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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 1 year ago

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A quick meal

cw: shameless smut, no use of y/n, female anatomy for reader, desk sex, dirty talk, slightly rough(-ish)? perhaps??

word count: 1,5k

eng is not my first language, please inform me if you spot any mistakes!

Viktor always knew it’s what inside that counts. And so he counted. Every rich moan escaping your mouth, every squelch of the fondly fingered pussy — it’s every prominence, fold and flexure, and, of course — exactly how much pressure you prefer on your clit. Well, at least that explanation was the only reasonably-appearing one to you, because how the hell did he know how to make you cream his fingers in coats of delicious stickiness in exactly few minutes, the stretch of them so qualitative your throbbing walls could easily accept his cock with little to no effort put into penetration. He must have used an ungodly amount of diligence to develop this specific technique just for you — his precious, lecherous sweetheart. Your whimpers are a devil on his shoulder, distracting him from being a stern, dispassionate about anything except for his research man. That little temptation invited him into the warmth of your precious core instead. It kept luring in, filling his genius mind with dreamy filth. Besides: it’s so much better to be buried within the tightness of your cunt than within the loneliness of his lab, untouched and craving you in his arms so desperately. No, he most certainly would prefer the first option.

“Relax,” sultry whisper teases your ear, while the free from fucking into you hand crawled up, preliminarily teasing the swell of each breast on its way to your throat — to be wrapped around it like a pretty collar, securely tight, not firm enough to actually hurt, but to rather keep you in place, adding to the thrill, to the longing.

He rarely fucks you like this. Viktor’s never been a huge fan of quickies — he’s a taster at heart, thorough and passionate — a sloppy kiss here, a teasing lick there — working you up even when it’s not needed anymore, for the sake of pure entertainment — more his than yours, to be completely honest, but he would never willingly admit to that.

He likes to savour you, like a fresh fruit one’s supposed to eat slowly — painfully so, even, memorising the flavour in explicit detail, letting it engrave into the taste receptors.

But there’s cyanide even in the finest peaches. Eat too many — and you’re incapable of consuming anything anymore, death plastered across your gourmand-face. It takes around fifteen peach pits to kill a curious starved soul, after all.

So tonight Viktor stays away from the cyanide. He’s had enough ravishing for now, turning a solid number of your previous intercourses into love-making. He’s eager, and he’s treating you like a quick meal — totally different from his usual ‘eat-you up-like-you’re-the main course’ demeanour. Not that you mind, of course. Dining hastily has its charms too.

“Keep your legs spread for me,” the gentle demand continues to sting your ear, and as much as you’d love to comply — you simply can’t, trembling knees doing you no favours, allowing no small mercies.

“Darling?” he repeats, the sharpness of his ‘r’ a scrumptious scratch to your brain, turning you into a mess — nearly irreparable, matching the one you’ve turned his desk into once he bent you over it, capturing tightly between his erection and the hard wooden edge, kindly depriving you off the worries about your clothes getting in the way. So thoughtful of him.

Rolled up skirt rests on your lower back, exposing the plumpness of soft hips — so grabable, they’re practically begging for his attention, but he’s reluctant to pull the long fingers out of you just yet. You’re clenching around them so perfectly, blessing him with the privilege of feeling your every twitch.

The presence of your underwear doesn’t concern you anymore — it’s wrapped around your ankles, pretty lace occasionally tickling the skin, reminding of the abrupt harshness Viktor’s sinewy hands had ripped them off you with. So brusque when it comes to fucking you from behind that a mere touch feels rougher than the deepest of thrusts. Your pussy might be able to take him without turning into a mess, but your sanity? You wish he’d left you some, just the tiniest bit to at least obey him easily.

But not all wishes were meant to be fulfilled.

You mewl something hopelessly illegible as your words drown in your own moan, lewd sounds of his fingers parting the swollen folds of an already spent cunt louder than your actual voice. And suddenly body language is not a figurative concept anymore.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the kind threat encourages hoarsely. “Or should I spread them for you?”

You can only squeeze out a nod. Viktor releases your neck with a sympathetic chuckle, and a deft hand grabs at your left calf, helping a trembling leg to step out of the damp lingerie, leaving it completely forgotten and lonely on the floor. You’ll collect it later: if only the dirty-minded inventor lets you, of course. Which was highly doubtful, since tucking your undergarments into a pocket of his dresspants started to really grow on him lately. The possibility of obstaclessly fucking you over another surface once you’re in private again is too tempting to be pushed away so fast.

You fall on his desk, cold wood a tough pillow to your flushed cheek. However the loving hand stroking at your flesh doesn’t move to proceed with complaisant ministrations on your right limb. The buckle of his belt jingles, unfastening, negligently joining your underwear on the floor. You quirk an inquisitive eyebrow, putting a rather pathetic effort into propping yourself up, searching for an explanation to his movements. But a rough palm falls on your lower back with a thump, firmly pacifying, practically smacking.

“Don’t move, dear,” he hisses, pulling his fingers out of you right before you got the chance to cum all over them. Scarily rigorous again. And vicious. But you don’t say that. It’s not like you’re able to talk coherently anyway.

Something — which you suspect to be his foot — persistently forces your legs out of the way, sprawling you more for his hungry gaze. The toe of his shoe roughly kisses each one of your heels, spreading you open, just as he’d promised.

“How rude!” you exclaim, voice dripping with fake resentment.

“Rude?” he laughs, and the next thing you feel is a caring peck on a shoulder, the sweet heat of his breath back where it belongs — teasing the shell of your ear. “Well, please excuse me this one whim, but can you really blame me? Besides, I suppose my… barbarism happened to be quite efficient.”

His tip is pressed against your entrance, slowly working its way inside, brushing a puffy labia on its way. You’re sure it’s leaking with precum for you already — it might be impossible to feel through the lavish wetness seeping out of you, but you know Viktor good enough to be certain of pearly bitterish liquid breaking out of his slit.

You don’t lack his fingers anymore — not when you’re about to be so much more palpably filled, the thickness of his cock irreplaceable with any amount of his phalanxes. An unsolved mystery for both of you. The one leading you to an embarrassingly primitive statement — whatever it is so special about him keeps you coming back for more.

“There was no need to be so ill-mannered. I could have spread my legs just perfectly fine,” you mutter a shameless lie, already expecting a protest.

“And from my expertise you weren’t exactly competent,” Viktor mocks with a tortuously handsome smirk, and you make a fatal mistake of looking over your shoulder right when his narrow hips thrust into yours, his length splitting you with a delicious burn. It takes away the remnants of your stamina. “Because trust me, I can tell when one’s incapable of standing on their own feet — let alone moving properly. Coming from an adept, figuratively speaking.”

He bends lower, warm dry lips pressed to the glistening sweat on your temple. He doesn’t rush to have his way with you anymore, hand found peace on your chin, tilting up, gently forcing a thumb into the open mouth. You greet it with a needy bite, a wordless plea to convince him to finally start pounding into you, to satisfy the body lusting for his steady thrusts.

“You’re quivering,” Viktor notes with a pensive hum. “Shall I proceed? You look like you’re in more need of a cane than I am, my darling. So wobbly.”

The plea-bite on his thumb quickly turns into a menacing one. Canine pierces the skin, earning a muffled against the mess of your hair ‘ouch’, demanding the heartily craved resumption.

“Am I pinned like this forever or are you done with the fucking drollery?”

A sultry laugh caresses your ear, and the throbbing cock inside you slips almost all the way out, leaving you clenching purely around the bulging tip.

“Save the swearing,” utters the pretty tempter.

A rough roll of his hips into yours. Ass bounces off his pelvis, the slap of skin against skin loud and resonant, mingling with your desperate gasp just perfectly. Has you seeing numerous sparks, mouth drops open in a breathless ‘yes’.

“That vocabulary is only appropriate for an orgasm.”

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane smut

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jurijyuu · 2 months ago

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Whiskey Lips

Human!Alastor x Reader

2.2K Words

Summary: Or the time you kissed your friend at a concert.

Tags: Modern AU, Second Person POV, Drunk Kisses, Unrequited Love (or is it?)

The loud blare of the music threatened to burst your eardrums but the buzz of the alcohol had long kicked in, slowly muffling the sound. The next band came up, a little known indie group with a couple of popular songs but after three similar bands this evening, you were tired and just ready to chill out in a corner on some overpriced booze. Some guy even started flirting with you, buying you a drink so he could try to charm you with his blue eyes and wispy blonde hair.

Not exactly your type but cute enough. Too bad your friend Alastor had to ruin it.

“You suck as a wingman, you know that? You end up chasing away the guys cuz you’re too pretty.” You stood at the end of the bar, watching the blond weave through the crowd and disappear.

“Darling, if seeing a prettier man makes him run away, then he isn’t worth your time.” Leaning on the newly vacated spot next to you, Alastor smirked, a light chuckle playing on that grin as he too watched the bodies pushing against each other to see the band. You didn’t blame them. The sound quality was terrible. There hadn’t been a single song who’s lyrics you actually understood.

“He’s worth about $24 in drinks, so maybe 5 minutes of my time.” Blondie had bought you enough coke and whiskey that he turned from a 5 to a 6 in your eyes. Maybe a 7 if you finished this drink. As you tilted the cup to swallow the last of the bittersweet cocktail, a large hand blocked the rim.

“I think you’ve had plenty to drink if you think this is worth the risk of STDs and a handsy little humping.” Taking the glass in his pretty tapered fingers, he drank what was left.

“Maybe that’s what I was looking for?” You didn't really know what to expect when your neighbor turned friend had barged into your apartment earlier this evening and demanded you go out with him. Out of sheer boredom, the prospect of spending way too much money to listen to some unknown artists had been enticing enough. Though the first gust of cold wind almost had you turning back around, Alastor determinedly dragged you to the city and that was how you ended up here. Bored of the bands, sick of the bodies that kept pushing around you and now, you didn’t even have the prospect of going home with a cutie for the evening to make this excursion worth it.

“Oh, do forgive me for looking out for my drunk little friend then.” The sarcastic tilt of his smile turned more amused at your pouting. It would have been annoying if those lips didn’t shine with the remnants of your drink. Pretty privilege at its finest right there. You huffed.

“Seriously, Al. Why bring me out if you’re gonna cockblock me every time?”

“I just think you can do better than that guy, sweetheart.” Moving closer so he didn’t have to semi-yell every word, his voice dropped to his placating croon that he knew always worked on you.

“Hnnngh.” His smooth talk would have been nice, who didn’t like a compliment, after all? But it’s been years since anyone tried to hit on you and the attention was nice, especially since the guy had been pretty attractive. You gave your friend a side eye. Even in the dark, flashing pink and purple lights, couldn’t hide the occasional highlight of a sharp jawline or his tall slender frame. “You wouldn’t know. You have to fight off people from flirting with you.”

Alastor was a solid 8 on a normal day with his curly dark hair and sharp features softened by big expressive eyes and a smile that could sell toothpaste. He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome. Today, he was a 10, wearing a black wool suit jacket paired down with light blue jeans and a black v-neck shirt. With the multiple piercings in his ears, tussled brown locks and the eternally impish smile he had on, he attracted looks left, right and center.

“So you’re pent up, is that it?” He had the audacity to laugh. Prick. He strutted around looking like he did but never gave even an inkling of interest in anything sexual or romantic. Instead, he found amusement in hearing your failed romantic escapades and all the emotional toils people around him had for a problem he’d never experience.

“…” This close, you could smell the whiskey on his breath and the cologne he wore. Even that combination smelled sexy. He could bottle it up and sell it as incense the way it put you in a trance for just a second. You squinted at him. The room started to spin and he had that insufferable smirk on his face as his eyes looked down on you. Without thinking about it, you grabbed him, pulling him with enough force to bring his tall ass to your level so you could plant a kiss on his annoying lips. Your alcohol-addled mind thought it was a brilliant pay back for the opportunity he spoiled. Just a little kiss to wipe that stupid smile off his face.

The sweet taste of Coca Cola and whiskey made for an intoxicating mix along with the soft plumpness of his lips. So soft and a little cold. Your tongue darted out to taste them without a second thought. He pushed back against your onslaught, lips more incessantly against you as something warm and a little slimy licked your lips in retaliation…and he was kissing back? HE WAS KISSING YOU BACK!? You stepped back in surprise, not expecting your intimacy-repulsed friend to do that, only to feel a warm hand at your waist keeping you in place.

“I’ll take that as your answer.” His voice took on a husky timber, the kind he used when he whispered mischief and snide comments in your ears when Karen from down the hall put up another complaint on the apartment’s group page. “Now, why don’t I help you, my darling?”

His smirk was shinier as he swooped back down and drowned you in the taste of whiskey and coke.

He pressed you against the poster-covered walls of the dingy concert venue, uncaring of the many other attendees pushing through the tight space, the yells to ‘get a room’, the envious stares. Even with the occasional shove against his back, he was careful not to crush you unless it was with his mouth. And his tongue. The garbled blares of the pop-punk band were garbled by the sounds of your heartbeat and the soft groans the brunette let out and your lips slotted against each other, tongues exploring, teeth nipping. And oh my god, the world was hot and spinning and all you saw were pretty honey eyes fogged in the same daze you were under, drunk on impulsive lust and…alcohol.

Drunk?

All your senses seemed to come back to you then. Where you were, who you were with and why this was a bad idea. You pulled away and those honey eyes quirked with confusion, lips seeking to slot against yours again but you turned your cheek. “We—“ You had to clear your throat as those pretty lips made a light trail on the column of your neck that was left exposed to his gaze. “We shouldn’t…be kissing while drunk.” You shouldn’t have been kissing in general.

“What? Never kissed your friends before while a little intoxicated? I thought that’s what you girls do.” Sensing your rejection, he let up, leaning his forehead against yours while his lips teasingly hovered over your own. Even though he remained so close to you, breath still brushing against your face, the turn of the mood was immediate, coming back to the usual banter as Alastor’s momentary interest evaporated, though the smile on his lips remained shiny.

“You shouldn’t hold Katy Perry up as your model female.”

He chuckled then and released you from the cage of his arms. You hadn’t noticed until they left how his hand had been pulling you closer through the waistband of your jeans. And now you felt cold, as he was so quick to pull away.

But as the presence of him around you lessened, you knew you made the right choice. Your heart was hammering in your chest, face flushed not just with the warmth of alcohol, but he looked like he couldn’t care less, easily slipping back to the teasing jerk he’d been before the little stunt you pulled. Ouch. It didn’t even take a couple of seconds for him to look uninterested.

To hide your disappointment, you stretched your neck, pretending to loosen your muscles with a nonchalant grin. It was only then that you noticed the sticky feeling of sweat on your back and your boobs, the temperature too hot within the room just from the sheer amount of packed bodies. And even hotter after what Alastor and you just did.

“Fuck it’s hot in here. I’ll go step outside for some air real quick.”

And he let you go, moving back to the bar to get a drink as he waved you off with a pinch to your cheek.

When the chilly night air finally had a chance to cool your overheated face, it chased away some of the lightheaded buzz. Fuck. What were you thinking, kissing your friend? Drunk kissing your hot as fuck friend? If it were any other guy, you would have been thrilled to make out with him, have a fun night and see where the morning went. But this was Alastor. A drunk Alastor.

Your stepdad always said that two idiots made an accident and you two were very much too drunk for any decisions you made to be smart. It took over two years to build your friendship with him. The man was easily bored, snarky and a little mean but neighborly politeness turned to camaraderie against your HOA which turned into actual friendship. One of the few you had as an adult. You couldn’t afford to ruin things between you two, not for feelings that you shouldn’t have had in the first place.

It didn’t take long before more and more people started leaving. You checked your phone. When had it gotten so late?

“Feeling better?” The smooth tone of his voice floated through the crowded area and you gave a drunken little nod, a sense of accomplishment and happiness bubbling up at yourself from preventing a disaster.

The bus ride home to the apartment complex was relatively normal, thank god. Except for how giddy you two were from drinking, it was like the kiss never happened. As easily erased as any semblance of interest he may have had with you but the sting of that faded the more dumb jokes this yapper of a man kept spouting.

Even the quiet elevator ride in the claustrophobically small one your building had didn’t seem too bad. Just two drunk friends staring off into the not so far wall. Like this, you could pretend nothing happened, pretend you blacked some part of tonight out and go on without introducing awkward unrequited feelings into the mix.

Alastor, as well as you two got along, was way out of your league. You glanced to the side where he leaned across the supporting bar on the elevator wall. Even just standing there, he exuded a mysterious grace that the bleak lighting of the old elevator couldn’t wash out. Pretty, witty and charming. You were lucky to be his friend. You were lucky he took that kiss in stride.

Maybe you could laugh about it with him some day. Probably tomorrow, if he ever brought it up.

The elevator dinged, signaling his stop and the best time for you to put down any musings about what-ifs and all that. Whatever devil possessed the man to kiss you back wouldn’t be there when the alcohol was gone and his general disinterest in relationships and intimacy returned.

“Good night!!” You chirped as he walked out with his signature grin and a two-fingered salute. As the elevator door closed, you let go of the small disappointments within your heart, closing the box on your unrequited feelings before they ruined everything for you. Already, serenity seemed to come over you as you made peace with your stupid mistake for the evening. You’ll apologize too if he ends up mad at you in the morning.

*Thump*

A sound caught your lazy attention as a hand stuck through the almost closed gap of the doors, forcing them to open again as Alastor’s figure squeezed through.

You didn’t get a chance to even ask why before broad palms cupped your cheeks and honey eyes locked on your own, his smile gone into a serious line. Shit. Did his common sense kick in already? Was he mad?

“You said, no kissing while drunk, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Then I’m very sober, sweetheart.”

For a second time that evening, you found yourself pressed between a wall and Alastor’s lips.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #ao3 writer #drunk kisses are my bread and butter

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merwgue · 4 months ago

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Rhysand is often portrayed as this perfect, morally grey ruler, but when you take a closer look at his actions, it's obvious how messed up he really is. Let’s break down the so-called “benevolent” High Lord of the Night Court.

1. The Hewn City – The King of Torture? Rhysand's treatment of the people in Hewn City is straight-up barbaric. The way he holds power over them isn’t out of necessity or to “protect” them from worse rulers—it’s control through fear and violence. He tortures them, plays with their lives, and enjoys maintaining his iron grip on them. It's almost like he uses them as his personal stress toys. Is that really the hallmark of a just ruler? Sure, Hewn City isn’t full of saints, but for Rhys to stand on his high horse and act like he's saving everyone while still torturing his subjects? Hypocrisy at its finest.

2. Rhysand and Feyre – Let’s Talk About Consent Let’s not forget that he literally assaulted Feyre Under the Mountain. I don’t care how anyone tries to frame it as him “saving her” from Amarantha—there’s no excuse for the way he took away her agency. Rhys manipulated her, forced her into wearing those skimpy outfits, and paraded her around for his entertainment. All while pretending it was for the greater good. It's pretty damn disgusting how that gets brushed under the rug like it was some noble sacrifice when in reality, he robbed Feyre of her choices.

3. Planning to Execute Nesta – The Line Between Justice and Control Rhysand and his inner circle legit planned to execute Nesta, all because she didn’t fall in line. Nesta had her faults—hell, a lot of them—but threatening her life because she didn't act the way Rhys wanted? That's not justice; that's manipulation and control at its core. He wasn't trying to protect anyone. He was pissed that he couldn't control her, that she wasn't another cog in his perfect little machine of Night Court harmony.

4. Tamlin – Kicking a Man While He’s Down Say what you will about Tamlin, but there’s no denying that Rhysand completely overstepped every boundary when it came to him. The Night Court loves to preach about freedom, but Rhys had no problem strutting into Tamlin’s land, throwing it in his face, and making an already broken man feel like utter shit. There’s a difference between defending your own and downright antagonizing someone who’s in the depths of depression. At one point, he basically told Tamlin to end his own life. What kind of "savior" talks like that to someone who's clearly struggling? It's downright cruel.

5. The Night Court – A Dictatorship Wrapped in Pretty Words Rhysand's Night Court is sold to everyone as this place of freedom, where people can be who they truly are—but at what cost? If you cross Rhys or don’t fall in line with his vision, you either face his wrath, his torture, or his manipulation. He's not running a court; he's running a dictatorship where everything is fine as long as it aligns with his master plan. The fact that he keeps calling himself the “most powerful High Lord in history” just feeds into that massive god complex he has. The ego on this guy is unbelievable.

6. Double Standards – The Morality of Convenience Rhys preaches about freedom and respect, but he only seems to extend that to people he deems worthy. If you’re in his circle or someone he cares about, great—you get all the privileges. If not? Well, tough luck. He’ll trample over your land, threaten your life, or torture you into submission. The cherry on top? Everyone around him acts like he’s the greatest thing to happen to Prythian, and the fandom just eats it up.

So, yeah. Rhysand is fucked up. He’s not just morally grey—he’s power-hungry, manipulative, and borderline sadistic. His version of “ruling” the Night Court is as hypocritical as it gets. Benevolent High Lord? More like the king of self-righteous cruelty.

7. Locking Up Nesta – Rhysand’s Tamlin Moment Remember how everyone vilified Tamlin for locking Feyre up “for her own safety”? Sure, it was messed up, but the narrative painted him as this controlling, possessive villain because of it. Now, fast forward to Rhysand, who literally does the same thing to Nesta. She’s spiraling, yes, but instead of finding her real help or giving her space to heal, he decides to trap her in the House of Wind like a damn prisoner. He takes away her freedom, isolates her from the outside world, and forces her into a situation she clearly doesn’t want. How is that any different from what Tamlin did?

But here’s the kicker: Rhysand gets praised for it. Why? Because he’s Rhysand, the supposed hero, and everything he does is always “for the greater good,” right? It’s utter bullshit. He used the same controlling tactics on Nesta that Tamlin used on Feyre, but the fandom acts like he was being this saintly, tough-love older brother. What he did was textbook manipulation, stripping away Nesta’s autonomy because she didn’t fit into his perfect vision of what recovery should look like.

8. Forcing Recovery on Nesta – Ignoring Trauma Let’s not sugarcoat this: Rhysand locked up a woman who was using drinking as a coping mechanism and basically said, “Tough luck, you’re staying here until you fix yourself.” That's not helping; that’s punishing someone for their trauma. Nesta was in pain, lashing out and struggling to deal with what happened to her. Did she need help? Absolutely. But instead of offering her real emotional support, Rhys just forced her into a recovery program that suited his standards and timeline, not hers.

What makes this even worse is that Nesta was self-harming through drinking, and instead of addressing the root cause of her pain, Rhysand and his inner circle chose to control her like she was a problem that needed to be fixed, not a person who needed to be understood. There’s nothing noble about that.

9. Rhysand’s Hypocrisy – Tamlin vs. Himself This is where Rhysand’s hypocrisy really shines. He condemned Tamlin for being controlling, and Feyre (rightfully) left that toxic environment. But Rhys turns around and does the same thing to Nesta, and instead of being held accountable for it, he gets celebrated for “taking action.” How does that even make sense? It's such a double standard that it's almost laughable. Tamlin’s actions were wrong, but Rhysand’s were just as bad, if not worse, because he knew better. He knew what it felt like to be controlled, yet he did it anyway.

10. Stop Giving Rhys a Pass People need to stop giving Rhysand a pass for his behavior. He gets away with literal torture, manipulation, locking people up, and trampling over others' boundaries because he’s good at hiding it behind the facade of “protecting his court.” He’s not the hero people make him out to be. He’s just as flawed and fucked up as the people he claims to be better than.

At the end of the day, locking someone up—whether it’s Feyre in the Spring Court or Nesta in the House of Wind—is a violation of their autonomy. Rhysand isn't some hero swooping in to save the day. He's a controlling ruler who just happens to be good at spinning the narrative in his favor.

#anti rhys #anti ic #anti nessian #anti feyre #anti mor #anti night court #pro tamlin #pro valkyries #pro nesta #acotar #rhysand #anti rhysand #i still have more stuff about him btw #acosf #acotar fandom

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 6 months ago

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tuesday again 7/23/24

i woke up at ass o'clock monday morning to find BOTH of my cats sleeping on the bed with me :') temporary peace and love on planet niceys

also read a book where my takeaway was that there are SO many opportunities in the world for evil engineering but not nearly enough for evil puzzle games

listening

my sister sent me ONE instagram reel/screencap of a tiktok and ive been muttering "emergency! emergency! paging DOCTOR BEAT!" under my breath for the past three days. alarmingly catchy remix of this gloria estefan song. this specific video below is pretty close but there are approximately eight zillion versions

youtube

reading

Dark Wire by Joseph Cox (photo from here, description from the publisher's site).

The inside story of the largest law-enforcement sting operation ever, in which the FBI made its own tech start-up to wiretap the world, shows how cunning both the authorities and drug traffickers have become, with privacy implications for everyone. In 2018, a powerful app for secure communications called Anom took root among organized criminals. They believed Anom allowed them to conduct business in the shadows. Except for one thing: it was secretly run by the FBI. Backdoor access to Anom and a series of related investigations granted American, Australian, and European authorities a front-row seat to the underworld. Tens of thousands of criminals worldwide appeared in full view of the same agents they were trying to evade. International smugglers. Money launderers. Hitmen. A sprawling global economy as efficient and interconnected as the legal one. Officers watched drug shipments and murder plots unfold, making arrests without blowing their cover. But, as the FBI started to lose control of Anom, did the agency go too far? A painstakingly investigated exposé, Dark Wire reveals the true scale and stakes of this unprecedented operation through the agents and crooks who were there. This fly-on-the-wall thriller is a caper for our modern world, where no one can be sure who is listening in.

i really liked this one! cox did a really good job of slowly unfurling the extremely technical details as they became relevant, instead of one horrible infodump near the beginning, and has a real gift for humanizing little anecdotes that illustrate the concept. he's also dryly funny in a very british way, eg the transition between one paragraph describing a very talented olive oil salesman and his lifestyle to how that olive oil processing covered up drug labs with the sentence "But Catanzariti didn't stay with olives; he pivoted instead to methamphetamine." i loooooove reading about how the drug trade gets around customs. i love edge cases and figuring out why things fail. i truly think some of the finest materials engineers of our time are out there trying to figure out how to get cocaine into australia.

this is deeply reported in a way that's very different from a lot of popsci and pop-history books that annoy me: this is NOT a book where it feels like the author is simply padding out a wikipedia page, supplemented with articles he's already written. he's been on this beat since 2016 and it shows: he has quotes from hundreds of people on many sides of the drug war. something i also appreciate is that cox is not automatically, rabidly pro-cop; he does not gloss over the very real tortures and kidnappings and all the other nasty realities of the global drug trade, and frequently shows how much overreach and entrapment took place during this whole endeavor. i particularly liked a chapter where he flipped back and forth from various law enforcement officials assuring him they of course complied with all relevant privacy laws and blacklisted anyone using it for simple secure communications, and lawyers telling cox "no the cops very much did spy on my privileged communication with my clients and i know this because these texts came up in court". also gratifying to read about some cases overturned or thrown out, in the odd case a judge decided it looked too much like entrapment.

i feel like i devoured this book SO fast but it's a solid 352 pages in hardcover. i also had to wait a good two months on the libby holds lists so there is strong interest in this book! good for cox!

how did i find this book: it's austin underscore walker's fault. they used to be coworkers at vice and cox and three others broke off last year to found 404 Media, which has had an absolutely crazy amount of real-world impact for the size (again! four people!) and how long they've been around. rip vice. wish u did better by your people.

watching

watched Hercules (1997, dir. Clements & Musker) with my bestie's five year old. i did not grow up with disney movies and don't really have a nostalgic affinity for them but this shit holds up! i like how meg has the silhouette of a greek vase

playing

powerwash simulator has a new free DLC out! we get to go to the aquarium and wash some exhibits and wash the research submarine!!! VERY soothing. took me a good solid two hour podcast episode to clean the exhibits.

the temporary summer event in genshin impact is very darling this year-- there are big indie game vibes and unlocking every chest is a little more complicated or has a little bit more story attached than usual. very excited to see if this continues with the next big update that introduces a whole new land.

i also like that they've picked An Art Style to work with-- everything is very toy-like or origami. not that genshin doesn't have a distinct art style, but playing around with something less realistic is fun!

making

look im going to have to add a cross stitch update to the morning reblog. the lighting in here is simply Not Good Enough

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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meekydeeks · 2 months ago

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spoilers if you’re not a manga reader ig

iknow this is an unpopular opinion so don’t shoot me but…

hisoka is so weird

like the things he says are very strange

i’ve never wanted a villain to die so badly 😭 and i’m not just saying this because he killed my bby shalnark (iam)

but ijust don’t get how people like him

actually i’m convinced that anyone that does like him should be on a watch list because whattt 😃

also convinced that this is just pretty privilege at its finest because, if he was ugly yall would think he’s weird too

#meekydeeks #hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh 2011 #hxh hisoka #hisoka #hunter x hunter hisoka #hunter x hunter 2011 #yes i’m a hater #no i will not hear you out #no you will not change my mind #rip shalnark #rip shalnark you would’ve loved making fun of hackers in disney movies

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idlerin · 2 years ago

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nonsense — 08. the famous friend

masterlist — previous | next

✦ fun facts !

akaashi and bokuto dated for a while in kaashi’s first year but they decided to take a break.

[name] always gets random favors from people (pretty privilege at its finest)

it took me so long to edit that stupid dm thing bc im a perfectionist and i hate the one on the app

nonsense ! an oikawa tooru social media au

synopsis. you were oikawa tooru’s #1 fan, until you became his #1 hater. you hated him so much you went viral on twitter (accidentally) and literally became known as “the oikawa tooru hater”, doesn’t help that he keeps fueling the fire by subtweeting you. everyone is all in for this new drama. what isn’t known to the public, is that this particular drama’s been on hold for three years (him being your ex and all).

a/n — im gonna have sm fun w the next chaps

taglist is open ! + @kawaii-angelanne @ceneridiankaa @kittycasie @rukia-uchiha-98 @polish-cereal @kellesvt @rockleeisbaeeee @kashxyou @imsoluvly @jjulliette @tooruchiiscribs @littlefreakjulia @gomjohs @qualitygiantshoepsychic @mellowknightcolorfarm @konzumeken @migosple @kuroogguk @sangwooooo @katsu-shi @wolffmaiden @rijhi @2baddies-1porsche @yeehawcity @aishkaaa @crueldinasty @rintarousprincess @yyuiz

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ronancecats · 21 hours ago

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It's so funny to me because if Steve and Jonathan's roles were reversed, everyone would hate Jonathan and Nancy together.

Pretty privilege at its finest (even though Charlie is, in fact, just as attractive as Joe, and that's coming from a lesbian.)

#stranger things #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #steve harrington #anti stancy #jancy #if this is incoherent im sorry #im really tired rn

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dasha-through-the-snow · 9 months ago

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Same Chris chan anon, I’m back. I saw your reply, and yeah, I agree on some parts. Good people can turn bad.

What I meant was that if you’re a person with strong values, you would’ve never done that stuff. It was plain sexism. A person with strong values wouldn’t do that because their actions dictate what kind of person they are.

And while I understand that you don’t SUPPORT chris chan, you can’t be like “well! Actually, women, stfu about his sexism!!! He did it because he was bullied online!!! And shut up about how he sexually harassed his female friends beforehand!!!”

Like. Think critically. This was an actual crime. With actual victims. And now he’s out of jail??? Male privilege at its finest. He should’ve NEVER gotten out of jail.

Also, rape is like, in my opinion, the only crime that can NEVER be excused. Because nobody forced you to do it??? Nobody can use it as self defense. Nobody recovers from it like a wound. It’s not simple. It’s a complex hate crime against women.

On another note, I don’t like bullying. I’ve been a bullying victim for many years. And even worse, IN REAL LIFE. But I never would’ve done that. Because plainly, I’m not sexist.

Chris Chan was porn sick. That’s it. He harassed women, did something unforgivable to his mother, and became “trans” to intimidate lesbians into dating him. That’s a straight white man if I’ve ever seen it. The internet is cruel, but it doesn’t turn men into rapists. That’s their own doing. We need to hold men accountable for what they do. We can’t coddle them or they’ll just keep doing shit. It’s never justified!!! Never!! Even the nastiest woman doesn’t deserve it because it’s a hate crime against women as a whole!

Have empathy towards the victims. We never know what they went through, and their suffering was much worse than what a brain rotted straight white man went through. Because let’s bffr, if a man I knew told me he’s a woman because he wants to bang a lesbian, draws porn of me, and then rapes his mom AND PEOPLE ONLINE DEMAND HES CALLED A WOMAN AND THAT HE DESERVES PITY??? That would be my breaking point.

He’s a whole ass villain 😭😭 why can’t y’all see that

I don't believe in perfect villains or perfect victims.

We don't need to villianize Chris to have empathy for Barbara. We don't need to gloss over Barbara being a horrible person to feel horrible for what happened to her.

It's not a black-and-white world, no matter how much Ayn Rand wanted it to be.

Chris was severely abused and neglected by his parents. Barbara specifically fostered unhealthy attachment, which absolutely did not help in this situation.

I don't think we need to state over and over again that FUCKING YOUR DEMENTIA-RIDDEN MOTHER IS WRONG. I think that's pretty obvious by itself.

But just taking a step back and looking at the whole situation in context is important.

And it's important to realize that the collective internet didn't just "bully" Chris. They manipulated and gaslighted this person for over a decade. They derailed Chris's life and any middling chance they had at becoming a normal person. They egged on their every worst instinct and broke this person's brain and will. That goes beyond regular bullying.

I think, overall, it's the internet looking at a monster we created and then refusing to accept that harassing, bullying, gaslighting and obsessively documenting a living, breathing human being for over a decade because they're "cringe" is a bad thing. So Chris has to have been a monster from the start.

Chris is out of jail, because the judges don't know WTF to do with them. You can't hold a person in jail with no trial for more than a year, rape is really hard to prove with dementia patients, who might not even remember it, incest penalties are their own can of legal worms and trying a person as severely autistic as Chris is borderline-impossible.

The best outcome for everyone would be to put Chris in an assisted living facility. But I doubt that's gonna happen.

Also, I refuse to comment on Chris's trans status. It's between them and their psychologist. I simply don't care, because it changes very little.

Yeah, I do think Chris deserves pity. Condemnation AND pity. We shouldn't just forgive their horrible actions. But we should at least have the humility to realize that we would be capable of some monstrous shit if we were ever treated like that.

YOU don't think you would've done something horrible in that situation, but you HAVE NOT been in the same situation. And thank your lucky stars for that.

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cryingbutaddbows · 19 days ago

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One thing I’ll admit is that my friend has A LOT to do with my relapse she’s always been so skinny and all the boys in my friend group would bend over backwards for her (pretty privilege at its finest) and I’d just be ignored the whole time. But she recently has started to gain (she eats fast food all the time and drink full fat drinks like absolutely not😭) she was talking about how when she sits down she now has a Belly roll and she didn’t realise that people had that as she’s never had one I was just laughing to myself like she’s getting one and I’m loosing one lolll. Anyways and in the early doors of my relapse (around October) she noticed my wl and complimented me on it I was happy to say the least lmao. But then the week after she was doing all the things that I said I did ( which was completely made up bullshit) except for the drinking water part and the 10k steps every day and she said she couldn’t do it I was like HA imma be the skinny girl now because she couldn’t even last a day drinking water and having soup LOLLL

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thesocietyprince · 2 months ago

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Oh, is that DEVRAN SAHIN? I heard the THIRTY-SIX year old is COURAGEOUS. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also EGOTISTICAL. Makes sense seeing how they are a LEADER in THE SOCIETY.

wc. pinterest.

Basics.

full name: Devran Fadel Sahin nickname(s): Dev age: Thirty-Six birthdate: July 26th star sign: Leo gender: Cismale pronouns: He/Him sexuality: Bisexual Birthplace: Staten Island, NY current residence: Staten Island, NY languages: Turkish, English, Spanish, and some French.

Reflection.

face claim: berk cankat hair color: chestnut brown eye color: light brown height: 6’0” build: lean, athletic build tattoos: a large compass on his right shoulder scars: too many to keep track of

Personality.

characteristics: ambitious, fearless, confident, arrogant, stubborn, creative, sweet talker, pretentious, self-absorbed, selfish, energetic, persistent, supportive, demanding, socially active, egoistic, responsible, the perfectionist, ready to take challenges, possessive fears: failure and decaf coffee passions/hobbies: painting, drawing, baseball, lock picking, origami, collecting and restoring vintage cars, kickboxing, feeding the birds in the park, golf, tennis, and target practice character inspo: tony stark (iron man), bruce wayne (the dark knight), jordan belfort (wolf of wall street), logan huntzberger (gilmore girls), lando calrissian (star wars) drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: yes / yes / no colors: a combination of classic neutrals, black, navy, charcoal, and rich jewel tones: emerald green, royal blue, and a deep burgundy.

Backstory.

Devran Şahin was born with the weight of a legacy on his shoulders. As the firstborn son of Ahmet Şahin, the infamous leader of the Society—a New York-based syndicate renowned for its mastery of art heists and elaborate thefts—Devran’s future was set in stone. From an early age, he was groomed to one day take the reins of his father’s empire. But being the heir to such an empire wasn’t simply a privilege; it was a burden.

The Golden Son

Growing up in the lap of luxury, Devran had everything that money could buy. He attended the finest schools and spent weekends cruising through exclusive parties with his charming smile, tousled hair, and a reputation as the ultimate trust-fund playboy. To the outside world, Devran was the golden child—charming, carefree, and always the center of attention at New York’s most elite gatherings. He was a man of paradoxes: polished and graceful by day, a reckless adventurer by night. Yet, beneath the surface of high society’s glittering veneer, Devran was being carefully shaped for a very different kind of future. His father, Ahmet, had a singular vision for his son. He was to inherit the Society, yes, but only if he proved worthy. There was no room for weakness, no space for indulgence. Devran’s upbringing wasn’t filled with soft lessons of privilege; instead, it was a strict training regimen that taught him the art of manipulation, the power of charm, and the precision needed to execute high-profile heists without leaving a trace. While his classmates were focused on getting into Ivy League schools, Devran was absorbing blueprints of art museums, studying security systems, mastering sleight-of-hand techniques, and learning how to read people like an open book. Every lesson was designed to sharpen his mind and prepare him for the world of shadows and deceit that ran beneath the glittering surface of New York.

There was a time, however, when Devran considered escaping the life his father had planned for him. He dreamt of running away with his lover, starting fresh somewhere far from the shadows of his family’s empire. But his father swiftly put an end to that idea—and the relationship—when he found out. "You will not embarrass this family," Ahmet had said, his voice seething with fury. That moment was a sharp reminder to Devran: no matter where his heart wandered, he was bound to the legacy of the Şahins.

A Mother’s Love and a Father’s Shadow Devran’s mother, Defne Şahin, was the heart of the family—a beacon of warmth in a world that often felt cold and calculating. Her love for art, culture, and humanity influenced Devran deeply. She shielded him from the harsh realities of their world as much as she could, nurturing his creative side and allowing him to dream of a life outside the shadows. Her sudden death during the COVID-19 pandemic shattered the delicate balance in Devran’s life. Losing her was like losing the light that guided him. For his father, Ahmet, Defne’s death marked a turning point. Grieving in silence, he poured his focus into preparing Devran for leadership. What had once been subtle grooming became a relentless campaign to shape his son into a worthy successor. Ahmet’s philosophy was simple: the Society’s leadership couldn’t be handed down—it had to be earned. And for Devran, this meant proving himself in ways that few could ever imagine.

The Test: A Rite of Passage

As Devran came of age, the weight of his family’s expectations grew unbearable. Ahmet had carefully crafted his son’s education, but now it was time for Devran to prove himself as more than just an heir. One of the leaders stepped down so it was time for him to show he was ready to lead, to command the loyalty of the Society, and to navigate the dangerous currents of the criminal world. To do so, Ahmet devised the ultimate test—a trial that would push Devran to his breaking point. The job was monumental: a grand heist that would secure an artifact held in the private collection of a rival gang leader. If Devran could pull it off, the Society would bow to him. If he failed, it would prove he was not worthy of his father’s empire. But the test wasn’t just about skill; it was about leadership, decision-making under pressure, and the ability to take responsibility for the consequences of his actions. What Devran didn’t know was that the heist was also a trap. His father had carefully orchestrated everything to challenge his son's resolve, forcing him to make impossible choices. He would have to outwit rival gang members, deal with internal betrayals, and face the harsh reality of the criminal world’s unpredictability. It was a trial by fire—a way for Ahmet to see whether Devran could endure the pain of loss and still rise above it.

The Heist

The night of the heist, Devran took control. He led the operation with the precision and intellect that had been drilled into him over the years. Every move was calculated, every detail meticulously planned. Yet, despite the flawless execution of the plan, everything was thrown into chaos. The rival gang had anticipated the Society’s moves, and betrayal came from within Devran’s own ranks. One of his most trusted friends, someone he had known his whole life, turned on him, leaking vital information to the enemy. Devran was forced to improvise, adapting quickly as the walls closed in. He made split-second decisions to protect his team and salvage the job, but in the process, several members of the Society were lost. The heist, though ultimately successful, came at a steep price. Devran’s heart weighed heavy with the loss of loyal men, and the bitter sting of betrayal remained long after the dust settled. The heist had secured the artifact, and with it, a massive victory for the Society. But the cost—both in lives and trust—was a harsh reminder of the brutal reality of leadership.

Proving His Worth

When Devran returned from the operation, his father was waiting. Ahmet did not offer congratulations, nor did he offer sympathy. Instead, he simply asked, "Was it worth it?" The silence that followed was thick, heavy with expectation. Devran had passed the test—he had shown he could lead under pressure, outsmart rivals, and manage the harsh realities of his world. But his father’s cold gaze reminded him that leadership came at a price. Devran now knew that he would never be the carefree, charming playboy again. He had stepped into the role of the leader, but the mantle was heavy, and there was no going back. Ahmet’s approval came in the form of a simple nod. "You’re ready." Devran had earned his place at the head of the Society, but it was not a victory he could celebrate. His heart was marked by the loss of his people, the betrayal of those he trusted, and the cold understanding that in the world of the Society, loyalty was as fragile as glass. Now, as the leader of the gang, Devran knew he had only just begun. The true test was not in the heists he would pull off, but in how he would keep his empire intact, with the weight of every decision hanging over him.

The Weight of Legacy

With his father’s endorsement and the support of the organization, Devran stepped into the role he had been groomed for since birth. Leadership, however, came with its own challenges. The Society was a network of individuals bound by loyalty, respect, and fear. Devran had to navigate complex relationships, balance tradition with innovation, and maintain the Society’s dominance in a world that was changing rapidly. Devran also faced the challenge of uniting an organization built on loyalty to his father. He had to prove that he was not just Ahmet Şahin’s son but a leader in his own right—one who could protect the Society from its rivals and guide it into a new era. Though he projects confidence, inside he wrestles with self-doubt, guilt over his mother’s death, and the pressure to prove himself worthy of the Şahin name. His charm and resourcefulness are his greatest assets, allowing him to unite the Society under his leadership while keeping up appearances in the world of high society. Yet, his true test lies ahead: surviving the gang war and ensuring the Society emerges stronger than ever.

#◐ every coin has two sides d.s. introduction ◑#sinnersintro

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