#swaggers technologies

[markkiatocafe]

johnjaemark roommate texts

𖠚 warnings: quite a bit of cursing (“damn,” “sybau ts pmo,” “ass,” “fuck”), mention of period products (tampons), mentions of a cold (idk if this rlly warrants a warning but uhhhh yeah)

𖠚 synop: johnjaemark being typical men…. basically

𖠚 pairing: she/her!reader x roommate!johnjaemark

𖠚 a/n: this is short but it was so fun to make oml…… i hope you all enjoy this one (˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) its quite silly but im all for the silly stuff!!!!! also i tried to not be too biased with my mark inclusions but uh…..it is called a bias for a reason 😭so i do apologize for that if i put him too much lol </3

[keehomania]

wearing my nct shirt to the gynecologist tomorrow so she knows i'm not sexually active without having to ask

[beuxwhoyouare]

Monster vs. Monster

you might wanna read this & this first

Riley was finishing up his routine optimized to maintain his physique. Almost as if programmed, he whipped out his phone to take a picture of himself to send to Jordan for a status update.

“Nearly complete with workout routine, day 365.”

Riley stood awaiting a response as he slowly realized it had been a year now. A year since he officially took over a human body. Going from technological innovation to perverse defilement of human nature. Jordan programmed an A.I. capable of transferring to a human consciousness and Riley was proof of it. Sure the real Riley had to be “phased out” but it was worth it for science right? Right?

Riley hit one year of being human and what did he have to show for it? Sure he maintained the look and routine of sexual gratification Jordan programmed to do but what about going past that? Being human means no bounds, no limits.

Riley never used to have thoughts like this, well he never really did many things until he finally did. Then a lightbulb, he didn’t have to DO anything. That was the last text he was ever going to send to Jordan. Riley was going to do what he WANTED to.

Riley returned home after showering at the gym and quickly searched for a new outfit, hurrying to avoid a run in with Jordan. He threw a semi-decent outfit on and fled. He was going to live life recklessly like all the humans do. He didn’t have to worry himself with the thoughts of a panicked Jordan trying to track him down, because he owned the scientist nothing.

Part of the last years efforts assimilating into humanity was maintaining Riley’s life. So thankfully he wasn’t broke since he continued working and fled to a nearby hotel. He’d camp here until he figured out his next move. Recklessness was the game, but how would he spend his first chances at normal humanity.

Clubs glorious clubs. If Jordan felt the need to force him to pleasure him surely he could find that from actually attractive people there. Stimulation was the epitome of recklessness. Riley entered the nearest club with swarms of people and made his way to the bar.

“Hi um can I have. Uh. Well I’m not sure.” Riley asked confidently at first before being defeated by his naivety.

The bartender just looking him up and down and winked and went to work. Eventually handing him a glass with cherries and an ambiguous liquor. Instead of over analyzing the cocktail, Riley lifted the glass and downed the drink in one go. The bartender turned away to address another customer before turning back to catch the man he deemed as eye candy shocked that he finished the drink so fast. Deciding to just full send it and make him another one, in the hopes it would pay off later.

Riley began to feel warm thanks to the cocktails and as he approached getting tipsy a smile graced his conventionally attractive face. The gays in the club eyeing up the newly swaggering young man as he slinked his way to the dance floor. The presumptive men kept notioning and tugging on articles of his clothing insinuating he should take them off. His mindset drifted back to being more human as he allowed himself to take off his shirt and allowed the men around him to lower his pants.

Now in a suggestive mood, some began taking pictures with him offering to buy him drinks and more. That’s when he ran into someone that caught his attention.

Ken walked into the club with several others and was greeted by some lips, a daunting chest, and a slutty waist adorned with cobbled abs. The short but amicably muscled Latino eyed Riley like a piece of meat, maybe because that’s all he was to him at first. The formerly lanky grey alien only stole this human appearance a few weeks ago but was eagerly continuing his mission to learn more about this planet and its inhabitants. He had been living up the human experience, some may also say he’d been a bit promiscuous. Humans were so distracting if anything. They always wanted more and he was happy to oblige with his stolen equipment.

The two men locked eyes, both believing that each other would help them in their missions somehow. Ken confidently strided towards the tipsy Riley surrounded by thirsting gay men.

“Do you want to head out with me?” the shorter man inquired.

“Um yes that would be…nice?” Riley stumbled with his words fighting the alcoholic influence on his motor abilities.

Ken took Riley’s hand and swiftly guided him out of the club. The two walked for a while before getting into a cab and heading to Ken’s place. The pair entered a thrashed apartment with stuff everywhere but that was nothing compared to how messy they were. The two were rubbing their hands clumsily all over each other, physically exploring each others swollen bodies.

Ken was on a mission to take over the world but Riley just wanted to be human. Riley had only ever been with Jordan and took the moment to experience new things with Ken’s body. He turned the smaller man over and yanked his pants down as he began to eat him out. In his weeks as Ken, the alien hadn’t yet done this human activity yet and it sent him over the edge. His dark brown eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head as Riley’s tongue explored him into pleasure. Ken decided not to steal Riley’s for JUST yet as he continued to fall into pleasure.

Riley had a mental to-do list as a human and he started running through it with Ken. Exploring the limits of what you can do in bed, multiple times. Over an hour later the two fell down onto Ken’s bed breatheless and sore, in the best ways.

Ken felt something in the moment. It could have been the back and forth flipping they’ve been doing all night but he almost felt an affinity for the man he just met. He was in the honeymoon phase of the hookup, a first for the alien. He didn’t know what to do with the feelings and swung an arm over the sleeping Riley and spooned him.

The nightly exchange of fluids and that feeling in Ken’s alien stomach was more than they expected. It was a ritual from Ken’s world that he wasn’t even aware of. The two began to swap forms as pheromones from Ken’s form began to secrete over night as they slept. But it was an uneven exchange. Underneath the guise of being human Ken was still alien anatomically, while Riley was an A.I. driving a real human.

Riley was the first to wake up the next morning and was immediately greeted with a change when he tried to quietly swing his legs off the bed to not disturb Ken. His feet were shorter and significantly lighter complected. He gasped as he hurriedly walked over to the restroom mirror.

He had only known two existences his original digital form and Riley’s body. He smugly watched himself as he lifted his shirt to explore Ken’s body, before realizing things were different. He poked and proded at himself but realized internally he felt way different than Riley. As he tried to stretch and contract muscles he felt way more control of things than when inside Riley.

He explored more before pretending to be Ken and getting ready for an ambiguous day ahead. After brushing his new teeth, he turned around nearly screaming as he saw his old body looking down on him.

God, his first human body was so fine he could feel himself getting turned on, which also felt different but he wasn’t sure why. He launched at the now taller man and began to make out with him. But as they made out Riley felt something pulling. He was so into the moment he didn’t think about it and when he finally was ready to pull away and begin questioning Ken about what happened another thing scared the A.I. man. He pulled away and asked.

“Okay okay what happen…huh why do I sound?”

The alien body sounded just like his old body but how!? As Ken tried to speak he realized what Riley had just done and the new situation they were in. Ken and Riley spent the rest of the evening texting each other their whole background, from A.I. to human and alien to “human”.

When the two finished, they shared their first organic human laughs, albeit one being inaudible. Both sitting and staring at each other in the eyes trying to read what their next moves were. Riley going in to plunge another kiss on Ken. The devious pair could conquer the world but for now they’ll settle on conquering each others new bodies.

[rottenpumpkin13]

In the Ever Crises game. There's a Cait Sith outfit that you can buy with in-game jewels. And the outfit is him and Mog wearing a stereotype hip hop gangster outfit! Complete with a backwards baseball cap and bling!

And this would go PERFECTLY to imagine that Reeves took Reno's advice on what he believes that kids like.

Reeve: Hey, Reno, you seem like the kind of guy who's in touch with what the youths are into these days, right?

Reno: Uh... sure?

Reeve: I'm looking for ways to make myself—and my work—more appealing to the younger crowd. You know, get the kids excited about technology.

Reno: Oh yeah, easy. Just... I dunno, listen to whatever's hot on the radio? Teens love that Top 40 crap.

Reeve: Brilliant! Thanks, Reno.

(The next day)

Tseng: Reno. Do you, by any chance, know why Reeve has undergone a spontaneous transformation?

Reno: Ohh, I gave him a few tips on reaching a younger demographic, that's all. Maybe he's just embracing the vibe?

Tseng: You have doomed us all.

Reno: Huh? How bad could it be—

*Cait Sith swaggers into the room in full hip-hop gear: backwards cap, giant gold chain, sunglasses too big for his tiny face*

Cait Sith: YO YO YO, LADS, WHAT'S POPPIN', WEE BIT A TECHNOLOGY, WEE BIT A SWAG, AYE!!!

Reno: !?!??

Tseng: This is hell. We live here now.

[deadonyouraccount]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Criston Cole/You

WC: 2k

Tags: PWP, modern Westeros setting, Yeah we’re fucking cops🤡, infidelity, vague vague mentions of verbal abuse, quickie, car sex, age difference, but Criston’s 23 forever, pnv!sex, v!fingering, slight softness that came outta nowhere, dominant cris, whole ass messy situation but hey you came!

A/N: Dedicated to my colewives mwah mwah

You stood next to the car, frowning as you stared at the stop sign denting the front. Should’ve known, you thought. Your boyfriend was in the back of a cop car, getting ready to spend a lovely night in jail. They said the captain of the precinct was coming by.

You were in a different part of King’s Landing, in Uni at KLU on a night out with your boyfriend, trying to use a “date night” to patch up the shitty state of things. You were supposed to be DD. Alas, he insisted, no screaming at you he was fine. Now the car was lodged against the stop sign.

Another vehicle pulled up, giving the go-ahead to take your boyfriend to the drunk tank. You leaned against the car, arms crossed, frowning.

You weren’t sure why a captain would waste his time addressing a stupid accident in a practically desolate part of the city, but you were growing nervous about getting home and it was too close to Flea Bottom for your comfort.

He got out of the car, squinting under the low lights of the small street. He walked with a swagger, stiff shoulders but a rolling gait. You straightened up, grabbing your purse to provide insurance and your card. Your boyfriend was too belligerent to help.

“Have you been drinking ma’am?” He inquired with a low rasp. You looked up at the man, making eye contact with dark eyes. He was older, but handsome— looked Dornish but had that brusque Stormlander accent.

You replied, shaking your head, “No. I was supposed to drive. My boyfriend took the keys, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Couldn’t call a friend?” He asked, a subtle smugness across his features, curved lips turned up at the corners. You sighed, exasperated, but you weren’t going to mouth off. KLU’s police department wasn’t known for being particularly friendly, especially in the seedier areas and around the bars.

“No sir, he was pissed, I got overwhelmed. I’m not drunk. I go to school here and my car is screwed.”

He walked past you, his broad shoulder grazing your own. The cop looked at the front of the vehicle, a nasty little laugh filling the relative silence. You turned to face him, brows furrowing.

“He couldn’t see straight. I don’t know.”

“You should’ve called someone.”

You huffed, aggravated with his attitude, “And just let my boyfriend drive off in my car, officer?”

He stood up, leveling you with a look. He walked closer, filling up your space. You could see the stars on his shining badge, the name ‘Cole’ across his breast. The captain murmured, “Yep. He sounds like a real charmer.”

Cole took a look at you, then at the car as his jaw worked. He smelled like expensive cologne. Your eyes darted to the ring on his left hand. He spoke again, “Well, the vehicle is in your name. We’ll put the charges on him, but it’s your car. You need to call a tow while I file your insurance.”

You nodded, handing him the requested items.

You called the tow while he sauntered back to the cruiser, punching buttons into whatever technology they had. You almost wanted to cry at the price of the service, reading your card, pissed off.

Stupid boyfriend, stupid you, stupid asshole cop.

The captain was back, spooking you, his calloused hand holding out your belongings. You grabbed them, stuffing them back in your purse. “They’ll be here in forty-five. I need to call my roommate.”

He stared, jaw working again before speaking.

“I’ll give you a ride. You’re on campus?”

You nodded, unsure of this man. He was of the law, but there was something about the way the older man looked at you. The dark-haired man hummed, “It’s Criston. Don’t worry, there’s no charge for a ride. Come on, you look like you’re going to fall over.”

You relented, following him to the cruiser, eyeing his frame. He was handsome. You couldn’t help but notice. Maybe it was the sheer anger at your boyfriend. Criston seemed aloof, probably just being nice. Yet the stare.

You climbed into the other side of his vehicle, buckling in. He looked at you, taking his hat off, short curling hair underneath, some greys at the temples. It smelled like leather, cologne, and something distinct of the man.

“We need to wait until the tow. Shit part of town you’re in, love,” he rasped.

“Tell me about it,” you sighed, earning a humored huff from the stoic cop.

His arm moved around the back of your seat, legs stretching out as he got comfortable. You thought about the wedding band again, eyes flicking around the car. Criston was looking at you.

“How old are you? Too damn precious to be with a boy who wrecks your car.”

You blushed, mumbling, “Twenty-one.” He was hitting on you. Seven hells. The attention was nice, all things considered. Your belly tightened as you felt a pull towards this cop who was married and much older than you, regardless of his youthful appearance.

“Twenty-one. Hm. I was just a rookie then,” he said, a thoughtful note to his raspy voice.

“You’re married,” you stated, the words bubbling out.

“Yeah. I am. Got step-kids too,” he said, looking at you. Criston held your gaze until you looked away, heart beginning to pump. He shrugged, adding, “Can’t say it’s a pleasant marriage. She doesn’t care, I’d wager.”

He licked his lips. You made a soft noise, peering back up.

“We’ve got forty minutes now. Why don’t we make good use of the time, get your mind off of that little boy.”

His arm slid around your shoulders, hand squeezing your bare shoulder. You swallowed, voice weak as you questioned.

“Are you- you mean?”

He laughed, a derisive snort more than anything as he smiled, pretty teeth glinting in the low light. Criston looked at you, amused, his tone patronizing.

“You know what I mean sweetheart, c’mere, I can tell you need it.”

You didn’t listen to the voice in your head screaming no, climbing over into his lap, lips pressing to his. One of his hands slid around your back, pressing you close, the other sliding the seat back. He groaned, tilting his head to get deeper.

Your arms laid across his shoulders, bent awkwardly. You didn’t care, tongue sliding against his, the stubble of his jaw pricking delightfully. Both of Criston’s hands slid up and down your waist, sliding under your crop top as he lapped into your mouth.

You whimpered, pressing closer, shivering helplessly as his calloused palms gripped at your tits, tenderly kneading, thumbs sliding across your stiff nipples.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, panting against his mouth. Criston hummed, kissing down your jaw and throat, his cock growing full and thick underneath you. You rolled your hips, desire clouding your mind as you adjusted your arms, one hand in his short hair.

Criston grunted, growling against your tender throat, plucking at your peaks until they ached, the sensation drawing down to your pussy, connected by a string of pleasure. He murmured, “Needy little thing, someone hasn’t been taking of you huh?”

You whined, babbling, “Yes, yes, it’s no good, want you, please.”

You could feel his grin, a playful nip to your pulse point as his hands unbuttoned your shorts, you shifting up so he could jerk them down, underwear included. His lips were back on yours, tongue lazily dancing while he unbuttoned his belt, grunting when he undid the fly.

“You want me right here baby?” Criston rumbled, pulling your hand to palm his thick cock with a pleased groan, his pretty lips falling open. You nodded, begging, “Yeah, please sir, need it.”

“Sir,” he repeated, dark eyes peering at your debauched look. “You’re sweet, you know that? Just needed a little attention and you’re squirming in my lap, calling me sir.”

You whimpered as embarrassment crested, warbling, “I’m not like this- I swear.”

“I know, you’re just a little…deprived, baby.”

His fingers slid between your thighs, dipping into your soaked cunt, the heel of his palm rubbing your swollen clit. You cried out, lashes fluttering as he stretched you, playfully swiping up to make you moan or squirm.

“So wet, such a good girl aren’t you?”

You buried your head against his neck, losing your sense. Criston’s presence was strong, overwhelming, and the sound of your pussy getting fucked by his fingers was the cherry on top. He pet your back, almost soothing.

“I want you, oh gods, I want you, I’m a good girl,” you begged, voice cracking with need. You shivered as his fingers slid out of you, whining at the empty feeling. Criston brought them to his lips, sucking on his fingers with a deep groan.

You couldn’t take it anymore, hand darting down to pull his thick cock out, pumping a few times for good measure, Criston’s head falling back with a throaty noise. His hands moved to your hips, letting you guide him into your slick cunt.

“Fuck sweetheart,” he gasped, heaving a breath as you eased onto him. It didn’t take long for you to lose your bravado— you felt full to the brim with his prick, a bolt of pleasure shooting up your spine. You gripped his shoulders, thighs weakened and twitching as you could feel him pulsing, rubbing your sensitive walls.

Criston moaned, dark and filthy, grinning as he rasped, “Yeah. That’s what’cha needed. Gods you feel good, I’ve got you.”

His hips snapped up, eliciting a cry from your lips, hands digging into his shoulders. Criston adjusted his grip, fucking up into you quickly, cock rubbing deep into your pussy, building molten friction with every thrust. He was panting against your neck, focused on getting every drop of pleasure, mumbling here and there.

You were much louder, soft cries leaving your swollen lips as the captain fucked you. Your stomach was tight, growing tighter with each frantic snap of Criston’s hips. The car was growing humid, your hair sticking to your neck as you began to peak.

One of your hands snaked down, only to get swatted away, Criston’s voice snapping you out of the haze.

“No, I get this,” he said, brown eyes meeting yours, holding your attention as his thumb slid teasingly around where he was splitting you, making up to your clit to swipe at the tender bundle in quick flicks.

You could feel your eyes rolling back, lashes fluttering as your thighs tightened up, back arching as your cunt clamped down on Criston’s prick, squeezing him in waves as you cried and carried on, ecstasy spreading across your nerves. He made a soft noise, moaning, “Fuck, you on BC?”

You nodded, Criston’s mouth on your shoulder, hoarse moans as his cock swelled, filling you up with a rough thrust into you. He gripped your hips, hard, giving them a final squeeze as the man laid back in the seat, a pleased look on his face.

You looked around for a napkin or cloth, Criston handing you a shirt from seemingly out of nowhere, hissing with you as you eased off his softening prick. You cleaned up the best you could, pulling up your underwear and shorts, and buttoning them.

He did the same once you climbed off his lap, the cop quiet. He heard something on the radio, a frown on his pretty lips. He looked over at you, his voice surprisingly gentle as he pointed out the truck. The tow truck was pulling up now, you were glad— but too fucked out to care. Your legs felt like jelly.

Criston waited as the car was taken off to a shop, then turned the car on, the stagnant energy in the car lessening with the AC. He drove a couple of blocks before speaking, dark eyes swiveling around as he reached over to rest a warm hand on your thigh.

You looked down at his hand, mulling over the whole encounter.

“Do I need to call the emergency line to get you, sir?”

He laughed, more genuine this time. Criston shrugged, replying, “It’s Criston, but best not. Unless you plan on making up a heinous crime every week. You want my number?” He seemed surprised, a little disheartening for you.

He was a married scumbag who just fucked you in his work vehicle. Who knows who else he’d done the same to?

“Yeah, I do,” you said.

The sign for the University came into view, and you almost didn’t want to leave, you’d miss his hand on you. Criston hummed, “You have to pick up your ‘boyfriend’ tomorrow anyways, yeah?”

“He can catch a cab,” you said, still bitter.

“Good girl,” Cole said, grinning again, squeezing your thigh playfully.

You left with a hastily scrawled number and a pleasant ache between your thighs. There was no telling, but his long look and soft goodbye lingered. You put the slip on your nightstand back to your apartment on campus, ignoring the strange look from your roommate.

“Criston Cole,” you murmured in the quiet atmosphere of your room, smiling to yourself.

The man himself couldn’t get you out of his head. He frowned, eyeing the ring on his hand. He knew he sounded like a middle aged loser, puppy eyes for a damn girl almost less than half his age, leaning over as the precious dove got out on shaky legs. Criston groaned, recalling the way he had said goodbye to you so desperately, “Hey. Really, text me sometime.”

He said your name softly to himself, sighing.

[deerdogs]

hi <- girl who really wants to yap about some of her smpl/dsmp/esmp world building and continuity. a lot of yapping under cut. Nobody gaf but whatever

i’m that one friend that’s too c!sam so im shoving him here. but for those who don’t know tldr. c!sam has actually been alive for like centuries he just found a way to clone his body to be immortal (memory is still mortal so doesn’t remember obviously). he was friends with c!phil who stopped being friends w him over his morally dubious immortality scheme. but anyways. original sam (sam prime) was alive during like medieval ish times as seen by that scene w c!phil. annnndd what’s a morally grey inventor without a little robot buddy to help him. hence he made swagger ! little analog steampunk robot fella. skip ahead a bit when sam prime put himself in the tube status chamber thing.. swagger was left alone. i like to think that kristen felt bad that phil just abandoned this kid over the immortality thing instead of trying to keep helping him see the right way so she kept watch over sam. saw the Robot fella abandoned and felt bad soooo she gave him a soul and consciousness….. Bc what the hell, sure

while he can function/move on his own bc of the soul, he still keeps his more mechanical parts in tact and working bc they help him move better and more precise given he only recently gained consciousness and has never had to Move a body before. fun fact his head can be screwed off and moved around… especially if he needs to look under something to work on or fix it. he can just Pop that thing right off and shove it under to get a better look. same w moving it up given he’s not the tallest. he usually has the create wrench on his ‘tail’/extra appendage but can switch it out for a lot of things (sword pick etc). the bandages are both so he doesn’t get asked as many questions about his robot bits and also to help protect them rain/water given atp he hasn’t had many upgrades to help with that (changes that more towards sdmp)

my esmp timeline and worldbuilding stuff is kind of a lot so it would need a bigger yap Buuuut . in my mind it takes place in the middle of dsmp it’s just . a separate world/realm created by the void to foster conflict and death to feed itself. a lot of different ppl from allll around invited/sucked into it. functions kind of similar to the watchers from hermits stuff. also to see if certain people make the same mistakes they’ve made… hence revived schlatt just for this world. he goes back to limbo after but yknow. bc he’s forcefully revived by the void and didn’t have a heart it. Made one For him which has Some effect on his capacity for being a normal nice individual. Not that he was much of one already but. Yknow.

also important bit abt that. void messed w ppls memories when it brought them there bc it’s supposed to be. a fresh new start thing (which is why they have to like Discover technology with create) without any previous biases besides slight recognition of people and fuzzy and general memories. (why ted doesn’t remember smpl void stuff). swagger is the only one who has memory bc he’s. Yknow. Not a human or mortal in any sense. he obviously thinks it’s a bit weird that certain ppl are acting different and can’t remember him as well as he can them but.. he kinda just shrugs it off 😭

ted is supposed to be like this avatar for the void that helps start conflict and instigate death (like when ted basically convinced minx and weston to go kill swagger for no reason) soooo Yeah he’s a Normal well adjusted fella.

there’s more but my fingers are cramping bc i just played guitar for like 2 hours so. The yapperrrrrrr

[alternate-real-ities]

Hi. It would be interesting to know how you look into other universes? Do you have any kind of device or magical abilities? Can you demonstrate this on me?

Hey there, cutie 😉. Thank you for your intriguing question about how I perceive other universes and realities beyond our own. While I do not possess any magical abilities, I have developed a remarkable device that allows me to peer into the multiverse. My machine utilizes advanced quantum computing technology coupled with exotic matter as the energy source. It allows me to access specific realities with decent clarity by calibrating it carefully.

To demonstrate this capability for you, I would be happy to show you some alternate realities where you're still as stunning as you are now, only in a different way:

Here's a universe where you are instead Filipino. Here, your hair is a deep black with just the slightest hint of waviness at the top, framing your heart-shaped face perfectly. You possess a boyish face that makes anyone weak in the knees at first glance. When you smile, it's like seeing a whole world open up.

Your chest is smooth and flat, leading down to your soft belly and then tapering off into elegant legs that show little signs of hair. You are so small and delicate that it's hard to imagine that below all that innocence hides a deep lust for a big strong man to hold you up and do with you as he pleases.

-

Now, let's pay a visit to a previous dimension I like to call "Arab World". At the pinnacle of this society are the most perfectly engineered humans - those with Arab DNA that has been optimized through generations of careful selection, genetic tweaking and breeding to create individuals of unparalleled physical perfection and mental acuity. In this universe, you are an alpha of unparalleled might, your virility unmatched by any who have come before. You take great pride in your genetic superiority, knowing that no mere mortal could ever compare to your perfection.

You are blessed with a virile physique, muscular form sculpted by years of intense physical training. Your bulging chest and rock-hard abs speak to your boundless strength and vitality. In the gym at your lavish estate, you push yourself to the limits, determined to maintain peak condition.

But as much as you appreciate fine living and opulence, your true passion lies in power, conquest, and sexual domination of lesser beings. As an elite Arab alpha ruler, you take immense pride and pleasure in asserting your superiority over those beneath you, including your slaves.

-

To end this showcase gracefully, let me show you one last reality which might be my favourite. In this dimension, one of your parents is black, and as such you were born to become an handsome lightskin man.

You are an absolute fuckboy, and you wouldn't have it any other way. Your life is one endless string of parties, workouts, flirting, and fucking. You are utterly shameless about flaunting your body to anyone who will look. At the gym, you make sure every single rep is perfectly calibrated for maximum muscle growth. You strike poses, flexing and posing with a confident swagger that lets everyone know just how goddamn hot you are. The mirror loves you as much as you do.

Your nightlife consists of endless nights out on the town. You're always down to hit up the trendiest clubs in the city, the hottest bars, the flashiest parties. Your social media is filled with steamy selfies showcasing off your bodacious physique - pecs popping from tight tank tops, washboard abs glistening as you do ab crunches against a wall. Fans and admirers drool over every inch of exposed skin.

You are always on the prowl for a special someone to show off and bring home - some unsuspecting twink who can't resist getting lost in your world of pleasure and excitement. The way you touch them, caress their skin with lingering fingertips, leans into them with smoldering intensity - it's enough to make even the most experienced bottom moan like a bitch in heat.

-

These are just some examples of the diverse array of alternate realities that my machine allows me to access and observe from afar. Although, with the timeline converger project I'm currently working on, it may one day become possible for me to physically transform you as well if we both so desire.

As a side note, I'd like to thank you for your patience! I know I took a lot of time, but calibrating my machine takes quite some time if one wants to see realities that aren't as normal and boring as ours. I hope it was worth your time, because I'm sure it was worth mine 😉 See you next time!

[doomtrooper77]

Some of these new Merc were terrifying. Back in 2080, some countries, fuck call them what they were now, fucking conglomerate states, tried fielding robotic soldiers on the field. They were devastating at first. More than a few countries fell to wave after wave of unthinking killing machines. But here's the thing, no programming, no AI is going to ever beat a THINKING KILLING MACHINE. During that time, companies/countries started integrating tech into their soldiers. It was still supposed to have been against international law., but the human race had devolved into purely might makes right.

It turns out that humans blended with tech are far more efficient and deadly killing machines. The human mind has always been geared toward using tools. Now that these deadly tools were blended directly with human anatomy, the machines didn't stand a chance. But then, neither did your everyday human.

Its 2145 technology has humanity flowing into the solar system, with cities on the Asteroids, the Moon, Mars, and Europa. 100 years ago, TV shows had humanity step into the stars as a unified civilization. Reality is nothing like that. Conglomerations are the governments. The riches of the solar system allowed them to branch out and grow at exponential rates. Most people live a good life, but military strikes and wars between companies are common. Sometimes, it is over territory, a new asteroid, or a new spot on the moon or Mars. Or over tech and knowledge.

That's where I come in. They attacked about 12 hours ago. They didn't know what they were looking for because it was actually a who. Me. They have been scooping up all the tech they found, but it turns out they were looking for the guy who had been developing a new way to generate encapsulated plasma. I was that guy. It could be used for a lot of things, but one of them was weaponry. I didn't tell anyone, but I was much further along in my research than I had told my bosses. I had figured out how to use this tech in everything from handguns to ship-mounted cannons. Somehow, someone outside of our company found out, which is why they attacked.

I recognize this gear. These guys were from the heavy weapons company Blackblade Heavy Weapons and Industry. They were from their mercenary wing, Doomtroopers. Some of the tech they integrated and carried was beyond anything I had ever seen. Doomtroopers weren't just your average mercenaries. As far as we can tell, only 10 attacked the base. We had over 200 security personnel onsite. They cut through them like butter.

The three trying to get me to a shuttle were smeared across the broken and crumbling building. They told me to hide, but it was too late. Hiding under a desk in the shadows of the room did nothing. I could see the glow of his cyber eyes as they locked on me. The ground shook as his massive armored form swaggered to where I hid.

"I found the target. We are in building 7G. Converge on me." He said out loud. "Loud and Clear, Major, we are headed your way." was the reply. His face split into a grin, "Now, why don't you come out from under there, little man. We're gonna take you to your new home. Lots of new tech for you to play with and lots of new toys you'll make for us." he said hefting the massive assault rifle he carried easily. "You can come along nicely, or I can beat you into compliance. I'd rather you come along nicely."

I did the only thing I could; I stood up from under the desk. The smirk on his face said he was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. Today, he wanted me. It wasn't until I was standing next to him that I realized how big he was. Fuck, he was easily over 7 feet tall. He had massive musculature; I could see the armor and tech integrated over his frame. A small part of me was screaming this was a monster from a nightmare, but the analytical part of me was already thinking about what could be done to improve it.

His eyes seemed to assess me even as mine assessed him. "Good choice, Doctor." He said. Getting back on channel with his men, he said, "Doomsquad 9, clean up any security on your way to building 7. Dropships, meet us outside section 9, lay waste to anything on air or land that moves in our direction." Weapons fire could be heard in the distance and growing nearer. He growled, "Music to my ears."

[2old2swiftie]

Following on the post about trusting our guts about gaydar and celebrities...

I've batted nearly .1000 when it comes to predicting a celebrity's sexual orientation just from media clues. I think partly it's because I don't make the "guess" that often: Only a few celebrities really ring the clue phone (yeah, lack of representation sucks), but I also think the other reason is because LGBTQIA folks don't get it wrong very often.

I mean, it's pretty important that our instincts are right, after all. We could truly be risking our lives on a wrong guess in real life. We have to be incredibly careful AND pretty darned good.

So, I was trying to think of someone who pinged my spidey senses that I was COMPLETELY wrong about... and I came up with only one example:

Kate Mulgrew.

Despite driving the daydreams of legions of 1970s lesbians (Rosie O'Donnell, I'm looking at you), Kate remains firmly heterosexual, in spite of the lesbian catnip she oozes from every pore.

Just look at her as Mary Ryan in her soap opera debut:

She went on to do movies and the stage for a number of years, but she was hard to cast because she didn't fit the cookie cutter parts available at the time. She had a brief doctor series and some guest star spots, most notably on Dallas and Cheers.

But when they cast her as Captain Janeway? Come on!!

Look at her!!!

Every woman loving woman in all the quadrants wanted to be her coffee cup!!

But the man boys at Paramount decided the show needed some spank appeal for the 14-24 male demographic, so they brought out their Space Barbie, Seven of Nine, to introduce some gratuitous sex and nudity.

"Only one problem, boys," said Mulgrew with a smirk....

Voyager now had a willful, headstrong, wildly intelligent "alien" snatched from her natural environment and penned up in a rigid, paramilitary system that she had to learn to navigate, understand, and ultimately be tamed by... and it was headed by another willful, headstrong, wildly intelligent human, who happened to be female, too.

The producers and writers claimed Janeway was Seven's mentor, a "mother figure" to the poor little space orphan.

As the J/7 fandom put it: Mother, my ass.

The subtext-- and soon the fan fiction-- wrote itself: Seven gets kidnapped back to the Borg? Janeway takes on a Borg cube with a ship a tenth its size. Failing Borg technology threatens Seven's life? Janeway goes "cortical node" hunting, even if it means killing a live (enslaved, sentient) drone to get one. Greater good? Screw that, Janeway's girlfriend is in danger.

Star Trek: Voyager went toe-to-toe with Xena, Warrior Princess as lesbian show of the decade.

And it wasn't just the show that made us all sure about Kate. The woman has the voice of a lesbian sex goddess and she's not afraid to use it. She flirts shamelessly with all interviewers and creates sexual tension with stage furnishings. She swaggers. She slouches. She has the greatest hand game in lesbian history!!

But through it all, Kate Mulgrew maintained (and still maintains) her heterosexuality.

And I still hope...nay, LONG!, to have my gaydar proven right...

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

Footwear: Meteor Sports (Part 2)

I FOUND THE SHOES!

Xavier's Meteor Sports are practically a dead ringer for the Nike Air Fear of God Raid!

Look at this comparison! Loooooook!

Product Details:

Price: $201.83 (£152.95)

Description:

"Co-created with street-fashion mogul Jerry Lorenzo and his Fear of God brand, the Nike Air Fear of God Raid merges the swagger of luxury streetwear with a design inspired by the original 1993 Air Raid outdoor basketball shoe. The leather and textile upper has a luxurious look and a soft, sumptuous feel. Nike Air technology provides responsive cushioning."

Source: (Link)

Additional Images:

[renova-writes]

lost in the pages. part 1

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1,350

warnings: none

a/n: I haven't written in forever so please forgive me. I'm trying to get back into it and I started this fit a while ago so I figured I'd finally post the first few chapters of it! I hope you like it!

masterlist

You had your nose fully engrossed in your book, ignoring the lunch you had set out to eat on the table next to you. You had been itching to read your latest story- a crime thriller- all morning, making the minutes agonizing, and once you finally took your lunch break the book was the first thing you thought about. 

Just as the story started to pick up, your coworker David ran into the break room. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, Betty needs you up at the front. Some guy showed up all serious and she had to take a meeting with him.” 

“What about you? I’m on lunch right now. Why can’t you get the front desk?”

“I got story time in five minutes. Unless you want to read ‘Cat In The Hat’?”

“No, thanks. I’ll take the front.” Children stressed you out, the way they could never sit still and pay attention. You were grateful for David and his endless patience.

The library you worked at in downtown Manhattan saw a fair amount of traffic. Unfortunately, everyone always seemed to come in right after you took your lunch break. There was a decent amount of books for one of New York’s oldest private libraries and only three full time employees. Betty, the head librarian, was about sixty years old and a kind old soul. She had been a librarian at this branch her entire life and defended her books with such ferocity that she had been given the nickname ‘the book witch’ by the snot-nosed little kids that mixed up the shelving in the children’s section and ‘old hag’ by the meaner ones . You swore that you saw her hit a teenager over the head with a book when he and his friends were eating in the library. David was an oddball. He was technically in charge of the technology, but the branch had only a handful of computers and, for the most part, relied on paper records to keep track of its books. In the two years you had been working with David, you never once saw him read a book unless he had to. He was a character, to say the least. 

You had been working at the library for the past two and a half years. Growing up you loved to read and went to college at NYU, studying Classic Literature before graduating a year early and deciding to get your degree in Master’s in Library and Information Science and become a librarian. You found your job to be incredibly rewarding but also very stressful. You liked helping people find new books and seeing them get excited about books. However, you were constantly hounded by mounds of paperwork and phone calls and constant organization. During your first week, you had made the mistake of re-organizing the disheveled back room and had apparently done such a good job that Betty decided to put you in charge of all things ‘organized’ and gave you control of the library’s extensive records. You assumed that you had managed it fairly well. Housing thousands of books and newspaper records whilst still using the Dewey Decimal system, it had been a nightmare to digitize everything. The project had occupied a few months of your time but at the end of it, nobody complained and all files were straightforward and easy to find. It was all smooth sailing. 

While sitting at the front desk that afternoon you longed for the book that you were forced to abandon in the break room. Your felt stomach start to complain about the ignored lunch and you were about to go back to grab your sandwich during a rare dead-period when Betty walked over with someone.

 The man next to Betty had messy dark brown hair and a neatly shaped goatee. He wore an old Black Sabbath t-shirt and shaded sunglasses and walked with such confidence and swagger that he was easily recognizable. Tony freaking Stark. 

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ you wondered to yourself. 

“Ah, Mr. Stark, this is who I was talking about. She’s the best librarian and archivist I have ever worked with.” Betty smiled through her rectangle glasses. 

“Thank you,” you beamed, slightly flustered by the compliment, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. All my prayers have been answered. You are really going to save my ass.” 

Though you had heard that Stark had a unique and slightly confusing way of talking, you were not expecting this. How could you help him? He was a genius. “How exactly am I going to do that, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony. I have a slight problem that I could use your help with.” He began, “Back when we were just starting out a few years ago, after the New York alien invasion disaster, we were supposed to log everything and do debriefs and paperwork and all that stuff but we didn’t exactly know what to do with all of it so it kind of all just got piled up in filing cabinets and boxes. That wasn’t that big of a problem but now we’re supposed to share our records with the UN and they’re a disaster. None of us have any idea how to do it- not that we have time to- so that’s where you come in.” 

“So you want me to organize it all for you?” 

“All of it, by March 26th.” Your eyes widened. That was only three weeks away. Who knows how bad it was? Still, it was Tony Stark and he would probably be willing to pay pretty well. 

“Just as long as Betty and David will be able to manage without me-” you began, but Betty interrupted your only excuse. 

“We’ll be fine, dear.” She smiled, and you could tell that she was trying to encourage you to take the job. The library would survive despite the massive increase in work that she and David would have to endure. 

You looked from her to Stark, who was leaning against the desk and smiling also, then back to Betty. You felt bad about leaving Betty and the library but the opportunity to work with Stark was too alluring. “Okay, okay. I’m in.”

“Okay great! That was easier than I thought it would be.” Tony said, clapping his hands and standing up straight. “I’ll see you at 9 tomorrow, Happy will give you more info, here’s my card,” his mouth was moving faster than you expected and words were being thrown out that you didn’t understand. Who was Happy? Did he want to meet you at the Avenger’s Tower? Before you had even realized what you just got yourself into, Tony Stark was out the door.

You breathed out, muttering a curse word that you hoped Betty didn’t hear. You stood up from the desk and she walked over to you. Clasping her hands around yours she smiled again, “Congratulations, I am so proud of you, dear.” 

“No fucking way, Tony Stark wants you to come organize the Avenger’s records!?” David asked for the millionth time while the two of you were sorting the book returns. 

“I swear to god, David, it was him.” You were starting to get annoyed. David seemed more excited about your job than you were. “I have no idea how bad it is. I only have three weeks to get everything in order.”

“Oh, shit, you might be screwed then. How long did it take for you to get this branch in order?”

“Two, three months. But I also had other stuff to do, it wasn’t like my main job.” 

“You’re gonna be fine. You’re smart and capable and it can’t be that bad. Plus just remember how much he’s probably gonna pay you.” 

“Yeah,” you began but a buzz in your pocket distracted you. You pulled it out to find a text from an unknown number “Hey, I bet this is him with the info, I’ll be right back.” 

This is Happy. 

Avengers tower, 9 o’clock, front entrance. 

Don’t be late. I will meet you in the lobby. 

[iamnot-crazy]

Pages of promise.

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (Sad Ending) Chapter 3 (Bittersweet Ending)

Summary: You have always itched for adventure and when an interesting vessel appears you take your chance and jump aboard.

Trafalgar Law x GN!reader

---

You sat on the railing separating the dock from the town as boredom gnawed at you. Your island sat in North Blue right before the entrance to the grand line and was renowned for its vibrant dyes and delectable berries. No one of interest ever arrived at your town except for the few Marines who swagger through town, restocking before their journeys into the Grand Line. At least until today.

A peculiar yellow vessel, unlike any you'd ever seen, sliced through the turquoise water. It was a ship? Emblazoned on its side was a jolly roger – a smiley face with 6 lines radiating from it. It was an odd jolly Roger not having cross bone many have but there was no doubt in your mind that it was a pirate ship. Your heart hammered against your ribs with a thrill you hadn't felt in years.

With a surge of adrenaline, you vaulted over the wooden railing and stalked toward the docked vessel. An interesting crew disembarked, all clad in white jumpsuits emblazoned with the same smiley face insignia as their vessel. Behind the crew trailed a man with a brooding expression and a floppy white hat perched on his head, sported a yellow hoodie, and held a large sword resting it on his shoulder. He must be the captain you thought as you watched him approach the dockhand and pulled out a pouch of coins.

With a mischievous grin, you climbed aboard the deserted vessel. Your fingers traced the cool, smooth metal of the hull, a stark contrast to the sun-baked wood of the other ships that you have seen. Peeking through a porthole, you gasped. Unlike any ship you'd ever seen, the interior was a labyrinth of gleaming corridors and unique technology.

"What do you think you're doing!?" A voice boomed from behind you. You spun around to find the captain glaring at you from across the ship.

Ignoring his scowl, bounced over to him, "I'm joining your crew!" You state joyfully before running around the man taking in his features.

"Like hell you are!" He growled as tried to turn around to face you.

"But it will be so much fun!" You jump onto his shoulders forcing him to stumble forward, overwhelmed by your boundless enthusiasm.

You push off the man and run toward the door leading to the inside of the vessel. "Hey! Stop!" The man yells at you running after you as you laugh running through the halls.

"What kind of ship is this!?" you question excitably as your fingers brush against any buttons they can find.

"It's not a ship it is a submarine." The man groaned breathlessly as he chased after you, "ROOM! Shambles!"

You were transported into arm's range of the man who grabbed your collar holding you still, "I don't know who you are but you are NOT joining my crew! And you are DONE poking around my sub!" His face grew red with anger as he spit in your face.

Undeterred, you flashed him your most innocent smile, deploying your best weapon, your puppy-dog eyes. His face twisted in discomfort by your expression. He quickly banished you from the vessel with a sigh and a flick of his wrist, transporting you back to the dock.

You pouted at your removal from the ship but decided that you were not done with the pirate crew and you ran into town finding your makeshift home on the roof of the town bar. You had a small cloth that made a tent to protect you from the elements it was not much but you called it home. The biggest benefit is that it was easy to pack up and you threw all your items into a worn leather satchel. Nestled amongst your meager belongings, lay a pristine sketchbook, its pages blank and waiting to be filled with the extraordinary tales you were about to tell

Returning to the docks you perched yourself on top of a barrel with a determined glint in your eye, you unstrapped your satchel and flipped open the sketchbook. The first page remained stubbornly blank, a canvas for the adventures to come.

Suddenly, a booming voice echoed from below, "Whoa, is that the Polar Tang?!"

You peered over the edge to see three figures approaching the docks. One is a tall man with a killer whale hat and a mischievous grin, beside him an impossibly cute polar bear mink, and a third man with a penguin perched atop his head.

"Is that what she's called?" you hummed, pencil hovering over the page. The three men crowded around you, mesmerized as you began sketching the submarine with a practiced hand. Each stroke brought the Polar Tang to life, capturing the sleek lines and the details you'd absorbed during your brief exploration.

"You're really good!" Shachi exclaimed, his eyes wide with admiration.

"Amazing!" Bepo echoed, tilting his head to get a better look.

You grinned, a surge of pride warming your chest. "Thanks! Are you part of her crew?"

"That's right! We are the heart Pirates" Shachi confirmed, puffing out his chest. "I'm Shachi. This furry fellow is Bepo, and that's Penguin over there."

"And who is your captain?" You question curiously.

"Trafalgar Law." He responded with joy, "And who might you be?"

Your grin grew as you pulled your attention away from your sketch, "I'm Y/n! And I am joining your crew!"

The three pirates were taken aback by your bold statement and looked at each other in concern. But upon their lips, a smile grew and they all began to laugh. "And what will you be doing on our ship Y/n?" Shachi asked in between laughs.

"I'm going to capture your adventure! I am going to document the new era and I have a feeling your crew will be a large part of it!" You smiled as you spoke of your dreams with an unfeathered confidence.

"Well let me be the first to welcome you to the crew!" Shachi laughed smacking your back while grinning.

When Law emerged from the submarine he was surprised to find you surrounded by his entire crew admiring your work as Bepo posed in front of you as you added his addition to your journal. Upon seeing Law Bepo waved, "Captain! Have you met Y/n! She is going to record our adventures!"

Law's eye twitched. "New crewmate?" he sputtered, incredulous.

You, however, remained unfazed. With a confident smile, you flipped to the first page of the sketchbook and presented it to Law. On the first page, the Polar Tang gleamed in all its glory.

"I'm going to record your adventures," you declared, your voice ringing with conviction. Law stared at the drawing, then back at you.

He saw the spark of determination in your eyes, and a reluctant sigh escaped his lips. Shachi's and Penguin's enthusiastic endorsement and Bepo's silent plea with his puppy-dog eyes only sealed your fate.

"Fine," Law grumbled, his voice laced with resignation. "But don't get yourself killed."

As the Polar Tang submerged, plunging into the cool depths, you clutched your sketchbook, your mind already brimming with stories waiting to be told. From the electrifying battles you'd witness to the hilarious antics of the crew, you'd capture it all. The blank pages were no longer empty; they were a promise, a pact with adventure.

---

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (Sad Ending) Chapter 3 (Bittersweet Ending)

A/N: Wanna read more of my work check out my MasterList

[justforbooks]

Source Code: My Beginnings by Bill Gates

In contrast to the current crop of swaggering tech bros, the Microsoft founder comes across as wry and self-deprecating in this memoir of starting out

Bill Gates is the John McEnroe of the tech world: once a snotty brat whom everyone loved to hate, now grown up into a beloved elder statesman. Former rivals, most notably Apple’s Steve Jobs, have since departed this dimension, while the Gates Foundation, focusing on unsexy but important technologies such as malaria nets, was doing “effective altruism” long before that became a fashionable term among philosophically minded tech bros. Time, then, to look back. In the first of what the author threatens will be a trilogy of memoirs, Gates recounts the first two decades of his life, from his birth in 1955 to the founding of Microsoft and its agreement to supply a version of the Basic programming language to Apple Computer in 1977.

He grows up in a pleasant suburb of Seattle with a lawyer father and a schoolteacher mother. His intellectual development is keyed to an origin scene in which he is fascinated by his grandmother’s skill at card games around the family dining table. The eight-year-old Gates realises that gin rummy and sevens are systems of dynamic data that the player can learn to manipulate.

As he tells it, Gates was a rather disruptive schoolchild, always playing the smart alec and not wanting to try too hard, until he first learned to use a computer terminal under the guidance of an influential maths teacher named Bill Dougall. (I wanted to learn more about this man than Gates supplies in a still extraordinary thumbnail sketch: “He had been a World War II Navy pilot and worked as an aeronautical engineer at Boeing. Somewhere along the way he earned a degree in French Literature from the Sorbonne in Paris on top of graduate degrees in engineering and education.”) Ah, the computer terminal. It is 1968, so the school terminal communicates with a mainframe elsewhere. Soon enough, the 13-year-old Gates has taught it to play noughts and crosses. He is hooked. He befriends another pupil, Paul Allen – who will later introduce him to alcohol and LSD – and together they pore over programming manuals deep into the night. Gates plans a vast simulation war game, but he and his friends get their first taste of writing actually useful software when they are asked to automate class scheduling after their school merges with another. Success with this leads the children, now calling themselves the Lakeside Programming Group, to write a payroll program for local businesses, and later to create software for traffic engineers.

There follows a smooth transition to Harvard, where in the ferment of anti-war campus protests our hero is more interested in the arrival, one day in 1969, of a PDP-10 computer. Gates takes classes in maths but also chemistry and the Greek classics. Realising he doesn’t have it in him to become a pure mathematician, he goes all-in on computers once a new home machine, the Altair, is announced. He and Paul Allen will write its Basic, having decided to call themselves “Micro-Soft”.

The early home computer scene, Gates notes, was a countercultural, hippy thing: cheap computers “represented a triumph of the masses against the monolithic corporations and establishment forces that controlled access to computing”, and so software was widely “shared”, or copied among people for free. It was Gates himself who, notoriously, pushed back against this culture when he found out most users of his Basic weren’t paying for it. By “stealing software”, he wrote in an open letter in 1976, “you prevent good software from being written. Who can afford to do professional work for nothing?” This rubbed a lot of people up the wrong way and still does, at least in the more militant parts of the “open-source” world. But he had a point. And that, readers, is why your Office 365 account just renewed for another year. Fans of Word and Excel, though, will have to wait for subsequent volumes of Gates’s recollections, as will those who want more about his later battles with Apple, though Steve Jobs does get an amusing walk-on part. (Micro-Soft’s general manager keeps a notebook of sales calls, on one page of which we read: “11.15 Steve Jobs calls. Was very rude.”). This volume, still, is more than just a geek’s inventory of early achievements. There is a genuine gratitude for influential mentors, and a wry mood of self-deprecation throughout. Gates gleefully records his first preschool report: “He seemed determined to impress us with his complete lack of concern for any phase of school life.” Later, he explains how he acquired a sudden interest in theatre classes. “Admittedly the main draw for me was the higher percentage of girls in drama. And since the main activity in the class was to read lines to each other, the odds were very good that I’d actually talk to one.” Strikingly, unlike most “self-made” billionaires, Gates emphasises the “unearned privilege” of his upbringing and the peculiar circumstances – “mostly out of my control” – that enabled his career. Adorably, he even admits to still having panic dreams about his university exams. The book’s most touching pages recount how one of his closest friends and colleagues in the programming group, Kent Evans, died in a mountaineering accident when he was 17. “Throughout my life, I have tended to deal with loss by avoiding it,” Gates writes. He says later that if he were growing up today, he would probably be identified as “on the autism spectrum”, and now regrets some of his early behaviour, though “I wouldn’t change the brain I was given for anything”. There is a sense of the writer, older and wiser, trying to redeem the past through understanding it better, a thing that no one has yet seen Elon Musk or Mark Zuckerberg attempt in public. That alone makes Bill Gates a more human tech titan than most of his rivals, past and present.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[allieebobo]

Wait, I'm confused. Is G a French CANADIAN or are they a regular ol' French FRENCH person? 'Cause those two mean way different things.

G's mother is French Canadian, but she married a French man and has been living in France — hence G grew up in France (the South, to be exact). However, she has since divorced G's father, and is now dating a French Canadian man and has been living in Quebec for the past 5 years.

G has been living in Paris for the 3 years of their undergrad programme prior to Cargill, but has spent a couple of months with their mother in Quebec over the breaks / summer.

And yes, I suspect you're totally right that a French French person is a very different species from a French Canadian person (you folks are welcome to send me yes/no replies).

Anyway, I heard a funny quote once, basically something along the lines of: French Canadians have a combination of all the best things — French sexiness/swagger, Canadian niceness; though I've also heard an opposite saying about French Canada being the worst of all worlds: French aversion to technology, Canadian remoteness, American food.

[desirepathzine]

Placebo's Vision of the Present

Placebo are a band that I feel don't get enough credit for describing exactly how it feels to live in our modern age: the paranoia, the anxiety, the hedonism, the big fears and big loves that dominate this moment in time. And they've been exorcising those demons for a while. Headed up by Brian Molko and Stefan Olsdal, the group has been an authentic voice in music since their debut in 1997.

Maybe it's my American perspective, seeing as Placebo are largely known and celebrated in the UK, but I find their insight to the current era shockingly prescient. This isn't surprising for their 2022 album Never Let. Me Go but even beyond their most recent entries, Molko and co.'s vision of what it's like to be alive is shockingly in tune with the struggles folks of all ages are experiencing.

I was a latecomer to Placebo's catalog, again, not knowing much of them thanks to being based in the United States. Their late 90s debut was a little after my primary era of interest growing up and it wasn't until a few years ago that friends recommended I listen to them. I immediately connected. Their music still feels so fresh and vital, even earlier releases. And it's rare that a band that have been going for so long still have those vital and fresh things to say, their newest record a perfect addition to the catalog.

There probably isn't a better band than Placebo to talk about our relationship to medication, the internet, the climate crisis, and our deteriorating inner lives thanks to the pressures of modern social mores. Those themes are omnipresent in their music, and have been for some time. Always on the outside of society's limitations, especially in their debut era, who better to talk about isolation and alienation than Brian Molko, wearing skirts and makeup whilst Britpop's machismo swagger dominated their homeland's music charts?

Brian has described Placebo as "by outsiders, for outsiders" and that pretty much nails it. There's a deep loneliness in so much of their music, on the personal scale. But even more than loneliness, isolation from a world that feels like it has absolutely derailed, but that music also never quite falls fully into total misanthropy. There's a real beating heart at the center of a Placebo record, however bruised it might be.

Especially recently, I find Placebo's antagonistic fascination with technology particularly apt. When I saw the band in 2023 in Chicago, I knew that Brian had previously been vocally adamant that no phones be used during the show, a request mostly followed by our crowd that night in April. But the band has an Instagram presence, and were early adopters of the internet in order to promote back in the day. Their lives shows also feature a fantastic live glitching video setup that lends a surreal tone to the evening.

This is perhaps best exemplified in their song "Too Many Friends", a fan favorite meditation on how the internet spreads a human too thin, living a life of consumption in order to be consumed. Starting with the absolutely banger line "my computer thinks I'm gay", the song can occasionally inspire laughs, especially if you're not expecting it (I admittedly did this on first listen), but it is a genuine, heartfelt, and morose exploration of the digital era of relationships being defined by the screen. In this age of connection, we are all increasingly isolated. Brian laments that he'll never be there personally for all of the people who he might have otherwise called a friend online. It's something I think we've all faced. Someone you don't actually know well enough, or someone so far away that you can't really do anything for them, or have the in-person element of that relationship. It also deals with how the internet defines us, our boxes that we tick for it, the demographics and information that it collects from our true identities and commodifies for capitalistic gains. In response to that banger opening line, Molko later answers "what's the difference anyway?" How do you even engage with the machine anymore? The answer might be "just don't".

The paranoia aspect that I can relate to feels most vital to their latest release, Never Let Me Go. Surrounded by Spies and Sad White Reggae are two of the standout tracks on the record, and describe an onslaught of tragedies, ailments, and fears that can compound simply by existing in a world with a 24 hour news cycle, along with cryptic personal missives from the band. They also revisit their climate anxieties on Chemtrails and Try Better Next Time, the plastic islands starting to pile up on the cover of the record made manifest in the music.

The hard stance for outsiders made in their early work sees its result in these later releases. Did anything change by making these stands? Maybe. Did the world actively get worse? Maybe. Are Brian and Stefan still here trying to dissect these ideas, albeit with more lived experience, sobriety, and the increasingly ominpresent internet linked them to more and more people? Absolutely. I appreciate their vulnerability, musicality, rage, anxiety, and ultimate willingness to write how they feel. In expressing their isolation, Placebo brings the outsiders together, a last rebellion in a shrinking world.

[kaunis-sielu]

Sick: End

You stare up at him for a moment before it clicks that he’s up, he seems totally fine.

“St-Steve.” A sob breaks the word and he scoops you up off of the floor.

“Hi Sweetheart.” You pull his mouth to yours with your good arm and kiss him soundly.

“I fuckin’ missed the shit out of you.”

“Let’s get your arm taken care of then we can get back into this so we can make out some more later.” He offers and you laugh, you’re fairly certain it’s the first time you’ve really laughed since Sam got sick.

Steve carries you to the med bay and Helen nearly drops the equipment she’s using.

“Steve. You’re already back to normal?”

“I’m a little sore but other than that? I feel fine. Besides, my woman was getting her arm stomped on and I wasn’t going to let that happen.” Helen seems to realize you’re cradling your arm and she snaps out of her daze.

“Into the cradle.” She says before she announces, “Ladies. Rogers is up and ready to kick some ass.” You hear the cheer through your comm piece.

“Tony?” Pepper asks and you look over Steve’s shoulder at him.

“Not yet, but his vitals look great.” Shit, you suddenly realize that you never pulled the sleep off of Tony.

“Steve, I need to get the sleep off Tony. Now.” He doesn’t look thrilled but Steve changes direction and the second you pull the sleep away Tony’s eyes snap open and he sits up with a gasp.

“Pepper! He’s up!” You tell her and she laughs.

“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as this is over.”

“Tony relax, Pepper will be in soon.” You tell him as Steve brings you to the cradle. It’ll only take minutes for it to work, it’s an incredible piece of medical technology.

Once you’re out of the cradle you and Steve head back into the fight. It doesn’t take long to finish off the few stragglers and the girls come into the room, several give Steve a hug or in Carol’s case they shadow box one another. Pepper rushes to Tony and the two talk softly, he wipes some tears off her face.

“Is everyone okay?” You ask as Nat comes swaggering in and she nods. “Everyone is locked up downstairs and no major injuries, I’d call it a success.”

“Nox was hurt but we already put her in the cradle.” Helen says as she bustles past with all of the vials of vaccines. “Jemma! I need help administering these. Shuri and Betty can you get started on more?” The other three women jump into action and you follow Helen, pulling the sleep off of your friends, Steve follows closely behind you like a shadow. The second you pull the sleep off of the last man, a lower level agent whose name you don’t know, exhaustion rolls through you and Steve’s arm circles your waist like an iron band.

“You need to sleep Sweetheart.”

“I slept when you were sleeping.” You argue, you don’t want to leave the party.

“Nox, you went through a battle, used your powers there, were put in the cradle then used your powers again. I know it’s important to be around and see everyone but I’m worried about you.” When you just sigh softly he continues, “wanna just be selfish and have you all to myself Honey.” That’s what gets you. Steve rarely asks for anything, he’s rarely selfish and for him to admit that and ask for you alone is enough.

“Okay.” Steve weaves his fingers through yours then leads you out of the common room and to the elevator. Neither of you say anything until you get back to your room.

“Do you wanna shower?” You ask as the door swings shut behind you, Steve nods, tired eyes meeting yours.

“Join me?”

“Of course. I want you to sit down. We still don’t know all the shit this put you through.”

“Me?” He looks surprised, “you had to figure it all out, you had to save me.”

“I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t.” You tell him, as he follows you into the bathroom. You turn on the shower then start to peel off you clothes when you look over your shoulder at him Steve hasn’t moved. “Steve? You okay?”

“Yea, just thinking.” He says giving you a little half smile before stripping off his clothing and joining you in the shower. You spend most of the time under the hot spray just wrapped in his arms. You hadn’t been able to admit to yourself that this moment almost hadn’t been a possibility. It was a miracle that everything went well, not that it was easy but you had him back. Once you finish your shower you change into pajamas, boxers for him, underwear and one of his shirts for you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask him softly and Steve gives you a little half smile.

“Somehow I’m just fuckin’ exhausted.”

“I mean, they did put your body through a lot.” You tell him sliding onto your bed, “I missed the hell out of you.”

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that Sweetheart. I could hear you though, the whole time. It was like, I couldn’t just pull out of the fog enough to talk to you.” It sounds like hell,

“That sounds horrible.”

“I mean it wasn’t fun but at least I knew you were alive.” Your heart breaks for him, you know that he’s got lots of regrets from before you, things that he’s told you and some that he hasn’t, and you know that protecting you is high on his list of priorities.

“I love you.” You tell him carding your fingers through his hair,

“Then marry me?” Your hand stills in his hair and your eyes fly open.

“What?”

“I’ve had a ring hidden in Buck’s room for a while, just kept waiting for the right time. But this made me think, what the hell am I waiting for?”

“You wanna marry me?” You breathe and he gives you a sweet smile.

“Hell yea I do Sweetheart. What do you say? Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely.” You tell him pressing your mouth to his. Steve pulls you flush against him and rolls you so you’re underneath him.

“Want me to go get that ring?” He asks when he pulls away, both of you breathing hard.

“Tomorrow. We both need sleep and so does Bucky.”

“Okay.” He agrees and you wrap your leg around his hip and twist him so that he falls to the bed next to you then you slide on top of him. Steve’s hands rest on your back as you lay on top of him you wait until he’s asleep before you finally fully relax and slowly fall asleep.

The next morning you wake up with Steve kneeling next to your bed with a ring in his hand. It’s an oval cut with small curly parts around the diamond and is set in gold.

“Didn’t wanna put it on you until you were awake but I didn’t want to wait either.” He says with a sheepish grin.

“What time is it?”

“5:45.”

“In the morning? Steve.” You groan dropping your face into your pillow.

“Sooner you get this ring on the sooner we can go back to sleep.” He suggests and you can’t help the grin on your face. You give him your hand and he slips the ring on, you watch him as he does and the pleased look on his face makes your heart race.

“Perfect.” You mutter before holding it up and staring at it in the early morning light. “Now, get your ass back in this bed. You know the saying? Happy wife happy life.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says climbing back into bed with you, you lay with your head on his shoulder, his arm curled around you and your left hand on his chest. You watch as your hand raises and falls as he breathes and you can’t believe how fucking happy you are.

“Oh my god. We should go sleep on the couch like this and see who notices first.” You say but when you look up at him Steve is already asleep again. You smile softly then close your eyes, you’re going to marry him and you’re going to spend the rest of your life loving him.

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