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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months ago

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China hacked Verizon, AT&T and Lumen using the FBI’s backdoor

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

State-affiliated Chinese hackers penetrated AT&T, Verizon, Lumen and others; they entered their networks and spent months intercepting US traffic – from individuals, firms, government officials, etc – and they did it all without having to exploit any code vulnerabilities. Instead, they used the back door that the FBI requires every carrier to furnish:

https://www.wsj.com/tech/cybersecurity/u-s-wiretap-systems-targeted-in-china-linked-hack-327fc63b?st=C5ywbp&reflink=desktopwebshare_permalink

In 1994, Bill Clinton signed CALEA into law. The Communications Assistance for Law Enforcement Act requires every US telecommunications network to be designed around facilitating access to law-enforcement wiretaps. Prior to CALEA, telecoms operators were often at pains to design their networks to resist infiltration and interception. Even if a telco didn't go that far, they were at the very least indifferent to the needs of law enforcement, and attuned instead to building efficient, robust networks.

Predictably, CALEA met stiff opposition from powerful telecoms companies as it worked its way through Congress, but the Clinton administration bought them off with hundreds of millions of dollars in subsidies to acquire wiretap-facilitation technologies. Immediately, a new industry sprang into being; companies that promised to help the carriers hack themselves, punching back doors into their networks. The pioneers of this dirty business were overwhelmingly founded by ex-Israeli signals intelligence personnel, though they often poached senior American military and intelligence officials to serve as the face of their operations and liase with their former colleagues in law enforcement and intelligence.

Telcos weren't the only opponents of CALEA, of course. Security experts – those who weren't hoping to cash in on government pork, anyways – warned that there was no way to make a back door that was only useful to the "good guys" but would keep the "bad guys" out.

These experts were – then as now – dismissed as neurotic worriers who simultaneously failed to understand the need to facilitate mass surveillance in order to keep the nation safe, and who lacked appropriate faith in American ingenuity. If we can put a man on the moon, surely we can build a security system that selectively fails when a cop needs it to, but stands up to every crook, bully, corporate snoop and foreign government. In other words: "We have faith in you! NERD HARDER!"

NERD HARDER! has been the answer ever since CALEA – and related Clinton-era initiatives, like the failed Clipper Chip program, which would have put a spy chip in every computer, and, eventually, every phone and gadget:

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

America may have invented NERD HARDER! but plenty of other countries have taken up the cause. The all-time champion is former Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, who, when informed that the laws of mathematics dictate that it is impossible to make an encryption scheme that only protects good secrets and not bad ones, replied, "The laws of mathematics are very commendable, but the only law that applies in Australia is the law of Australia":

https://www.zdnet.com/article/the-laws-of-australia-will-trump-the-laws-of-mathematics-turnbull/

CALEA forced a redesign of the foundational, physical layer of the internet. Thankfully, encryption at the protocol layer – in the programs we use – partially counters this deliberately introduced brittleness in the security of all our communications. CALEA can be used to intercept your communications, but mostly what an attacker gets is "metadata" ("so-and-so sent a message of X bytes to such and such") because the data is scrambled and they can't unscramble it, because cryptography actually works, unlike back doors. Of course, that's why governments in the EU, the US, the UK and all over the world are still trying to ban working encryption, insisting that the back doors they'll install will only let the good guys in:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/05/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography/

Any back door can be exploited by your adversaries. The Chinese sponsored hacking group know as Salt Typhoon intercepted the communications of hundreds of millions of American residents, businesses, and institutions. From that position, they could do NSA-style metadata-analysis, malware injection, and interception of unencrypted traffic. And they didn't have to hack anything, because the US government insists that all networking gear ship pre-hacked so that cops can get into it.

This isn't even the first time that CALEA back doors have been exploited by a hostile foreign power as a matter of geopolitical skullduggery. In 2004-2005, Greece's telecommunications were under mass surveillance by US spy agencies who wiretapped Greek officials, all the way up to the Prime Minister, in order to mess with the Greek Olympic bid:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_wiretapping_case_2004%E2%80%9305

This is a wild story in so many ways. For one thing, CALEA isn't law in Greece! You can totally sell working, secure networking gear in Greece, and in many other countries around the world where they have not passed a stupid CALEA-style law. However the US telecoms market is so fucking huge that all the manufacturers build CALEA back doors into their gear, no matter where it's destined for. So the US has effectively exported this deliberate insecurity to the whole planet – and used it to screw around with Olympic bids, the most penny-ante bullshit imaginable.

Now Chinese-sponsored hackers with cool names like "Salt Typhoon" are traipsing around inside US telecoms infrastructure, using the back doors the FBI insisted would be safe.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/07/foreseeable-outcomes/#calea

Image: Kris Duda, modified https://www.flickr.com/photos/ahorcado/5433669707/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #calea #lawful interception #backdoors #keys under doormats #cold war 2.0 #foreseeable outcomes #jerry berman #greece #olympics #snowden

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reality-detective · 2 months ago

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FBI Orchestrated January 6th to Destroy Trump’s Patriots – U.S. Army Special Forces Veteran Jeffrey McKellop Exposes the Deep State’s Dark Plan!

January 6th wasn’t a spontaneous event—it was a trap. A carefully planned operation by the deep state, designed to destroy Trump’s patriots. Jeffrey McKellop, a decorated U.S. Army Special Forces veteran, has become a political prisoner, locked away by the very government he defended for over 30 years. His story proves the conspiracy to dismantle Trump’s movement and silence anyone who dares to challenge the deep state.

The truth they don’t want you to know? Capitol Police didn’t fail that day—they engineered the chaos. McKellop witnessed it firsthand. An elderly woman was pushed down the stairs three times, sparking the crowd exactly as planned. It was a deliberate move to provoke violence, giving the feds an excuse to brand patriots as domestic terrorists. This was no accident—it was orchestrated.

McKellop has been brave enough to raise the Entrapment Defense, exposing undercover FBI agents who infiltrated the crowd. These agents weren’t just watching—they were inciting the crowd, baiting patriots into confrontations with the police. McKellop has already identified two agents, and the FBI is scrambling to cover it up. They know if the truth gets out, their entire narrative collapses.

The FBI, DOJ, and Capitol Police worked together in this coordinated takedown. They needed January 6th to paint Trump’s base as extremists and justify their assault on patriots. McKellop’s case is unraveling their plot. He’s been imprisoned for over three years, subjected to solitary confinement, psychological abuse, and forced to sign documents to absolve his captors. But they haven’t broken him.

McKellop is calling on patriots to stand firm, reject plea deals, and fight back. The Supreme Court is on our side, and his case could expose the deep state’s role in orchestrating January 6th. This isn’t just about McKellop—it’s about the return of Donald Trump. The deep state is terrified of Trump’s comeback in 2024. They know what’s coming: a total purge of the DOJ, FBI, and the corrupt institutions behind this attack.

Trump will not let this stand. When he returns, executive pardons will free every political prisoner, including McKellop. And the deep state operatives who tried to destroy America will face justice.

This is a war for America’s future. The elites tried to destroy Trump’s supporters, but they’ve only made us stronger. McKellop’s fight is just the beginning. The truth is coming, and nothing can stop it.

Trump is coming back, and with him, the reckoning they fear. Stand with McKellop. Stand with Trump. 🤔

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brunchable · 4 months ago

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The Stakeout - Day 1 || Steve Rogers × Agent!FReader

Day Two Words: 4.1K Themes/Warnings: Unspoken feelings towards each other. Growing tension. Sexual Attraction. Eventual Smut. Being stuck with each other. Summary: You've been assigned to do a stakeout with Steve for 5 days. Your accommodation: a cramped room with one mattress and a table with two rickety chairs. A/N: This is the tone setter. Steve's POV will always be at the end, and it'll be in 1st person. I don't have a tag list so. . .let me know if you want to be kept updated.

Steve Rogers pushed open the door to the small, dimly lit apartment, scanning the room with a soldier's eye. The place was a far cry from what you’re both used to—a single, cramped room with barely enough space to move around.

You stepped in from behind him, your eyes taking in your temporary home. The first thing that greets you is the unmistakable scent of “eau de mildew” mixed with a hint of something burnt—probably dinner from three tenants ago. The wallpaper is peeling off in a way that makes you wonder if it’s trying to escape, revealing patches of cracked plaster that look like a map of an unknown, crumbling country.

The carpet is a masterpiece of stains, each one telling a story you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know. It’s so worn down that you can almost see the floorboards underneath, which might actually be an improvement.

The lighting is dim, with a single, flickering bulb that casts just enough light to make the shadows in the corners look even more menacing. In the middle of the room sits a mattress that looks like it was dragged out of a dumpster and lost the fight. It’s lumpy in all the wrong places, sagging in a way that suggests it has long given up on supporting anything heavier than a guilty conscience.

The only other furniture consists of two rickety chairs that look like they’re competing to see which one can collapse first. They wobble precariously even when they’re empty, as if they’re just waiting for the right moment to give up entirely.

The kitchen is a museum of outdated appliances, each one looking like it’s plotting against you. The stove has a layer of grease so thick it could probably survive a nuclear blast, and the sink faucet drips with the rhythm of a horror movie soundtrack.

You glance at the bathroom door, which is hanging slightly off its hinges, and decide that whatever’s in there can stay there. The mirror is so cloudy that it’s practically a portal to another dimension, and you’re pretty sure the toilet is older than Captain America.

The windows are streaked with grime, and one is patched with what looks like ancient duct tape. As you take it all in, you can’t help but think that the apartment is less a living space and more a haunted house that’s too tired to actually scare anyone.

“Cozy,” you muttered, trying to inject some humor into the situation. But even you couldn’t hide the discomfort in your voice, “If these walls could talk, they'd probably ask for a lawyer.”

Steve looked at the walls and instinctively covered his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the chuckle that slipped through—the urge to laugh bubbling up inside him.

The apartment was a disaster, a place so far beyond repair that it almost seemed comical in its neglect. And yet, it wasn’t the state of the place that got to him; it was you. He could already sense the sharp comment forming on your lips.

Steve had always known you for your back-handed comments—remarkably clever, often brutally honest, and always perfectly timed. You had a knack for finding just the right words to undercut a situation, leaving everyone around you—Tony Stark included—scrambling for a retort. And in moments like these, even in a rundown apartment that could make the bravest Avenger cringe, you managed to make Steve smile, reminding him just why you were the perfect partner.

“It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got for the next five days.” Steve turned to you, his expression apologetic.

“I've had worse.” You shrugged, tossing your bag onto the table. “At least the cockroaches seem to have packed up and left.”

You had worked together countless times before, but this was different. The close quarters, the extended time alone—usually you have the luxury to be in different rooms.

“I can sleep on the floor. You take the mattress.” Steve said, his eyes drifted to the double-bed size mattress on the floor.

Your eyebrows shot up. “And have you waking up with a bad back on day one? No way. We can both fit.”

“I don’t mind the floor. Really.” Steve hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

“We’re both adults, Steve. It’s just sleeping. We’ll make it work.” You crossed your arms, giving him a determined look.

He finally relented with a sigh. “Alright, if you say so.”

You spent the next few minutes in silence, each of you slipping into the familiar rhythm of setting up, though the state of the apartment made even the simplest tasks a challenge. The floorboards groaned underfoot with every step, and you had to be careful where you placed your equipment, wary of the spots that felt like they might give way entirely. The walls, pocked with holes and uneven surfaces, made it nearly impossible to secure the cameras properly; more than once, you found yourself muttering under your breath as the adhesive strips refused to stick, sliding down the peeling wallpaper as if in protest.

“Stick, you stupid tape!” you grumbled, pressing the strip back against the wall with more force than necessary, only to watch it slowly peel away once more. The tape seemed to be mocking you at this point, and your frustration was reaching a peak. But at the end, you made it work, as long as the equipment is working—you tell yourself.

The stakeout had reached that inevitable point where the monotony had set in. Hours of staring at surveillance footage had taken its toll, and both you and Steve were in desperate need of a break.

"Alright," you declared, tossing the deck of Uno cards between you. "We need something to keep me from going crazy."

Steve raised an eyebrow, looking at the cards with a mix of skepticism and amusement. "Uno? Seriously?"

"Come on," you teased, sitting cross-legged on the floor and motioning for him to join you. "It’s a classic. Plus, I promise not to go easy on you."

"I’d be disappointed if you did." Steve chuckled as he took a seat across from you, leaning in just slightly as he settled down.

"Good. I wouldn’t want to let you down.” You grinned, shuffling the deck with practiced ease.

The game started off lighthearted enough, with both of you trading cards and quips in equal measure. But as the game progressed, you couldn’t help but notice Steve’s hand growing increasingly full of cards, while yours remained relatively manageable.

"Got something against me, Y/N?" Steve asked, his tone playful as he drew yet another card from the deck. His hand was practically bursting with a rainbow of colors, and you couldn’t hide your grin.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you replied innocently, sliding another card onto the pile—a +4. "Just playing the game. Fair and square."

"Another +4? You sure this isn’t personal?" Steve stared at the card, then at you, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, your smile turning teasing. "What if it is, Rogers? Think you can handle me?"

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "I can handle a lot of things, but you might be more than I bargained for."

You laughed softly, enjoying the banter. "I’ve been told I’m a handful."

"That’s one way to put it," he muttered, drawing four more cards with an exaggerated sigh. His amount of cards was now so large that he had to hold it in both hands, and you could see the struggle on his face as he tried to keep his composure.

The next round, you drew yet another +4 card, and Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief as you placed it down with a flourish.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he said, shaking his head, "Are you sure you’re not stacking the deck?"

"I would never," you replied, feigning shock. "It’s just pure luck."

"Pure luck, huh?" Steve shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If this keeps up, I’m going to need another hand just to hold all these."

You leaned back, giving him a playful look. "You know, Steve, if it’s getting too much for you, you could always forfeit. I wouldn’t judge you. Much."

He met your gaze, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I’m not giving up that easily. But if I win, I expect some proper appreciation."

"Appreciation?" you echoed, amused. "What do you have in mind?"

He shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. "Maybe something that shows you really understand what it’s like to lose to me."

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. "Careful what you wish for, old man. I might just surprise you."

By the time you dropped yet another +4 card, Steve threw his hands up in defeat. "That’s it! I’m calling it—this game is rigged!"

You were laughing so hard that you could barely speak. "It’s not rigged! You’re just—oh man, I can’t even—"

Steve couldn’t help but start laughing too, the ridiculousness of the situation finally breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

"I can’t believe I’m losing this badly at Uno," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "To you, of all people."

You leaned back, still chuckling. "Hey, I’m just that good."

He gave you a playful glare, but there was no hiding the smile on his face. "Remind me never to play cards with you again."

"Afraid of losing?" you teased, leaning a bit closer, your voice dipping into something softer, more suggestive.

"Afraid of getting a hand full of +4s," he corrected, still grinning. "You’re ruthless."

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "All’s fair in Uno and war, Rogers."

He shook his head, still laughing, as he began gathering up the cards. That’s when he noticed something odd—a few extra +4 cards peeking out from under where you were sitting. His eyes narrowed, as he zeroed in on the cards.

"Wait a minute," Steve said, his voice laced with suspicion as he pointed to the cards. "What’s that?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly tried to shift, but Steve was faster, leaning forward and grabbing the edge of one of the cards sticking out from beneath you. You immediately tried to cover it up, sitting down harder to keep him from seeing the whole stack of +4s you had hidden.

"Nothing!" you blurted out, trying not to laugh as you squirmed to keep the cards hidden. But Steve’s grin only widened as he tugged on the card, the two of you now playfully wrestling over it.

"Nothing, huh?" he teased, managing to pull one of the cards free. "You’ve been cheating this whole time!"

You burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. "I couldn’t resist! You should’ve seen your face every time I drew a +4!"

Steve wasn’t giving up, though. He leaned in closer, trying to snatch the remaining cards from you. "I knew it! I knew there was no way you could’ve drawn that many +4s!"

Still laughing, you tried to twist away, but Steve was persistent, his hands now playfully wrestling with yours as he tried to pry the cards from your grasp.

"Alright, alright!" you finally gasped, surrendering the cards as you fell back into a fit of giggles.

Steve held up the extra +4 cards triumphantly, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

You wiped tears from your eyes, still giggling. "I’m sorry, but it was just too easy. I didn’t think you’d actually fall for it!"

"I’ll get you back for this, you know."

You flashed him a teasing smile. "I’m counting on it, Rogers."

“Yeah, yeah—let's get back to work.”

× × × ×

As night fell, you settled into your positions by the small window that overlooked the building you both were surveilling. Steve had the binoculars up, his posture rigid and focused. You sat beside him, close enough to see the reflection of his serious expression in the glass.

The target this time was Elias Novak, a crime boss who had been operating under the radar for years. He wasn’t just any criminal—Novak was careful, methodical, and always seemed to be two steps ahead of the authorities. But the intel they’d received suggested that Novak was planning something big, something that could have far-reaching consequences if they didn’t act quickly.

For weeks now, whispers had been circulating about a major arms deal in the works, with Novak at the center of it. The specifics were still murky—where the weapons were coming from, who they were being sold to—but one thing was clear: if the deal went through, it could unleash chaos. Weapons of that scale and sophistication in the wrong hands could destabilize regions, spark conflicts, or worse.

“Anything?” you asked quietly, not wanting to break his concentration.

“Not yet,” he replied, his voice a low rumble.

You leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view yourself. Without thinking, you placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder to balance yourself as you leaned in. The sudden contact made Steve freeze for a moment, but he didn’t move, his focus still on the building across the street.

You didn’t notice the slight tension in his body as you peered through the binoculars. The movement brought you even closer, your shoulder brushing against his arm.

“Let me see,” you murmured, your breath brushing against Steve’s ear as you took the binoculars from him.

You adjusted the focus, squinting into the lens. “Hm, odd,” you said, your tone slightly disappointed.

You handed the binoculars back to him, but instead of moving away, you stayed where you were, still leaning against him slightly. Steve took the binoculars, his fingers brushing your for a brief moment, sending a spark of electricity through you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, pretending to be absorbed in the task at hand. Finally, you realized how close you were and pulled back, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“Sorry,” you said, your cheeks slightly flushed. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

Steve shook his head quickly. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

You nodded, but the moment of closeness had left you slightly off-balance. You resumed your watch, but both of you were acutely aware of the other’s presence.

Eventually, you decided to call it a night. You changed into your sleepwear first, turning your back to Steve for some semblance of privacy in the open room. When you turned around, you found him already settled on one side of the mattress, his broad frame taking up more space than he probably intended.

You slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. The proximity was inevitable, and you both tried to ignore it, lying stiffly side by side, your shoulders almost touching.

“Goodnight,” you said softly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make yourself relax.

“Goodnight,” Steve replied, his voice equally tense. Minutes ticked by, and neither of you could sleep.

Finally, you sighed, breaking the quiet. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

Steve chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that made your chest tighten. “Yeah, it might be.”

You smiled, turning your head slightly to look at him. In the dim light, you could see the outline of his face, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, just like yours had been moments before.

“We’ll get through it,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Steve turned his head to meet your gaze, his expression softening. “Always do.”

There’s a pause, and you decide to lighten the mood a little more. You grin mischievously, knowing it’s a little ridiculous but hoping it’ll ease the tension.

“Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

He laughs, and it’s a genuine sound that makes your own smile widen. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

“Might want to sleep with one eye open,” you tease.

“I think I can manage that,” he says, his voice lighter now, more relaxed. You can tell that your little joke did its job, easing some of the tension between you. It’s a small victory, but it feels good.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, a smile still tugging at his lips.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you replied, and you can hear the warmth in his voice this time.

As sleep finally began to take hold, your last conscious thought was of Steve beside you—so close, yet still feeling so far away.

The mission had barely begun, but the real challenge, you realized, would be surviving the next five days without giving away the feelings you had tried so hard to keep hidden.

STEVE’S POV

The room is silent, except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. I keep my eyes fixed on the building across the street, trying to ignore the cramped space around me. We’ve been here for hours now, watching, waiting, but so far, nothing’s happened. Just another quiet night in the city.

I lift the binoculars again, scanning the windows across the way. Everything looks normal—too normal. The target hasn’t made a move yet, but I know better than to let my guard down. That’s when things go wrong.

Beside me, Y/N is sitting quietly, her presence a constant distraction. I’ve been trying to focus on the mission, but it’s hard when she’s this close. It’s not that I don’t trust her—hell, I trust her with my life—but there’s something about being alone with her, in this small space, that’s got my nerves on edge.

“Anything?” she asks, her voice soft, not wanting to disturb my concentration. I can hear the hint of curiosity, maybe even concern, in her tone. She’s as invested in this as I am, which only makes this harder.

“Not yet,” I reply, keeping my voice low. The tension between us is thick—to me at least, and I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend it’s just the stress of the mission.

All of a sudden, she leans in closer, placing a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she peers over at the building. The contact is so casual, so innocent, but it sends chills through me. My muscles tense, and I have to remind myself to keep still, to act like this is nothing.

She’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, smell the faint scent of her shampoo. Her shoulder brushes against my arm as she takes the binoculars from me, and I swear, my heart skips a beat. I’m a soldier, trained to handle high-pressure situations, but this—being this close to her—is more than I bargained for.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, her breath brushing against my ear as she adjusts the focus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens. I’m supposed to be watching the target, not getting distracted by the woman beside me.

She spends a few moments peering through the binoculars, her face so close to mine that I can feel the heat radiating from her skin. My mind races, trying to think of anything but how it would feel to close that small distance between us. How it would feel to—

Stop it, Rogers. Focus.

She finally pulls back, handing the binoculars back to me. “hmm, odd,” she says, disappointment lacing her voice.

I nod, taking the binoculars from her, our fingers brushing for just a moment. It’s like a spark of electricity, and I have to force myself to keep my expression neutral. I can’t let her see what she’s doing to me.

She doesn’t move away, though. Instead, she stays close, leaning against me slightly as we continue to watch the building. Every second feels like an eternity. The heat of her body, the soft sound of her breathing—it’s all too much, but I can’t bring myself to step away. I’m not sure if I want to.

Minutes pass, and the tension between us only grows thicker. I’m hyper-aware of every inch of space between us—or the lack of it. My mind keeps drifting, imagining what it would be like if I just turned my head a little, if I just—

She pulls back suddenly, clearing her throat. “Sorry,” she says, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

I shake my head quickly, trying to sound like everything’s fine. “No, it’s fine. We’ve got to stay close to keep an eye on things.”

She nods, but the awkwardness lingers. I can feel it in the air. We resume our watch, but it’s like there’s a wall between us now, a wall built by unspoken words and feelings I’m not ready to admit.

Finally, after what feels like hours, we decide to call it a night. Y/N changes into her sleepwear first, giving me a bit of space. I keep my back turned, focusing on the mission, the window, anything but her. But no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps drifting, slipping into dangerous territory.

I hear the soft rustle of fabric as she pulls off her shirt, and my imagination runs wild before I can stop it. Images flash through my mind—her skin, smooth and soft under the dim light, the way her hair might fall over her shoulders as she changes, the subtle curve of her waist as she slips into something more comfortable.

Damn it, Steve. Stop.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts. She trusts me, and I owe it to her—and to myself—to stay professional. But it’s hard, harder than I ever thought it would be, and the guilt gnaws at me.

I’m supposed to be better than this. Stronger. I’ve faced down enemies that would make most men run in fear, but here I am, struggling to keep my mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t.

The sound of her footsteps breaks through the haze of my thoughts, and I snap back to reality. I settle onto one side of the mattress, trying to take up as little space as possible. But when she slides in beside me, the mattress dips, and suddenly, she’s right there, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body through the thin sheets.

I stare up at the ceiling, every muscle in my body tense. This is going to be impossible.

“Goodnight,” she says softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

“Goodnight,” I reply, my voice tighter than I intended.

I can hear her breathing beside me, steady and soft, and I know she’s not asleep either. The tension between us is unbearable, a constant reminder of everything I’m trying to ignore, everything I can’t afford to feel right now.

She sighs, and I hear the frustration in her voice. “This is going to be a long five days, isn’t it?”

I can’t help but chuckle, a low, warm sound that surprises even me. “Yeah, it might be.”

She turns her head to look at me, and I do the same. In the dim light, I can see her eyes, the soft curve of her lips as she smiles. It’s a small moment of comfort, a brief reprieve from the tension that’s been building between us.

“We’ll get through it,” she says, and I can hear the determination in her voice.

I nod, “Always do.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then she adds with a mischievous grin, “Just watch out for bed bugs, Rogers. I’ve heard they love big, strong super soldiers.”

I can’t help but laugh, the tension easing just a bit. “Good to know. Guess I’ll have to keep the shield close, then.”

She chuckles softly, and it’s that laugh—the one that always catches me off guard. It’s light, pure, and it cuts through all the heaviness like a breath of fresh air. I could listen to that sound for hours, and never get tired of it.

“Might want to sleep with one eye open.” she adds, still teasing.

“I think I can manage that,” I reply, still smiling.

Her laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, the weight of everything feels a little lighter. It’s a small joke, a silly one, but it’s enough to make the space between us feel less heavy, more manageable.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” I say again, this time with a little more warmth.

“Goodnight, Steve,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

We both settle back, and though the tension isn’t completely gone, it feels like we’ve taken a small step toward something better. Maybe these five days won’t be as long as it seems.

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #captain america x you #captain america imagines #captain america x y/n #captain america x female reader #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x you

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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Two weeks ago, Hurricane Helene made landfall as a Category 4 hurricane in the Big Bend region of Florida. From there it carved a path through Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Tennessee, leaving historic wreckage in its path as it flooded the region in 40 trillion gallons of water. The catastrophic damage in mountainous western North Carolina, especially, has garnered some of the most attention. Storms like this aren’t supposed to happen in places like that. Well, at least, they weren’t.

The all-hands-on-deck scramble to survey the extent of the damage, save lives and livelihoods, and restore power, water, and roads understandably still hasn’t been fast enough for those most affected. And just as understandably, the shock and the trauma of the storm have given way to conspiracy theories as a way to make sense of it all. Among those that have circulated either by word of mouth or through social media are the false theories that the government is razing property for lithium mining, that FEMA is bulldozing structures to cover up dead bodies, or that Democratic officials and the federal and state level are purposely ignoring the most Republican areas of the country.

There was also grumbling, especially in the early aftermath of the storm, that the media refused to cover what was happening in western North Carolina, or that the government had no money to help Americans suffering from the storm because it had spent it all on munitions for Ukraine and Israel. Another far-right theory for why the government supposedly hasn’t been devoting resources to disaster relief—which, to be clear, it has—is because it’s spending its budget on housing migrants.

The grandaddy of all the conspiracy theories going around, though, would have to be one most eagerly promoted by Georgia Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene. According to Greene, an undefined “they”—who, if we’re being generous, is meant to be the Democrats, the deep state, or the “establishment”—“can control the weather.” In other words, “they” are actively working to crush communities with historic storms.

Despite backlash from basically every possible corner, she continues, still, to push this idea that the government can enhance and steer hurricanes on a path that does the most destruction to red America, ostensibly to create a mess in swing states that can’t be restored in time for voting. I’ve covered Congress for a while, so I don’t say this lightly: I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a member say something this disassociated with reality. But there are people who will believe it.

Officials at the federal, state, and local levels trying to manage recovery efforts, Democrat and Republican, are at their wits’ end with the overwhelming amount of misinformation that’s impeding their recovery work. They have emphasized that, actually, they’re impressed with the assistance the federal government has offered so far. Unfortunately, that sobriety—from officials actually on the ground—doesn’t extend to certain commanding heights of the Republican Party.

Donald Trump—as of now—hasn’t gone so far as to claim that Democrats control the hurricanes. But he’s given fuel to plenty of other outrageous and dangerous theories. Last week ahead of a visit to North Carolina, he posted on social media that he was getting “reports” about “the Federal Government, and the Democrat Governor of the State, going out of their way to not help people in Republican areas.” At a rally in Michigan this week, Trump said that “Kamala spent all her FEMA money, billions of dollars, on housing for illegal migrants, many of whom should not be in our country,” and that “they stole the FEMA money, just like they stole it from a bank, so they could give it to their illegal immigrants that they want to have vote for them this season.” He said there had been “no helicopters” to relieve people, and that Georgia Gov. Brian Kemp had been unable to get in touch with President Joe Biden.

All of this is blatantly false. It’s also pretty horrifying with another dangerous hurricane moving through the Gulf of Mexico, poised to wreak even more havoc on the region.

Worse yet is that one of the central pillars of social media is owned by an credulous doofus who’s positioned himself as sometimes consigliere, sometimes rally clown, to the Trump campaign. Elon Musk has used his platform seemingly to spread any rumor that’s come his way. Late last week, he posted a note that said that “FEMA is not merely failing to adequately help people in trouble, but is actively blocking citizens who try to help!”

This has been a recurring theme of his, that FEMA is, effectively, working to worsen the situation. Fortunately, he was able to get in touch with Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg eventually, which calmed him down. That would have been a good first step, of course, before posting rumors about how the federal government opposes helping people.

The unfortunate question here, as we barrel toward Election Day, is: Does this pattern sound at all familiar?

Much of the country is in widespread discontent. Along comes Trump to either offer his own stories or inflame those floating around on the fringes, to give people someone to blame. Local and state administrators of both parties insist there’s nothing to these stories, but Trump and his sycophants push them anyway.

In other words, no: The pattern and spread of misinformation that’s emerged following Hurricane Helene does not give me confidence that the aftermath of the 2024 election, in the event of a narrow Kamala Harris victory, will go more smoothly than that of 2020. It almost feels like a dry run ahead of the election to test that the systems of deceit are still operable. They sure seem to be—only this time, Elon Musk owns the social media platform that dictates the pace of “news.”

What’s most disconcerting about the idea that the government can control and direct hurricanes to maximize wreckage, or that FEMA is actively working to block Republican areas from rebuilding, is the assumption of malevolence at the root of it. Most of the fact checks of Greene’s theory focus on how it’s obviously not scientifically possible for “them” to do what she describes. What’s equally important to stress—and it’s a shame it needs stressing—is that “they” wouldn’t want to do that. Joe Biden and the Democratic Party do not want hurricanes to kill, displace, and destroy the lives of American citizens. FEMA does not want Republicans to have trouble getting water. If you’re willing to believe these things, though, you’re more than willing to believe that an election can be stolen—again.

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fatehbaz · 2 months ago

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About the entanglement of "science" and Empire. About geographic imaginaries. About how Empire appeals to and encourages children to participate in these scripts.

Was checking out this recent thing, from scavengedluxury's beloved series of posts looking at the archive of the Budapest Municipal Photography Company.

The caption reads: "Toys and board games, 1940."

And I think the text on the game-box in the back says something like "the whole world is yours", maybe?

(The use of appeals to science/progress in imperial narratives probably already well-known to many, especially for those familiar with Victorian era, Edwardian era, Gilded Age, early twentieth century, etc., in US and Europe.)

And was struck, because I had also recently gone looking through nemfrog's posts about the often-strange imagery of children's material in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century US/Europe. And was disturbed/intrigued by this thing:

Caption here reads: "Game Board. Walter Mittelholzer's flight over Africa. [...] 1931. Commemorative game board map of Africa for a promotional game published for the N*stle Company, for tracking the trip of Walter Mittelholzer across Africa, the first pilot to fly a north-south route."

Hmm.

"Africa is for your consumption and pleasure! A special game celebrating German achievement, brought to you by the N*stle Company!"

1930s-era German national aspirations in Africa. A company which, in the preceding decade, had shifted focus to expand its cacao production (which would be dependent on tropical plantations). Adventure, excitement, knowledge, science, engineering prowess, etc. For kids!

Another, from a couple decades earlier, this time British.

Caption reads: "The "World's globe circler." A game board based on Nellie Bly's travels. 1890." At center, a trumpet, and a proclamation: "ALL RECORDS BROKEN".

Same year that the United States "closed the frontier" and conquered "the Wild West" (the massacre at Wounded Knee happened in December 1890). A couple years later, the US annexed Hawai'i; by decade's end, the US military was in both Cuba and the Philippines. The Scramble for Africa was taking place. At the time, Britain especially already had a culture of "travel writing" or "travel fiction" or whatever we want to call it, wherein domestic residents of the metropole back home could read about travel, tourism, expeditions, adventures, etc. on the peripheries of the Empire. Concurrent with the advent of popular novels, magazines, mass-market print media, etc. Intrepid explorers rescuing Indigenous peoples from their own backwardness. Many tales of exotic allure set in South Asia. Heroic white hunters taking down scary tigers. Elegant Englishwomen sipping tea in the shade of an umbrella, giggling at the elephants, the local customs, the strange sights. Orientalism, tropicality, othering.

I'd lately been looking at a lot of work on race/racism and imperative-of-empire in British scientific and pop-sci literature, especially involving South and Southeast Asia. (From scholars like Varun Sharma, Rohan Deb Roy, Ezra Rashkow, Jonathan Saha, Pratik Chakrabarti.) But I'd also lately been looking at Mashid Mayar's work, which I think closely suits this kinda thing with the board games. Some of her publications:

"From Tools to Toys: American Dissected Maps and Geographic Knowledge at the Turn of the Twentieth Century". In: Knowledge Landscapes North America, edited by Kloeckner et al., 2016.

"What on Earth! Slated Globes, School Geography and Imperial Pedagogy". European Journal of American Studies 16, number 3, Summer 2020.

Citizens and Rulers of the World: The American Child and the Cartographic Pedagogies of Empire, 2022.

Discussing her book, Mayar was interviewed by LA Review of Books in 2022. She says:

[Quote.] Growing up at the turn of the 20th century, for many American children, also meant learning to view the world through the lens of "home geography." [...] [T]hey inevitably responded to the transnational whims of an empire that had stretched its dominion across the globe [recent forays into Panama, Cuba, Hawai'i, the Philippines] [...]. [W]hite, well-to-do, literate American children [...] learned how to identify and imagine “homes” on the map of the world. [...] [T]he cognitive maps children developed, to which we have access through the scant archival records they left behind (i.e., geographical puzzles they designed and printed in juvenile periodicals) [...] mixed nativism and the logic of colonization with playful, appropriative scalar confusion, and an intimate, often unquestioned sense of belonging to the global expanse of an empire [...]. Dissected maps - that is, maps mounted on cardboard or wood and then cut into smaller pieces that children were to put back together - are a generative example of the ways imperial pedagogy [...] found its place outside formal education, in children's lives outside the classroom. [...] [W]ell before having been adopted as playthings in the United States, dissected maps had been designed to entertain and teach the children of King George III about the global spatial affairs of the British Empire. […] [J]uvenile periodicals of the time printed child-made geographical puzzles [...]. [I]t was their assumption that "(un)charted," non-American spaces (both inside and outside the national borders) sought legibility as potential homes, [...] and that, if they did not do so, they were bound to recede into ruin/"savagery," meaning that it would become the colonizers' responsibility/burden to "restore" them [...]. [E]mpires learn from and owe to childhood in their attempts at survival and growth over generations [...]. [These] "multigenerational power constellations" [...] survived, by making accessible pedagogical scripts that children of the white and wealthy could learn from and appropriate as times changed [...]. [End quote.] Source: Words of Mashid Mayar, as transcribed in an interviewed conducted and published by M. Buna. "Children's Maps of the American Empire: A Conversation with Mashid Mayar". LA Review of Books. 11 July 2022.

Some other stuff I was recently looking at, specifically about European (especially German) geographic imaginaries of globe-as-playground:

The Play World: Toys, Texts, and the Transatlantic German Childhood (Patricia Anne Simpson, 2020) /// "19th-Century Board Game Offers a Tour of the German Colonies" (Sarah Zabrodski, 2016) /// Advertising Empire: Race and Visual Culture in Imperial Germany (David Ciarlo, 2011) /// Learning Empire: Globalization and the German Quest for World Status, 1875-1919 (Erik Grimmer-Solem, 2019) /// “Ruling Africa: Science as Sovereignty in the German Colonial Empire and Its Aftermath” (Andrew Zimmerman. In: German Colonialism in a Global Age, 2014) /// "Exotic Education: Writing Empire for German Boys and Girls, 1884-1914". (Jeffrey Bowersox. In: German Colonialism and National Identity, 2017) /// Raising Germans in the Age of Empire: Youth and Colonial Culture, 1871-1914 (Jeff Bowersox, 2013) /// "[Translation:] (Educating Modernism: A Trade-Specific Portrait of the German Toy Industry in the Developing Mass-Market Society)" (Heike Hoffmann, PhD dissertation, Tubingen, 2000) /// Home and Harem: Nature, Gender, Empire, and the Cultures of Travel (Inderpal Grewal, 1996) /// "'Le rix d'Indochine' at the French Table: Representation of Food, Race and the Vietnamese in a Colonial-Era Board Game" (Elizabeth Collins, 2021) /// "The Beast in a Box: Playing with Empire in Early Nineteenth-Century Britain" (Romita Ray, 2006) /// Playing Oppression: The Legacy of Conquest and Empire in Colonialist Board Games (Mary Flanagan and Mikael Jakobsson, 2023)

#mashid mayar book is useful also the Playing Oppression book is open access online if you want #in her article on slated globes mayar also mentions how european maps by 1890s provoked a sort of replete homogenous filling in of globe #where european metropole thought of itself as having sufficiently mapped the planet by now knit into neat web of interimperial trade #and so european apparent knowledge of globe provided apparently enlightened position of educating or subjugating the masses #whereas US at time was more interested in remapping at their discretion #a thing which relates to what we were talking about in posts earlier today where elizabeth deloughrey describes twentieth century US #and its aerial photographic and satellite perspectives especially of Oceania and Pacific as if it now understood the totality of the planet #ecologies #tidalectics #geographic imaginaries #mashid mayar #indigenous pedagogies #black methodologies

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yikesharringrove · 6 months ago

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steve and billy teaching in the same school!! there's these teachers in my school and they work right across the hall from each other. they're always yelling into each others classrooms.

she teaches english lit 101 and he teaches gov 102

"Harrington!"

Some of the kids snickered quietly when Mr. Harrington jumped at the shout from across the hall.

He stared blankly at the last word he had written on the board, the black Expo mark wiggles from where he had jumped at the yell of his name.

He turned around, sighing exaggeratedly at Mr. Hargrove standing in the doorway.

"Kids, excuse my coworker here." He crossed his arms around his chest. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can Mr. H."

Steve rolled his eyes as his husband swaggered into his classroom, leading a line of ninth graders with him.

It's not the first time Billy's interrupted his class with a question about some inane bullshit that launched Steve into an over-excited rant for the rest of class.

Steve's tenth and eleventh graders were already closing their textbooks, knowing their teacher was just about to be insanely distracted for the rest of class.

"The birds n' I are reading The Crucible."

Fuck.

Steve's pretty sure Billy's kids pay him to bring them across the hall for these impromptu lectures.

"Witch hunts. I get it."

"Yeah, you know. Anyway, I'm giving some context to the publishing of the book. The Red Scare in the United States, well, the second Red Scare, as well as the rise of McCarthyism coincided with the publishing of the play."

Goddammit.

Steve's fucking master's thesis was on all about McCarthyism (more specifically, how the second Red Scare was directly linked to the Lavender Scare.) He cited the stupid play in his research.

Billy knows that. They were already engaged by the time Steve began his master's program.

Fuck this guy, for real.

Steve quietly closed his power point presentation on interest groups in America.

"Fine. Mr. Hargrove's class, find a seat. My class, your packet is still due Friday. I'll post the slides after class." He glared at Billy.

Billy grinned right back, his tongue poking out in that frustrating way it has since high school.

"1950s United States. What do you know?"

A few hands went up.

Even Billy raised his stupid hand. Steve ignored him.

"Which brings us to the end of the decade. With the early 1960s, we have the reformation in the Catholic Church, known as Vatican ll-"

The bell cut him off mid-sentence, and there was a mad scramble as the students all tried to pack up as quickly as possible, before Steve could keep going.

"My class," he nearly shouted over the scraping of chairs against linoleum. "Your packets are still due Friday! I don't care that Mr. Hargrove interrupted our time."

"And birds! The rubric is posted on the class page! I want outlines handed in on Tuesday."

The classroom door closed behind the final kid.

"You're a dick."

Billy laughed.

"Nah, you just teach that shit so much better than I do."

Steve rolled his eyes. He sat behind his desk, yanking over a stack of twelfth grade research assignments to begin grading. Billy perched on the other side of his desk.

"Y'know, you could just ask me to come in and lecture. You don't have to interrupt my own class."

"Yeah, but it's fun to wind you up and watch you go. And I think the birds like it when they see that you're passionate about something. Why do you think I always start with The Joy Luck Club?"

"Because you have mommy issues."

"No. Because Ying-ying's story makes me sob like a bitch, and the birds get to realize that I'm a real-life human."

Steve scrubbed his face with his hands, collecting himself before facing his dumbass husband again.

"Wait, you said they had an essay due. What's the essay?"

"Oh, comparing the Salem Witch Trials and the goings on of the U.S. government in the mid 1950s. You know."

"So, you created an assignment, knowing that I would infodump all that shit to your kids?"

"Yes."

"I want a divorce."

Billy laughed, leaning over Steve's desk to kiss his forehead.

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't. I love you. But also you suck."

The bell sounded to indicate the end of passing period.

Billy got off the desk, stretching with a groan.

"Would you be mad if I brought my senior class in?"

Steve glared at him in the doorway.

"What's the assignment?"

"They're presenting on the parallels between 1984 and the current political climate."

Goddammit.

"Bring 'em in."

#billy calls his students birds bc he's not aloud to call them shitbirds #p much the same reason i call my students gooses #bc of that letterkenny line 'those are canada's fucking gooses'#anyway yeah #read the joy luck club if you haven't it'll make you cry whether or not you have mommy issues #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #yikes writes

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nina-renmen · 8 months ago

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Bloodied Love

Yandere Homelander x supe reader pt.1

Summary: He never expected to have a soulmate. His mark was never there, so what happens once it appears where you touched him? A girl like you, not even human. You fed off of his kind, but that dosn’t deter him from the horrors he has planned. You deprived him of your love, and now he won’t let go of you…even if he has to kill you.

Warnings: This is a Yandere fic so there will be blood, gore, ect. There will be nsfw themes and scenes in here as well as drugging and other things. Reader is not a human but she’s a water and air spirit called a Nokken. Reader has a hatred for humans

A mysterious dark figure has yet again saved the city once more. Could this be a new hero on the rise? Stay tuned for more-“

A [skin color] hand pressed the big red button on the dainty remote. Though her strength was controlled she almost crushed it. “Looks like someone’s getting famous.” Y/n looked away from the black screen and towards her friend. Her milky white eyes began shifting back into their natural [eye color] shade. “I guess.” Y/n mumbled. Her sharp claws slowly retracting. Almost like bear claws. “Dosn’t really matter when we have hero’s killing innocent civilians.” Y/n stated, standing up she towered over her friend, “You know Ivan…I’m not even sure if this hero thing is what I want.”

The shorter male who at the time was drinking a glass of wine had choked on the bitter substance. His black soulmate mark seemed to jump as he shifted quickly. The dark red liquid running down his chin as he scrambled to wipe it away. “What?! How come?” Ivan asked, his honey brown eyes widened. “It’s not because of that accident right?! Because if that’s it you should know that it’s not knew-“

“Thats the problem…I-“ Y/n paused as her radio began to go off. Signaling an attack. Ivan tilted his head towards the door as he looked down at y/n’s outfit. “You’re still in your suit. Best get going.” He said in a fatherly tone. Y/n smile but scoffed in order to cover it up. She walked out the front door. Her body taking her towards the site immediately.

She could still feel his blood on her. The blood of her comrades she worked with, the blood of Ivan. The gaze of his blood still lingered in his mouth. There was nothing left, only his half eaten head that lie in the ground. A horrified expression laid on his dead face. She didn’t feel that urge anymore. That burning sensation that told her to eat, eat, eat.

She knew she didn’t want to. He gave her no choice!! He was out for her blood! He was out for her abilities! She was just big game to him. A long cat and mouse game that she was oblivious to playing. A bounty on her head! He only wanted the money, he was like all the other rotten humans in this world! All the dirty, disgusting, vermin-

A single drop was able to knock her from her thoughts. And then the camera flashing began as she stood at the foot of the plane. American press were taking pictures of her. Fans screamed her name, but y/n’s smile had not reached her eyes. For she held no pleasure in standing before these people. Her mother country, Brazil had sent their number one hero to help America. A oncoming agreement came from the two countries and a treaty was made. America gives them resources and money and they gave up…..her. But that did not mean she would abandon her past. Even if she were to live here for a few years before going back home.

“[Hero Name]! How does it feel to be on American soil?!” One of the interviewers asked, shoving their mics in her face. They don’t really care, they wanted the money. They all only wanted money.

Y/n’s eyes trailed down to meet the woman’s eyes. A flash of nervousness appeared within her irises. Her green eyes meeting y/n’s milky white ones. Y/n tilted her head to the side, examining if she even wanted to speak with the woman. “It feels just like home.” Y/n finally spoke up, flashing a polite smile towards the smaller woman. She stood at a tall height of 5’8, her form taller than most women she knew, and yet smaller than most men.

“[hero name]! Can you describe your powers of being a Nokken?!” Another reporter questioned. Y/n’s hand twitched but no one batted an eye. They probably didn’t even notice. “A magician never reveals her tricks.” Y/n said in a happy tone. That same eye catching smile was forever carved in her face. And yet again her eyes did not match. But of course no human cared. Humans were easily deceived, they were easily eaten-

‘Dont think like that.’ Y/n thought to herself. And almost immediately the attention was finally directed off of her. “It’s homelander!” A random person states the obvious. Y/n attempted to slink away but a strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. “Thank you for the love! But I wanted to welcome in the new hero everyone’s been raving about!” The blue eyed man exclaimed. Y/n made no attempt to look up at him, for she knew that if she did she might as well be provoked to hit him. And she doubted that would do anything. “Smile.” Homelander whispered but the muscles in y/n’s face remained locked in. A neutral expression on her face as she made eye contact with reporters. She wouldn’t be a fraud like the man above her was.

“Thank you for the warm welcome but I best be going homelander. Maybe we’ll cross paths again.” Y/n says loud enough for the reporters to hear as y/n smiles and begins to be escorted out of the airport.

The cool air hit her. Rain drops fell from the sky, turning her once [skin color] skin into a sickly grey. Her hair turning into an inky black color. She was not only a water based supe but an air one as well. The combination brought on many fans and onlookers that wished to be her. Or dispise her.

“You left in a hurry.” That same familiar voice echoed throughout the empty streets. People were off the roads due to the storm. Y/n looked over her shoulder, this time her milky white eyes meeting his bright blue ones. “Was I supposed to linger?” Y/n questioned, turning her body towards him. She stood tall, her form didn’t look weak.

“Not necessarily, just….unusual.” He replied. “Usually supes stick around to talk to the number one hero in the world.”

“In America.” Y/n replied, slightly cutting him off.

“Pardon?” He questioned. The smile on his face was fake. It didn’t reach his eyes, it looked like a mask. A horrible one at that.

“You are the number one hero in America. Who’s to say the world when you haven’t even stepped out of it before?” Y/n questioned. Homelander gave y/n an annoyed look. “Anyway Mr retriever, I best get going.”

”Mr retriever?” Homelands questioned, he took off one of his gloves in order to get the water out of it.

“You look like one.” Y/n spoke as she patted his arm whilst walking past him. Homelandee furrowed his eyebrows. Who does this girl think she is? He’s number one-

The blonde haired male could feel a burning sensation on his forearm. He glanced down, not thinking it’d be anything only for his eyes go linger the name, y/n l/n was imbedded into his arm. His eyebrows furrowed, whose name was this? As realization began to sink in that this was his soulmates name…where ever she was he’d find her.

#x reader #fem reader #yandere #yandere x reader #homelander x reader #homelander x y/n #homelander x fem!reader #Yandere homelander x fem reader #Yandere homelander #Yandere x fem reader #the boys tv #the boys x reader #yandere the boys x reader

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delicatebarness · 8 months ago

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i cant read your mind | chapter two

Summary: After hearing the news, you go to confront Sam. However, you end up on your first mission since the return of Thanos.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier spoilers throughout.

Word Count: 1584

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A/N: Two chapters in one night. I did plan for this chapter to cover the whole of episode two of FATWS however, I also don't like the chapters being too long so here's the first half.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you scrambled for the remote, turning up the volume. On the screen, a man clad in red, white, and blue filled the screen as he stood tall, winking at the camera. The new Captain America.

Racing with questions, your mind couldn’t stop. How could they replace Steve like that? And who the fuck even was this new Captain America? Was he even worthy of carrying the shield?

Frustration and anger boiled your blood, mixing with the hurt from Bucky’s appearance the day before. The world felt like it was spinning out of control, and tears began to trickle down your cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, you wiped away the tears and forced yourself to focus. With determination, you got up and made your way to find Sam.

“You had no right to give up the shield, Sam.” you listened to Bucky and Sam talk about the situation as they made their way closer to you. Not yet noticing your presence.

“Hey. This is what you’re not gonna do.” an amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips as Sam began to tell Bucky straight, “You’re not gonna come here in your overextended life and tell me about my rights. It’s over Bucky.”

Applause echoed through the room, drawing the attention of Sam and Bucky. Bucky’s gaze locked with yours, while Sam’s eyes rolled.

“You too?” Sam’s voice filled with annoyance as he addressed you. Your smile remained as you stepped forward.

“How could I resist this party?” you quipped, voice laced with amusement. “Sam, you know I respect your decision,” you sent him a sincere smile as his expression softened at your words. He was grateful for your support, now and back in Washington. “But, we need to fix this.”

“I have bigger things to deal with now,” Sam exclaimed, taking both you and Bucky by surprise. “What could be bigger than this?” Bucky asked, his disbelief was evident.

You listened to Sam and Bucky go back and forth about the group called the Flag Smashers and The Big Three. You were on Bucky’s side about the wizards, but you knew agreeing with Sam would rile him up.

As the conversation carried on, you felt a sense of urgency. Without a second thought, you began walking toward the waiting jet. “Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky called out to you, his tone mixed with frustration and concern.

As you reach the jet, you turn to face Bucky, “I’m going with Sam,” you stated firmly, meeting his gaze. Bucky’s gaze hardened as both he and Sam walked towards you, you heard them bickering between each other but resulted in rolling your eyes as you boarded.

The flight to Germany was quiet for the most part, there was an occasional interruption from the rumble of the jet’s engine. You found yourself consistently checking your phone for texts from your date, and stealing glances between Sam and Bucky. They had been engrossed in a silent staring contest for most of the flight. Their unspoken tension filled the cabin.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Bucky’s snarky remark cut the tension, his annoyance evident as he observed your constant glances down to your phone.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Jealous, Barnes?” you teased. He rolled his eyes at your response. You tucked your phone away, ready to turn your attention to the mission.

As the journey to Germany continued, Bucky and Sam returned to their staring contest, only breaking again when Sam got up to pick his comm up. Bucky followed his lead and you followed Bucky’s. And, within an instant, they returned to their arguing: This time about a plan.

“Where’s the chute?” Bucky asked, resulting in finding out you were too low for them. He looked back at you with concern, he knew he could survive the jump, but you wouldn’t. You knew you couldn’t afford to waste time, it was too risky to attempt jumping with Bucky.

“I’ll catch up with you from the ground,” you reassured the super soldier, his concern was palpable as he looked back at you. His eyes betrayed him as they filled with worry.

He nodded, reaching his Vibranium hand to your cheek and running his fingers down your neck. A shiver was sent down your spine, you missed the cool feeling of his left hand. “Be careful, baby,” he whispered in your ear before turning to prepare for the jump. You watched him as you allowed yourself a moment to apprehend the feeling of being called ‘Baby’ by him again.

Stepping out onto the solid ground, you felt the urge of determination course through you. You heard over the comms that Sam and Bucky wasted no time, they immediately sprung into action. Immediately, you began searching for a car you could use to catch up to them. Your mind focused solely on reaching them, you wasted nothing rushing towards a car you knew would be fast enough. Using your government identity to secure it, you thanked the salesman and wasted no time roaring the engine and speeding off in the direction of Sam and Bucky.

As you sped toward their location, Sam updated you on the tracking information for Redwing over the comms. “Shit!” Bucky’s exclaim echoed through the small earpiece, you pressed down harder on the gas pedal, determined to reach them.

Finally reaching their location, you witnessed Sam swiftly grabbing Bucky from under the truck, and soaring with him into a nearby field. Meanwhile, you continued to trail behind the truck, your eyes widening in surprise as you noticed the new Captain America engaged in a fight on top of it.

“Those are Super Soldier, kid, get out of there.” Bucky’s voice was urgent as it crackled through the comms, his concern for you still evident as he warned you of the danger.

Your voice was laced with determination as you responded, “Don’t call me ‘kid’.” You prepared to face the Super Soldier head-on. As you prepared mentally, you didn’t see the new Captain America about to collide with the car. The impact was catastrophic, causing you to lose control of the vehicle and tumble off the road and into the woodland area by the field.

Before you could register what had happened, new Cap and his friend had vanished. Sam and Bucky were by your side in an instant. “I told you to be careful,” Bucky reminded you as he gently pulled you from the wreckage, steadying you.

As Sam and Bucky conversed between themselves, you found comfort in intertwining your fingers with Bucky’s, his silent gesture of support. A chill swept over you, causing your body to tremble.

Coming to a halt, Bucky crouched down to meet your gaze as concern plastered over his face. “You okay?” he asked, noting the shallow and rapid rise and fall of your breathing. You nodded, feeling the chill of shock settling.

Bucky swiftly removed his jacket and draped it over you. Despite the absence of his left sleeve, the jacket still provided warmth and comfort.

After walking for a while longer, the sound of a horn honking beside you caught the attention of the three of you. You looked up, meeting the gaze of the new Captain America. John Walker, Sam had explained to you previously. Despite his efforts to engage in conversation, you followed Sam and Bucky’s lead, choosing to ignore them.

However, it didn’t take long for Walker to provoke a reaction out of Bucky, unknowingly circling back to the topic of wizards. This led to Bucky defending the Captain America title, causing a rise now out of Walker. After realizing that Bucky was unfazed, Walker shifted his approach, acknowledging the state you were currently in.

“Look, it’s 20 miles to the airport. You guys need a ride.” Walker offered, and he tried to convey a sense of goodwill despite the unlying tension. Your eyes pleaded with Bucky as he glanced down at you. Walker might not have been your choice of Captain America but the idea of sitting down sounded appealing.

Bucky assisted you into the car with a sigh. You couldn’t but grimace inwardly as you locked glances with Walker the moment he shot you the same wink you had seen earlier on television. The one moment you wouldn’t have protested Bucky throwing a punch for someone looking at you, and he misses it.

You nestled your head against Bucky’s shoulder as they discussed the issue of The Flag Smashers. With each glance from Walker toward you, Bucky's body tensed beneath you, prompting an episode of the infamous Bucky stare-off.

“Does he always just stare like that?” Walker asked Sam, a smile tugged at your lips at the thought of Bucky’s intense stare making Walker so uncomfortable, he needed reassurance. “You get used to it,” Sam huffed in response. The conversation resumed as they spoke about the government and what they were trying to do to help after The Blip.

“Battlestar?” Bucky exclaimed, a sense of annoyance mixed with amusement in his voice. “Stop the car!” He commanded the driver. The car came to a halt and Bucky wasted no time to exit leaving Walker shouting back toward him. “Come on, Y/N!” Bucky’s voice boomed a clear demand for you to follow him.

For a moment you debated if you should follow your ex-situationship or simply stay in the car and avoid walking the rest of the way to the airport.

---

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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necronatural · 1 year ago

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Context on Project Moon discourse

I did some digging and watched some internet slapfights between Korean users, and collected as much context as humanly possible, trying to avoid hearsay where I can:

Misogynistic dudes start complaining about how sexless and non-waifu-female-heavy the game is, feeling the skimpy Sinclair outfit with the thotty little collar VS the fully covered Ishmael outfit is pointed feminist jeering (a law Hawkeye Initiative). Korean anti-feminists are really sensitive to pointed feminist jeering. More on that in a bit

Upon learning the identity artist is male, they trawl the rest of the staff to prove their stupid-ass theory.

They latch onto the lead CG artist, who has tweeted about feminism before.

Project Moon receives countless threats and people marching on their office IRL demanding to speak to the CEO.

The resulting hate campaign leads to Project Moon firing the lead artist for violation of contract; it was specifically requested by the company that all users delete political statements and controversial topics before joining, and the tweets the incels are using seem to prove that the worst case scenario for not adhering to the request has come to pass.

The thing is, she did delete the tweets.

This user has screencapped incels scrambling to justify their belief the game is for man-haters, including a statement that he had dug up deleted tweets. These are old records.

These are the retweets, all made before joining the company (but again, the policy was that the tweets like this should be scrubbed). Most of them are just being catty. The most extreme statements are a scathing satire even a child could understand, and some general feminist sentiments which are not incendiary in any way. It seems they were screencapped to cement a pattern of passionate feelings on feminism.

In Korea, feminism is considered a wedge issue, which means basic activism becomes extremely politically charged. Think of it like how trans issues are being treated in America at the moment, or how "Critical Race Theory" was a wedge issue like 2 years ago. Nevertheless, the most hateful statements in these tweets are not "feminist", but rather annoyance at misogyny, and pretty obviously jokes.

The tweet that the incels are latching onto here states "if being a feminist makes me Megalia, I am Megalia. If being against patriarchy makes me anti-social, I am anti-social". Megalia was a scumbag leftist radfem group originating from Korea's 4chan (anonymous messageboards). It was bad enough that banning gay slurs created a splinter group. Megalia was well-known for mirroring misogynistic behaviours back onto men. They were reviled. An actress lost her job for wearing a T-shirt this group sold, even though the funds were going to supporting women seeking legal actions. Association with Megalia was reputation poison.

Notice I refer to them in the past tense, because Megalia shut down in 2017. The tweet was in 2018. You could not get any more obvious that the statement being made was "you can insult me by calling me Megalia, but I still believe in feminism". There is no association with this incendiary group.

Incels "supported" their argument with an image of Yi Sang holding a vial in basically one of the only 2 ways you can hold a vial, calling it a reference to 🤏, an emoji used as the Megalia logo interpreted to mean "men have small penises". This insane interpretation is being used to cement the whole company as misandrist.

Therefore: Project Moon fired their lead artist even though she didn't violate her contract because insane incels did a "how dare you say we piss on the poor" bad faith misinterpretation of deleted tweets in order to justify their belief that Project Moon is a man-hating company, and as a man-hating company deserves to be annihilated, leading to threats to staff.

The artist for Leviathan later stated that Project Moon pushed the comic forward with no buffer, and when the schedule became unbearable, they just cancelled it. They were told there was an issue with production (supported by the fact the company dropped the translation in favour of focusing on the game), but this news has made the artist pessimistic about the company's treatment of their art team. (Update: deleted, with a statement they feel they felt attached to their debut work, and struggle with feeling like they ran away.)

Here's the artist Vellmori's twitter if you would like to support them through this period.

#project moon #limbus company

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writteninlunarlight-years · 3 months ago

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Sedated

Adam x Reader

TW: Pervy Adam, Guardian Angels, Reader unknowingly being watched, Self-touch, masturbation, Desires, obsession, clumsy ass reader

How we ended up here was beyond either of our wildest dreams. Adam had fallen from grace, desperate to prove his worth and reclaim his place in heaven. The added bonus of watching over you—a strikingly mundane mortal—was just a silver lining to his celestial punishment. For you, however, life felt like an endless loop of monotony, each day blending into the next in a haze of dull routines.

In the mortal realm, chaos reigned, and you secretly blamed Lucifer for the mess. But today wasn’t about the cosmic battles of good and evil; it was about dragging yourself through another tedious nine-to-five, chained to the soul-sucking machinery of corporate America. After work, you’d immerse yourself in true crime documentaries, the only thrill in your otherwise drab existence, before collapsing into bed to muster the energy for another day.

Adam’s fall from grace had been ironic—a small, devilish woman had orchestrated his demise. Yet, the prospect of redemption as your guardian angel offered him a flicker of hope. He had vowed to keep you safe, ensuring that you remained blissfully unaware of the unseen chaos swirling around you.

Yet you were no spark of entertainment; your life was a tedious boring cycle. You worked, ate, and binge-watched TV shows like every other soul on the planet. But beneath the surface, you harbored a darker side, a flicker of rebellion that emerged during your worst days. Perhaps that was why Adam had been assigned to you—there was little danger in your life, just a series of mundane tasks punctuated by occasional enjoyable nights.

On this particular day, fate had conspired against you. You had slept through your work alarm, and slept blissfully unaware of the fire alarm also blaring in your apartment complex. Adam, in a state of panic, had done everything possible to intervene without alerting anyone else. With a gentle but firm push, he nudged you out of bed, waking you in a daze.

Draped in a sheer silk nightgown and a fluffy robe, you rushed downstairs, only to find the fire marshal casually informing you that it was just a tripped wire. As you and Adam exchanged simultaneous facepalms, he couldn’t help but marvel at your ability to sleep through the chaos—and his own lack of foresight in checking the building.

Once back in your apartment, the reality of your tardiness dawned on you. Groaning, you scrambled to get dressed. In Adam’s misguided attempt to help, he had placed your shoes near the door, leading you to trip and smack your head against the wall. With a growing bruise on your forehead and a now-lost security deposit, you bolted out the door.

The day continued its downward spiral. Your coffee was scalding hot, burning your tongue. A passing truck sent a wave of mud splattering across your clothes. The elevator in your office building was out of order, forcing you to climb nineteen flights of stairs in heels, your patience wearing thinner with each step.

Meanwhile, Adam was feeling the strain, too. He had never seen you in such a chaotic state, and while he had been tasked with keeping you safe, his interventions seemed to lead you into misfortune. When Jacob, your overly friendly coworker, got too close, you found yourself tumbling into Sarah’s lap, laughter erupting around you, the workplace gossip already brewing.

The copy machine malfunctioned, resulting in an ink explosion that painted you from head to toe. And when you attempted to sneak into the men’s bathroom—desperate for some privacy due to the womens bathroom being out of order—you ended up trapped as every male coworker seemed to have an urgent need.

By the time you returned home, you needed a serious reset. A long shower and some quality "me time" were in order. As you prepared a quick meal, doom-scrolling through your phone, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift. After a quick tidy-up, you retreated to your room, pulling out your feel-good essentials.

Adam, watching from his hidden vantage point, felt a thrill of anticipation. He knew what was coming. As you slipped into the shower, an ethereal glow enveloped you, and he settled into the cozy corner of your room, entranced by the thought of what was soon to come.

You emerged from the bathroom, a vision of perfection, your hair cascading around your shoulders. Adam’s breath hitched as you moved with an alluring grace, pulling out your toys with an enticing casualness that sent his heart racing.

The moment you climbed into bed, he felt a primal urge wash over him. As you began to explore your own body, he mirrored your movements, his hand working in tandem with yours against his own body. Each sigh and moan that escaped your lips tugged at his very soul, igniting a deep yearning within him.

Taking his weeping cock in hand he sighed as he watched you lean back and run your hand across your body. He began soft slow strokes keeping in time with your touches and caresses.

As your hand dipped over your chest and down your stomach, feeling yourself, his breath hitched. He almost whined at the thought of burying his head in your heat. How sweet you must taste with how much of you was soaking your precious folds.

One hand of yours spread your folds open, displaying your pretty pink hole, while the other rubbed your pert nipples. He was in awe at how every time you did this, it was like he was watching you the first time. Like he was a child learning what sex really was. How could one person look so damn good doing something so sinful?

He sped up his pace on his cock as he watched your pretty fingers dive in. Oh, how he knew his length could reach places far deeper than those pretty little fingers. You struggled to attempt to touch where you needed relief, where he knew in a few languid strokes he could have you seeing stars.

As you moaned and panted, Adam could only imagine if it was him making those sounds come from you. If you were begging for him and whining out his name so softly. Gripping on his thick arms, bouncing with his pace, eyes crossed and overwhelmed.

He watched as minutes passed by, your fingers abused your tight hole and sensitive bud. He was eager to watch the next part unfold. As you turned on your toy, he watched your hole clench around nothing. A deep groan left him as he imagined that tight clench around his large length.

As you slowly rubbed the toy along yourself, making it nice and wet, he licked his lips, his red tip pulsing with the need for more than his hand. He wished for you to come over and blow him till your throat was sore or even just let him abuse your cunt. He desired nothing more than to not be a figment in your life but a passionate lover as he made you realize who you really belonged to.

However, as the toy slid in and you let out the softest more whorish moan, he was a goner. He was pounding his cock, whispering your name under his breath, hoping that maybe this would connect you two better. He was pussy whipped, and he hadn't even had the chance to physically take you yet.

If you could fuck yourself so good like this, you were definitely worth the first man's dick. He watched as the toy was slowly sucked into your greedy hole, and he was jerking into his hand. He wanted to keep up with your pace and learn exactly how you liked it; however, the languid bounce of your tits and heightened moans only made him lose control as he stroked his length harder.

You looked and sounded so beautiful, so amazingly hot and gorgeous. He wanted to be the one making you beg like this, not some silicone toy. However, as you built yourself up to climax, he also began to see white as he spilled over his large hand. A low groan of your name was barely heard by you.

Adam's thick white cum was covering his hand and robes as he looked at your pretty legs shake from your orgasm. He was whipped, to say the least, at this point. He stood resituating himself, what he would give for you to use that mouth to clean him up slowly.

At first, this may have started with him wanting to become an angel again, but now his goal is to get you to heaven with him so he can really show you a good time and let his name fall from your pretty lips. All he knew now, as time passed, was that he wouldn't be Sedated till he finally had you in his arms.

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