#online banking makes everything so clear

[jerichomere]

One must imagine Sisyphus happy

[dunmertwink]

.

[mollyjimbly]

🚨🚨ATTENTION🚨🚨

Another Disgusting anti-LGBT bill, planning to censor queer content online.

Yet again another law that infringes on privacy. and anonymity.

The bill is KOSA

https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/senate-bill/1409

KOSA is a threat to LGBTQ+ youth.

It allows right-wing AGs to censor LGBTQ+ content in the name of "protecting kids".

This doesn't protect kids. This actually hurts kids even more.

It will snuff out LGBTQ+ spaces and makes the internet more of a dangerous place for them, more or less...

"Of course, like so many of these “bipartisan” anti-internet bills that have bipartisan support, the support on each side of the aisle is based on a very different view of how the bill will be used in practice. We went through this last year with the AICOA antitrust bill. Democrats supported it (falsely) believing that it would magically increase competition, while Republicans were gleefully talking about how they were going to use it to force websites to host their propaganda."

"Now, with KOSA, again you have Democrats naively (and incorrectly) believing that because it’s called the “Kids Online Safety Bill” it will magically protect children, even though tons of experts have made it clear it will actually put them at greater risk."

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/05/24/heritage-foundation-says-that-of-course-gop-will-use-kosa-to-censor-lgbtq-content/

KOSA will also undermine privacy in the name of "protecting children".

"This bill would effectively place many internet services behind an age verification wall, prevent anonymous surfing, and would require all users – adults or teens – to verify their age before they can access information or content.

The Computer & Communications Industry Association supports the enactment of comprehensive privacy legislation at the federal level, but has concerns about KOSA’s duty of care, vague requirements that would prevent teens from accessing critical information, and compliance provisions that conflict with current trends toward data minimization."

https://ccianet.org/news/2023/05/ccia-statement-on-unintended-consequences-of-kosa-legislation-would-place-most-internet-services-behind-age-verification-wall/

Age verification technology is just not secure enough for usage at the moment, leaks are likely to happen, it will be especially dangerous if the leaked Age verification information has a government ID linked to it. That would mean that malicious individuals may get a hold of personal addresses, bank details, basically you'll get doxxed by the government...

You may be asking, "well is there anything to do about it?"

Of course there is, but we really need your help spreading awareness around, because the bill is most likely to pass this July!

This website was put together by Fight for the Future. It has everything, from petitions to calls scripts. It's very easy to understand and use and one of the best links to spread. I urge you to use this when calling your members of congress. All you need to do is put in your phone number once and read off the script provided and it does the rest for you.

https://www.badinternetbills.com/

Signable petitions and open letters;

If you live in the states, call your state representatives;

Joinable Discord server;

More information;

I have to say again and I am not exaggerating, this is URGENT the bill could be passed THIS MONTH!

I am begging you, please OPPOSE KOSA!!

[heartfullofleeches]

Scavenger

Reluctant monster darling my love..... (concept/potential series - warnings for mentions of suicide, death and cannibalism)

The monster who never wanted to be....

You thought you'd die the night they grew in. Serrated, needle-point fangs sprouting behind the rows of canines and incisors all your years. You knew this day was coming - someday, but decades of preparation couldn't cushion you from what was to come. The jaw-splitting of each individual tooth tearing through your gums and the floor of your mouth, slowly losing the ability to eat most foods day by day. The cravings.

Your own blood worked for a while. About a month at best. The more you tore open the healing wounds on your arms and legs the deeper and thicker your blood began. Like copper molasses. After that, you didn't know what to do. You couldn't take another humans life - even if you were never one to begin with. You broke into hospitals, blood banks, freshly graves. Your stomach howled at the scraps and rotting flesh you forced into it. With those teeth; those claws, it was clear whatever you weren't designed to live on blood packs and dead meat. You need it fresh. Raw. Live prey. It's everywhere.

No. No!... People aren't food. They're your friends... People you see everyday. They deserve the right to live like you.... Just like you...

And then it happens.

Walking home alone, over a rarely crossed bridge - the smell hits you first. The undeniable stench of blood - the freshest you've ever smelled. Hunger stabs you so deep you check your stomach for wounds. You look everywhere. What's left of your human mind tells you to call the police and run. Someone's hurt. You'll hurt them more. The internal battle is fierce - come to find you had already lost from the beginning.

They were already dead. Dragged onto shore by the lake's current. You had to pray they didn't suffer. You had to pray they'd forgive you for what you'd do. You were starving. It was the only way. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You repeat - but there's no one to listen. No one to witness as you lick their bones clean and bury them in hollow grave. You found no identification on them. Only a letter. You lost the meal that would've keep you full for days as you read it.

You visit that bridge everyday. The sight of the disturbed soil makes you nauseous at first, then you're numb. They were gone, you're still here. That doesn't make it right, but.... but.. It happens again.

There at the shore, a body. Another letter, this time tucked into a wallet. You... Knew this person. Not well, an old classmate or coworker you never spoke to, but you knew. What happened to them since you last saw them. You.. do what you have to - conscious enough to take their meat back home, but after storing it away, you look them up online. Everything seemed fine on the surface - til their water logged phone powers back on.

An alternate account, pleading for help on days they posted pictures with sunny smiles to their main. Questioning their place in life, begging for something anything to make it all worth it. Their pleas went unheard. Every single one, until you found them. How long had they been in pain?

You find accounts on forums for people like them. People with nothing left to live for and waiting for that final push. Easy targets for something like you. You'd never go hungry again - so you reach out... to help.

You know first hand what it's like to suffer. You don't want to see anyone else in pain. You saw a family member of that old acquaintance one day. The grief in their eyes crushed you more than the pains of hunger ever could. You'll atone for your sin of living on by helping whoever you can. When you can't - you'll go out to search for your next meal.

Eventually you began to notice the signs of people down on their luck in your day to day. You tried not to look at others to avoid your hunger flaring, but it's so hard to ignore. You befriend these people. Ease your way into improving their outlook on life, and getting the help you can't provide. People gravitate towards you for your kindness. You see it an expression of your guilt. You try to slip out of their lives just as you came, but some of them just can't let you go. You're an angel. A saint. They want to give back to you what you've given them. They see that same sadness they once had in your eyes and want to do whatever it take all alway. They reach and reach, but you only drift away. They search for all they can find out about you - and one of them finds it.

A journal, hidden beneath your bed. Mere snippets of the live long torment you've endured. They didn't want to invade your privacy, but you left them no choice - and now they see why. Reading your crimes, the reasons you held out your hand to them - it brings them to tears. They truly had met an angel. An angel that needed their help as much as they once needed theirs.

-

A new neighbor moves. Amongst all the pleasant greetings from everyone else in your complex, they visit you of all people first. They bring a big slice out of a casserole they had just made. You politely decline, but they insist. You take a bite. It's good. Really good. Good enough for you to swallow. You can eat this. All the spices and seasonings, you can taste them. Your stomach feels so warm and full from the first bite alone. You're completely stuffed by the time you finish. Licking the plate, you freeze! You..... can eat this.... Why can you eat this? What's going on?

Then you notice the bandages around their arm.

"Hey, Y/n... Did you know the taste of beef is really overpowering? I made beef and pork meatballs the other day, but all I could taste was cow.... Is it the same for you?"

[palms-upturned]

I’d like to post about another fundraiser that’s very low on funds, for @rehamjarrah! Reham was vetted by Strawberry Seed Collective (strawberryseedcollective on instagram) and you can find her campaign on their master list, number 20. But like Alaa and Mahasem, Reham had troubles with her first gofundme campaign and had to launch a second, and the campaign linked on the SSC list is not the same one that she has linked here on her tumblr. To clear up any confusion, I reached out to Reham on her instagram account, which is followed by the strawberryseedcollective account, and she confirmed that she is the owner of the tumblr account, and the beneficiary of both gofundme campaigns!

Alt text: a tumblr DM conversation between myself and rehamjarrah. I said, "Hello my dear! I'm a bit confused, can you explain why the link on the strawberry seed collective list leads to a different campaign from the one on your tumblr?" Reham responds, "This one that I share on Tumblr was created when me beneficiary in the first campaign stopped wanting to be my beneficiary in the med way and we couldn't share it and get donations because there's no bank account linked to it so my friend Uldduz from UK created another one for me so we can get donations and at least buy food and other necessities. Then after two weeks my beneficiary created an new bank account and wanted to link it to my campaign again, so we agreed on to make the first campaign for evacuation expenses and the new one for food, clothes, water, wood for cooking and other necessities because we lost our jobs and spend all our savings in the past months of war. So, if you want to contact Uldduz that created me the second one and helped me a lot when they stopped my campaign to ensure from everything....I really don't mind." End alt text.

Alt text: a screenshot of Reham's instagram page, user reham_jarrah. Under her bio, where it displays followers you know, it says, "Followed by strawberryseedcollective." End alt text.

Alt text: an instagram DM conversation between myself and user reham_jarrah. I said, "Hello my friend, I hope you’re doing well. I’m palms-upturned from tumblr, and I was hoping you could send me a quick message here just to confirm that this account on tumblr is yours so that I can spread your campaign link 🙏" Reham responds, "Hello dear. Sorry I don't go online a lot because I have to walk 20 kilometers to get internet. Yes I am Reham and I'll check Tumblr now." End alt text.

Donations to both campaigns will go to Reham, so don’t worry if you’ve donated/posted the link to one but not the other! Please also don’t hesitate to follow Reham and share her posts!

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

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[lieslab]

Duck, duck, goose

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: I.N x gn reader

Summary: After a heated argument, I.N finds you at the river and hopes to make it up to you.

Genre: Angst & fluff

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Even though it's Christmas Eve and Christmas day for some of you, it doesn't feel like Christmas to me. This is set in a warmer time period mainly because I miss spring. Anyway, happy holidays!! I hope you're all having a great time and if you're not, I hope this can provide a little comfort and be a gentle reminder that life won't always be so cold <3

_ _ _

You couldn’t even remember what it was about. Everything happened so fast, it was a blur. Words were thrown at one another. Fists were clenched, tensions were high, and faces were scrunched with fury. In the heat of the moment, you grabbed your bag and stormed out of the apartment. 

Things had been brewing between the two of you for a while. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped. You tried not to let your relationship with your boyfriend get to that point, but sometimes external factors built up. Neither of you were perfect at the end of the day. 

A soft quack pulled you out of your thoughts. You smiled at the ducks bobbing down below in the river ripples. Once one began to quack, another started, and then another. Soon you were met with a chorus of them. 

“Alright, alright, I hear you.” A melodic laugh left your lips. You scooped a hand into the ziplock bag you were holding and tossed another handful of duck food into the Han River. 

The group of Mallard ducks dived head-first to try and retrieve the grain. Their brown feathers ruffled and their bright green heads dived beneath the ripples. There was always a group of ducks here whenever you were here. Since you loved animals, they captured your attention. 

After a bit of research, you ordered duck food online and had it shipped to your apartment. Ever since that moment, when life became too overbearing, you found yourself at the edge of the Han River duck watching. It took a few days before the ducks realized you didn’t mean to harm them. 

Watching their multi-colored buoyant bodies bounce up and down provided you with a sense of tranquility. Their beady eyes were always on you curiously or impatiently. They studied the unfamiliar being who gave them food with caution. Usually, humans stayed further up towards the bank. 

Around them, you stayed quiet. When you spoke, you spoke softly so as not to alarm them. You were over ten times their size. One wrong move and you were sure you’d startle them and they’d swim away from the shore. 

Their webbed feet kicked and propelled themselves towards the bobbing grains bits that had floated away due to the movement of the water. The longer you watched them, the more you found your heart rate returning to a normal speed. Your adrenaline had been high when you stormed out of your apartment. 

Footsteps approached you and someone sat down next to you. You didn’t bother looking over to see who it was. You knew just by the oily scent of french fries and beef. You threw in another handful of grain and watched the ducks go wild. 

“I thought you’d be here,” I.N spoke after a few moments of silence. “A few weeks ago, you said the Han River was your safety net. You said it was the place you went to clear your head.” 

You meekly nodded and continued watching the ducks. Your anger had dissipated by this point. It was replaced with a sense of guilt. You should have tried to take the rational approach instead of screaming at your boyfriend when things became heated on his end. 

“Can I try to feed them?” 

You glanced over to look at him. He sat looking at you with his legs crossed beneath him. His hands sat idly in his lap with a variety of silver rings on them. You side-eyed the ducks, but they didn’t seem to mind his presence. The ducks were too preoccupied with the ziplock of grain in your own lap. 

“You might want to take off your rings. Sometimes they get impatient and lunge. They like sparkly things and I learned that the hard way after one of them pecked one of my rings.” 

He nodded and began to pull off his rings. You dumped some of the grain and tossed out your hand to show him how to feed them. He did as he was told and when the ducks dived for the grain, a smile lit up his face. 

“I understand why you like it here so much.” 

Right now, everything outside was perfect. It wasn’t too warm and it wasn’t too cold. Up overhead, the sky was a Columbia blue. The two of you were in jeans and t-shirts. A delicate breeze kissed your skin every now and then. The vast blue river in front of you rippled with small waves.

At mid-day, the park you took refuge in was flooded with people. A lot of people didn’t work on Saturday, so people had time for themselves. Couples and families were scattered around lush green grass on blankets. Children laughed and couples gazed at each other lovingly. Their voices added ambiance to your spot near the river. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“It’s perfect,” you corrected him. 

“It is perfect,” he agreed. 

The two of you went silent again. I.N handed the ziplock of duck food back to you. There was only one handful left. You sprinkled it out onto your hand and held it towards the water. 

“Okay, this is your last one. I don’t have any more after this.” You threw your hand out and sprinkled the last bits of grain into the water. 

A laugh spilled from you which caused I.N to smile. In a rush, one of the ducks rammed into another and sent it bobbing backwards. The duck quacked loudly before it spun in another direction. It’s webbed-feet padded quickly to pick up the bits of grain floating away from the others. 

You zipped the ziplock and placed it back in your bag. You wasted no time pulling out your hand sanitizer, squirting it on your hand, and then offering some to your boyfriend. He held his hand out and let you squirt some into it. The two of you continued to sit in silence while you rubbed the sharp scented liquid into your hands. 

I.N was the first one to break the silence again. “I came to say I’m sorry. It was irrational of me to take my anger out on you. I’m stressed, but that was no excuse.” 

“I should be the one apologizing,” you interrupted. “I shouldn’t have yelled back when you raised your voice, but you caught me at the wrong time.” You shook your head. “I only added fuel to your fire.” 

“So maybe we were both in the wrong, but I came with an offering of forgiveness.” He pulled up the bag of McDonalds beside him and held up a rolled up blanket. Beside him, there was a drink carrier with two drinks in it. 

You couldn’t help, but snort at his actions. 

“What? Is there something wrong with it?” A teasing smile sat on his face. 

You shook your head. “There’s nothing wrong with it, but I’m surprised I guess. I didn’t think you’d come find me, let alone bring food. I would have come back to the apartment sooner or later.” 

“I know, but I knew you hadn’t eaten yet and neither had I. I thought about a picnic, but I didn’t know if I’d find you here and I didn’t know how long you’d be here.” 

You glanced back down at the river. The ducks were still staring at you. You watched one of them eye the bag of food. They must have been able to smell it. 

“Let’s go before the ducks try to come after us.” You pushed yourself up and held a hand out to I.N. After helping him, you grabbed the drink carrier and slung your back over your shoulder. The two of you headed away from the river bank. 

You finally found a spot away from other people. The two of you talked and laughed while you ate. The anger from earlier melted and you were back to normal. Neither of you held a grudge against the other. Smiles were on both your faces. 

You were finishing the last of your food when I.N offered to play a game with you. You raised an eyebrow and placed another french fry in your mouth. A grin lit up his face. 

“Do you know how to play duck, duck, goose?” 

“Duck, duck, goose? Like the elementary school game?” 

“The one where you go around and tap everyone’s head and call them duck. When you call someone a goose, they get up and you run around the circle trying to beat them and sit in their spot so you’re not it again. Yeah, that one.” 

“What about it?” 

“Do you want to play it?” 

“How are we going to play it with two people?” 

“Easy! Come on! Can we?” His grin grew, “it’ll be fun!” 

There was no way you were going to say no to him. He looked so happy with his grin and concave dimples. You brushed your hands together to get rid of the salt sticking to your fingertips. After wiping the grease on a napkin, you nodded. 

He pushed himself up off the red and white checkered blanket. Walking around the edge of the large square shape, he began heading towards you. When he reached you, his hand gently hit the top of your head. “Duck.” 

He continued walking around the square. Your heart was pounding with anticipation. He walked behind you again and touched the top of your head, “duck.” He continued and looped around the square again and patted your head once more. “Duck.” 

The next time he headed your way, you were positive. You were ready to push yourself up and chase after him. A fiery determination to beat him filled your veins. He moved closer to you and you remained on edge. His hand touched the top of your head and you were about to push yourself up. 

“Duck.” 

“Jeongin!” You cried out. 

He let out a laugh and continued on his merry way. He reached you and called out duck again. You sulked and crossed your arms over your chest. You were beginning to think he’d never say goose. He did it twice more before he approached you again. 

You were slumped over at this point. Reaching for your drink, your fingers were nearly there when his hand hit the top of your head again. “Goose!” 

“Hey!” 

He laughed and began running around the edge of the blanket. You shoved yourself up, nearly tripping in the process, and began to chase him. His mischievous laughter floated through the air. Since you were caught off guard, he already had a head start. 

It wasn’t a surprise when he plopped down in your spot. He beamed with a sly grin. Your chest moved up and down heavily from the sudden burst of energy. You bent over and grabbed your knees. 

“That is so not fair!” 

“Hey, you agreed to play the game.” 

“But I-” 

“I followed the rules!” 

A scowl sat on your face. As annoyed as you were, he was right. It wasn’t against the rules to say duck as long as you wanted to. You let out a sigh and plopped down beside him. He laughed and crawled over towards you. 

“Did I hurt my baby’s feelings?” He cooed in a baby voice. 

“Stop it,” your face went bright red. 

“Aw, I’m so sorry about that.” He reached up and gently pinched your cheek. 

You swatted his hand away and pulled back. He laughed and sat back in the spot you had been sitting in. “You’re fun to tease.” 

“Just for that,” you reached down and grabbed one of his french fries. Without hesitation, you took a bite of it. “Wow, that’s delicious.” 

“Hey!” He cried out as he scrambled towards the remainder of his uneaten food. “Get out of here you vermin!” 

You laughed and pushed yourself away from his side of the blanket. Crawling back to your own side of the blanket, you frowned realizing your own box of fries were missing. “Where are my fr-” 

Before you could finish your sentence, your boyfriend took off running. The bright red box of french fries were in his hand. You pushed yourself up and hurried after him. “Jeongin, come back here!” 

“Gotta catch me first!” 

You chased after him begging him to come back. There were no signs of the argument you had earlier. The teasing playfulness eradicated the red hot anger from earlier. Over in the water, the ducks watched the two of you. One of them quacked. 

Humans; they’d never understand them.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @s3ungmins

Masterlist

[nrdmssgs]

Is it just me

or are some episodes in the CoD franchise actually absolutely hilarious if you watch them with some in-depth knowledge of modern Russia?

Ok, this is not a critique, I'm not saying, the following scenes are bad/lazy. They make sense, ok? I'm just giggling every time I stumble upon them.

Nikolai looking at this place and commenting 'parking here sucks'.

If it was Price or Gaz - no further questions, because they assess the current situation.

But Nik saying that? Nik, darling, it's the good old Saint Petersburg, the very heart of it. You don't need to be local to know, that parking sucks not only here, but also 15 km around this area. This city was not built for cars, it changes, yes. But the historical part is anything but a parking lot. Imagine if an Italian told you that there are parking problems in the tourist part of Venice. No shit, darling?

This scene. Soap, Laswell and Ghost speedrunning Alexey Navalnys work.

So we have the ACF group in Russia. Long story short: they are investigating cases of illegal enrichment of Russian elites (oligarchs, politicians, terrorists, etc.). Each investigation involves dozens of people and takes months (sometimes years) to accomplish. Here is an example of such a case (there are English subtitles available).

The ACF is the biggest organization, specializing in such investigations in Russia now (i`m not counting the Belling Cat, because they investigate a wide variety of themes and cases, not only corruption in Ru).

One of the reasons, why each investigation takes so much energy and time is because the suspect does everything possible to ensure that his property and money are not associated with his name. All financial assets are divided, they are stored in banks and assigned not to the oligarch himself, but to dozens of companies and front people. This is done just so that one day a tall Scottish guy with his British friend does not show up to you and transfer all your personal savings with the click of one button.

And do I need to say, that a transfer of a significant sum of money is never done just online and the bank would always demand an offline confirmation of your will? Because at the end of the day, it wont be Milenas problem - it will be her banks headache, when she sues them for having a kindergarten level of security.

So when I see, as Soap and Laswell trace all Milenas fundings in mere days, as they clear her bank accounts in seconds - I just lose it. Because even the most stupid politician in real Ru looks smarter than poor Milena. But again, it's not bad, its artistic allowance necessary for the pacing of the narrative.

[sunder-the-gold]

Do you think that Scott Pilgrim Takes Off was a series that was written by people who either hate the source material so much that they want to change it or love the source material so much that they want to make improvements to it?

First, I want to make it clear that I'm only strictly answering your question, and I'm not addressing the unrelated question of "Is Scott Pilgrim Takes Off any good?"

Second, a confession upfront. I haven't read Scott Pilgrim or watched the movie. I was definitely interested in watching this animated adaptation as my first introduction to the story, but I currently don't even have my own Netflix account, let alone have watched Takes Off for myself.

But I've been paying attention.

In that linked article, Grabinski, the writer for the 'adaptation', admitted that "There's a lot of ideas I did end up having that Bryan felt were wrong for Scott. Most of them end up in there..." (emphasis mine)

Have you heard about the Criterion of Embarrassment? It's the realization that historians had, that no person or nation would have a reason to record a lie about a great defeat or embarrassment. That if they passed such a story down in monuments, writing, or legends, it must be because they suffered a very real tragedy that they were desperate for their descendants to not repeat.

You may be more familiar with a modern take on the idea, through social media. "Posting your 'L's online", "telling on yourself", or "you could not have paid me to confess that".

Netflix is a corporation, and there is very little difference between a corporation and a nation. They seek profit to survive and grow stronger in a world filled with vicious rivals and would-be allies. Maintaining a strong, confident image keeps rivals from becoming too aggressive, and convinces would-be allies to continue investing support into what seems like a profitable venture.

Grabinski is a servant of Netflix, and will do his master's bidding for money.

Remember all the bullshit that Kevin Smith told the world about Revelations? Market strategy. Profit at any cost. Never admit when someone catches you with your pants down.

I'm not saying you should assume Grabinski's positive claims are lies. If a corporation tells me that grass is green and the sky is blue, I don't immediately assume everything I knew was a lie. That would be paranoid and self-defeating.

But what I will do is step outside to double-check, and see what the corporation may be lying about. The grass may currently be dead-brown, and the sky may currently be storm-green.

Grabinski admits that he asserted his vision in direct, knowing opposition that of the original creator, many times.

The same original creator who would have to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement with Netflix that would gag him from saying anything negative about a venture into which Netflix invests a lot of money. So we also have to remain skeptical of silence and a lack of counter-claims.

But although we have to take positive claims and silence with a grain of salt, we absolutely should believe someone when they confess something that they would have EVERY REASON to not make up or confess unless it was a genuine fear and embarrassment to them.

"There's a lot of ideas I did end up having that Bryan felt were wrong for Scott. Most of them end up in there…"

"At the end of the day, if I don't feel like I've gotten away with something or like I robbed a bank and I'm not getting arrested, then I kind of feel like I fucked up when I made something anyway."

"There was a very long time where I felt like someone was gonna knock on a door and say, ‘Actually, you guys shouldn't do this.'"

A guilty conscience, by itself, isn't absolute proof of guilt. A conscience can be burdened with unworthy premises.

But this man couldn't reorient his conscience despite working with Bryan on this project for THREE YEARS, while wanting us to believe that he has Bryan's full, uncoerced blessing. And Grabinski can't stop telling on himself.

So we must use those embarrassing confessions as a fork to winnow the chaff from the grain.

"Our rule was that nothing would go on the show that either of us didn't like..." which is a positive claim that directly contradicts the embarrassing confession that Grabinski directly defied the creator "many" times to include things that "felt wrong" for Scott Pilgrim.

"If there's something Bryan didn't think was funny, it didn't go in there." But he'd already confessed to including things Bryan didn't agree with, and everyone can find something funny on its own merits without agreeing that it should be funny or that it belongs in some particular piece of art.

The Test of Love

How do you know someone truly loves something? That they seek to serve it, and not merely to use it?

Jesus of Nazareth had some things to say about love.

When asked what God's most important command was, he didn't just answer that the most important command was to love God. Because anyone could claim they loved God and that everything they did was in service to God. Madmen and monsters have done terrible things 'in God's name'.

So Jesus also told the people what the second-most important command was, because obeying this second command is how you know whether someone truly loves God.

"Love your neighbor as yourself." Because when you hurt God's other children, you are hating God.

What Am I On About?

Netflix does not love Scott Pilgrim if it disrespects Scott Pilgrim fans.

Netflix does not respect Scott Pilgrim fans when it uses False Advertising to avoid the possibility that some of them wouldn't have watched Ramona Flowers Takes Over.

Netflix does not love the fans when it is counting on hurt feelings to drive internet backlash, and for backlash to give it free marketing through Tumblr controversy.

Netflix DOES NOT LOVE. It produces and consumes. It is a corporation, designed to profit and survive.

A corporation will only sell worthwhile products as long as it fears you won't otherwise buy its products. But if you buy its products after it has blatantly lied to you, the corporation loses some of its fear.

It will lie to you again. It will try bigger and nastier lies. Because it does not love you, and you stopped making it fear you.

Netflix already did this with Masters of the Universe: Revelations.

Square-Enix did this with the Final Fantasy 7: Remake.

The corporations are all watching eagerly to see how successful this strategy is. Because none of them love you, and they are always hungry.

A final word: "Even THOSE fans? But I hate those fans!"

I don't think someone who focuses on how Scott Pilgrim is a 'bad person' is superior in any way to someone who denies Scott Pilgrim is a 'bad person'.

I think both sorts of people are myopically using Scott Pilgrim as a way to deny that they are ALSO 'bad people'.

And this meme also applies to what even the other characters of the story conclude about both Scott and Ramona!

"You two deserve each other -- not in the sense that no one else is good enough for either of you, but in that both of you should be quarantined together."

Ramona doesn't deserve a free pass denied to Scott.

If Ramona Flowers can be a good character because she's a 'bad person' who selfishly hurt a lot of people and who has to go through an entire story where she confronts her flaws, makes peace with her past, and tries to improve as a person...

Then Scott Pilgrim was not a crime against humanity for getting VS The World to tell the same sort of story.

Guess what! We're ALL 'bad people' who have selfish desires, who don't fully understand other people or what we're doing to them, and who have to learn how to be better people!

You don't get to point at a main character with real, ugly, human flaws and say "I'm better than him, so he shouldn't exist!"

You don't get to ignore a main character's flaws and say, "He's perfect the way he is and so I have every right to act exactly like him without any criticism!"

Because when you deny you're another 'bad person' like the rest of us, you not only refuse to improve, you become an even WORSE person.

[marxism-transgenderism]

Working in customer service has really made clear how many women—nearly always white and rich—take their frustrations at misogyny out on those below them. I frequently talk to women who handle all of their husbands finances and records. The kind of women who get calls from their husbands to ask what their own social is because they don't have it written down.

But the thing is even though they handle their husbands affairs, they still frequently have to bow to the image of the husband as the head of the household. So they're made the secondary owner on bank accounts, loans, mortgages. The husband's name is used on titles and log ins. Which means they have to get their husbands permission to access their funds or even get logged in to their online accounts. Which is unfair. Deeply unfair. But the people they always yell at for these things is never their husbands for keeping them off of these easily fixable things, they yell at the service workers who she interacts with going about her day. The call center worker who tells her she can't access that account as her name isn't on it, the barista who takes her order before she drags her reluctant child husband to the bank or BMV, the receptionist who tells her she has to talk to her husband first before they can get that information.

They'll start yelling about how this is archaic and misogynistic, which it is, but refuse to accept that the only reason it is set up like this is because her and her husband set it up that way. Modern legal protections have freed her from that outright form of institutional misogyny, but they have not freed her from the institutional enforcement by her husband and by tradition, and accepting that it is your own husband you love that is responsible for your restricted access in that moment rather than some nebulous council of misogynists is a lot harder to accept. So they express their newly found feminist conscience by yelling at the low level workers she has power over in those moments.

But here's where we get to the real meat of my point here. Which is that I, understanding their frustrations woman to woman, will frequently guide them through how to change these things. How to put their names as the primary on their accounts and loans, how to make their own log ins to access their government and financial records, how to make sure their assets stay in their names.

And some of them listen, thank me, and go about their days. But I've found that in the majority of cases, after I explain that her accounts and documents are set up this way due to her own signature and that it can be changed rather simply with one or two more signatures, many of these privileged women don't even listen to me. They instead continue insulting me personally as if I am the cause of their problems. Saying I'm useless, misogynistic, unhelpful. They continue acting as if banks and governments still automatically make the husband the primary on everything and use that to justify berating me. And I had a woman the other day, after I explained this to her, let it slip that "oh my husband would never agree to that."

And that's the thing isn't it. I have shown them the exact solutions to their problems, but those solutions would require them to take action against someone above them instead of doing what they're used to doing: punching down. To no longer just be Facebook feminists railing against an abstract idea of patriarchy which their wealth and whiteness vastly insulates them from, but instead to directly confront the men in their lives about the unjust control they have over her. To tell her husband to either do more of the finances and record keeping or to remove himself as the primary. Or further, if he refuses, divorcing him. That's a lot harder to do than yelling at a service worker.

So they continue acting as if there's nothing they can do and talk about themselves as victims. But not as a victim of family tradition and those she's closest to. Instead she treats herself like a victim of all the random nobodies she knows she can scream and curse at and face no consequences to avoid doing the work to actually change her situation.

And it is those women who make my life as a woman who has to work 8-5 everyday hell on earth.

[usafphantom2]

What are the most amazing things you've seen as a Boom Operator?

Five KC-135Rs and Sixty F-16s Refueling Near Kuwait 🇰🇼

In November and December of 1990 during Operation Desert Shield I was flying out of Jeddah, Saudia Arabia. The flight lunches always had goat cheese on the sandwiches, but our quarters were ok, and the flying was good, sometime even flying twice a day.

General Schwarzkopf was attempting to plant the idea that US forces would invade Kuwait with an amphibious assault from the Persian Gulf. The Marine’s plans were called Operation Desert Saber, and my understanding was that the Air Force was supporting the operation with F-16s. It was all a feint of course, but the mission was flown to make it look like that’s what we were going to do. In support of this, we were tasked with a large mission with five KC-135Rs.

When multiple tankers fly in formation at altitude, the second aircraft flies 500 feet above, 1 mile behind, and on a 30-degree offset from the lead aircraft. Each subsequent aircraft also flies off lead, but the each add an additional 500 feet of altitude, and 1 mile in distance. So, if Lead is at 25,000 ft, Two is at 25,500, Three is at 26,000, Four is at 26,500 and Five is at 27,000. That’s two thousand feet, plus a thousand above and a thousand below for other air traffic clearance. Needless to say, it’s a bit of a headache for air traffic controllers, whether they are regular ATC, or as in our case an E-3A Sentry and a USN E-2A Hawkeye.

We were lucky enough to be assigned as aircraft number five, tail end Charlie. The great thing about being last in the formation is that you can see everything, and this formation was one worth watching.

We flew toward the southern tip of Kuwait where we were to meet up with sixty F-16s. Yes, sixty! Fighters join up with tankers by flying straight at them, usually a bit lower in altitude, and then just turn in behind the tanker with whatever bank angle they need to make the turn, so it’s not uncommon to see them coming around behind you at 90-degree of bank. Each F-16 formation is called a flight, and each flight tended either two or four aircraft, but for this tasking, each tanker was responsible for twelve F-16s and we had no idea how they were going to be divided up.

As I recall, all air refueling at the time was done using radio silent operations, which meant that everything was pre-briefed, and the radios were only used went they were really needed (safety of flight issues, or to prevent mission failure.) So, while you had receivers assigned to you, if different ones showed up, you just recorded the tail numbers and refueled them. Saudia Arabia was paying for the gas anyways, we just had to record who got what.

I remember standing in the cockpit before any had arrived on our wing yet because we were at the highest level and watching all these F-16s buzzing around like bees in the spring, flying up to their tankers to get some nectar.

Eventually they swarmed on us, and I headed back to the boom pod to get to work. As each flight joined up with its tanker, they would normally form on the left wing, and when it looked like the tanker was ready, the boom down and extended to 10 feet, they would get into position.

They were using a technique known as “Quick Flow Air Refueling”. An F-16 would get into the pre-contact position and wait to be cleared to contact. The next F-16 would fly fingertip formation with the one on the boom. When the first one finished, he would move off to the right, and the next one would slide right into the contact position, we’d plug him and give him his gas and so on. They would continue this until the entire flight was topped off with fuel. It was very efficient and quick.

When they were all done, they disappeared as if the wind had blown them away, and we just hung around for a bit in case anybody needed a little extra.

Let me tell you, it was a sight to see, and I haven’t seen anything online that would compare to it. Wish I’d taken photos or better yet, videos.

@tcamp202 via X

[queen-of-deans-booty]

There's No Place Like Home: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Charlie is back from Oz but she's not quite how Sam and Dean remember her. You're pretending to be on your best behavior, but you're making it clear that anyone who stands in your way is only going to end up hurt.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Instead of leaving and going back to a motel, both brothers staked out her house just in case. If Charlie is going after these people, she'll come for Barbra sooner or later. Dean got some food while Sam stayed outside of her house doing research on Charlie and what happened to her parents.

Dean got this healthy sandwich with kale that he isn't too fond of but he eats it nonetheless.

"While you were gone, I found Charlie's file online. It says here that she has anti-authority disorder, clinical depression, and violent outbursts. Man, Charlie was--"

"Dude. If a shrink interviewed us at that age, do you think the report would be all kittens and rainbows?" Dean cut his brother off. "Come on. She's a good kid. There's got to be an explanation for this, man. There's just got to be."

An hour passes before they hear a scream come from Barbara's house. They break into her house and see Charlie dressed in dark clothing standing with Barbara in her living room.

"I should have known Rocket and Groot would track me down. What, no witch?"

"Let her go," Sam glares.

"Who, her? I just want answers."

"Since when do you start pounding on people for those? What the hell happened to you in Oz?" Dean asks.

"Everything I wanted. An adventure. I even got my own little sword."

"Charlie--"

"Oh, Sam, you're adorable. You're not gonna hurt me. In fact, that's your problem--all good-guy code, no bite. What a waste." She turns to Dean. "You're always letting this albatross hold you back."

"Okay, I don't know what's going on here, but this is not you."

"Oh, it's me alright."

She twirls the knife in her hand with a smirk on her face.

"Charlie, put the knife down. Let her go. We don't want to hurt you, kiddo, but we're not gonna let you do this."

Charlie doesn't care if Sam and Dean are here, she immediately charges toward them to fight. They aren't expecting her to be so violent so they don't react quick enough. Dean takes most of the force while Sam takes Barbara to a safe place. Charlie has moves Dean has never seen before and she manages to lock her legs around Dean's neck tightly.

"Sam!" Dean gasps out.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks once he and Barbara are safe.

"Yeah."

"What did she say to you?"

"She wanted the bank statements."

Charlie tosses Dean to the ground and kicks him away before escaping out the front door.

"Charlie!" Dean curses and chases after her but she is already driving away in an SUV. He goes to the Impala to chase after her but realizes she has slashed his tires to prevent him from going after her. "Son of a bitch!!"

Sam comes running out of the house once he's done with Barbara, and he looks in the direction where she sped off.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam pants.

A yellow beetle comes speeding down the road to Sam and Dean and parks right in front of them. Dean has to do a double look to make sure the driver is who he sees it is.

"What's up, bitches?" Charlie says with a smile. Sam and Dean give her a confused look. "Right. We should probably catch up."

Dean calls someone to get his car fixed, and Charlie takes both brothers to the nearest diner to eat and talk about why there are two of her running around. After ordering, she looks around the place in confusion before sitting down across from her.

"Where's Y/N?"

"In the dungeon."

"What? Why?"

"She doesn't have a soul. I died, became a demon, got cured, but sucked her soul into my body. It's a whole thing but she's not herself. That's the short story. Now, onto you. What happened in Oz?"

"Yeah, there are two of me running around this town."

"Yeah, is dick you is some sort of a ninja?" Dean scoffs.

"She is badass, yeah."

"Okay, back up. Explain something to me. We saw you go with Dorothy into Oz."

"Yeah, it was fine for a little bit until the war of Emerald City happened. It was awesome until it wasn't. We were gonna lose so I made a deal with the Wizard of Oz. He said for us to win, I had to unleash my true darkness which he meant literally. He used the inner key of Oz. It opens a door to your soul and lets the darkness out. We're still connected physically. If you hurt her, you hurt me. The bottom line, she's bad and I'm good. Let me just tell you, being good is really annoying. Normally in a place like this, I'd be pounding Harvey Wallbangers and checking out the bartender's ass. Now all I want to do is sip club soda and send her to college."

"Okay, why is Dark!Charlie gunning for revenge?"

"She's trying to win me back. Dark!Charlie won the war single-handedly, but she did some truly awful things. I told her I didn't want any part of her near me again, ever. Going after the person who mur--mur--uh," She can't say the word 'murder' since she's the good parts of herself, "who took my parents away is her messed-up way of showing me how close we are or could be. I keep calling her 'she' but she's me. I'm the one doing this."

"Charlie, that's not who you are, okay? She's a twisted version of--"

"Me," she finishes his sentence. "I've been following her so I can catch her before she does something stupid, and just lock her away forever."

"Charlie? That's not an answer."

"Is that what you're doing to Y/N?"

"That's a different story. She'll get her soul back and until then, she stays in that dungeon."

"Sam's right. We'll go back to Oz, and we'll get the key from the Wizard of Douche, and we'll put you back together."

"Even if I did want her back, Dark!Charlie broke the key. There's no way to get back to the Wizard."

"Okay, first things first, we need to find Dark!Charlie before she finds the drunk driver. We know Barbara gave up her old bank statements, right? That means Dark!Charlie will probably follow the money back to whoever made the payoffs."

"That's what I would do," Charlie nods.

"I'll get some refills," Dean says and gets up to go to the bar counter.

He can't help but think of you and if locking you up is the best decision. If he thinks too much about it, he's gonna leave and let you out himself. You're not sure how much longer you can take being alone in the dungeon but you know Cas has been making regular visits to check on you to make sure you're still in the dungeon.

Just like clockwork, you can hear Cas walking down the stairs to the dungeon.

"Cas? I know you're out there," you say next to the door. "Come on, are you really going to ignore me?"

"I'm here to check on you. That's it."

"Open the door, Cas. I want to see you when I'm talking to you."

Cas thinks he's enough to stop you if you try anything, and he'd be right. He's an angel and you're a human. Even though you're soulless, impulsive, and aggressive, he's still an angel. Cas opens the door and stays in the doorway to prevent you from leaving.

"What do you want?"

"Look, I've spent the last month in here. In that time, I really believe I learned my lesson."

"Nice try."

"No, I'm serious, Castiel." You slink up to his side and place a hand on his chest over his tie. "Look where my past behavior has gotten me. I don't want to be in here alone, anymore. I want to be able to live my life. So, no more being sarcastic. No more hurting people. I don't want it anymore. Please believe me."

It's the way you're looking at him that has him folding. You give him the same puppy dog eyes you have given him in the past, and he chooses to believe you. Wrong choice. He nods and steps aside to let you leave, and you lean up and give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, Castiel."

You walk away from him and when you know he can't see your face, you turn that sweet smile into a mischievous smirk. When you get to the garage, you start up Dorothy's motorcycle and peel out of there to join them in Topeka.

Sam, Dean, and Charlie have been working together to try and find out who the owner of the bank statements Barbara had to give up is. Getting this information is going to take a while but until Dean's car is done, they can't really do anything but sit here and wait.

The front door opens but none of them bother to look up to see who had entered the diner. They only look up when you slide into the booth next to Charlie.

"Hey, Charlie. Hi, boys."

"What the fuck?" Dean whispers. "What are you doing here? Who let you out?"

"Your dumbass angel did. All I had to do was bat my eyelashes and fake being sad for it to work. He really is easy once you know how to play him," you smirk.

"Fucking child," Dean shakes his head.

"You're lucky I'm not shoving a knife into your gut for what you did to me. Lock me up again and I promise you'll join your parents in hell." You turn to Charlie and give her a sweet smile. "Speaking of, how's your mom doing? Hell must be pretty hot this time of year."

Charlie opens her mouth to respond but she can't say anything rude to you. Dean kicks you underneath the table and thankfully, you shut up about it.

"Okay, Charlie, we need you to hack into Barbara's bank accounts."

"I can't. It's bad. I told you, being good is annoying."

"Okay, how about you guide me through the process, and then I'm the bad one?" She does and he is able to access her bank statements. "Okay, so, Barbara's payments all came from offshore accounts which were routed through dummy corporations. They have all gone belly-up."

"Who do they lead to?"

"Russell Wellington. According to his personal records, he had a car that was reported stolen the week of the accident. The car was never recovered. After the supposed theft, he went on a sabbatical from work for two weeks and returned to work with bruises and a broken ankle."

Sam pulls up his picture and turns the laptop for you and Charlie to see.

"So, this is him? This is the man who killed my parents?"

Dean immediately closes the laptop so she doesn't fall down that rabbit hole.

"And you're done. Sam, a word, please?"

Before they can get up, Charlie stops them.

"Hey, dudes, secrets are bad."

"Fine. Charlie, I don't think you should be anywhere around this piece-of-shit salesman. We also don't think locking up Dark!Charlie is gonna work. She may be dark but she's still a part of you."

"There's a dark version of you running around? Is she more fun than you?" you ask.

"Debatable," she replies to you before addressing the brothers. "You're right. I hate it but you're right. Okay. Let's go to the bunker. Baum used the key to Oz. Maybe there's something in the Men of Letters' files about the key. If we fix it, we can get back to Oz."

"You two dig on that," Dean says. "Y/N and I are going to keep an eye on Russell and wait for Dark!Charlie to show up."

"Are you sure you want to let Y/N anywhere near Dark!Charlie?" Sam asks.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not sitting right in fucking front of you. If I wanna meet this more interesting version of Charlie, then I'm going to do it. I'd really like to see you stop me."

Dean has the remote that will activate the device on your neck but he doesn't want to know what will happen if he presses it. It'll piss you off enough to kill someone and he doesn't want that. You get up and leave the diner without waiting for Dean.

"Maybe I should be the one to do this."

"No, I got it," he sighs. "Not only do I have to protect his piece of shit, I have to deal with her."

"You have to protect Dark!Charlie. If she gets hurt, so does she."

"Be careful," Charlie chuckles nervously.

"I got it. Thanks."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[jampc]

sweetener ; prologue

chapter 1

a/n:

i had so much fun writing this scenario and imagining reader's financial struggles. sugar daddy jotaro to the rescue lol :P let me know what you think and check out my other fics <3

pairing:

jotaro x fem!reader

warnings: power imbalance

abuse of power?

tags: sugar daddy, sugar baby, student, professor

you stared blankly at your bank account, sighing deeply as you mentally tallied your meager income from your part-time job at the local convenience store.

just thinking about your rent for the month was making your head spin, and you couldn't even afford to splurge on a nice meal once in a while.

you could barely scrounge up enough money to pay your tuition, let alone buy the textbooks you needed for your classes.

it didn't help that your professor was taking a sabbatical leaving you with dr. kujo as your stand-in lecturer.

dr. kujo was a no-nonsense professor who seemed to have zero tolerance for late assignments or excuses.

his lectures were strict and demanding, requiring you to keep up with every word he said.

still, you couldn't deny that he was easy on the eyes, despite his grumpy demeanor.

the way his crisp, white lab coat accentuated his broad shoulders, or how his hat hid his piercing blue eyes made your heart race.

it didn't matter anyway, he probably had a gorgeous wife or husband waiting for him after class.

you sat patiently during his lecture, scribbling notes diligently when suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat.

looking up, you realized dr. kujo had called on you, and you were zoning out instead of answering.

"where is your text book?" he asked sternly, gesturing to your empty desk.

"o-oh, um..." you stuttered, blushing hard. "i couldn't afford to buy it this semester.

"i've been copying my friend's notes and trying to look up the chapters online."

dr. kujo raised a brow, his eyes softening slightly as he watched your embarrassment deepen.

"go to the library after class," he instructed.

"get a photocopy and a notebook. don't come to my class unprepared again."

you nodded eagerly, grateful that he was allowing you a second chance.

as class ended and everyone began shuffling out, you gathered your things and headed for the library, but were interrupted by a voice calling your name.

turning around, you came face to face with dr. kujo standing before you, his large hands in his pockets as he looked down at you.

"let me drive you to the library," he offered, nodding his head toward the parking lot.

you couldn't believe your luck, not only was dr. kujo tolerating your financial struggles, but now he was willing to give you a ride as well.

climbing into his sleek, black car, you admired the interior, marveling at the plush leather seats and wood trim.

everything about it screamed luxury, and you wondered if dr. kujo always drove such a beautiful vehicle.

as you arrived at the library, dr. kujo parked and turned to you, his icy gaze meeting yours.

"come to my office tomorrow afternoon," he instructed.

"we need to talk." your heart raced at his words, wondering if you were in trouble or if maybe, just maybe, dr. kujo saw potential in you.

the next day, you anxiously knocked on his office door, shifting uncomfortably as he bid you inside.

dr. kujo gestured to the chair in front of his desk, watching silently as you sat, smoothing your skirt before clasping your hands tightly in your lap.

"you struggle financially," he stated bluntly, startling you.

"how badly do you want a better life?" you blinked rapidly, unsure what he meant.

dr. kujo stood and rounded his desk, towering over you as he leaned against the edge.

your breath caught in your throat, your cheeks burning as you stared up at him.

"dr. kujo, why did you call me down here-" "jotaro," he corrected, cutting you off.

"outside of class, you can call me jotaro." you swallowed thickly, noting his intense expression.

"answer my question. how badly do you want a better life?" you chewed your lip, uncertain of his motives.

was he mocking you? making fun of your financial situation?

"i-i do. very badly," you finally replied, unable to break his gaze.

jotaro tilted his head, a faint smile forming on his lips.

"i'm willing to offer you a unique arrangement" he explained.

"i'll become your... benefactor of sorts."

your mouth fell open, realization hitting you like a freight train.

jotaro was proposing becoming your sugar daddy.

spoon-feeding you lavish gifts and spoiling you rotten in exchange for a few dates.

part of you was repulsed, ashamed that you were considering such an arrangement.

but the other part craved the lifestyle jotaro was offering, desperate to feel the finer things you never thought possible.

"what would this arrangement entail?"

you asked softly, already knowing the answer. jotaro slipped a business card onto his desk, his long fingers gently sliding it towards you.

"discuss terms and expectations with my personal assistant."

he instructed. "when you agree, you will sign a legally binding contract.

she will handle the finances and coordinate our... meetings."

you took the card and slipped it into your purse, rising to your feet slowly.

"that is if you agree, of course," jotaro added, returning to his chair behind his desk.

you smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "give me tonight to decide," you promised, excusing yourself as you left his office.

walking home, you weighed the pros and cons, torn between morals and desire.

that evening, as you rummaged through a fast food bag, struggling to budget your groceries for the week, you made your choice.

you pulled out jotaro's business card and dialed his assistant's number, excitement and shame blooming in your chest as she discussed terms and expectations.

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep. 107: Island Living

Luigi and Noemi didn’t have any immediate plans to get married, but after moving to Sulani the couple enjoyed a serene “honeymoon period” between graduation and the birth of their child, temporarily free of any responsibilities.

Noemi had always taken great pleasure in throwing on her PJs and lounging around after a day of classes. In her current monstrously pregnant state, she was even happier to spend long hours curled up on the couch with her favorite books and no worries.

Luigi felt like he’d been waiting his whole life to make it to Sulani and he was determined to savor every minute of it now. It didn’t matter if he was having breakfast on the beach or combing the sand for treasures, everything felt like paradise. He couldn’t wait to share it all with his son.

Of course, the two computer science grads never spent too long away from their laptops either.

Now that he had all the free time in the world Luigi threw himself into updating his sadly neglected Sims Forever mods and even making a couple new ones! He loved the storytelling aspect of the game and hoped his latest mod full of dynamic conversation options would help others enjoy it more too. Polishing each mod to perfection gave him a new appreciation for one of his defining personality traits, trying to be the best at anything he did.

As for Noemi, she’d become uncomfortable with the pitiful bank balance left over after Luigi “perfectly” furnished their new home.  She went online and found a small computer graphics gig to help them stay afloat until their real jobs started after their baby was born.

They may have been living their island dreams with no significant worries but that didn’t stop life from throwing them a curveball now and then.

Luigi was disappointed to be hit with an eczema flare-up shortly after they moved in. It turned out too much time spent in the hot, humid tropical air could be just as hard on his sensitive skin as the dry cold of winter.

Noemi found it much easier to deal with the final stage of her pregnancy free from the requirement of sitting at a small school desk for hours on end, but by this point her full-term baby had basically run out of room, and his kicks and tumbles often hit her where it hurt!

To help ease their pains, they went outdoors in the cool evenings; indulging in some gentle yoga to strengthen their bodies and clear their minds.

Just like when they’d first gotten together, Denton invited the couple to come out of their “bubble” and socialize with the rest of simanity, or at least their little gaming club. The group was embarking on a brief “touch grass” hike one beautiful afternoon on The Bluffs in Windenburg and hoped the couple would join them.

Noemi wasn’t keen on dressing up to go waddling through the forest, but she stopped Luigi when he pulled out his phone to cancel for them both.

Rather than stay home together and watch him miss out, she felt sure her midwives would advise her to take the opportunity for some gentle exercise.

In the end Noemi had more fun than Luigi! It wasn’t too crowded, and she discovered that she and Denton had similar taste in books. She spent the afternoon happily chatting with him about some of their favorite series and trading reading recommendations.

Nearby, Luigi was having a much less enjoyable conversation. He had just learned the reason his gaming acquaintance had lost his job at Luigi’s family fizzery: an overwhelming struggle with kleptomania. Luigi was livid, but with a glance at his happy fiancée he took a deep breath and avoided a scene.

He stiffly thanked Chase for coming clean, wishing him luck with his treatment program and attempts to make amends to those his disorder had hurt.

The very next day they got a call from Great Grandpa Candor inviting them to the flea market. Denton, who lived nearby, walked over to meet them.

Noemi had been experiencing some minor cramping that morning but kept it to herself so as not to dissuade Luigi from spending this time with his family. She was sure it was just the “practice contractions” she’d read about. After all, she wasn’t quite to her due date and first babies were often late.

As soon as they arrived outside the gaming center across from the market, she learned that her discomfort had been “the real deal”. They’d only just said hello when her water broke. She barely had time to register that, as it was immediately followed by a strong and undeniably real contraction.

Luigi, who was chatting with his grandfather a few steps away, didn’t see what had happened. Luckily Denton, who’d been through childbirth already with Bridget, was standing nearby and immediately understood the situation.

He called out to his cousin, pointing meaningfully at Noemi who was still trying to catch her breath. Seeing the puddle around his fiancée’s feet Luigi ran over, making his excuses to the others as he led her carefully away to the teleport station.

There would be no shopping today, it was go time for baby!

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[nekrotiize]

I've seen a lot of things about Cohost, ranging from people highly recommending it to unsubstantiated inflammatory claims (IE people expecting it to be perfect and pure). How is it, in your opinion?

People get mad at the "baseless inflammatory claims" thing less because of people expecting everything to be perfect and pure (they do not) but more because the recommendation of Cohost as an alternative to Tumblr came on the coattails of a situation where a trans woman was being personally targeted by the honest to got CEO of Tumblr, with this all leading to a massive conversation of systemic transmisogyny and how it's upheld both off and online. A lot of people who were boasting about how they were allies to trans women were doing so performatively, and this was revealed heavily by those claims being launched against the (to my knowledge) mostly transfeminine staff of Cohost. Most of the claims I've seen against the staff of Cohost were the standard fare for transmisogynists - largely claiming that all of them were sex pests with little to no evidence, especially using very extreme, damning labels such as "pedophile", or "pedophile supporter", and other such things. These claims were, again, unsubstantiated, and largely based on using TME individuals's oftentimes uninterrogated latent transmisogyny against them, alongside how reactionary people tend to skew online, especially when it comes to the topic of objectively reprehensible sex crimes. People see a catchy headline and hit reblog without bothering to at the very least check the sources with a clear head, resulting in yet another trans woman being decried for things they didn't even fucking do.

As for how Cohost is, I find it suitable for what it is currently. I think it's worth looking into, but I'd bear in mind that it's missing some features you'd expect from social media, which is fine considering it's branding itself as something of an "anti-social media social site". Some of these things, however, are minor QoL features we've grown accustomed to on Tumblr (moving tags around comes to mind), though they do seem to be working on the site to make it a bit more functional. The staff is small, so they're likely a bit swamped at the moment.

It's worth noting that they do have an official forum you can suggest site changes to, and you can see through that forum what they are currently working on, what's already been added, what's been rejected, etc. Staff transparency is quite high. It's something I can definitely appreciate. Overall, considering the staff size and its functionality as a Tumblr Alternative, I'd definitely rate it pretty high up there. It's similar enough that it's not too hard to get used to, and it's not banking on the Twitter aesthetic in the way some other suggested alternatives are. You can post long-form content, and even commit CSS Crimes. People are making visual novels in the contents of their posts. Look into it, if you can. It may be for you, it may not be. Who's to say!

[doubleddenden]

Just for fun, I'm going to make an absolute WORST CASE scenario for Pokemon day (with sillies)

Pokemon decides to announce NFTs (they did put out a job listing for an NFT expert months ago)

Pokemon merch that's just more overpriced garbage. Shitty pastel tshirts that just have the pokemon logo stamped on the left breast area- $50, only goes to size XL.

Pokemon Go has way too much screen time for yet another Kanto fest

Pokemon Masters, Unite, and Cafe just won't end their trailers.

New tv show that's just a vague reality show about celebrities that liked Pokémon once, and it's more of an episodic celebrity biography show with one line or two about Pokémon. Not even fun ones, C tier at best. So, something like T@yl*r Sw*ft's boyfriend's football career, but one line about playing Blue for a few hours at his cousin's house.

Pokemon Home fees will increase

Pokemon Bank will close TODAY

Port of Red, Blue, Gold, Silver, Ruby, and Sapphire to NSO- you have to pay for online to access it over cloud- internet connection required, and for some reason you have to pay extra for them in a Pokémon exclusive expansion pass. No word of third versions. Does not include the events or Japan exclusives.

Black and White 1 remakes announced. It's chibi like BDSP, colors are dry and washed out, there's graphical errors in the trailer frames, they state BW2 specifically is not part of the remake, they promise tweaks to make the gameplay EASIER than ever. Parts of the game are made with AI and script rewritten by Chat GPT, with an error you spot easily in a trailer. Masuda has the remake game director's neck clenched tightly from the back. He looks at you and says "you will buy the games this time. This isn't a request." Japan pre-order exclusives are amazingly crafted Reshiram and Zekrom statues that even have light up tails and eyes, and also you get shiny versions of them only in the Japanese copies, US gets a cheap piece of paper with generic stock images of Pikachu and Charizard on it, everything is shiny locked for everywhere not Japan.

They tease a Legends game. You think it's going to be amazing, you think oh my god we're getting Legends Unova... wait, it looks Japanese, maybe LEGENDS CELEBI???...it's Legends......... KANTO, and it's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen after the clear lack of care put into their non gen 1 games since the Switch launched. A selling point is, once again, no new Pokémon after the og 151 so older fans can enjoy it better. Your starters are Charmander, Charmander, and Charmander, you might encounter Bulbasaur and Squirtle in post game. Your job is to stop EEEVIL outsiders from the rest of the regions with their newer Pokémon from settling into Kanto. Johto is having an awesome party next door with all the regions invited, but there's been a convenient landslide blocking the only way over. It's just reskinned Let's Go Pikachu and Eevee. Professor Oak is your age and putting moves on your mom.

Features a mythical Pokémon based on depression that looks like a tiny salary man, comes with its own movie featuring Ash as a depressed Millenial realizing he peaked at 10. He has to get a job. Pikachu is dying of old age and Ash has to "grow up" and release him and all of his other still living Pokémon. It cuts to real life, and Pokémon was just a game he has been playing for years to cope with his parents' divorce and eventually his own with Misty, then May, then Dawn, then Serena, then Goh, etc. Ash's dad is finally revealed: it's Chris Pratt with bad cgi wrinkles, back with milk. They go to the arcade to play Mario to stomp on some................................................................................................................................................................................... KOOPAS.

"Well that's all. Oh wait, one more thing!"

Ed Sheeran and T@yl*r Sw*ft music video featuring 1 Pikachu in a frame that can be easily edited out, with a song not even about Pokémon. The song sounds like shit and is about another breakup.

There, the bar has been lowered to the floor. It cannot get worse.