gutted our great papers are no more interested in the health of the news industry or democracy than Big Tech is. We should care about the news and the workers who produce the news, not the profits of the hedge-funds that own the news. An assault on Big Tech's monetary theft levels the playing field, making it easier for news workers and indies to compete directly with financialized news outlets and billionaire playthings, by letting indies keep more of every ad-dollar and more of every subscriber-dollar – and to reach their subscribers without paying ransom to social media.

Ending monetary theft – rather than licensing news search and discussion – is something that workers are far more interested in than their bosses. Any time you see workers and their bosses on the same side as a fight against Big Tech, you should look more closely. Bosses are not on their workers' side. If bosses get more money out of Big Tech, they will not share those gains with workers unless someone forces them to.

That's where antitrust comes in. Antitrust is designed to strike at power, and enforcers have broad authority to blunt the power of corporate juggernauts. Remember Article 5 of the FTC Act, the one that lets the FTC block "unfair methods of competition?" FTC Chair Lina Khan has proposed using it to regulate training AI, specifically to craft rules that address the labor and privacy issues with AI:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mh8Z5pcJpg

This is an approach that can put creative workers where they belong, in a coalition with other workers, rather than with their bosses. The copyright approach to curbing AI training is beloved of the same media companies that are eagerly screwing their workers. If we manage to make copyright – a transferrable right that a worker can be forced to turn over their employer – into the system that regulates AI training, it won't stop training. It'll just trigger every entertainment company changing their boilerplate contract so that creative workers have to sign over their AI rights or be shown the door:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

Then those same entertainment and news companies will train AI models and try to fire most of their workers and slash the pay of the remainder using those models' output. Using copyright to regulate AI training makes changes to who gets to benefit from workers' misery, shifting some of our stolen wages from AI companies to entertainment companies. But it won't stop them from ruining our lives.

By contrast, focusing on actual labor rights – say, through an FTCA 5 rulemaking – has the potential to protect those rights from all parties, and puts us on the same side as call-center workers, train drivers, radiologists and anyone else whose wages are being targeted by AI companies and their customers.

Policy fights are a recurring monkey's paw nightmare in which we try to do something to fight corruption and bullying, only to be outmaneuvered by corrupt bullies. Making good policy is no guarantee of a good outcome, but it sure helps – and good policy starts with targeting the thing you want to fix. If we're worried that news is being financially starved by Big Tech, then we should go after the money, not the links.

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/2024/06/06/stealing-money-not-content/#content-free

[starcurtain]

hihi sorry to rant in your inbox but i hate when people use aven's line about jade that says her kindness comes with a price to make their relationship seem worse than it is. while the ipc is. well. the ipc i dont thinl it would benefit her to harm him like theyre both stonehearts AND hes her subordinate. personally i think the price he mentions is like, testing him like she did in her social media post with the ores. it certainly would be less incongruous with her want to guide those that come after her..

I think that people really struggle with Jade. They took one look at her dommy mommy appearance and her status as one of the top three in the Stonehearts and they just want her to be unrepentant evil soooo bad.

Don't get me wrong, she is definitely a master manipulator and she definitely has a specific personal goal she's working toward using the IPC as her vehicle to do so. Her overall idea of creating an endless vortex of desires that can't ever be sufficiently met is very Voracity-coded and not really the kind of idea a very well-adjusted person would be espousing. We have no idea how loyal she really is to the IPC's goal of aiding Preservation against Destruction in the War of the Aeons.

But she's also, over and over again, been painted as having "True Neutral" moral alignment in-game. She's literally xxxHolic's Ichihara Yuuko with a bad case of capitalism: She always demands a price, but never asks more than is fair.

It's literally Fullmetal Alchemist's first law of alchemy: Human kind can not gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost.

All of Jade's exchanges are equivalent and none of her customers enter into a bargain without understanding the price they are paying. In fact, she won't even let Firefly try to make a deal at all without doing her research in advance to truly realize the extent of what she is asking for. Jade is inherently an honest businesswoman.

The issue is that greed is all-encompassing. The ability to have any wish granted is a temptation that virtually no one can escape in the end.

Therefore, I think the best way to understand Jade is as the Honkai Star Rail equivalent of Mephistopheles. In the legend of Faust, the eponymous Dr. Faust longs for more in his life--he is endlessly pursuing knowledge and power, but has hit the limits of his own ability. He meets the devil, Mephistopheles, who agrees to enter into a pact with him: Mephistopheles will fulfill all Faust's wishes while Faust is still alive, but then Faust's soul will belong to the devil when he dies. The deal is fairly presented. The terms are not unclear: If Faust agrees to the bargain, he knows what will happen to his soul in the end.

Mephistopheles doesn't trick him or force his hand when it comes to this bargain. Faust could say no. He could resist. But he doesn't. He agrees, because human greed and pride are simply that overpowering. He thinks he's smarter than the devil; unlike the thousands of others who have come before and suffered damnation for their deals with the devil, Faust thinks he is different, better than others, more deserving... The actual temptation doesn't come from the devil. It comes from human hubris.

Like Mephistopheles, like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Jade merely presents the choice--it's humanity's endless desire that leads to the downfall.

It's a snake and an apple and a contract for a reasonnnnnn, Jade haters.

So, I don't think that Jade represents any danger to anyone who can resist temptation. Firefly walks away from Jade's exchange entirely unscathed. Trailblazer isn't pressed into surrender.

But Aventurine?

To be honest, I think his relationship with her is a bit more complicated.

Aventurine likes Jade. She did him a solid when he was at his lowest in life. His character stories make it clear that he views her as, essentially, someone "safe" in the IPC, unlike other Stonehearts.

But... I do agree that Aventurine approaches Jade more cautiously than he approaches others. And I think that probably stems from a couple of different factors:

Jade has positioned herself as Aventurine's "pseudo-mother," and Aventurine responds to her as if she, indeed, a mother figure he has to obey. He is more respectful of her than anyone else we see him interact with in the game--Diamond and Opal get called by name, but Jade is always "Ma'am." Which is very close to "Mama;" this is not an accidentttttt. When Jade disrupts his banter with Topaz, Aventurine immediately does as he is told, hands over his room card, and simmers down. Even in joking social media posts, when Jade asks Aventurine to do something (judge the uncut jade stones she sent him), he does it even when she rejects his high demand for profit sharing.

But:

2. Jade actually failed Aventurine's moral litmus test. From the beginning of his adulthood flashbacks, we see Aventurine explicitly troubled by the fact that his human dignity was denied and that a market value was assigned to his existence. And not even a high value. He was sold for pennies. It's the ultimate mortification, and we can tell it is still bothering him to this day because even "future" Aventurine brings up the sting of that bone-deep insult during Aventurine's long walk through Penacony. In response to the indignity, Kakavasha gave his original master a moral test: Kakavasha says that he'll go willingly into the hellscape of the death maze if his master will give him 30 copper Tanba, just half his market value. His master refuses, demonstrating that he does not view Kakavasha as a human being, worthy of any respect. By refusing this tiny, insignificant request, the master exhibits his utter moral depravity, from which there is no return. In response, Kakavasha ultimately kills him and takes the 30 copper coins he asked for (nothing more, nothing less) from his corpse.

When Kakavasha meets Jade, he then makes the exact same demand: He wants 30 copper coins and exactly 30 copper coins. At this point, it is very clear that--to Kakavasha--the coins are emblematic of his value as a human being. (I promise you, somewhere in his apartment right now are the 30 bloody coins he took from his master's cold corpse.) His freedom, his dignity, his worth... All of these things hinge on being able to acquire the original 60 Tanba coins. Thus, those who refuse his requests for the coins also symbolically refuse his request for basic respect, his request to be seen as an equal human being who deserves to not be reduced to mere pennies on a bill of sale.

And Jade refuses this request. She treats the demand for Tanbas like a paltry sum and instead ignores the specificity of the request to give a general "We'll give you riches beyond your imagine, more than you could have ever thought to want." But that isn't what he asked for. She stepped over the request he actually made in order to supplant her ideas, on her terms. Kakavasha made the tiniest, most easily completed request in the world, and in failing to actually just respect what he personally wished for, Jade demonstrated that she ultimately will not really respect him.

Just like his slave master, Aventurine represents a value on a page to Jade. For this reason, even if she extends pseudo-maternal behavior to Aventurine and he laps it up like a starved kitten drinks up milk, we see that he remains more cautious toward her than he does to any other female character in the game. Aventurine comes across as more comfortable talking to Acheron than he sounds when he talks to Jade... Because in failing the most basic and seemingly meaningless test, Jade revealed exactly to what extent Kakavasha can--and cannot--trust her.

Does Jade actually mean Aventurine any harm? No, I really don't think so, and you're right, those who claim that she does are really over-exaggerating Jade's negative traits, mostly because they've almost universally got a strong anti-IPC agenda and hate everything from the IPC except Aventurine on principle. Everything in Jade's character stories points to her honestly wanting to develop the hidden talents of others, to "polish" rough cut stones into true gems, and to see her fledglings thrive. Kakavasha is someone she picked up out of the dirt and dusted off. If he excels, that means her faith was well-placed, her judgment was correct, and her team as a whole excels.

It's exactly like a business owner who takes great pride in producing a fantastic product. Only when the product succeeds can the business itself succeed.

But business owners see their products as objects, not equals.

Jade is a fairly neutral figure and I think she wants to see Aventurine grow and achieve greatness. But at the end of the day, their relationship is very predicated on the notion of investment (Jade puts up the original capital to make Aventurine great, and he repays her faith in him by generating wealth for the IPC). It is clear she just can't be trusted to value Aventurine as a person above a means of profit--and Aventurine knows (and accepts) that too.

[the-final-sif]

"Why is google pushing AI onto people at the top of it's search results?"

Well, for a very long time, Google has done this thing called "featured snippets" at the top of it's search results, where it flat out stole content from another website, put it's own ads on it, and presented it to people searching.

In very recent years, companies, particularly news companies whose content google LOVES to steal, have been fighting back and have had some victories in forcing Google to pay up. Notably, the Canadian Online News Act and Australian News Media Bargaining Code. For both cases, Google (and Facebook) kicked and screamed and cried over how it was impossible for them to pay for other people's content they were stealing. Only to cave after the laws were passed and it was clear that they weren't getting unpassed.

So as these laws get more popular and stealing content directly from large media companies isn't an option anymore, Google is trying to now do featured snippets from things like reddit comments, tik tok videos, etc who do not have the easy ability to sue Google, and calling it "AI" in hopes people won't notice that's what they're doing. It's really not that complex.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Prove Your Worth to Me (Nanami x Black!F!Reader 18+ One Shot)

“If you wish to leave, you can, but if you stay, you need to prove to me your worth. I’m not a man who gives things out so easily.” 

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you apply for a sectorial job, but the interview process is a lot more intense than you bargained for. 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Dom!Nanami; sub!Reader; Black-coded!Reader (but anyone can still read this); Dubcon; Coercion; Brat-taming; Mild BDSM; Bondage; Degradation & Praise; Semi-Clothed Sex; Deepthroating; Hair-Pulling; Spitting; Mutual Oral; Doggystyle Over the Desk; Nanami Talks on the Phone While He F*cks You; Edge Play; Namecalling; Unprotected Creampie; Facial; PLOT TWIST

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: This is how I'm coping. Rest in peace, Kento. You were the best man & the best baby daddy ever. Imma come & help you build that house on the beach -Jazz 💋💋

********

You sit in the waiting room in the pristine office, your fingers clutching your bag to stop your hands from shaking. 

You're so nervous. Job interviews always seem to do damage to your nerves and confidence, even though you’ve done them many, many times before. 

‘This is no different,’ you think to yourself, practicing the mantra you’ve had in your head for a week preparing for this interview. ‘It’s just an interview. He’s just a person. You are confident, intelligent, and a boss ass bitch, whether you get this job or not.’ 

But fuck, you hope you get it. It’s a really good position: a secretarial/assistant position for Kento Nanami, the CEO of Nanami Enterprises which specializes in human resources, charitable work, and citywide issues. Mr. Nanami is well-known throughout Japan as an entrepreneur and a very generous man, rich in intelligence and skills as well as money.

Seriously, the man is loaded. He is in every magazine, including Forbes, and has traveled all across the world closing business deals. 

He is also extremely handsome. You’ve seen his face many times in the media with his sharp jaw, intense eyes, and neatly-cut blonde hair. You’ve heard he is taller in person (and bigger at that). You’ve seen him at press conferences and dinner parties, photographed in his expensive suits or even coming off of a private jet in his sunglasses, a permanent, stoic expression on his face. You’ve wondered many times what he looks like out of his designer clothes as any woman would to an attractive man. 

But now that you’re about to meet him, all of this hits you much differently. Now that you’re sitting here in his pristine waiting room with its coffee machines and packaged snacks for clients and hearing the buzz of work activity–phones ringing; heels clicking across the floor, etc.–makes your heart scatter in your chest. Your palms sweat so frequently that you have to wipe them off on your pencil skirt every five minutes. You don’t know if you can handle any of this. 

And you hate feeling this way. You know how good you are with job interviews. Every one you’ve sat for after applying, you’ve received. You take pride in the way you’re perceived, especially when it comes to appearance. Though your interview is at 10am today, you woke up at damn near the ass crack of dawn and primped yourself. You ironed your outfit, choosing a cream-colored blouse that you tucked into your pencil skirt, nylon stockings, and heels. You curled your hair. You spritzed on sweet-smelling perfume. You even planned your makeup look several days beforehand which has been executed well. 

You look good…but you don't feel good. How are you possibly supposed to nail this interview if you can’t even stop your hands from shaking? “Stop it,” you hiss to yourself, glad that you’re the only one in the waiting room. “You will get this job. You deserve this job.” 

And it sounds like a good job position. Like, one that any person would strive to possess in this materialistic world where capitalism rules the earth. You found it on Glassdoor and as soon as you read the description and qualifications (a college degree, certain skills, attitude, etc.), you applied.

As a secretary working here, you would be working closely with Nanami as his personal assistant to help him take care of his work and anything he doesn’t have a chance to get to, such as scheduling appointments and meetings for him, and attending them in some cases, making and taking calls, and other office and secretarial work. The pay is much better than your current job that you desperately want to leave.

You’re tired of working underneath an asshole who only cares about his money and could give less of a shit about his employees or their issues. 

Were you expecting Maki, one of Nanami’s assistants, to reach out to you? Definitely not. But here you are, sitting primped, polished, and positively terrified two weeks later after receiving that joyous email for an interview. You just hope you can hold onto your wits and– 

“Ms. L/N?” You startle at the sound of your last name and look up into the eyes of Maki from behind her glasses. She stands at the threshold of the waiting room in a black turtleneck and slacks that hug her toned frame. You can already tell she has every man in here simping for her.

“Mr. Nanami is ready for you now,” she says. Though she doesn’t smile, her tone is warm. “I have to deliver something, so one of his other assistants will walk you to his office.” 

“T-Thank you,” you say, cringing slightly at your stutter. If Maki notices, she doesn’t act as if she does and doesn’t mention it.

She leads you halfway across the hallway to introduce you to Mai, a shorter version of Maki with no glasses, short hair, and wearing a low-cut red blouse that probably would drive any guy crazy. “Gosh, you are gorgeous!” She gushes as soon as she sees you. “And your hair looks fabulous. You’d definitely turn heads here.” 

You smile bashfully while Maki rolls her eyes. “Can you please just take her to Nanami’s office for her interview?” she sighs. “You know he hates lateness.” She gives you a nod then, her eyes kind despite how intense they seem. “Good luck, Ms. L/N,” she says before heading off to do her work, her hips swaying in her slacks. 

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Mai giggles as she presses a button to one of the elevators next to you. “That’s my sister. She’s always that sweet and bubbly.” She gives you a wink. You giggle to yourself, deciding you like both of them and you wonder what the rest of the team here is like. 

Mai presses the elevator button to the upper floor and leads you inside the damning doors that automatically shut once you are both inside. Silence swells around the tiny box and you can hear your heart pumping madly in your head. You see Mai look at you out of your peripheral version. “Nervous?” she asks. You give her a sheepish smile. “Does it show?” you chuckle. 

“He really isn’t a tough guy,” Mai says, contrary to what you think. “He just likes everything to be perfect and detailed, right down to the T. Judging by your resume, I think you’re fit for the job!” She gives you a bright, comforting smile that is impossible to ignore or not feel. You thank her for the compliment, feeling somewhat better. One the elevator doors open on the floor, she walks you down the pristine hallway with marble walls and grey carpeting until you come to two oak double doors. 

Mai smiles at you despite you wanting to book it. “Right this way,” she says, motioning to the door. “This is his office right here.” She knocks for you three times, loud and clear. “Come in,” a deep, clear voice calls out. It sends shivers down your spine. Maki opens the door then and it’s like the gates of Hell opening for you. 

You are met with a gorgeous, spacious office that is fit for a CEO. On one side is a lounging space with a flat-screened TV, black leathered seats, and a bookcase filled with books of all genres and kinds. On the other is a kitchenette with all stainless steel appliances, including a fridge, freezer, microwave, dishwasher and dryer, and a mini bar where a bottle of scotch and a wine rack sit.

In the middle sits a wide, polished, oak desk with a large glass window overlooking the city where a man sits behind his laptop and a mug of coffee. 

A very handsome man at that. His jaw is sharp, his face slim, not a stitch of facial hair anywhere on his face. His blonde hair is combed and styled perfectly almost if he purposely styled each strand. When he looks up, you’re taken aback by not only his looks but the aura he gives off. It is powerful and intimidating despite his calm and cool demeanor.

It’s only intensified by the gray suit jacket he wears over a crisp blue button-up shirt that he’s paired with matching slacks, red bottom shoes, and a yellow, leopard-printed tie. You nearly giggle at the way the tie stands out against the rest of his outfit, giving him a hint of personality. 

When his green eyes meet yours from across the room, you feel all of the air in your body leave you. A current of electricity courses from your body to his, making the room feel tense despite the coolness of the office. He gives you a stoic expression as if he is irritated that he was interrupted. “Your 10 o’clock is here, sir!” Mai brightly announces. “For Y/N L/N?” 

Nanami’s eyebrows raise slightly. “Ah, yes,” he replies. He stands from his desk, giving you a chance to see how tall he is. The man is nearly six foot! You swear that you nearly fall out right there. “My interview. Thank you, Mai, that will be all.” 

Mai respectfully bows before turning on her heel to face you. “Good luck,” she whispers with a wink before closing the door behind you. Then it’s just you and him. You stand near the door while Nanami comes around the front of the desk, still keeping that same cool, blank expression. You feel like a deer who is being sized up for dinner by a lion. “So you’re here,” he says. “And only two minutes late.” 

You feel embarrassment flood you, making you hot all over you. You know he’s testing you, trying to make you break right off the bat…but you won’t let him. You clear your throat and meet him halfway, putting your hand out for a shake. “Mr. Nanami,” you calmly say. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I arrived here ten minutes early than my scheduled time, but one of your assistants had to leave me for work duties.” You give him a smile as the cherry on top. ‘See? I’m good.’

Nanami’s eyebrows raise slightly, obviously impressed by your quick-wittedness and ability to read the room. “Not bad,” he praises you. “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. L/N.” His larger hand meets yours, giving you a chance to feel his calloused palm and thick fingers. You try to avoid thinking about them around your neck. “Please, have a seat.” 

He motions to the cushioned seats in front of you while he takes his seat behind his desk, shutting his laptop. "You’ll have to forgive me for my tartness. I had a no-show earlier for an 8 o’clock meeting and I’m not a man of those.” You nod understandably. “It’s okay,” you say. “I can understand that. I’ve never been a fan of no-shows either.” You cross your legs as you sit, folding your hands in your lap. 

“Are you referring to your current job as a research assistant?” he questions. The corner of his lips twitch at the look of shock you give him. You damn near forgot where you work at! “I did my studying for today. Your resume is very interesting.” Interesting. You don’t know whether to be happy with that statement or nervous. “Oh…thank you. I actually have it here with me as a copy.” 

You go into your bag where you retrieve a folder and several copies of your resume. You pass one to Nanami who barely cracks a smile at the fact that you are prepared. He must be trying to size you up, see if you’re fit for the position. You watch him read over the paper, his index finger dragging over each section.

“So you graduated with a 3.8 GPA with a Bachelor’s Degree in marketing and communications,” he points out. You nod, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. “Yes, originally, I was studying political science, but I changed my major during my sophomore year.” 

“May I ask why?” he asks, raising a curious eyebrow. You’re more than happy to give him an answer. “Politics can become too messy in my opinion, not to mention that the major was extremely competitive. I was also working as an intern at the time and on the–“ 

“Cheerleading team,” he finishes. “Yes, that’s listed here in your extra curriculum activities, but you left the team during your senior year, it appears.” He gives you a sharp look that is pushing you to give him an explanation. Your brain grasps for straws. “Um…senior year is a busy time for all students,” you quickly explain. “At the time, I was just trying to finish school so I could graduate on time, which I accomplished, fortunately.” 

Nanami only gives a “huh” at this which isn’t the response you are looking for. “Huh” as in “oh, that’s interesting” or “huh” as in “this bitch isn’t reliable and can’t handle shit when shit gives tough”? 

“Let’s talk about your current position.” He folds his big, calloused hands on top of his desk, on your resume. “It seems like a promising position. Why do you want to leave there and come work here?” 

You sit up straight, happy that you practiced for this exact question. “Well, I just believe it’s time for me to move onto something new; preferably onto a new company that has a diverse team and benefits for its employees. I believe that your company does so.” Nanami leans forward slightly, peering deep into the recesses of your soul behind his spectacles. “So what exactly do you think you can offer this company, Ms. L/N?” he asks. “Or more specifically, what can you offer me?” 

Your stomach drops. You didn’t practice for this question. “U-Um…I’m a quick learner,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. “I’m not afraid to ask questions if I’m unsure, but I’m also not afraid to lean on myself for answers. I work well independently as well as in a team. I’m hardworking, determined, and detail-oriented. I’m also willing to do whatever work is necessary to succeed.” 

Nanami’s eyebrows raise once more. “Whatever work necessary?” he parrots, quiet interest in his tone. “Elaborate on that for me. What kind of work or things would you be willing to do in order to succeed at this company, Ms. L/N?” 

Your brain begins to jump from place to place, grabbing at whatever. “Staying longer hours,” you decide. “I know this is a 9-5 position, but if you ever needed me to stay longer to get a head start on work or complete something, I’d be willing to do so. I’m also good at creating Powerpoint presentations for meetings. A-And I’m well-organized.” Now you’re stuttering. Stumbling over your answers. You’re fucking up! He’s going to see your nervous and unconfident and put you on the chopping block! 

Nanami stares you down for a moment longer, making you feel like you’re on trial and he’s a judge, before leaning back in his seat. He places his hands in his lap, ever poised and sexy. “Hm,” he hums. “As much as I appreciate your willingness to stay longer hours, Ms. L/N, I will be honest with you: you’re not the first person who I’ve interviewed who gave me all of this jargon in hopes of getting the position and then didn’t deliver on any of their promises or skills.” 

You nervously gnaw on your bottom lip, gripping your hands to force them to stop shaking. “I’m sure you have,” you quietly reply, “but I’m also sure I can change your mind and prove that I’m worthy of this position, Mr. Nanami.” 

Something sparkles in Nanami’s forest-green eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches. “Worthy?” he questions. “That’s a new one: worthy.” He tests it out on his tongue as if it’s a new kind of food. Something foreign to him. He leans towards you once more, placing his hands on the desk. “Well, let me ask you this: do you think that you’re confident enough to work beside me if you do happen to get this position? Because from what I’m seeing, you’re not.” 

You’re so busy thinking about how handsome he is that you nearly miss his criticism. But when you catch it, you feel cold like you were just dunked in a pool of ice. You stare at him, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?” you ask, squinting at him. 

Nanami barely reacts to your reaction. “You stutter a lot,” he bluntly points out. “Whether out of habit or because you’re nervous which shows the employer, which is me, that you’re not confident in your words or thoughts. Then it’s in your body language: your shoulders are up by your ears and obviously tense, your skin is flushed, and your hands are shaking.” 

And he’s right. You can feel how tense and hot you are; how shaky and unbalanced you feel. You feel like crawling under the chair you’re sitting in and hiding from his scrutiny. But you also won’t allow him to expose you like this. “Well, I would think that nervousness is a common human emotion,” you retort. 

He nods, giving you a point for your fairness. “It is…but judging by your resume, I’m sure you’ve sat through many job interviews, and got the jobs as I’m seeing here.” He takes his glasses off, revealing his naked eyes to you. “So what makes this one so different? Why are you so nervous to be here with me today?” 

You can tell he’s trying hard to make you crack. He’s trying to see if you’re able to handle the pressure. Though you feel nervous and embarrassed, you also feel incredibly pissed. How dare you try to grill you like this? You can’t let him win this. You won’t. “Mr. Nanami,” you carefully say, your tone calm yet firm, “I understand what you’re trying to do here, but I’m not really appreciating it. It seems like more of a grilling session than a job interview. Aren’t we supposed to be talking about the job?” 

Nanami barely even blinks. “We have,” he replies. “And now I’m trying to decide if you are seriously fit for such a position. I take my work very seriously, Ms. L/N, and I need to be sure that you will take my work, as well yours, seriously as well. I can’t have you cracking under pressure or second-guessing things. Those are all signs of being unconfident.” He leans forward, squinting his eyes at you. “Now, do you think you can handle it?” he questions. 

You want to say yes, but you know he’ll argue with you. He’ll come up with all kinds of logic to tell you why you aren’t qualified for this position. So you keep quiet instead, just staring him down and forcing yourself to not look away. The more you stare, the hotter you get until you realize that it’s not out of embarrassment. This heat is out of attraction. Despite your anger, he’s just so goddamn fine! So you look down at your shoes, too afraid for him to see your true feelings under the anger.

Finally, Nanami heaves a sigh and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see it,” he sighs. “I’m afraid this is where we–“ 

“What?” you snap, causing him to stop short. You glare at him, enraged. “That’s it? You bring me in here for an interview just to tell me you’re not hiring me because you don’t think I’m confident?” You square your jaw at him and put a hand to your chest. “I am confident,” you hiss. “If you let me show you, I can prove it to you, Mr. Nanami.” 

Now, Nanami smirks. It's rousing and mocking, angering you even more. “Oh,” he nearly chuckles. “So now you want to look at me. And your emotions are easily roused which could complicate your work if you were to work here.” 

The room has gotten too hot. Too tense. You can’t handle this. If you’re here any longer, you’ll surely jump over this desk and wring his thick neck. “You know what?” you scoff haughtily. “I don’t need to sit here and be criticized like this. I may want this job, but I don’t want it that much to allow myself to be grilled like this.” You abruptly stand from your chair, nearly knocking it over. He looks up at you, his expression cool. 

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Nanami,” you nearly growl. “Have a good day.” You then whip around to storm out of the office, prepared to leave and never return.  

“Stop.” The command cuts through the air along with Nanami’s deep voice. You do so and turn to face him, confused. He is still sitting down, his steely eyes glaring at you from across the room. “Sit down,” he orders. You gawk at him. Is he serious right now? “Why?” you cackle. “So you can go and grill me some more on why I’m not a good candidate for this position? Thanks, but no–“ 

“I said.” The sound of his chair squeaking across the floor stops you short. He stands behind his desk, blocking the window with his big, tall frame. His expression is dark and intimidating, his eyes daring you to argue with him again. “Sit. Down. Y/N.” His tone is hard as steel with a slight undercurrent of a growl underneath. 

You stand there, taken aback at his change in demeanor. And even more so in the way it makes you feel. You feel tingly and hot, specially between your legs. Nanami continues to stare at you, silently daring you to disobey his order. Against your better judgement, you slowly walk back over to his desk on legs that feel like Jell-O and sit down. Your eyes find your shoes again, afraid to look into his as he sits back down behind his desk. 

“You really think you got it like that?” he asks. “You really think that you have what it takes to work for me? With me?” Your heart flips wildly at his questions and the roughness to his tone. He seems so calm and collected. Who the fuck is this? “Answer the question,” he demands. 

You swallow roughly before opening your mouth. “Yes,” you breathlessly reply. 

That is all Nanami needs to hear. He stands again, coming around the desk to stand beside you. You tremble, harshly biting your lip. “You said you’d prove to me your confidence and other assets that you can bring to this position if I let you.” 

Zzzzip. The familiar sound of a zipper coming down stops you short. You turn your head toward him in time to see his hips and crotch in your face and his hands working his belt off. “Well, now I’m letting you.” Your eyes follow his hands as he shrugs his pants down his waist before reaching into his Armani briefs to reveal his throbbing, hard, veiny cock to you. “Show me what you mean, Ms. L/N. Prove to me your worth.” 

Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. This can’t be…he isn’t…he can’t… “W-What is this?” you gasp. “Mr. Nanami, you can’t–“ 

“Can’t what?” he asks. You look up at him, seeing nothing but molten lust in his eyes. “Don’t act as if you weren't hoping I’d do this to you. You wore that skirt and those heels for an obvious reason than to just seem presentable.” He nods at your outfit, making you feel ashamed. “And don't think I didn’t catch the way you looked at me when you walked in or the way you kept crossing and uncrossing your legs under the table. You’re fucking feening right now, aren't you, brat?” 

Brat. The name and the sharpness of his tone makes your stomach flip. “What?” you squeak. “I’m not a–“ 

“Talking back too?” he tsks. He places a hand on the back of your hair, near your scalp. “That just won’t do. A girl like you needs to be put in her place, don’t you agree?” He places his other hand on his cock, slowly pumping the hardened shaft in your face. “This is your decision, Y/N,” he huskily says. “If you wish to leave, you can, but if you stay, you need to prove to me your worth. I’m not a man who gives things out so easily.” 

Your eyes tick from him to his cock, back and forth like ping pong balls. You weigh your options carefully: if you say no, you’re out of a really good job and will be forced to return to the dreaded application process, but if you say yes, you’ll be nothing but a cock-sucking slut. What if he doesn’t even give you the job? 

“So what’s it gonna be, little girl?” Nanami hums. Looking back down at his cock, you take your chances. You wrap one tentative hand around the base of his dick, causing him to shimmy closer to you so he’s closer to your mouth. You then begin pressing light kisses around the head and length of his cock, feeling how warm his skin is against your lips. “There we are,” he softly moans. “Good girl.” 

The praise causes your pussy to twitch in delight and you find yourself beginning to lick up and down his long cock while your hands pump the base. He feels so heavy and thick in your hand. As you do this, soft moans drip from Nanami’s lips, deep and arousing. Your tongue and soft hands on him cause him to reach into his briefs to pull out his heavy balls, letting them hang as you continue to pump him. Your mind is racing, your eyes moving to the door ever so often.

Nanami catches you and chuckles to himself. “Don’t worry; my door has an automatic lock. Maki was only able to open it because I left it unlocked in the case of an appointment….or in the case of visits from horny little sluts like you.” 

You whimper at his degrading words, still slobbering along his cock and wetting it with your saliva. Finally, Nanami stops you and takes your chin into his hand, forcing you to look up at him. “So if I were to tell you that I was stressed and in need of relieving, what would you say to that?” he asks. The question would sound random to anyone else, but you know what he means right off the bat. 

So you give him the answer he is searching for: “I’d ask if I could help you,” you softly reply, your voice breathy and soft. Nanami’s cock twitches in response. “Then show me,” he demands, taking his cock and gently smacking the head against your chin. “Open your mouth for me, brat.”  

And you do so. As soon as your open your mouth, Nanami is hypnotized by your tongue and thick, juicy lips spread open for him. He angles his hips towards your mouth and slowly pushes inside, groaning as he does. “Christ!” he grunts, gripping the back of your head. “Your mouth is so tight and wet, darling.” 

Your moans are muffled as his cock slides into your mouth, stretching out your jaw. Your eyes, stinging with tears, widen at how large he is. You’ve never had a cock this big in your mouth before. Your eyes tick up at Nanami, watching as he strips himself of his suit jacket before unbuttoning his shirt. He reveals his bare, toned chest and hard, pink nipples as he begins to roll his hips against your mouth, forcing you to take more of him. “Come on, brat,” he demands. “Take my cock. Isn’t this what you were after?” 

His shaft slides against your tongue, filling your mouth and senses with nothing but the salty taste of his pre-cum, the scent of his cologne in your nostrils, and the feeling of his hand gripping the back of your head. He pushes you down onto his cock, forcing himself into your throat. A gargled moan leaves your lips as he throws his head back and groans at the feeling of being trapped inside your hot, tight throat. “I’ll go nice and slow, okay?” he coos. 

He then begins to slowly roll his hips against your mouth, causing his cock to plunge in and out of your throat, getting deeper each time. His heavy balls swing against your chin, becoming wet with the spit that has begun to pool and drip over your lips. Nanami tuts at the sight of you being a slobbery, sloppy mess for him as he fucks your face. “Such a mess,” he sighs. “Just a dirty, bratty little slut, doesn’t even know how to keep herself clean.” 

He wraps a hand around your braids and forces your head back, yanking his cock out of your mouth. You gasp at the sharp sting coming from your scalp. “You want this?” he murmurs, staring down at you. “You want this cock? Tell me no and I’ll stop.” Your eyes stare at the cock, now shining in your saliva, bobbing in front of you. Your pussy clenches impatiently in your panties, gushing all in the cotton article of clothing. You want this. You want him. “Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I want your cock. Please give it to me, sir.” 

Nanami closes his eyes and inhales as if your words are a drug that he just got a hit of. “Call me Kento, darling,” he says as he plunges his cock back into your mouth. “Though ‘sir’ does sound quite nice.” He begins to thrust his hips roughly into your mouth, fucking your throat like it is his own personal toy. “It’d be a…fuck…a joy to hear you call me that every single day I…shit, darling…come in here. Even better to hear you moan it. Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

Your words are a garbled, mumbling mess around his cock, your voice taken from the sound the lewd, sloppy sounds leaving your lips as he mercilessly fucks your throat. You gag and spit around his shaft, earning praise by his orgasmic moans and grunts. The more he fucks your mouth, the harder his grip on your hair gets until you can feel your scalp burning. But you endure it. You also find yourself enjoying the bite of pain along with the feeling of being used. This is so degrading: being used as a fuck toy in such a way. 

And you love every second of it. 

“Fuck!” Nanami growls, finally pulling his throbbing cock out of your mouth. It bobs against your lips before he pulls away, slowly pumping the appendage in your face. You gasp, finally free to breathe. You are a complete mess, saliva dripping down your chin and staining your blouse; hair askew; makeup ruined. The blonde man stares down at you, your hair still wrapped in his fist. “Look at you,” he huffs. “You’re a fucking mess. Came in here all pretty just to get ruined by me, didn’t you?” 

You whimper at his words, your pussy tingling. His thumb moves across your plump lower lip, spreading the saliva across your lips. “Oh…does my little brat love being degraded?”

Hot embarrassment makes you flush. “N-No, I–“ 

You’re silenced by Nanami’s hand squeezing your cheeks, causing your lips to pucker. “Lying?” he sharply asks, his gaze dark. “You have the nerve to fix your mouth to say that shit to me yet your body betrays you.”

He nods down at your thighs that clench together and your hardened nipples that have begun to poke through the mesh fabric of your bra. “I guess you need some attention too,” he sighs. “I just can’t decide whether you really deserve my touch.” 

He unhands you then, stepping away from you and leaving you feeling empty. The stinging sensation coming from your scalp and throat are all that remain of him. You feel like you’re burning up. There’s an all-consuming fire eating at your body and between your legs. You need him.

You bend down to press your head to his shoes, your trembling hands grasping his pant legs. “Please, sir,” you beg. “Please touch me. You can’t leave me like this!” 

An aloof chuckle leaves Nanami’s lips. “Oh, I can’t?” he asks. “I can’t let you walk out of here with that pussy gushing for me and that mascara running?” You desperately whimper and babble pleas for more, the aching of your sobbing, wet pussy too much to bare. Fortunately, it’s enough for Nanami to give in.

“Oh, alright,” he pitifully sighs, "but only because you look so oh-so pathetic. And you did such a good job sucking my cock just now. Stand up.” You immediately rise to your wobbly feet as soon as the order is uttered. Nanami gives you a hot stare as his hand trails up the front of your blouse. “Let’s get these fucking clothes off,” he growls impatiently. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” 

Suddenly, his lips are on yours, rough and wanton. You moan into the kiss as his hot, wet tongue begins to explore yours, swirling around your mouth and tasting himself off of your tongue. His kiss is hungry and hard; not at all soft or romantic. He is desperate for you.

Breathy groans and gasps leaves his lips as his hands begin to quickly unbutton each button to your pretty silk blouse. Soon, he becomes impatient and ends up tearing the thing off of you, resulting in a button flying off. 

You gasp, pulling away from the sloppy kiss as he flings your top open to reveal your lacy black bra. “Sir!” you shout in protest. “Kento, please! You’ll ruin it!”

He tears the rest of the top off of you, pulling it off of your arms and tossing it to the side like it didn’t cost you a pretty penny. Nanami rolls his eyes at your dramatics. “You can rest assure you’ll be receiving the money for new clothing…if you do a good job for me now, that is.” 

As his lips and tongue find yours again, his veiny hands then begin to slide up and down your chest, fondling your breasts over your bra cups. You softly moan at his touch into his mouth, the tingling sensation you’re feeling between your thighs quickly growing. He pulls away from the kiss, gently tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth. “Mmm, such gorgeous breasts you have, darling,” he groans. “Too bad they belong to such a slutty brat.” 

Without warning, he slides your bra straps down your shoulders and slides the bra cups down to reveal your breasts and hard, brown nipples, pebbled by the cold and your arousal. A crazed look crosses Nanami’s eyes before he ducks down to capture a nipple into his mouth. “Shit,” you gasp, your hands finding his hair. His tongue wraps around your nipple, lapping at the tiny bud as his hand works your other breast, fondling it. 

Your mouth falls open and your eyes flutter closed at the new sensations you’re feeling. He then switches to the other, sucking and tugging on the nipple with his teeth, smirking at your sharp intake of breath. He alternates between each nipple, sucking, lapping, and licking at each like a hungered man desperate for water. With each torturous second, the tingling and ache in your cunt grow, making you go nearly insane.

“A-Ah,” you moan. “K-Kento…fuck, sir, please!” You arch your back, pushing your breasts further into Nanami’s mouth. 

He chuckles, pulling away from your nipple with a string of saliva dripping from his bottom lip. He looks up at you, his eyes shimmering with lust. “Getting worked up over having your nipples sucked? Such a sensitive little thing you are, Ms. L/N. Now bend over.” You blink at him, momentarily confused and still recovering from the foreplay. “W-What?” you nimbly ask. 

Nanami gives you a stern look, a darkness coming over his gaze. “I didn’t stutter, brat,” he growls. “If I tell you to do something, you do it. How else will I be able to depend on you for this job?” He peels himself away from your naked breasts and nods at his desk. “Now bend over my desk now before I do it for you.” He then cracks one of his hands at his sides, the sound of his knuckle cracking making you gulp (and cream in your panties). 

You do as he says and bend over his desk, being careful to not knock over his laptop, mug, or papers. You brace your hands against the oakwood surface, biting your lip when you feel Nanami’s presence behind you. You’re a wreck before he even touches you, but when he finally slides his hands up your skirt to grip your thighs, you’re shaking. His hands move all across your thighs and backside, gripping your ass over your skirt.

“Damn this skirt,” he growls. “Damn this ass of yours. Apologies, darling, but I have to spank you. After all, you deserve punishment for such naughty behavior.” 

He leans down toward you, his minty breath in your face and lips at your ear. “Do you want your punishment, slut?” he questions barely above a whisper. Pathetically, you nod, arching your back and presenting your ass to him. “Y-Yes, sir,” you reply. “Please punish me. Make me your good girl.” 

That answer pleases Nanami. He slides your skirt up to reveal your ass––and the lace, black panties underneath your nylon stockings. “Brace yourself, darling; my hands are rough.” 

Spank! The moment Nanami’s hand makes contact with your asscheek, you jump and gasp at the stinging sensation. His hands really are rough. Nanami chuckles at your reaction. “Yeah, you like that, naughty girl?” He does it again invoking a low, desperate moan from the deepest depths of you. Spank! “Y’know, I saw you staring at my hands earlier.”

Spank! “I bet all you thought about in that dumb little brain of yours is me bending you over and doing this to you.”

Spank! “I bet you want someone to come in and find us like this, your pretty ass bent over my desk.”

Spank! Spank! Spank! 

He does this again and again, punishing your ass until it is stinging and possibly red with his handprints on each cheek. Though it hurts and brings tears to your eyes, it also makes you wetter. The pain mixed with your pleasure is one intoxicating cocktail that you can't get enough of. Soon, your pussy has a heartbeat and it throbs impatiently, ready for something to be inside of it.

“Sir, please!” you whine, gripping the desk for dear life. “I can’t take it anymore! I’m sorry for being such a brat!” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Nanami hums, pleased with your confession. You feel him begin to yank at your stockings, pulling the waistband down your hips.

“I bet that pussy is too,” he murmurs as he quickly pulls your stockings down your legs. He is rough and ends up putting a tear in one of them, but you’re way too horny to care. He then reaches your panties and pulls them down, groaning at the way your pussy lips stick to the cotton fabric. “And she is. Just look at how she’s crying for me.” 

You can feel how wet you are judging by the way your pussy tingles in the cold. Nanami bends down and gently blows on it, causing you to tense and softly whimper at the tiny bit of contact. “Such a beautiful pussy you have,” he coos. “And all for me.”

Before you can even take a breath, he is gently prying your asscheeks apart and spitting on your pussy before digging in and slurping his saliva back up. 

As he does this, his tongue swirls along your clit and his pillowy-soft lips cushion your pussy, running along your slit as he plays with your cunt with his mouth. You gasp, moan, and sob into the desk, wanting to dig your nails into the oakwood with how good he is. He eats your pussy like it’s a profession of his, taking his time getting to know the ins and outs of you. He even slides his hand up to gently run his thumb over your puckered asshole while he tongue fucks you, groaning appreciatively at your taste. 

Your toes curl inside your heels and your hands grasp to grab for something only to get polished wood beneath you. You’ve never gotten so close so quickly before. Usually, it takes a while for a man to get you even a mile from cumming, but not with Nanami. He moves his mouth and tongue with precision against your clit, moving between fast and slow depending on how your body reacts.

But when his thumb begins to caress your asshole, you just about lose it. “Oh, God,” you sob, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. “Kento, just fuck me. I need you to fuck me!” 

Then…nothing. The feeling of your nearing orgasm fades. Nanami stops eating you out immediately and you’re left wondering what happened. His hand suddenly finds your hair and roughly yanks it back, causing you to release a strangled gasp. It hurts way more than earlier, his grip tight and merciless.

He bends his face down to meet yours, his eyes dark and almost frightening. “You don't tell me what the fuck to do, brat,” he growls. “I decide what to do to your body. Me. Understand?” 

His grip tightens more and the stinging in your scalp of your braids being yanked nearly makes you see God early. “Yes!” you sob. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry! This pussy just needs you so bad!” Finally, he loosens his grip and releases your hair, emitting a weak moan of pain from you. 

“Alright, brat,” he cooly says. “I’ll fuck you…but we’ll do it my way. Put your hands behind your back, wrists crossed.” 

You do as you’re told, putting your hands behind your back and crossing them over one another. You then feel Nanami’s funny-looking tie wrap around your wrists, tightening them and securing them behind your back.

You softly gasp at the sensations of being restricted to which Nanami pauses. “Good?” he asks. You nod and he proceeds to continue to tie your wrists until he is finally satisfied. “There we go,” he proudly says. “Now you can’t squirm or make a fuss when I plunge my cock deep inside of you.” 

And you can’t. Your arms are completely restricted from movement, as is the rest of you as you stand between the desk and Nanami mounted behind you. He ruts his hips against your ass for a few minutes, sliding his cock between your slit and over your throbbing clit, relishing the sounds you make as you lay splayed out against his desk.

“Here I come, baby,” he whispers before sliding all the way home inside you. You gasp in unison as his thick cock stretches out your wet pussy walls, filling you up the way you’ve been waiting for. 

He starts slow at first, grabbing your hips and slowly rolling his hips so you can get used to his length and girth. Your hand flies to your mouth to cover it, muffling your moans. Nanami doesn’t like that. He tears your hand away from your face, pinning it back down on the desk. “My walls are soundproof,” he grunts. “You have no need to worry. Come on, baby; give me those slutty sounds I know you can make.” 

He begins to fuck you harder against the desk, one hand gripping your hip while the other lays flat on the middle of your back, keeping you pressed flat against the oakwood surface. As soon as he hits that spot inside you, you can’t keep quiet. You begin wailing in pleasure, overcome with the feeling he is giving you. “O-Oh, fuck!” you gasp. “Fuck, sir!” 

Nanami draws more of these moans and wails of pleasure out of you the more he fucks you until he is pounding your pussy against the desk. “God, you’re so tight!” he groans. “You’re much better than the fleshlight I keep under my desk. You’d be a much better addition to my office for stress.” He gives your ass a smack before lifting your leg up and fucking into you at a faster pace that is making you see the entire galaxy. 

“Take it,” he demands. “Take this cock. You wanted it so bad and now you’ve got it.” Yes, you do have it…but you don’t know if you can take it. Every rough thrust of his cock sends you into orbit. It shakes the desk with you bent over it, making your titties bounce against the surface and your ass jiggle against his hips. “Wait, sir!” you plea. “Go slow! Can’t…handle…it!” Your words are broken by the force of how hard he is fucking you, taking you very breath away. 

Nanami cackles like a villain straight out of a Disney movie as he looks over your plump ass pressed against him, his cock nestled deep in your ushy, gushy pussy. “Ohhh, is this cock too much for that poor pussy?” he teasingly asks. “Is it too big and thick for that slutty little hole to take? I believe I missed the part where I gave a fuck.” 

He continues to turn you all the way out, making the desk rock and causing his balls to swing against your clit, throwing you deeper into pleasure. “This is what you get for being a brat,” he grunts. “This is what you get for disobeying me. What you get for wearing that skirt and those heels. This is what–“ 

Rrrring! Rrrring! 

Nanami doesn’t slow his pace or stop his rough fucking into your cunt despite his work phone ringing. You weakly look up at the black telephone sitting by his laptop. “This is a call from Satoru Gojo,” the automated voice announces from the phone. 

“Shit!” Nanami hisses. He bends down toward you then, his nose nearly centimeters from yours. “I’ve gotta take this, but don’t you dare say a single thing. Don’t make a sound.”

You weakly nod, covering your mouth as he goes to pick up the phone. After a moment of composing himself, he clears his throat and answers. “Yes, Satoru?” he asks, keeping his voice steady and cool as if he isn’t fucking your brains out over his desk. “This had better be important. I’m busy at the moment.” 

“You’re always busy!” Gojo shouts into the phone, causing Nanami to flinch. “It’s what you always say when I ask for you to come out with me on the weekends…which you never do!”

Nanami sighs and you picture him rolling his eyes from behind you as he grips one of your asscheeks, no doubt leaving bruises. “That’s because all you do is hang out at clubs to fuck strangers and drink yourself into a stupor.” 

“Yeah!” Gojo agrees. “And it’s fun! You ever heard of that before? Fun? You ever try it? I think it’d do you good one of these days to have it some time, Keni.” 

This “Satoru” guy must really work Nanami’s nerves because you can feel the tension radiating off of him. He finds your hair and he grips it, continuing to pound into you at a faster pace than before. “What do you want?” he asks, becoming impatient.

He yanks on your hair a little too rough and you whimper from behind your hand, your body tensing. Nanami quickly loosens his grip, looking down upon you with worry. ”Too rough?” he whispers. 

You look back at him and shake your head though your scalp burns. But you want it to burn. You want to take every single of ounce of pain and pleasure he gives you. “No,” you whisper. “I’m okay.”

You begin to fuck back into him, tossing your ass back to fuck his cock, watching his face contort in pleasure. “Fuck me harder, sir,” you purr. “Take your stress out on this pussy. Make this little slut yours.” 

Nanami’s eyes widen like he can’t believe you’re really real. “Fucking hell,” he whispers. Suddenly realizing he’s still on the phone, he puts the phone back to his ear while he roughly pins you back down to the desk. “Sorry, what?” he questions. 

“I was telling you about the meeting we’re supposed to have at the end of the week,” Gojo repeats. “Were you listening to me at all?” You groan as Nanami’s cock sinks deeper inside you and your hand finds your slit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. “Sorry, I got…distracted.”

You giggle behind your hand. “Is this about the brand deal with the Human Rights Campaign? I told them we get 50% of proceeds.” 

“Not just them, but the New York Times too!” Gojo excitedly states. “I pulled some strings for us, man! They want to do a story on both of our departments! Say, ain’t it weird that we’re both a part of the same company but my department is all the way in the fucking US?” 

Nanami rails you harder; deeper; faster. Pushing you further and further towards an explosive orgasm. “Gojo, I told you already,” he grunts. “You’re part of the American branch while I’m part of–“

His words are quickly interrupted by a sharp gasp when you begin tossing your ass back into him, looking back at him as you do it. He glares down at you like he is one second away from ruining you. “You fucking brat,” he snarls. “You’re gonna get it later.” 

“Who’s gonna get it later?” Gojo asks curiously. “Nanami, you good? You’re acting kinda off. Are you with somebody right now?” Your heart lurches into your throat, but your pussy also clenches at the idea of being caught. “No,” Nanami sharply replies, yanking on your hair. “No, it was just a bug I saw. Listen, I’ve gotta go.” 

You thank God for that because you don’t think you can keep quiet anymore. You have to clamp your hand over your mouth and bite your palm to keep from screaming at the deep dicking you’re receiving. “So we’re on meeting both HRC and NYT on Friday?” Gojo asks. “It starts at 1PM to about 3, but I’ll be bringing wine along so that might turn into about 5.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Nanami impatiently huffs. “Just keep me informed.” Without a goodbye, he hangs up and tosses the phone on the ground. “Now back to you,” he growls. He takes your hips and pounds into you with the force of a thousand men, wrecking you on his cock. “Don’t run from it now, brat. You were so desperate to fuck yourself on it minutes before.” 

Your tits swing beneath you and your ass claps against him every time he thrusts, creating a symphony of sounds mingling with your desperate whines and the squelching of your wet pussy being fucked by his cock. You can’t take it anymore. Your body is wet with sweat and your knees are buckling, tired from this and desperate for rest, just as your pussy is desperate to cum. “K-Kento!” you whine. “Keni, I’m so close! I need to cum!” 

And like an asshole, Nanami slows down, purposely rolling his hips in a way that is agonizing given that he isn’t moving any quicker. “Prove it,” he demands. “Make me make you cum. Beg for it, brat.” 

The slower he gets, the crazier you become until you’re pleading for him to just make you cum. “Please make me cum, sir,” you sob in desperation. “Make me cream all over your cock! Please, I need it! Your little brat needs to cum on that dick and have you fill her up.”

You turn to face him, peering up at him through thick lashes and big, brown eyes that have Nanami wanting to nut all over you just so everyone can know you are his now. “Please, Keni,” you whisper. “Gimme that dick. Gimme that cum. Your little office sluts needs it so much.” 

That does it for Nanami. He speeds up immediately, pounding your wet pussy into his desk until neither one of you are quiet and both of you are soon tumbling over the edge. “Fuck!” he groans. “I’m gonna cum! I can’t stop!” 

Your moans are signs of encouragement to cum deep inside of you and he does so. With a primal grunt of your first name, he pours his cum inside of your aching, twitching pussy. You cum right with him, your walls gripping onto him tighter than a vice as your body tenses.

With a loud moan, you cum all over his dick, making his balls drip with your cream because there is so much of it. You can feel him drip down your thighs, staining your pretty nylon stockings. You can’t even recover from the orgasm yet. Nanami quickly pulls his semi-hard cock out of you, emitting a weak moan from the emptiness you feel. 

“Not done yet,” he snarls. He pumps his cock, wet with your and his cum, hard and fast, his handsome face red with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Turn the fuck around and show me that face. Stick out your tongue.” You do as he says, though wobbly and soaked with sweat and cum. 

You get on your knees and look up at him, admiring his God-like body. You then open your mouth, sticking out your pink tongue, hot, needy pants leaving your lips the more he pumps his cock against your lips. “Gonna paint this pretty face,” he moans. “Gonna make you wish you listened to me.”

You watch his toned body tense and writhe as he finally cums again, shooting ropes of cum into your mouth and onto your face, destroying your makeup. You gasp as each warm drop hits your skin, coating you in all of his sticky nut. You feel used. Owned. 

Nanami staggers away from you, panting heavily, his toned body soaked in sweat. He swipes his blonde strands from his flushed forehead, still coming down from his high. He then looks down at you with his cum dripping down your face, your pretty interview outfit ruined, and your braids askew. “Consider yourself hired,” he says, a rasp in his voice. 

You giggle at his words despite his cum beginning to drip over your eyes. You shut them, not wanting to go blind. “Shit, I needed that,” Nanami sighs. You weakly moan, bringing him back to reality. “Shit, hang on a sec,” he says, panicking slightly as the cum begins to drip lower and lower down to your breasts. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” You hear him walk around you to his desk before returning with some tissues. 

He carefully dabs at your face, cleaning you up. “Sorry about your makeup, honey,” he says. “It’s all over these tissues now.” He goes down to your chest, cleaning between your breasts and neck. Finally, he finishes. “There now. All clean.”

You open your eyes to stare into his, feeling like you’re wandering through a deep, wild wilderness in those green orbs. “Let’s get these off of you,” he says, moving behind you to untie your wrists. 

When you’re finally free, you twist your wrists around and wiggle your fingers, getting the blood flowing back through your bones. “So how do you feel?” he softly asks.

You take a moment to assess yourself. Though your body aches, your throat is raw, and your pussy is feeling sore, you feel oh-so good. It’s so hard to explain. To be used up by him has made you feel better than you have in months. “I-I feel…good,” you decide. “Better than good. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before. Thank God for your soundproof walls.” 

A slight blush paints Nanami’s face. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s so endearing and makes you wanna make him cum over and over again. “So I did okay?” he sheepishly asks. 

You wrap your arms around him, “Baby, you did more than okay,” you giggle, pecking his lips. “But you always do…but I’d be lying if I said that seeing your Dom side isn’t a turn-on.” Nanami beams at you, happy that he could make your dreams come true. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he chuckles. “We’ll have to make these lunch visits more of a frequent thing for us. Including the role-play.” 

You giggle in agreement and take his hands, allowing him to help you stand on your wobbly feet and weak knees. He then begins to fix his pants and adjust himself, putting his cock back in his briefs while you pull up your panties over your twitching, soaked pussy.

“Oh, which reminds me!” you chirp. “The sandwich rolls are still downstairs in the employee fridge. I left them there in case our meeting got, um…lengthy.” 

Nanami smirks and curls his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Such a smart and sexy girl I’ve got,” he coos. “How was I so lucky to end up with you?”

You place your hands on his bare chest, feeling his heart beat against your palms. “Guess it was just fate,” you reply, hopelessly in love with the man standing before you. Nanami smiles, silently agreeing with your statement. 

You then part and continue to get dressed, adjusting your clothes as to not make any of the employees aware that you two fucked in their boss’s office just now. “And you’re sure that Maki and Mai don’t suspect a thing?” you curiously ask as you fix your blouse, pouting at the two buttons that popped off. 

Nanami looks at you as he fixes his button-up, only fixing the first button before moving toward you. “No one knows I’m even dating anyone, Y/N,” he assures you with a kiss to your jawline. “I barely tell my team anything about what goes on outside this building. Don’t worry, no one knows that we’re–“ 

“Fucking!” Mai screams from outside the door, scaring the shit out of you. “They’re totally fucking, Maki! I told you!” 

“Mai, get away from the door!” Maki criticizes her sister. “That’s an invasion of privacy!” 

You turn to Nanami and beg him with your eyes to kill you if you don’t die of embarrassment first. He takes one look at the door before turning to you, his hands on his narrow hips.

“Well, guess I’ll be looking for another assistant,” he sighs. “And a soundproofed door.” 

THE END.

[scary-grace]

Opposites Attract (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your quirk lets you capture almost anyone with ease, and you can't believe you let Shigaraki Tomura escape. Shigaraki can't believe it, either, and according to the League, there's only one possible explanation -- you let him go because you've fallen in love with him. He decides to find out if it's true. You decide you won't fail to capture him again. You both get a lot more than you bargained for. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 2

It’s been two weeks since the League of Villains vs Kamino Ward: Round 2, and there hasn’t been a single day that somebody hasn’t read you the riot act. It wasn’t enough that Miruko did it on-scene, well within microphone range of every single news crew who swarmed the park – every senior hero in Yokohama got in on it, too. And as if it wasn’t already your worst week ever, the HPSC called you in for a formal review of your pro hero license. You didn’t sleep at all the night before, and when you got to the hearing half an hour early with sweat stains already oozing through your one nice blouse, you found out that they’d done the review already, and the hearing was just to present the findings. One of the members of the committee mentioned that you looked a little pale. In hindsight, you’re amazed you didn’t have a heart attack.

You found out that the review of your license was a PR thing more than anything else – although your choices weren’t popular or flashy, nothing about how you handled the incident fell outside the hero code. Not that it matters to the general public. If you had an agency, they’d be booking you on podcasts and talk shows so you could explain yourself, but you’re underground, so you’re stuck listening to TV presenters who’ve never met a villain and podcasters who’d piss themselves if they came face to face with even the pettiest of criminals, all talking about how badly you blew it. There was even a petition circling demanding that you make a public apology for what happened to the All Might statue – one apology to the sculptor who made the statue, and one to All Might himself. When that one started making the rounds, you set your social media accounts to private and hid from your phone for the next three days.

Things are starting to die down, you think, but you’ve still got one stop left on your humiliation tour, and it’s the one you’re dreading the most. Your alma mater is always looking for learning experiences to offer their students, so you’re spending this afternoon at UA, listening while the first-year hero students pick apart every action you took in Kamino Park.

It’s an open forum, so everyone who wants to run their mouth gets a chance to do it, and you sit stonefaced in your chair, praying for your composure to hold. Eraserhead said he’d give you chances to respond, and he does, every time a student sits down. But you don’t want to get into a back-and-forth with a bunch of kids. You did what you did. You can’t go back. Maybe they can learn from what you did wrong.

What did you do wrong, actually? The HPSC cleared you. You’re so unpopular right now that they’d seize any chance they got to strip your licenses, but they cleared you – and you’re still here, listening to a bunch of teenagers take shots at you. The unfairness boils up inside you all at once, and when the next kid sits down, you stand up before Eraser invites you to.

“You all think you could have done better than me out there,” you start. “Maybe you’re right. There are always things that could be done better. What did I do wrong?”

It’s quiet for a second. “Are you stupid or something?” Bakugou asks you. “They got away! That’s what you did wrong!”

“Is it? Kurogiri and Shigaraki got away at USJ, and again at Kamino the first time. I don’t see you lighting All Might’s ass up,” you shoot back. Bakugou makes an affronted sound. “Answer me for real this time. What was my actual, quantifiable mistake?”

It’s quiet for another beat. Eraser opens his mouth, but Class B’s teacher speaks up first. “That’s the more interesting question,” he says. “We’ve talked about how Skynet could have done better. What actual mistake did Skynet make that led to the final outcome of the incident?”

You know what it was, deep in your heart, and you also know that the only person who could call you on it is somebody you hope you never see again. A hand creeps up, and Vlad calls on the student – one of Eraser’s. “Yes, Midoriya?”

“I don’t know if I would call it a mistake,” Midoriya says, “but I was wondering – why didn’t you use more of your quirk?”

That’s a new one. You wait quietly, and Midoriya elaborates. “I mean, Magnetism has dozens of applications. You’re sort of known for being creative with how you use it. And r/herojapan did a power ranking of every active hero and you ranked the highest out of all non-charted heroes.”

That’s news to you. “So I guess that’s what I want to know,” Midoriya concludes. “If you have a quirk with a lot of applications and a lot of power to work with, how could the League of Villains escape?”

“Uh –” You glance at Vlad King, then at Eraserhead. They both gesture for you to go on. “What you said about my quirk – you’re right. I can go big with it. But the bigger I go with it, the less control I have, and I’m not creating magnetic fields out of thin air. I’m enhancing and altering what already exists. Every magnetic field I alter is touching another one, and my alterations affect those fields, too. If I want to use my quirk safely on a large scale, I have to alter some magnetic fields while stabilizing others simultaneously, and I have to do that while protecting civilians and assisting my fellow heroes and trying not to get killed. Using my quirk on the scale I would have needed at Kamino just isn’t possible.”

You can tell Midoriya doesn’t get it. Nobody else does, either. “Maybe you should demonstrate,” the girl from Class B who can make her hands enormous says. “Show us what would have happened if you used your quirk the way Midoriya is talking about at Kamino.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Vlad says. “Ground Beta should be open right now. Let’s go.”

Vlad was your homeroom teacher in your first year at UA. You’ve been struggling not to call him sensei since you set foot on campus, and you know he knows how much you’ve struggled with your quirk. You also knew he was going to support you, but you’re not sure you like how he’s doing it – proving that you’re right, sure, but proving it by proving that you can’t handle your quirk at even partial strength, when the way you were using your quirk wasn’t even the real problem. If you had reacted faster, gotten a solid grip on Shigaraki through other means instead of getting distracted by how not-okay he is, you’d have held all the cards by the time the warp villain came to play. You’d like to see the warp villain try to back you into a corner when you’ve got a piece of rebar wrapped around Shigaraki’s throat.

But you didn’t have your shit together, because you were too stuck on just how shocked Shigaraki looked when you asked if he was okay. Not fake-shocked, not mocking-shocked, not look-at-the-hypocritical-hero-pretending-to-care shocked – truly, honestly shocked, like you’re the first person who’s asked him that question in a while. You flatly refuse to entertain the thought that you’re the first person who’s ever asked him that, because that would be too goddamn sad and you’re not into woobifying villains. You know more than a few heroes who have those romance novels about getting captured and ravished by a not-bad-just-misunderstood villain hanging out on their e-readers, and that’s not your style at all. So why did it bother you, seeing that look on Shigaraki’s face? Why are you still thinking about it two weeks later?

You shake it off as you, Eraser, Vlad, and the students reach Ground Beta. If you don’t want anybody to guess how you actually messed up, you need to do a good job proving that their idea of your mistake is the right one.

Vlad sets up a target a quarter of a mile down Ground Beta’s main street – the distance from one end of Kamino Park to the other – then makes his way back to you and the others. Eraserhead ushers everybody away from you. “Okay,” you say, projecting your voice, “I’m going to show you what it would have looked like for me to use my quirk to drag the League of Villains to me from across Kamino Park.”

Part of you is tempted to just blow it. Use your quirk recklessly, without worrying about consequences or property damage or anything but how it feels to finally let loose. But you’re a hero. You need to set a good example, not give the students even more reasons to question why you still have your license, and even here, there’s a chance that using your quirk at full strength isn’t safe. You get set, feeling the stabilizers in your boots anchor you to the ground. You tap into your metal sense, identifying the target a quarter mile away. Then you extend your hand, activate your quirk as precisely as you can manage, and pull.

The practice target starts moving. Unfortunately, so does everything else. No matter how hard you try to keep your focus on the target and only the target, metal fragments in the concrete lurch upwards, responding to your shift in the magnetic fields, pulling the street apart. The buildings on either side crumple inwards as their steel frameworks tear free. Lightposts bend into impossible shapes. Manhole covers lift from the street and fly towards you, forcing you to employ your other hand to stop them from striking the students behind you. The air vibrates. And sure, the practice target is flying towards you at high speed – but the destruction you’re wreaking on everything in between you and it is worse than what anyone but Shigaraki could have done to Kamino Memorial Park.

You let your grip on the magnetic fields fall when the target’s within thirty feet or so, and let momentum do the rest. Then you turn back towards the students. “This looks bad, right? If I’d done this at Kamino, it would be even worse. Anybody want to guess why?”

“Water mains,” the girl from 1-A with the Creation quirk says at once. You nod. “Cities are full of underground infrastructure, and most of that is made of metal. If your quirk is hard to focus narrowly at a distance from the target, you could do billions of yen worth of property damage.”

“What about people?” the electricity kid from 1-A says – the electricity kid who, if you remember right, also has a wide-range quirk. “Do they get caught when you do that?”

“No,” you say. “I have to be at close range to manipulate the iron in someone’s body. And they have to have enough iron in their bloodstream to make it possible.”

You say that, cringe, and brace yourself for what must be coming – one of the students, probably Midoriya, realizing that Shigaraki’s weapons-grade anemia is what kept him out of your reach at first. Followed by one of the students, probably Midoriya, asking why you didn’t use any of the other means at your disposal to capture him. “Oh,” the electricity kid says instead. “I get it now.”

“I have a question, Skynet,” Bakugou says loudly. “Couldn’t you do all that without destroying everything if you trained your quirk harder?”

You asked yourself that question a lot when you were a student at UA. The theoretical answer was always yes. “No,” you say, without getting into all the reasons why. “Does anyone else have a question?”

A Class B student named Honenuki has a question about what types of property you should avoid damaging if possible, and a Class B student named Monoma wants to know whether you were in Class A or Class B when you were at UA. He looks pretty happy when you say Class B, which is weird. You’re persona non grata among heroes right now. It doesn’t make a ton of sense that he’s excited that you were in the same class as he is. Vlad doesn’t ask you how things have been going; he just pats your shoulder and walks off. You try to escape before Eraserhead can talk to you, and make it exactly five steps before he calls out. “Skynet.”

You grit your teeth. “Do you want me to apologize, too?”

“For what?” Eraser looks irritated. “I asked you to look after my students. You looked after them. I’d be asking you to apologize if you’d let them fight.”

“Oh.” You weren’t looking forward to making that apology. “Then, um – what did you want to talk to me about?”

“My students are used to having their quirks temporarily canceled, but my quirk is unique. They’re much more likely to run into villains whose powers serve to restrain them,” Eraser says. You get where he’s going with this and try to interrupt, but he talks right over you. “I want you to come back for at least one of our basic training sessions. It’s rational to give them a chance to practice against a power set like yours, and it’ll also allow you the chance to work on fine-tuning your quirk.”

You knew there was a backhand somewhere in there. “My quirk’s as fine-tuned as it’s going to get.”

“We’ll see,” Eraser says. “The next basic training where all my students will be present is next Thursday. Come in.”

You recall making a promise to yourself, one which included telling Eraser to go to hell if he asked any more favors. But you still need to rehab your image. A lot. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

You change out of your costume before you leave campus – everything except your boots, which you wear almost all the time – and while you’re waiting for the train, you get a text from the group chat you have with the three other female pros who debuted in the same year as you. That’s about the only thing the four of you have in common, but that’s not stopping Yue from messaging in all caps. I MISSED MY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY! WE NEED TO CELEBRATE <3 <3 <3

Yue was the last one of the four of you to debut. Her agency held her back for maximum press impact, whereas you just picked a day at random to quit working as a sidekick and strike out for yourself. Kagura, another member of the debut class, texts back before you can. Spa night?

That sounds good to you, but it’s not Yue’s speed at all. GOING OUT! I CAN GET US INTO CLUB 100 IN TOKYO!

Right – Yue’s number 25, as of the most recent billboard chart update. Mayuko, the member of the class you get along with best, texts next. It might be nice to see what it’s like?

Kagura gives a thumbs-up, and Yue sets the celebration date for tonight – and orders you all to come to her apartment to get ready. She has a special message for you. NO BOOTS, SKY. THEY’RE TOO CLUNKY FOR DANCING.

You send back a frowny face, and Mayuko chimes in. You can borrow my shoes. It’s been so long since we got together! I can’t wait!

That’s true, and you’ve missed them – but right now you’re a liability. Are you sure you want to be seen in public with me? I’m sort of radioactive right now.

Nobody will recognize you out of costume, Yue says, instead of what you were hoping she’d say, which is that it doesn’t matter and she has your back. Be at my place at 6!

There goes your quiet night. You board your train and lean back in your seat. If you have to go dancing tonight, you’d better catch some rest now.

Shigaraki refreshes the page, frowning. Then he refreshes it again, getting the same message. What the hell does ‘set to private’ mean? He googles it, learns that only approved followers can see an Instagram account that’s set to private, and feels a surge of annoyance. It figures. He spent two weeks debating whether or not to look you up, and by the time he’s finally decided it’s not creepy to look up the weird hero who has a crush on him, you locked all of your stupid social media accounts.

Part of Shigaraki still thinks everybody’s messing with him – everybody except Toga, who’s delusional, and Twice, who’s probably never touched a girl who wasn’t in the process of arresting him. But something about it keeps bothering Shigaraki. Something about you keeps bothering him. Thinking about it makes him itch, and not thinking about it isn’t working. After two weeks of trying both, Shigaraki decided to look you up and find out what you’ve said about him and the League of Villains, so he can finally delete the mental save file with you in it.

But you haven’t said much about the League of Villains. Shigaraki can’t tell if that’s because no one’s asked you or because you don’t have anything to say – or at least not anything you’d say publicly, which is why he went looking for your personal social media accounts and found them all locked. Shigaraki scratches with one hand and looks you up on Reddit with the other. He has to be pretty specific in his search query. Just looking up “Skynet” brings up a lot of stuff about movies.

The Reddit threads about you are a mix of obsessive hero fans and people who think you’re hot. The latter group spends a lot of time bitching about the fact that you don’t post enough thirst traps. It doesn’t seem like you go for fanservice. Good. Shigaraki hates heroes on principle, but he hates the ones who don’t showboat ever so slightly less.

You used to work with Eraserhead, which is probably why he let you supervise his class. You went to UA. There are links to all your Sports Festival performances, and Shigaraki bookmarks them for later, in case you’ve got skills you didn’t show in the fight at Kamino. You’re not very well-known, and none of your arrests have been of big-time villains. And as far as Shigaraki can find, you’ve never said a word about the League.

It’s not like Shigaraki was expecting to find a whole essay about why you don’t hate the League and why you have a crush on him. He wouldn’t have liked that. But he also doesn’t like the fact that you apparently didn’t think about the League at all before you fought him at Kamino. Maybe you did and you were just keeping quiet about it. Or maybe you didn’t care at all until you met Shigaraki in person, and then you – what? Worried about him? Cared about him? Wanted him to live? Do people actually fall in love at first sight?

Toga would say yes, but Toga’s seventeen, and also insane. Shigaraki can’t take anything Toga says at face value.

There’s one other spot on Reddit where Shigaraki finds you – in a thread on the weirdest hero names. He remembers the movies that kept popping up in his earlier search results and finds one of them on his favorite pirating site. He’s bored. There’s nothing to do right now. He’s decided not to do anything else until the dust has settled. He has time for a movie.

The hideout is quiet right now. Dabi’s been gone all day. Toga and Twice left this afternoon, either to scout things out or to steal more supplies, and Spinner, Compress, and Magne are all napping in the next room. This afternoon, Shigaraki sent Kurogiri to ask the doctor for help. He didn’t want to do that, but with Sensei gone – gone, and it’s Shigaraki’s fault, because it was his stupid plan – the League is out of Nomus and running out of money. They need backup, and Kurogiri’s better at convincing the doctor to do things than Shigaraki is. A scarecrow with a paper bag over its head is better at convincing people to do things than Shigaraki is. If Shigaraki was convincing at all, he would have won Bakugou over, and none of this would have happened.

The movie is sci-fi, or maybe horror. It’s also really old, from some time period where all the movies were set in a world where quirks don’t exist. If quirks existed, this movie would be over before it even started. Probably. Shigaraki wonders if you’ve seen this movie. If you liked it. What other things do you like, in addition to him?

A few minutes later, he gets an answer to at least one of his questions. You’ve definitely seen this movie, and you must have liked it, or you wouldn’t have named yourself after the evil supercomputer that nuked humanity and started building killer robots to take out anybody who survived. Now Shigaraki gets why you were on the list of heroes with weird names, and he’s pretty sure you should be at the top of it. You must have at least a couple screws loose. That’s probably why you took one look at Shigaraki and decided to fall in love with him. If you have fallen in love with him. Have you?

Shigaraki needs to stop thinking about this. He presses play on the movie again. Now that he’s got at least an answer or two, maybe he can focus on something else. Something other than the fact that he’s tired and hungry and has a headache and will probably get dizzy if he stands up too fast, just like he always has. And the fact that none of those things were a problem until you asked if he was okay.

He must fall asleep or something, because the next thing he knows, the screen of his phone’s gone dark, and someone is hollering at him from the other room. “What?” Shigaraki shouts back.

“Get in here,” Dabi says. Dabi’s back. “Your girlfriend’s on the news.”

“All over the news,” Toga adds gleefully, before Shigaraki can argue back that a) you’re not his girlfriend because b) he doesn’t even like you. “She’s even cuter when she’s covered in blood!”

What? Shigaraki stands up too fast, comes close to blacking out, and scrambles unsteadily into the other room. Magne has the TV on, and Shigaraki elbows his way past Compress and Dabi for a look at the screen. It’s the national news, a special report. Something about speed brakes failing on a Shinkansen headed through Tokyo and a catastrophic derailment. Or what would have been a catastrophic derailment, if it wasn’t for you. Before Shigaraki can tell somebody to look up what happened on their phone – his is dead – the news broadcast plays a video of the incident. All Shigaraki and the others can do is stare.

“Damn,” Spinner says into the silence that falls afterwards. “If she’d done that at Kamino, you all would have been toast.”

No kidding. Shigaraki didn’t go to school past kindergarten, but every idiot knows that trains are heavy, and knows that the faster something is going, the harder it is to stop. In the video, you’re on the tracks behind the speeding train, hand outstretched. Shigaraki sees the train shudder when your quirk catches it. It yanks you off your feet about three seconds later, and you get dragged out of the frame facedown, one hand still extended, still hanging on. Whoever’s holding the camera pans left, following the train, and it’s pretty obvious that the train is slowing down. Shigaraki thought your quirk was good for paralyzing people and pulling wires out of the ground. He’d never have guessed you were capable of this.

“Why didn’t she do that at Kamino?” Dabi asks, baffled. “She could have made it big as the hero who took down the League of Villains instead of getting dragged by the press for letting us go.”

“Which do you think dragged her harder, the press or the train?” Magne cackles, and Dabi snorts. “She looks like roadkill –”

“Don’t be dumb,” Toga says to Magne. “She’s got blood all over her. It’s cute! And she let us go at Kamino because she loves Tomura-kun.”

“Oh, right.” Magne nods. Dabi’s still snickering. “The train isn’t half as cute as the boss is!”

Dabi’s snickering gets worse, and Twice is guffawing in the background. Shigaraki yanks the remote out of Magne’s hand and turns up the volume on the TV to drown them out. “ – pleased to report a lack of severe injuries to the passengers, courtesy of the gradual stop achieved by what was first believed to be a civilian acting without authorization,” the newscaster is saying. They’re on the scene. There’s an ambulance in the background. “We’ve since confirmed that the individual responsible for the save is an off-duty hero by the name of Skynet. We have her right here –”

The camera zooms in on you, just in time for you to spit a mouthful of blood into the gutter. Magne was right – you look like shit – and Toga was right – you’re covered in blood. You’re not wearing your costume, and your clothes are pretty shredded. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and stand up straight, grimacing. Shigaraki’s taken his share of hits in battle before. He’s impressed against his will.

The interviewer is asking you a bunch of questions, and Shigaraki listens carefully. Now that he knows how powerful your quirk actually is, he needs as many clues as possible about how it works. He picks up things here and there, but he keeps getting distracted by you. By the blood dripping from the corner of your mouth. By the big, bloody scrapes across your torso. By the way one of your shoulders is pretty obviously dislocated, and the fact that you’re standing there doing an interview when you should be getting help. Shigaraki doesn’t need to ask a stupid question about whether or not you’re okay. He knows you’re not. Why does he care?

Because you were off-duty. Because this wasn’t your job. Because you got in trouble for letting Shigaraki go at Kamino and still jumped onto the tracks to get dragged four hundred yards behind an out-of-control train. The heroic system is bullshit, and there’s nothing defensible about it, but that train probably had hundreds of people on it, and they’d be dead if it wasn’t for you. Being a hero is idiotic at best. But if it’s possible to do an idiotic thing the right way, you’re doing it.

The interviewer is asking you why you stepped in when you weren’t on duty, and you’re getting pretty visibly annoyed. Spinner is the only person other than Shigaraki who’s still watching. “She’s underground, right?” he asks. Shigaraki nods without looking away from the screen. “She acts like a true hero. Stain would approve.”

Shigaraki doesn’t give a shit what the Hero Killer thinks about anything. But he has a really bad feeling that he’s starting to give a shit about you. What the hell is he supposed to do about it?

Turn you, obviously. The League could use a quirk like yours, and it would be a serious blow to hero society for an established hero to join forces with Shigaraki. You probably weren’t trying to get Shigaraki’s attention by stopping a speeding train, but you’ve got his attention now, for a good reason instead of a stupid one. The thought of your feelings for him is a lot less uncomfortable now that they’re something he can use.

Kurogiri gets back from the doctor with bad news – the doctor can’t help them right now, because they’re taking too much heat. It sounds like bullshit to Shigaraki, but he has something else on his mind. He talks to Kurogiri away from the others. “Find out where Skynet lives.”

Kurogiri looks surprised. “Why?”

“She’s stronger than I thought. We can use her.”

“I see,” Kurogiri says, but he’s giving Shigaraki a weird look. “Why do you need to know where she lives?”

“So I can let her know I’m interested,” Shigaraki says. Kurogiri’s expression doesn’t shift. “I don’t have to tell her what I’m interested in.”

Kurogiri’s still making a weird face. As much as Kurogiri can make any kind of face. “Right?” Shigaraki prompts, and Kurogiri nods. “Right. Once we know where she is, what should I do?”

“Something subtle,” Kurogiri suggests. “Consider it while I seek the information you requested.”

Something subtle. Easy enough. Shigaraki feels better about the whole thing than he has since he ran into you for the first time. You’re in love with him? That’s fine. If you love him so much, you can help him destroy the world.

[ellieinink]

Code Blue, Heart Stolen

Baek Kang-hyuk x Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Humor, Medical Drama, Fluff, Light Angst, Social Media AU

Warnings: Medical emergencies, hospital setting, occasional strong language

Synopsis: You’re a trauma center resident trying to survive under the infamous Baek Kang-hyuk. Between chaotic ER shifts, teasing coworkers, and life-or-death situations, you never expected your biggest challenge would be dealing with Kang-hyuk himself. As rumors spread and tension builds, one question remains—are you just another one of his underlings, or is there something more?

Chapter 22: The Five Stages of Falling for Baek Kang-hyuk

Location: Trauma Center

“Okay, Y/N. Sit.”

You blinked.

Jang-mi, Gyeong-won, and Jae-won were standing in a line, arms crossed like a trio of exhausted parents.

Kang-hyuk?

Leaning against the nurse’s station, grinning.

You scowled. “What is this?”

“A much-needed intervention,” Jang-mi said.

“For what?”

Gyeong-won sighed. “Your very obvious feelings for Kang-hyuk.”Your eye twitched. “I—”

“Denial,” Jae-won muttered, checking something on his phone.

Kang-hyuk chuckled. “They’re keeping track?”

“Yes.”

Jae-won held up his screen:

The Five Stages of Falling for Baek Kang-hyuk ✅ Denial (They’re still here.) ☑️ Anger ☑️ Bargaining ☑️ Depression ☑️ Acceptance

“I hate all of you.”

Jang-mi tsked. “Stage two.”

Your fingers twitched. “I swear—”

“Stage two confirmed.”

Kang-hyuk was laughing.

Gyeong-won clapped his hands. “Alright, place your bets—when do we reach stage five?”

Jang-mi smirked. “Three days.”

Jae-won: “A week.”

Kang-hyuk?

He just smiled. “Tonight.”

Your heart stopped.

The room exploded.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

taglist: perm @missroro @study-with-reine234 @redhoodedtoad ,, @ryujinxzyy

[sambhavami]

So, I'm going to rant a bit about Krishna and Arjun now.

**Just a note: this is based on my personal interpretations of MB/SB/HV, none of which I have access to right now, so I might misremember some facts. Thank you!

So, in my understanding, Krishna and Arjun were both very lonely people. Both of them were stripped from their childhood homes and families, and forced to grow up amidst hostility and constant conflict, when they met after Draupadi's swayamvar, they instantly latch on to each other. I mean, yes, both Krishna and Arjun had brothers who went through the same kind of issues, but at some point, you encounter a boundary with your immediate family, such that you can't really tell them everything that you're feeling. A friend peering in from outside is a much 'safer' choice. I'd imagine it's roughly the same kind of thought process that makes people talk about their personal struggles anonymously on social media instead of with their families.

In this process, they both also become extremely possessive of each other. For Arjun, we see this when he sheds all his inhibitions at Kurukshetra not when he hears the Geeta, but rather when Krishna gets wounded the first time. That's when the Kaurava side finds out exactly how dangerous Arjuna can be. And that's when Krishna is barely scratched by an arrow, and thankfully we never find out what Arjun would have done if Krishna actually got hurt. Arjun was fighting only half-heartedly in the beginning, but once Krishna is targeted he becomes fiercer, now actually concentrating on the battle, and then finally when Krishna almost murders Bheeshma, that's when Arjun becomes fully activated, so to speak. Also, he would've totally murdered Shishupal during the rajasuya (to hell with the 100 offences), if not for Krishna stopping him...this is a rare kind of aggression for Arjun which he doesn't show even in the dice hall!

Krishna, on the other hand, shows his devotion in a slightly different way. So, for most of MB we see that he is partial to Arjuna, and he never really hides it. He gets Subhadra married to Arjuna, takes him on picnics on Kailash and shows him Vaikuntha just for fun. Moreover, he technically didn't need to participate in Kurukshetra. With Subhadra married to Arjun and Lakshamana married to Shamba, he could've easily cited an algebraic cancellation and got out of the whole mess like most of the other Yadavas. But he chooses to go to Matsya, and moreover offers to part himself from his beloved, personally trained army! I mean it was kind of genius to bait Duryodhan into thinking he won that bargain (if Shakuni mama was there, he would've definitely chosen Krishna, and immediately have him thrown in a dungeon and use him as a hostage to force the Pandavas into surrendering)!

Krishna is not just partial to Arjuna, but he is downright desperate to protect him from anything and everything. From personally waiting on Arjuna in Dwarka during happier times, to breaking every moral code he's ever stood for during the war, Krishna's love for Arjuna outshines every other horrible thing that happens. 

Krishna is quite open about his decision to get Arjuna out of the dharma-yudhha mess alive. In fact, he makes it clear to Draupadi herself that if it came down to choosing between Draupadi and Arjun, Krishna would choose Arjun always, without a second thought. We see this in action when he offers to have Draupadi marry Karna in exchange for his support to Pandavas, thereby averting the whole war. We see how Krishna doesn't care how many people he has to sacrifice (Abhimanyu, Ghatotkach, upa-Pandavas, his Narayani sena, Parikshit, and borderline forcing Shikhandi to detransition, although the source/validity of this I can't quite remember right now), how many times he has to endure the Vaishnavastra, how many times he has to make Yudhishthir lie, how many times he has to forget his vows, how many times he has to make literal celestial bodies bow to his will, all of it is taken in stride just so Arjun lives to see another sunrise. At one point, I do feel he stops caring about preserving Arjun's feelings through this (point: sacrificing his kids) and just making sure he's alive, no matter how broken or hopeless. It's almost as if Krishna's just on auto-pilot the whole time.

His whole life, Krishna asks Arjun for just one thing, which is to get the citizens of Dwarka out of the island/coastline alive before the tsunami hits. Even that, Arjuna is informed of only after Krishna is no longer on the earth. And Arjuna also is ironically one of the only people (except maybe Nand-Yashoda, Radha and gopas/gopis) to never ask Krishna for a favour! No matter how tough their life got, Arjun never asked Krishna for anything for himself. I can imagine how Krishna, the human god, would constantly be bombarded with prayers and requests literally wherever he went, so I can see why people like Arjuna would be somewhat of a relief. Even during Geeta, Arjun is like, "I can't do this!" and not "You can't make me do this!" And Krishna likewise is not like, "You have to do this!" He's just like, "You can do this, but only if you believe you can!" Krishna basically goes over all the pros and cons of the available choices but ultimately leaves the final decision to Arjun.

[sepdet]

Candidates' Different Views on Labor Day

Their contrasting social media posts, with bonus federal law violation and (I think?) AI generated fake workers from Trump, are illuminating:

Contrast that with Trump and Musk joking about firing striking workers a few weeks ago:

Under Biden, Harris chaired Biden's pro-labor task force assigned to "promote [Biden's] policy for worker power, worker organizing, and collective bargaining." Here is the plan they created with specific proposals.

As I've noted, my intro to Harris was at a 2017 rally for the ACA organized by SEIU Local 721. As VP, she's done a lot of union outreach, like this speech celebrating collective bargaining to honor the Culinary Workers Union in Las Vegas.

---

Meanwhile, Trump's Labor Day email to his followers is a shill for illegal merch:

US Public Law 94-344, the Federal Flag Code: "Out of respect for the US flag, never

place anything on the flag, including letters, insignia, or designs of any kind. [...]

Use the flag for advertising or promotional purposes."

The Flag Code was a big deal in the 80s, Trump's favorite decade. Congress passed a law with a big fine and/or jail time for knowingly violating it. The Supreme Court rightly struck down those penalties as a violation of free speech, but the code remains.

Trump followed this email with Labor Day posts on his social media platform:

Happy Labor Day to all of our American Workers who represent the Shining Example of Hard Work and Ingenuity. Under Comrade Kamala Harris, all Americans are suffering during this Holiday weekend - High Gas Prices, Transportation Costs are up, and Grocery Prices are through the roof. We can’t keep living under this weak and failed “Leadership.”….

Workers an afterthought. Every time he calls Kamala "Comrade," I remember Russian news btoadcasts calling him "Comrade Trump."

….In my First Term, we achieved Major Successes to protect American Workers by negotiating Free and Fair Trade Deals, passing the USMCA (U.S./Mexico/Canada), and giving Businesses and their Workers the tools to thrive. We also invested heavily in Education and Job Training programs for those who wish to expand upon their abilities, and be successful in an Industry that they love. We were an Economic Powerhouse, all because of the American Worker! But Kamala and Biden have undone all of that. When I return to the White House, we will continue upon our Successes by creating an Environment that ensures ALL Workers, and Businesses, have the opportunity to prosper and achieve their American Dream. We will, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Dismantling Obama's trade deals and putting in his own which raised tarriffs and prices and killed supply chains, making shit up, and taking credit for Biden's job training programs, par for the course. Labor Day? All about ME ME ME.

Someone on the Trump campaign realized that he probably needed a picture of himself with workers, since Kamala had posted one shaking hands with them.

However, there's something off about this image posted to his social media site at 5PM:

The suit and tie are so unnaturally smooth, I did a reverse image search to see if it was a real photo. Zero Results. What are the chances? Any photo like this should already be on the web. And there's what look to be AI artifacts (Eg guy on left missing half of vest, fragments of orange stripes).

TL;DR: I don't think he found a group of workers or cosplayers to loom in front of; I think he's embraced the AI generated crowds he falsely accused Harris of using.

[nothingmattersbutgenloss]

Gl!ranboo is not a good person

Gl!ranboo os not a good person. Hear me out, I also wouldn’t classify them as a bad person either? It’s been something that’s been on my mind the last few days and ranboo confirmed some of my thoughts in a stream yesterday. They talk about the original idea to end Gen 1 with the audience not liking gl!ranboo because they made selfish and cruel decisions. I don’t think that would have been enough to make the audience kill them but I could be mistaken, I liked the alternative ending that we got to see.

Continuing in the thoughts I have been having about gl!ranboo not being a good person. Showfall media frames them as the “hero”. The trailers, when Hetch discusses them, gl!ranboo is called the hero of the episodes. Ranboo actively says they just want to go and escape, rather than take down this horrible company. And although still under control of the company, there is still some choice there I’m sure when gl!ranboo decides to rip open patient Charlie and pushes Sneeg and Austin out of the way so he can fit through the hole in the wall. Both these actions are done out of survival instinct, both lead to the death of others, so do we judge that as bad or good? Was it even gl!ranboo if they were supposedly forced to do those thing? Depends on your own moral code. Would you do the same to survive? Or would you refuse to be involved in something that would kill someone.

The thing that was interesting to me is that when gl!ranboo gains more control in ep 3, they momentarily forgets the idea of escape when they find out that some of the other cast members are alive and need saving. This makes them seem more selfless and little more like the hero we are told we are watching. This doesn’t last long before gl!ranboo decides to just escape, wanting to just let the police deal with it.

We are so used to seeing the “chosen one” be hesitant at first but ultimately make the decision to save everyone and any cost, gl!ranboo does not give us that typical chosen one we expect. They kill for their own survival, attempt to make bargains with the bad guys to survive: gl!ranboo begged to be let go and in return they wouldn’t even tell anyone what was going one- leaving many to suffer at the hands of showfall media.

It’s just so interesting to me that regardless of state of gl!Ranboo’s control over themselves, they dance the line between moral and immoral, good or bad. But at the end of the day it all comes down to what you believe is okay in the name of survival

I still love gl!ranboo very much. They are very sad and I just want to give them a hug and a snack without pickles or slime, but they are not your typical perfect chosen one hero. They are a realistic version of a person - at least of one in their circumstances -trying to survive. They are not a good person.

I think it speaks more of the need for things to be black and white in our society, when most of it is just grey and depends on your own moral values

Regardless of whatever I say being accurate or not, props to Ranboo and crew for creating this! It’s true my spectacular and I haven’t had this much fun digging up and analyzing and just in general enjoying a fandom.

[mightyflamethrower]

After last Thursday’s debate, Biden himself laid to rest the Democratic lie that he was robust and in control of his faculties. In truth, he demonstrated to the nation that he is a sad, failing octogenarian who could not perform any job in America other than apparently the easy task of President of the United States and Commander-in-Chief in charge of our nuclear codes.

In 2019, Democratic primary candidates often hit rival Joe Biden for his apparent senior moments and incoherence. During the 2020 campaign, Biden often became in bizarre fashion animated and nasty (“you ain’t black”/“fat”/“lying dog-faced pony soldier”/“junkie”).

His “corn pop” stories were grotesque and had a senile accentuation of his earlier “super-predator” and “clean” black riffs. As president, his mental decline progressed geometrically, in the sense that every three months, Biden became far, far worse than during the prior 90 days. His handlers long ago had determined that masking his feebleness at the expense of the security and safety of the nation was a small price to pay to retain power.

What followed was the most comprehensive deceit in presidential history, analogous to insisting that frail and dying FDR in 1944 was just fine as the November election approached or that Woodrow Wilson was expertly running the country as he lay bedridden and near comatose.

Any who questioned the vigorous Biden narrative was trashed as “ageist.” Special counsel Robert Hur was dubbed a “hack” for accurately describing Biden as so amnesiac he would win nullification acquittal from a sympathetic jury.

An array of court sycophants periodically gave interviews, insisting that the robust Biden was smarter and wiser than ever. His press secretary, Karin Jean-Pierre, helped coin a new slur, “cheap fake,” for any who collated video and audio clips demonstrating that Biden was obviously non compos mentis. Would she say the same today after the about-face CNN panelists reviewed Biden’s serial debate lapses to support their now-opportune advocacy that he not run for reelection? Would she wish to be a passenger in a car driven by Biden?

In sum, the “dynamic Biden” farce was finally laid to rest by a debate, but not before it had served the original leftist Faustian bargain. Under the guise of COVID, an enfeebled and stationary Biden outsourced his entire 2020 campaign to toady journalists and surrogate politicians.

His task was to pose from his basement as the uniter, ‘good ol’ Joe from Scranton,’ serving as the pseudo-moderate veneer for the most far left agenda in recent history. In the bargain, Joe and Jill enjoyed the privileges of power and status, while they farmed out the presidency to an array of former Obama subordinates and the hard left of what is left of the old Democratic Party.

The useful lie continued throughout his presidency, escalating in direct proportion to Joe’s mounting stumbles, brain freezes, rambling, and incomprehensible speech. When our president said something either outrageous or unfathomable, the public was to assume that it was intemperate to attribute his failures to senility.

So, the nation became acculturated to deciphering about 60 percent of what he said and writing off the rest to his never-to-be-spoken-of disability. It was the cognitive bookend to the ruse that FDR was able to stand and walk—although far worse because being wheel-chair bound is not a limitation for a president, whereas cognitive incapacity of Biden’s magnitude most certainly is.

The Biden lie was the crown jewel of a number of other left-wing/media fabrications. The more they spread, the more they seemed absurd, and the more they were refuted—so all the more others took their place and the more their promulgators never apologized but simply moved on to their next one. The common denominator was that all the lies, during their existence, were useful to the progressive project.

The Russian collusion hoax helped lose Trump the 2016 popular vote. Its resumption during his presidency ate up 22 months of his administration during the Special Counsel Robert Mueller farce.

The October surprise laptop disinformation lie may have cost Trump the 2020 election. But it was concocted so that Joe Biden could stare at the debate camera and swear to the American people that Trump was a liar, citing “51 intelligence authorities” who insisted Hunter Biden’s laptop was a likely hallmark of Russian disinformation.

We were asked to believe that clever Russian disinformationists fabricated all the sick photos and selfies of poor Hunter, knew the Biden family’s intimate tensions and fault lines as evidenced in the computer’s texts and emails, and were able to package and deposit the computer to either a Russian operative masquerading as a computer repairment or have it delivered to the supposedly useful idiot. The truth was, the FBI had the laptop during the debate and had long verified its authenticity—and thus kept mum as its brethren intelligence apparatchiks lied to the nation.

What the untruth did not fully reveal was that Biden’s campaign foreign policy guru, Antony Blinken (the current Secretary of State), cooked up the entire ruse. He enlisted former CIA grandee Mike Morell, who then rounded up on spec the confessed lying duo of John Brennan and James Clapper, who in turn drafted still more deceivers, among them the once esteemed Leon Panetta.

And the lie worked perfectly as envisioned, far better than even Russian “collusion.” The nation was deceived into believing that the “asset” Trump was reduced once again to colluding with Putin to enlist his former KGB soldiers to smear the upright Biden family and thus warp yet another election.

Note that all these lies were never retracted. No one ever apologizes. No one is ever punished, even when the lie is given under oath. No one ever has any regrets. And no one ever has any hesitation to lie again, given the utility of the prior untruth.

We were told by the deceitful Alejandro Mayorkas that the border was “secure” as he deliberately destroyed it and welcomed in over 10 million illegal aliens. That lie survived even the absurdity of years of nightly news clips (“cheap fakes?”) of thousands swarming an open border. And it died only when the 2024 election approached and the Biden administration read polls showing that a vast majority wanted the border closed and illegal entrants deported. Then suddenly, the lie that the border was secure transmogrified into the back-up lie that “Republicans would not help us close the now-insecure border.” Translated into Orwellian terms, the border that was crossed by 10 million was always secure but could have been made even more secure had Republicans joined Democrats to secure what was already “secure.”

We live in an era of lies. Sometimes they are purely political, like the Charlottesville “both sides” yarn. And sometimes they change history, like the fabrications that bats and pangolins, not the communist Chinese Wuhan virology lab, birthed the COVID-19 virus, or the Anthony Fauci contortion that his offices did not fund and help out, stealthily and in circumvention of U.S. law, deadly gain-of-function virology research in communist China.

Yet another lie was institutionalized: the January 6 riot was a full-fledged, carefully planned armed insurrection to overthrow the government. In contrast, the four months in 2020 of killing, assault, arson, and looting that saw over 35 dead, 1,500 injured law enforcement officers, $2 billion in damage, and a federal courthouse, a police precinct and a historic church torched were “cries of the heart” from the oppressed and victimized.

Those untruths ensured that hundreds of mostly naïve protestors who showed up in the capitol soon became convicted felons serving long sentences, while the 14,000 arrested for the 2020 mayhem were mostly released as overzealous but otherwise sympathetic activists.

These lies changed the course of the nation. They are birthed by the incestuous marriage of a Washington-New York political culture and a corrupt media.

The purveyors are Juvenal’s “who will police the police.” They are the administrative overseers in the FBI, CIA, DOJ, and the various cabinets and agencies. They feel they are exempt from any consequences for the damage they do, given that in their day jobs they operate as judges, jury and executioners.

Finally, while all governments lie, the left is far more adroit at it because, in their any-means-necessary/the-ends-justify-the-means credo, they spread supposedly good “lies” that stop the Hitlerian Trump, neuter the creepy deplorables/irredeemables/chumps/clingers or save the good people from the MAGA anti-vaxers and assorted yahoos.

Will the lies continue?

Indeed, they will thrive until the people slash the administrative state of its unaccountable and unelected “experts”; until they indict those in the future like Andrew McCabe, James Clapper, John Brennan and their brethren who lie under oath or to federal investigators; until they ostracize and utterly discredit those like Mayorkas, Fauci, and the Bidens whose deceptions took hostage an entire nation; and until they tune out a bankrupt media, the power cord of the entire Pravda enterprise.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How to save the new from Big Tech

This Saturday (May 20), I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on May 22, I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On May 23, I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

It’s no longer controversial to claim that Big Tech is a parasite on the news business. But there’s still a raging controversy over the nature of the parasitism, and, much more importantly, what to do about it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/18/stealing-money-not-content/#beyond-link-taxes

This week on EFF’s Deeplinks blog, I kick off a new series on the abusive relationship between Big Tech and the news, analyzing four different dirty practices and proposing policy answers to all four:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

The context here is that various governments around the world have taken notice of the tech/news problem, and are chasing a counterproductive “solution” — the “link tax,” where tech firms are required to pay for the links and short snippets their users or news search-tools make to news-stories. In some cases, the “tax” is indirect: tech is required to negotiate a payment to make up for other misdeeds (like ripping publishers off with ad fraud).

You can argue that this isn’t a link tax, it’s just pressure to bargain, but because these rules typically ban platforms from simply blocking publishers’ content if they can’t reach an agreement, they become link taxes: “You must carry links, and you must pay the sites you link to” isn’t meaningfully different from “You must pay for linking to those sites.”

This “must-carry” dimension — requiring tech firms to publish links to sites they don’t want to link to — has lots of things wrong with it, but in the US, must-carry has a showstopper bug: it contravenes the First Amendment and any law with a must-carry provision is unlikely to survive a court challenge. So people who care about protecting the news from Big Tech predators — like me — need to try other approaches.

But no matter where you are, requiring tech to pay fees to news is the wrong approach. For one thing, it’s a solution that only works for so long as Big Tech stays big: that means that efforts to break up Big Tech, force it to pay taxes and fines, and limit its profits (say, through privacy laws that end surviellance ads) are incompatible with link taxes and adjacent proposals.

The big risk here is that news outlets will become partisans in the fight against shrinking Big Tech, because news companies’ destinies will be linked to the tech giants’ own fate. More immediately, there’s the risk that news companies that depend on negotiating payments from Big Tech will not act as the effective watchdogs we need them to be.

That’s not just a hypothetical risk: in Canada, Big Tech entered into negotiations with the Toronto Star — the country’s widest-circulating paper — ahead of a proposed “news bargaining code” that was working its way through Parliament. Once that settlement was reached, the Star abruptly killed “Defanging Tech” its excellent critical series on the tech giants it had just climbed into bed with:

https://www.thestar.com/news/big-tech.html

Another important risk from “bargaining codes” and link taxes is that they tend to favor the largest and/or most sensationalist news companies, who have the leverage to bargain for the highest sums. In Australia, Rupert Murdoch’s NewsCorp bargained for a sizable payment from the tech sector — but then it laid off its news workers. Merely transferring money to media giants doesn’t mean an increase in investment in news. That’s especially true in the Canadian context, where a US vulture-capitalist fund bought out the National Post and its nationwide affiliates and then loaded the chain up with debt, while hacking newsroom staff to the bone and beyond. There’s no reason to think that tech payments to the Post will go anywhere except to the financial speculators who are its major creditors.

Meanwhile, the proposed US version, JCPA, has a payout schedule based on the number of clicks a news outlet generates for each platform — a metric that will see the lion’s share of money going to the far-right clickbait sites that push conspiracy theories, disinformation, and culture-war nonsense — and see floods of social media traffic as a result.

Any solution to the tech/news conflict should benefit the news, and the workers who produce it — not the shareholders of the giant companies whose short-sighted consolidation, mass firings, and sell-offs of physical plant created the hyper-concentrated, brittle news sector of today:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/16/sociopathic-monsters/#all-the-news-thats-fit-to-print

Luckily for the news, there’s a whole bushel of policy levers we can yank on to make the news better, stronger, and more sustainable, even as tech monopolies and the surveillance they rely on are consigned to the scrapheap of history.

In this series — which will publish weekly over the next four weeks — I’ll dig into four policy prescriptions for making a better news that is free of Big Tech, not dependent on it:

I. Break up ad-tech: Following the lead of Senator Mike Lee’s AMERICA Act, we must end the ad-tech sector’s self-dealing. Ad-tech scoops up 51% of every ad-dollar. That’s thanks to the ad-tech companies practice of offering marketplaces in which they represent both advertisers and publishers: that’s like a game where the referee pays the salaries of the head coaches for both teams. If we pare back the ad-tech tax to, say 10% and split the difference between advertisers and publishers, then every publisher will see an immediate 20% increase in their top-line revenue, without having to “bargain” for a “voluntary” payment from tech companies.

II. Ban surveillance ads: America is long overdue for a federal privacy law with a private right of action. When we finally get such a law, surveillance advertising is dead. Ad-tech has long argued that people like ads, so long as they’re “relevant,” a state that can only be attained through continuous, invasive surveillance. In reality, no one consents to surveillance — which is why, when Apple gave its users a one-click opt-out from spying, 94% blocked spying (unfortunately, Apple only blocks its competitors from spying on Apple customers; even if you opt out of spying on your Apple device, Apple will continue to spy on you).

The natural successor to surveillance ads is context ads: ads based on the content you’re looking at, not the surveillance data an ad-tech platform amassed on you without your consent. Context ads are intrinsically better for publishers: no publisher will ever know as much about a reader’s behavior than a spying ad-tech platform, but no ad-tech platform will ever know as much about a publisher’s own content than the publisher does.

That means that the benefits of a ban on surveillance ads wouldn’t just be an end to creepy internet spying — it would also transfer power from tech companies to news companies, online performers and other creative workers.

III. Open up app stores: 30% of every dollar spent on app-based digital subscriptions is claimed by two companies, Google and Apple, the mobile duopoly. This app store tax is a pure transfer from news to tech. The EU’s Digital Markets Act and the proposed US Open App Markets Act are both designed to kill the app store tax. Dropping mobile payment processing fees from 30% to the industry standard 2–5% will instantaneously make increase the revenue from every subscriber by 25% or more.

IV. Make social media end-to-end: Tech platforms’ predictable enshittification strategy always ends with publishers no longer being able to reach their subscribers unless they pay to “boost” their content. Social media companies claim to be facilitators of the connection between publishers and audiences, but in reality, they take those audiences hostage and ransom them off to publishers. An end-to-end rule for social media would require platforms to reliably deliver material published by accounts to their own followers, who asked to see that material.

The debate over news and tech starts from the erroneous — and dangerous — assumption that the platforms are stealing the news media’s content, by letting their users talk about, quote and link to the news. This isn’t theft: if you’re not allowed to talk about the news, then it’s not the news — it’s a secret.

The platforms are stealing from news, though: they’re not stealing content, they’re stealing money. Between sky-high ad-tech rakes, app store taxes, and ransom demands to reach your own subscribers, the tech companies have grabbed the majority of money generated by news workers and the companies they work for.

Ending this theft will produce a more sustainable and robust source of funding for the news — without compromising news companies’ ability to aggressively hold tech to account, and without propping up financialized, hollowed-out media monopolies at the expense of an independent press.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/18/stealing-money-not-content/#beyond-link-taxes

[Image ID: EFF's banner for the save news series; the word 'NEWS' appears in pixelated, gothic script in the style of a newspaper masthead. Beneath it in four entwined circles are logos for breaking up ad-tech, ending surveillance ads, opening app stores, and end-to-end delivery.]

Image: EFF https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

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

[aktionfsa-blog-blog]

Lokale Steuern für GAFAMs

Australien will Print-Medien retten

Auch in Australien wird die finanzielle Lage für die Zeitungsverlage immer schwieriger. Während man bei uns gerade versucht zur Verbesserung deren Lage die Öffentlich-rechtlichen Medien durch eigene Einschränkung von Radio- und Fernsehkanälen zu verbessern, will man Australien mehr gegen die großen Internetkonzerne vorgehen.

So hatte die vorletzte Australische Regierung auf ein sogenanntes Leistungsschutzrecht (ähnlich dem gescheiterten deutschen Modell: Leistungsschutzrecht nach hinten losgegangen) gesetzt. Der gegen den erbitterten Widerstand von Meta und Alphabet eingeführte „News Media Bargaining Code“ wurde von den Plattformen einfach umgangen. Sie vermieden die meisten Berichte zu lizenzpflichtigen Inhalten, was den Print-Medien sogar noch schadete.

Die jetzige Regierung will deshalb dazu übergehen eine steuerliche Abgabepflicht für soziale Medien einzuführen und die Erlöse kleinen und digitalen Regionalmedien zu Gute kommen lassen. Die Umsetzung wird jedoch sicher so schwierig wie in Frankreich, wo man ein ähnliches Modell versucht. In jedem Fall wird es Zeit, dass die Staaten sich bemühen an die unkontrollierten Gewinne der GAFAMs heranzukommen.

Mehr dazu bei https://netzpolitik.org/2024/australischer-ausschuss-empfiehlt-verschaerfte-gangart-gegen-meta-co/

Kategorie[21]: Unsere Themen in der Presse Short-Link dieser Seite: a-fsa.de/d/3Dx Link zu dieser Seite: https://www.aktion-freiheitstattangst.org/de/articles/8948-20241029-lokale-steuern-fuer-gafams.html

[gamergirljournalist]

How video game journalism kickstart my media career

On July 8, 2024, it was announced that Kotaku Australia and many other third-party brands will be shut down by Nine Entertainment/Pedestrian Group. When the news broke, many journalists who lost their jobs mourned. The same can be said for other journalists and Australian media members, who emphasized that this is another blow in Australian media. This was somewhat expected as the Nine Network announced that it would lay off multiple staff members due to budget cuts as the Australian media giants could not renew a deal with Meta under the media bargaining code.

As someone who has worked professionally in journalism since 2018, I feel for these people. At the same time, it's a shock to see how the gaming and tech news space is slowly dwindling. I know this first-hand as my old place of employment was the first to stumble, which led to many of my co-workers losing their jobs, just days before Christmas.

So as part of my "Australian Gaming Journalism" Eulogy, here is my take on the whole situation, how gaming journalism is important and how it kickstarted my career.

Where it all began

Video game journalism played a huge role in my career as it was where people noticed my potential to play a role in this industry before I realized it was my calling.

In 2012, my dad was approached by a convention attendee, asking if I was his daughter because my Q&A question during the EBGames Expo was "really good" for someone my age. My question addressed mental health in video games, and whether it made things better or worse.

The next was in 2016. My first year journalism class had this non-graded assignment, where we were tasked to listen to the people we passed by and pitch something the next day. This was supposed to teach us that "a story can be found anywhere, even in everyday conversation." My first pitch was "I witnessed Opal ticket officers playing Pokemon GO using the same device to check our tickets. while on the job" My lecturer got excited for a second and told me to write a full report, like actually report on it. I was still a first year university student, and I had no idea what just happened.

Sadly, I didn't get the chance to do so due to a variety of reasons, one of them being I didn't have media law training yet to report on something that involved Opal and NSW Transport. But this first pitch made my lecturer see something in me that I have yet to discover. I did make up for it by covering the Phil Spencer's keynote address for the student newspaper.

TLDR - Video games made people notice that I have the potential to become a journalist.

There is more to video game journalism than just reviews

Video game journalism is more than just "video game reviews" or talking about the next game release. It's about reporting on the latest happenings in the industry, the shifts game devs are making, and how this billion-dollar industry is impacting society.

And it's not just my personal stories. There were other events in this field worth talking about. There are video game influencers raising funds for charity, indie companies making strides and making innovations, how accessibility and representation became a form of discussion, video game preservation, media adaptations, and in some cases, how video games are being utilized by the government (looking at you City of Melbourne).

Video Games shaped my journalism career

For those saying "video game journalism is a waste of resources," think again. My career started with video game journalism. People saw potential in a young girl who had no idea what she was doing. She just pitch and ask questions in a topic that was very familiar to her. All of this shaped my career and I'm truly grateful for it.

Not only did this journalism genre shape my career, but it also got me recognized in the Australian journalism space. It also gave me the opportunity to expand my passion and consider entertainment and pop culture reporting. Meanwhile, other reporters who started in video game journalism expanded towards science, tech and IT, and business reporting. I know someone who's trying to get a PHD because of it. This niche genre is a launchpad for so many reporters and other professionals and it's a shame that it's completely underfunded.

This is a niche in journalism that needs respect and recognition as it gives up-and-rising writers a platform to get published and write something they're passionate about. It's not a waste of time, it's a valuable resource with untapped potential.

[honeybummer]

New chapter of Mando <> Fem fic "Beauty and the Bounty Hunter" "The Bargain" "

His other hand wrapped around her throat as he pulled her close. Her breath fogged against his visor. "Listen carefully, bounty. I'm quite skilled at getting what I want. You will give me the information I request, or I'll freeze you for a couple of weeks and then pull you out to see how you're feeling." He watched her eyes go wide in terror. "Still no answer? I'll freeze you again. And again. And again , until you decide to cave." A small whimper came from her beautiful, pouty lips. "So, what do you say, angel?"

Angel.

It just slipped out. 

Maker, the things he wanted to do to her. 

If he didn't have the child, if he didn't have a code (a code he should be following better), he would throw her legs over his shoulders and fuck her into his cot with an animalistic force. 

Her baby blue eyes flickered back and forth as if she was trying to read his masked expression. 

Mando seemed to remember the child. As strong as he was, the child was still too vulnerable. Mando didn't want the bounty to have any reason to hurt the child or use him as a bargaining chip. He needed Delilah to trust him. 

They needed to work together, and he didn't want to have to worry about her trying to kill anyone in the night. He didn't want to have to keep her tied up all the time. 

Mando sighed, the sound heavy through his modulator. "I'll make you a deal. Give me information that leads to Gideon, and I'll drop you off at any planet you want. You'll be free." "

[transitranger327]

Chapter 2: A Voyage to Mandalore

Summary: Rey, Finn, Poe, and BB-8 visit these mysterious “Mandalorian Jedi”, and learn more about themselves than they bargained for.

Notes: There is Stormpilot content I swear. The fic is mostly trio-centric, but I promise Finn/Poe fans will be getting gay content (it’s me I’m Finn/Poe fans). More notes and a Mando’a glossary at the end.

Twenty-six years after the Ignition

As they dropped out of hyperspace, Rey, Finn, Poe, and BB-8 took in the sights of the planet before them. The surface was partly obscured by large electrical storms, and the rest of the surface were various shades of tan and green. There appeared to be several cities, the dark grey of metal standing out against the lighter surface. Many of the cities had patches of bright green around them, suggesting some form of agriculture. One city on the night side shimmered with the pale yellow of streetlights. From what Poe could remember of Mandalorian history, this was the best the planet had looked in centuries. 

“All right, BB-8, transmit the clearance codes,” said Rey, “we don’t want them shooting down an unidentified vessel right after a war.” BB-8 dutifully broadcasted the codes along with their transponder signature. A high voice spoke from the Falcon’s comms, “Welcome to Mandalore, friends of Jacen Syndulla.” A Mandalorian starfighter approached them. With a slight defensive tone, Rey replied, “He said we were supposed to meet with him or someone from the Way.” The Mandalorian voice responded, “Yes, he told us we should expect you. Please follow the Sundari Beacon to landing zone 327. This is the way.” The fighter returned to a patrol pattern as the Falcon began descending. “Landing beacons?” Finn asked, “Aren’t those synthetic radar, ancient tech?” Poe chuckled a bit, “They’re the only thing that can cut thru ion storms. Most other communications gets caught in the interference.” 

—

As the quartet stepped off the Millennium Falcon’s landing ramp, they were greeted by Jacen Syndulla. He was wearing the exact same flight suit & armor combo he had been wearing the day he dropped into their lives on Ajan Kloss. As he walked them inside a what appeared to be a formerly domed city, he gave them the 10-cred tour. “Sundari isn’t just the political capital of Mandalore, it’s an important cultural center. The lower levels,” he pointed to a grand staircase, “house the Great Forge and the Mines of Mandalore.” “What are you mining?” quizzed Finn. “Well the Mines are no longer active, but thousands of years ago they were the first sources of beskar. Today the Mines are filled with the Living Waters.” Jacen’s enthusiasm for this world was infectious. “The western portion of the city is the Alderaanian quarter, which has the best wine bars in the city and the School of Restorative Agriculture. But we’re headed towards the southern district, where the Temple and Archives live.”

“Why do some of these people wear helmets inside?” Rey was curious about a clearly romantic pair, arm-in-arm wearing helmets. “Ah yes, the Children of the Watch. They walk an older form of the way, where you never remove your helmet while in the company of another. They’re also responsible for guarding and maintaining the Great Forge.” Finn was shocked, remembering his time as a stormtrooper, “you mean they choose to always wear their armor?” “Yes, some wear it as a sign of devotion, some wear it as a comfort, and some wear it as personal expression.” Finn asked, “personal expression?” Jacen then realized he was talking to a former stormtrooper, “Does any of the armor look identical to you? Everything is a choice. And Beskar’gam is incredibly comfortable, it legit feels like a second skin. I’ve slept in it on accident more than once, without feeling sore or stiff the next day. But logistically, yes you can remove it when you eat or freshen up, if alone. That’s why the restaurants all have trays for takeout, and why we don’t have communal refreshers. And since technically the rule is ‘you cannot show your face to another’, some couples choose to sleep in complete darkness instead.” 

—

The Temple that Jacen was guiding the others to was an enormous block of building pressed up against the rim of the former dome. It was vaguely pyramidal structure, with large rooms on the façade. Finn noted that, while the other windows of the building were made of trinitite glass, the rooms they were walking past had transparisteel windows, suggesting their purpose to train. Several library reading rooms occupied the lower floors containing one or two people each, while a large assembly of stained glass lined the fourth floor, which Poe suspected implied a large central sanctuary. The top levels split into multiple towers, but only a few small floors on the central tower peaked over Sundari’s old dome. To Rey, it looked reminiscent of Jedi temples of old, while still blending in with its Mandalorian surroundings. As the five of them entered, they were greeted by a young woman with bright yellow hair and armor to match. “Jaina, you’re on guard duty today?” “Yeah cousin, I told mom I’d rather greet living people out here than catalog dead ones in the stacks with her” “Well you might regret that today specifically, these living people have brought some of the sacred texts for Aunt Shin to read. Can you call your moms and tell them to meet us in the library’s conference room?” “Sure thing.”

As they left the entrance hallway and entered the temple’s narthex, Poe asked what he thought was an obvious question, “Why do you have a teenager on guard duty?” Jacen smiled, “We’re Mandalorian, we’re ready to guard buildings once we’re old enough to fire a blaster. But she’s not really guarding anything, the temple is open to anyone who wants to learn. She’s more a guide and communicator.” As they turned left, Jacen continued the tour. “The large doors we just passed were the entrance to the Sanctum of All. This way is to the Archives. If you had turned left, you’d have found the administrative wing: offices, conference rooms, and dormitories for travelers and Jedi alike.” “So Jedi live here?” asked Rey, thinking about how this compared to the First Temple at Ahch-To. “Yes and no. This isn’t like the old temples. Mandalorians have strong allegiances to our clans, and so many of us live near our families. Some people live here for stretches of time, for both practical and spiritual reasons. Non-members too, usually if they’re studying texts in our library and don’t want to commute.” Finn marveled at the idea of a group of warriors so dedicated to both freedom and knowledge. 

“Here at the archives, we have both a library of texts and a collection of artifacts from across the galaxy.” Poe watched as dozens of pages of his history books jumped out at him as antiquities sitting in display cases, “So is there a particular focus or is this general galactic history?” “We try to have copies of as much knowledge as possible. Holos of every text we can find, physical texts where possible. We want to rival the old Jedi Temple archives in terms of completeness,” Jacen answered, “But we want as much knowledge as possible to be available to the public. There are, of course, some texts that require…special care and attention. But any member of the public is allowed to ask for access.” The implication of Dark Side teachings went unsaid. “And the artifacts?” Finn asked, thinking about some of the artifact destruction he had to do in his past life. “Right, so, the artifacts here are specifically related to Jedi and Mandalorian history.” Jacen continued, clearly having guided people thru the museum before. “If they weren’t Jedi- or Mandalorian-made, they’re either modern replicas or on loan from their owners. Some of the Jedi-made artifacts are replicas too, and we’re currently loaning them out to another museum in the galaxy.” He gestured to a small wooden item with charms hanging off the side, “this was my mother’s Kalikori, showing the Syndulla family history. The Ryloth History museum has a replica, but for special occasions I fly this one out there and give talks about her and my grandfather.” After a beat, he continued “Or they might be Sith artifacts. We’re not quite sure what to do with Sith artifacts, but we have them.”

“Well here you are, the Library conference room,” Jacen said as he opened a door at the end of their 16th hallway. An older woman, with short teal hair and wearing purple armor, was sitting at a conference table opposite the door the rest had entered. “Olarom, fellow Jedi and companions. I see Jacen has enthusiastically explained how the temple works. Please, have a seat. I’m Sabine Wren, Grand Master of Jetii Mando’ayust. My wife, Chief Librarian Shin Hati will be joining us shortly.” “Yes, Jacen was very helpfully explaining all the galactic history I didn’t learn as a child,” Rey answered, realizing that Sabine expected her to be the leader. Jacen slipped out of the room as she continued, “I’m Rey, these are my friends Finn, Poe Dameron, and BB-8.” “Pleased to meet you, Master Wren,” Poe said as he shook Sabine’s…arm? “No, the pleasure’s all mine,” Sabine replied, shaking everyone else’s arms, “I’ve been trying to get you four out here ever since I heard one of you was a Jedi.” Another woman about Sabine’s age, with chin-length white hair, entered the conference room from a previously unnoticed door. “Come in riduur, these are the people Jacen was telling you about.” After a kiss, Sabine continued, “Rey, Finn, Poe, and BB-8.” “Ah yes, the Jedi who learned from both Skywalkers, the former stormtrooper finding himself, the hotshot pilot who’s perhaps a bit wiser after the war, and their trusty astromech.” Shin took a seat and clasped her beloved’s non-writing hand. “I hear you have some ancient books for me to indulge in.”

Poe slipped out, trying to see if he could follow Jacen. He wasn’t needed in the conference room, he wasn’t Jedi material. Not like Finn and Rey were. He knew they had a different connection to each other, and while at first he was jealous of their bond, Finn had reminded him that their bond was different too. The kidnapping-rescuer-to-lover pipeline was real, he laughed to himself. He caught sight of green braids. “Hey Syndulla!” Jacen turned around, “I thought you’d be in the conference room.” 

“Well I’m not really Jedi material. Thought I’d see if we could talk. You know…pilot-to-pilot.”  “Dameron, are you trying to get a tour of the Ghost?”  “…mmmaaayyybee…”  “Alright, come on, I’ll show you. I’ll even throw in a Phantom tour for free!”

The two men laughed as they strolled off to the ship farm.

—

“Yes! The Sacred Texts!” Rey started laying the eight volumes she had brought from the Falcon. “We’ve got both volumes of the Aionomica, the Rammahgon, the Chronicles of Brus-bu, Poetics of a Jedi, and a few others I won’t even try to pronounce.” Shin began browsing the pages of the ancient tomes. “They’re in remarkable condition for being tens of millennia old. All original language too.” BB-8 whistled cheerfully, prompting Rey, “BB-8 and R2 did scans on the material when I brought it back to the Resistance base. Apparently the pages are made from Uneti wood.” “That would explain the longevity,” Shin continued, “Uneti trees are connected to the Force. More than most trees, I mean. If a Jedi wrote in them, the Force connection would keep the text from deteriorating.” Rey and Finn were beginning to understand why she was the chief librarian. Sabine started flipping thru another books, one whose title translated to Meditations on Malachor. “Hey, this one has text in Mando’a! Looks like it’s a transcript of some graffiti.” BB-8 helpfully informed her that it was the newest of the texts they brought. “About four thousand years old? Huh, that’s around the time of the first Mandalorian-Jedi wars.”

Finn found himself opening Aionomicum II without realizing he was doing it. He started to hear whispers coming from one of the middle pages. “Hey, uh, does anyone else hear that?” The others went quiet. “It’s getting louder,” said Finn as he turned the pages, with a little more concern in his voice. But the others shook their heads, unable to hear anything. As he found the page, the protobesh he could barely read otherwise suddenly became clear. The words enthralled him. As the whispers quieted, the emotions of the other people in the room started flowing into his mind. He slammed the book shut and slid his chair back against the wall. “What. The. HELL‽‽‽” Rey’s compassion grabbed a hold of him, “hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re safe.” Shin’s curiosity remarked, “It seems there was a vergence in the pages you read.” Sabine’s smugness laughed, “Kid got his first drink from the firehose of the Force.” “What do you mean, first drink of the Force?” Finn’s terror at his own power had only started to subside. “Up until now, your connections to the force have been instinctual. Maybe a few lucky shots here and there. A feeling that something has changed and you somehow know what it changed to.” Rey’s comfort interjected Sabine’s teaching, “Reaching out on Exegol trying to keep me alive.” “Exactly. But now you’ve learned something about the Force. Your conscious mind starts putting the pieces together, and suddenly the well you were tapping into transforms into a geyser.” Sabine’s pride was followed by Rey’s reassurance, “It’s okay Finn, the more you use it, the more you train, the less terrifying the power becomes.” “Wait, how do you all know what I’m feeling?” Shin’s interest answered, “If you’re not careful, sensing emotions goes both ways.” Finn’s impulse to run away surfaced, “Uh, I need to breathe for a second, I’ll just be outside.”

Sabine watched as Finn dashed out the door of the conference room. “Does he do that often?” Rey thought back on their many adventures together, “Not as much these days, which does have me concerned.” She paused for a moment. “Do you agree with Jacen, do you really think he has potential?” Shin was the first to answer, “He’s hardly the worst candidate we’ve had.” What appeared to be a coin made a plonk against Shin’s armor. “Hey I thought we agreed to not make fun of each other in front of non-family.” Sabine’s tone was only mostly joking. “No, riduur, I was referring to me. Ahsoka almost didn’t agree to finish my training, remember?” Shin smiled, then turned to the orange astromech patiently waiting in the corner, “Come with me, little one. I have something to show you.” As the librarian began picking up the books to catalog, BB-8 beeped pensively at Rey. “It’s okay, you can trust her.” With that approval, he dutifully rolled after Shin into the stacks. 

—

Finn was searching for an escape. He didn’t want to completely leave, but he needed a space larger than a conference room. He spotted a door to the Sanctum of All, and entered. “Thank the stars, it’s empty,” he sighed, taking a seat on one of the short benches. He had always liked tall rooms, and this one was almost as tall as a star destroyer hangar. All around the upper walls were stained glass, featuring scenes of history. Jedi history, probably. Putting his head in his hands, he thought “What am I even doing here? I’m not cut out to be a Jedi. I don’t even know what’s obvious to real Jedi.” As he wallowed in his own thoughts, a suit of yellow armor took a seat next to him. 

 “You look like you need company.”   “I wanted to get away from people.”  “I said you need company, not that you want it.”  “It’s Jaina, right?”  “Jaina Wren, born of two mothers and of two worlds, Sword of the Jedi.”  “Wren? So that means…”  “Yes, you just met my mothers.”  “I thought I escaped them.”  “You did. I’m not them. They have expectations and knowledge of you. I don’t. What’s your name?”  “Finn.”  “Just Finn? No clan name?”  “I didn’t even have a name until a year ago.”  “Ex-storm, huh?”  “Yep. Is it obvious?”  “Only if you know what you’re looking for. So you’re worried about not being Jedi material?”  “How’d you guess?”  “The way you stare at the stained glass. Every single worried Jedi candidate stares at them the same way. Like you’re not gonna measure up to them.”  “I don’t even know what I’m looking at.”  “Would you like a walk-thru of our history?”  “Please.”

Jaina began walking thru Jedi and Mandalorian history: the Prime Jedi, the Mandalorian Crusades, the Hundred-Year Darkness, the Sith Wars, the Mandalorian Wars, Malachor V, Tarre Vizla, the Fall of the Old Republic, the Great Hyperspace Disaster, the Mandalorian Civil Wars, the Clone and Shadow Wars, the Tano Reformation, Order 66, the Saxon Crisis, the Night of a Thousand Tears, the Ignition. She finished her retelling with “It can be your history too. You don’t have to know it all to know it’s yours.”

—

“How long have you known him?” Rey realized Sabine probably knew very little about her and Finn beyond the basic facts Jacen had relayed to her. “He met me on Jakku about a year and a half ago. We’ve been running together ever since.” Sabine asked, “Running away from something, or running to something else?” Rey pondered the armor-piercing question. “I think I’ve been running to the Jedi, and he’s been running away from the First Order.” Sabine looked Rey directly in the eyes. “Then give him something to run to.”

As Jaina got up to leave Finn with his thoughts, Rey slid next to him. A minute of silence passed. “I can’t promise you won’t be scared. I can’t promise you won’t be overwhelmed. But I promise there’s a joy in connection. In connecting to the life-force of the universe itself.” After another stretch of silence, Rey continued, “That is, of course, if you join me.” “I think I want to. But I need to talk to Poe first.” Rey was not surprised at Finn’s response. “We kinda have a thing at the moment and I assume joining you would mean less time with him.” Rey replied, “You assume correctly. But he’s my friend too, and I’ve hated my time away from both of you.” The two friends continued to sit in silence for some time

—

Finn pressed himself against Poe’s bare chest, listening for his heartbeat. One of the few things he could always count on. “So you’re not gonna be mad at me if I start training with Rey?” Poe took a deep breath and kissed his lover’s forehead. “Look, Finn, I want you to be your best self. I think this Jedi stuff is for you, and I don’t wanna stop you.” They breathed together, basking in each other’s auras. “But you gotta promise me you’ll take some breaks and come see me.” Finn smiled, “I will Poe, I promise.” Poe continued, “And not just because you need breaks, I’ll also need breaks. I think Rose is mad we left her as the highest-ranking Resistance officer trying to sort out the new government.” Finn laughed, “yeah, two generals just running off probably isn’t the best for the Resistance.” They stared into each other’s brown eyes. They whispered a simultaneous “I love you” before drifting off to sleep.

—

End Notes: We have a Jacen in the new canon as a child of the Ghost, why not have a Jaina too? Jaina calls Shin “mom” and Sabine “mother” (like what Sabine calls Ursa). And yes, her birth will happen in the WolfWren fic in the series. Star Wars is a fantasy, so I might as well get to indulge my fantasy about how museums should work. Shoutout to Team Sanctum of All for putting 2 people in the top 8 of the Magic: the Gathering Pro Tour

Mandalorian history: Tarre Vizla was the first Mandalorian inducted into the Jedi Order. He built the Darksaber. The Shadow War is my name for the Darth Maul (Shadow Collective) vs the Kryzes war (I’m not calling it the Mandalorian Civil War 19 BBY) Same goes for the Saxon crisis (Gar & Tiber Saxon vs the other clans as seen in Rebels) The Tano Reformation is Ahsoka joining the Mandalorian cause, seen as the beginning of Jetii Mando’ayust

Mando’a (Mandalorian Language) Glossary: Beskar’gam: Mandalorian armor Olarom: welcome Jetii Mando’ayust: Jedi in the way of Mandalore Riduur: spouse, partner