#their money to make the world a better place but use it on yachts and houses instead and that's bad for the world

[rafestify]

Self Control — Rafe Cameron

rafe cameron x reader

Summary : Pogue!Reader who's known as a very calm and sweet human being, suddenly snaps and Rafe gets turned on.

Warnings : 18+, No smut, just a few cursing :D (english is not my first language, i'm sorry)

Kooks parties were never better than classic Pogues parties, or at least that's what I've always thought. There was always something about Pogue parties, filled with cheap beers, loud music, and people who didn’t care about what you wore or how much money you had. It was freeing. In contrast, Kooks parties felt suffocating—people showed up just to flex about their parents' money and gulp down overpriced drinks they couldn’t even pronounce.

But here I am, walking hand-in-hand with my boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, the "Kook King", to yet another one of these Kooks parties. I can’t help but notice the irony of it all. I’m wearing a dress that costs more than I’d normally spend in six months, and even though it looks amazing, it feels strange—like I’m playing a role in someone else’s world. It clings to my body in all the right places, but it’s not me. Everything about being with Rafe is like that—expensive, luxurious, and completely foreign to the life I’ve known. Growing up as a Pogue meant thrift store finds, hand-me-downs, and making the most out of whatever little you had. Rafe’s world is the opposite. His life is silver spoons and luxury yachts, and sometimes, I feel like I’m drowning in it.

"I'm gonna go get a drink," I said, looking up at him, smiling. His hand let go of mine as I made my way through the crowd, the same familiar feeling of being out of place washing over me. The looks I got from his friends, from the Kooks, remained the same—confusion and disgust. To them, I’ll always be that Pogue who somehow ended up in their circle. Rafe could have anyone he wanted—he’s wealthy, hot, and smart, the complete Kook package. Yet, here he is with me, someone from the other side of the island, where kids grow up on fishing boats instead of private yachts.

I grabbed a drink from the bar—something fancy I couldn’t even name and took a small sip. It was bitter, too strong for my liking, but I didn’t care. I just wanted something to dull the awkwardness I felt. As I turned back, I saw Rafe talking with his friends, laughing at some inside joke I wasn’t a part of. I debated whether to go back and stand by his side or just blend into the background like I usually did at these events. I didn’t want to ruin his fun by being the odd one out, so I wandered away, trying to make myself busy.

Then I heard it.

"She's not my girlfriend, okay? She's a fucking Pogue, dude. A Pogue like her doesn’t get to live under the same roof as me."

I instantly froze. My heart dropped into my stomach. Was he really talking about me? My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. I must have misunderstood, right? But there was no mistaking the venom in his voice. My nose flared as anger and hurt collided inside me, pushing me to the edge. I turned on my heel and stormed through the crowd, my eyes searching desperately for the exit. I needed to get out of here before I exploded. The crowd felt suffocating, their laughter and clinking glasses a cruel mockery of the turmoil brewing inside me. But before I could reach the door, a strong hand wrapped around my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. I spun around, my eyes locking onto his icy blue ones, the ones I used to find myself getting lost in, the ones that now only fueled my rage.

"Where the hell are you going, baby?" he asked, his voice dripping with confusion, like he didn’t understand why I was running away.

I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him properly. My gaze dropped to the floor, my fists clenched at my sides. "Let go of me, Rafe," I said, my voice filled barely-contained anger.

He furrowed his brows, clearly confused. "What's wrong with you?" There was an edge of annoyance in his tone, like I was the one being unreasonable. I snapped. "What’s wrong with me?" He blinked, his face still a mask of confusion. He genuinely didn’t seem to get it. "Y/N, I don’t—"

"Cut the bullshit, Rafe! Don’t act like you don’t know what you said back there with your friends because I heard it all." My voice rose, shaking with the betrayal that gripped me.

The realization finally hit him. I could see it in the way his expression shifted, from confusion to guilt. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his when he was caught off guard.

"Hey, hey… listen to me—"

"No, I don’t want to hear it," I shot back, stepping away from him. "You can take your lame excuses and shove them. Go chase after some other girl." I turned to walk away again, but his voice stopped me cold.

"Do you not remember when we promised to keep our relationship secret?" he said, his voice rising in frustration. "That’s exactly what I was doing!" I froze, his words swirling in my head. I turned back slowly, glaring at him. "It doesn’t work like that, you idiot! You made it sound like I’m just your fucking toy, someone you can dump whenever you feel like it!" My voice was shaking now, the hurt bleeding into every word.

"God, you’re such a pussy, Rafe," I said with a bitter laugh. "Saying stupid shit about your girlfriend behind her back."

He bit his bottom lip, clearly struggling with what to say. For a moment, we just stood there, the tension between us thick enough to cut through. Then, in the most Rafe way possible, he leaned in, his hand gripping my neck as he pulled me into a kiss. "Jesus, you’re so hot," he muttered against my lips, kissing me hard and fast, like he could erase everything with that one gesture. I pushed him away, still furious. "Rafe—" He cut me off, his voice softening, "Save it for later, baby. Let me make it up to you."

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream at him and walk out of that party for good. But his hands were on my waist, pulling me closer, his lips finding mine again in a way that made my anger start to blur into something else.

The frustrating part was that he knew exactly what he was doing.

likes & reblogs are appreciated! 🎀( ﾟ∀ﾟ)人(ﾟ∀ﾟ )

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Summer Fling Part 9/10

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Summary - Reader has landed a research job at a marine biology lab in Portugal. She is, therefore, staying with her sister and her sister's Portuguese boyfriend for the summer holidays. There she meets Ruben Dias who is on vacation with his friends after the 2024 Euros. However, the two meet under the circumstances in which Ruben believes that Reader is a prostitute.

Enjoy ☀️

The winds were rough just off the coast. The ocean waves caught Gavin's boat in a turbulent storm drifting you further and further away from land.

"Where are you taking me?" You held onto the railings on the upper deck, watching Gavin steer his yacht right into the epicenter of approaching gray clouds.

"Gibraltar!" He shouted over the sound of  waves slapping against the side of the yacht, whipping it side to side. "I'll take us as far as the mediterranean islands. Ever heard of Malta? I'm sure you'll love it there."

"You'll never get away with this!"

"You're damn right I won't, I just fucking shot a man." He laughed.

"Then why are you doing this?" I thought you were a marine biologist?"

"I am. But darling let me tell ya, it doesn't pay as good as my other passions."

"You mean pimping out girl's to rich men?"

Gavin shook his head, a sly grin on his lips as he stepped away from the wheel of the boat. You held onto the railings but backed off as he approached you.

"I should have known who you were when I first met you. You and your sister share the same gullible face. She came to me willingly, you know. Asking me for a job that would grant her stay in Portugal. You on the other hand would rather count fish at the zoo than let a man treat you for a night."

"A man maybe, but not you…"

He smiled, playing with the strap around his waist. The strap that carried his gun. "I was like you once. Young and naive, committed to my research in hopes of making the world a better place. Here is a newsflash for ya sweetheart, the world is a fucked up place and no matter how hard you try to get the bad guys to stop doing bad things, the bad guys always win. Especially those with pockets full of money."

"So that's it, you just decided to join them, become a bad guy yourself?"

He held out his arms, "I'm doing fairly well, aren't I? And trust me, I'm doing more for marine life than any of those stuck up scientists in the universities you praise. All they do is count seaweed samples while I'm out here doing the real heavy lifting.

"You mean taking advantage of young girls for your own benefit."

"For the ocean's benefit!" He shouted.

You lost your footing for a second, gripping your bubbling stomach. The rocking of the boat did nothing to mend your  rising seasickness.

"Do you know how much time and money I've put into developing the marine station? Sure, the university gave me the permit to build it. However, I'm the one funding every piece of equipment that allows the students to perform diligent research, practical research that doesn't just end up on a chart in some ecology majors powerpoint presentation. I'm trying to change the world Y/N and I really thought you would appreciate that. Perhaps even help me collect the funding like your sister does." Gavin reached out, caressing your trembling cheeks, his thumb tracing your lips. "You would've been my favorite out of all the girls."

You hunched forward, throwing up your last meal, which appeared to be milk and cornflakes. Gavin jumped out of the way not to stain his shoes. "For fucks sake." 

He grabbed you by the arm, leading you downstairs into one of the suits. You fought him at first but let him get you out of your stained clothes. You were handed a towel to wipe your mouth while Gavin stood back, watching you with a predatory gaze, his hand reaching down to unzip his pants.

"No, wait."

He grinned, a cold grin that sent a shiver down your spine. It faltered however, with the sound of a drumming engine heard overhead.

"Fucking coastgards."

"Help, help. I'm down here. Help!"

"You shut your fucking mouth."

You winced. Gavin lunged forwards, slapping you across the face. He then drew his weapon, pressing the gun against the back of your neck. "One word." He gritted, pushing you out of the suit. 

You came around the corner, expecting to come face to face with the local coast guards. However…

"Y/N!"

"Ruben!"

His eyes narrowed at the sight of Gavin, standing behind you with a gun to your back.

"Y/N are you alright—"

"Ah, ah, another step and she dies."

"Hey man." Ruben threw his hands up. "We don't want any trouble, the police are already on their way."

"We?"

Spotted in the corner of your eye, something came rushing towards you.

"Argh!" Gavin went down, hands covering his face.

"That's for Diogo." Maki threw the hammer she held aside, grabbing Gavin's gun that had slid away from him. He lay squirming in pain, blood gushing out from the wound in his head. "And this…" Maki stood over him, angling the gun. "...This is for my sister."

"Maki, no!" You rushed to stop her. "Don't do it. He's not worth it."

"He shot Diogo." She said, the gun trembling in her hand.

"Please." You pleaded. "I don't want to lose you. If you kill him, I will."

She fought herself, her finger hovering over the trigger. 

"Please, Maki, don't do it."

Tears streamed down her face as she lowered the gun. You took it away, handing it to Ruben for safe keeping, pulling your sister into your arms.

"I'm so sorry." She cried. "This is all my fault. I'm so fucking sorry."

"I know. I'm sorry too."

The sirens from the police boats approached in the distance. What could have been had come to an end. You were safe. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

[giantkillerjack]

the average person doesn't expect you to be a perfect ethical consumer, that's not possible for the vast majority of us. but what youre saying is it's better to do nothing at all and choose the worst possible options (sweat shops, overseas shipping waste, idea/product theft, all wrapped up in SHEIN) than to put even the tiniest effort in where you can.

[they are referring to this post]

What I said was "some people are doing literally everything they can to survive and have no extra bandwidth to spend extra time and money on their purchases, and it is cruel and therefore un-punk to gatekeep punkness and add additional shame to these people's lives based on that fact."

I think it's still a good thing to try to ethically consume; I literally never said it wasn't. I had never even heard of SHEIN before. Rather, I am much more concerned about what I saw as arbitrary gatekeeping based on ability and income.

And frankly how dare you claim that I am supporting sweatshops and abuse by saying that this additional work you are demanding (in this case, presumably, vetting every clothing company you buy from) is not always possible for people. It is not a light accusation to accuse me of supporting abuse.

"How dare you say we piss on the poor", Etc. 🙄 this isn't Twitter. You are determined to enforce moral purity, but you are failing to see the nuance.

Because when I say "no extra bandwidth," I mean no extra bandwidth. This is not the "car shows it's on E but actually secretly it has a lot of gas left" situation that abled people constantly assume disabled people mean when they say they are at their limit.

This is "the car has stopped moving, and to move it I'd have to break my body pushing it." This is "at a certain point, people will hit a wall in terms of money and time and energy, and any energy spent after that comes directly out of their life force."

So the argument "okay but just spend a little more time money and energy actually" is not a valid one.

And the argument "if you are not able to do this specific task, then it means you're not doing anything else to make the world a better place" doesn't exactly impress me either. You said yourself that it is impossible to be a perfectly ethical consumer for most people.

How do you know what else people are doing to resist oppression? How many hours per week until your standards are met?What if someone works 3 jobs? Does that mean it's harder to be a good person if you're poor?? Why do you get to decide what specific avenue of bettering the world is the most morally repugnant or acceptable? What kind of proof of goodness and effort would make you satisfied enough to lay off on the shame?? Who are you helping??

Clothing is a fundamental human need, and some of us have to buy cheap fucking clothes quickly. Billionaires are buying their seventh yacht this month. The people who own fast fashion companies are abusing their workers and putting local affordable clothing stores out of business - and this applies for basically every company with price points that low because governments are failing to regulate corporations to enforce basic human rights.

I have $300 to spend on a new wardrobe as my old clothes have fallen apart or become too small. Do you have a way for me to get a new winter coat, 3 flannels, 10 shirts, 3 dress shirts, new sandals, 10 pairs of pants, 5 bras, 12 pairs of socks, and 10 pairs of underwear within that budget and also definitely 100% ethically sourced, with free returns in case it doesn't fit? Or will I simply have to use the cheap stores?

I have about an hour to spend on this per week. Many mainstream stores doesn't make clothes in my size, and I am now in *year 5* of needing an electric wheelchair and being unable to get one; plus I live up a flight of stairs, so I can't even bring my walker out with me - so thrift shopping is not gonna cover this. Should I continue to wear small and tattered clothing until I have the time, money, and energy to meet your standards?

Did you know there are more empty homes in this country than homeless people? If I decide to splurge on only 100% ethically-produced products, and I can't make rent, and I become homeless, are YOU going to be there for me?? Or are you too busy litigating the endless tiny shames of poverty in your own community?

So I ask you again, are you SURE this is where you want to direct your punk energy?

Because there are a whole lot of rich people relying on people like us punching down and to the side instead of looking up to see where the money is going.

Because energy and time, as it turns out, are limited resources. And I would never expect you to secretly have more than you claim to have.

[morganofthewildfire]

We miss you post 🧸

------------------------

Well here is a surprise for you then!! I miss posting a lot too trust me, this year has been insane, I'm trying to focus on my original novel I'm trying to write as well, but I definitely miss posting as much as I used to 🥺

this is probably literal nonsense lol, i wrote it in probably half an hour, but i've been reading a lot of mafia books lately hahaha and i took inspiration from those

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Rowan was watching her. 

He’d been watching her for a while, first because of orders, and the duty he knew he had to fulfill. But more recently it’d been out of his own interest. Because Aelin Galathynius was a fascinating creature, and he’d been unable to stop himself from wanting to see what she was going to do next.

As a mafia “princess,” there wasn’t much freedom she was really allowed. But the few grasps she had, she took and ran with. 

Whether it was staying outside for a little too long after being called in, trying to give her bodyguard the slip while out shopping, even foolishly attempting to steal money from her father’s account to purchase a ridiculously expensive pair of shoes. 

She had to know he probably would’ve bought them for her anyway, so Rowan assumed it was about the principle of the matter. Aelin liked to make waves, when the rest of her family would rather the boat not get rocked at all.

You could say it was out of luck that their surveillance hadn’t been discovered by now, but really, Rowan knew it never would be. Connall Moonbeam was far too good at his job, and Rhoe Galathynius’ joke of a security team was far too incompetent. He almost wished they were a little better, just to make this more satisfying. It wasn’t as exciting when there was no challenge. 

But the challenge would come later, when Galathynius realized what exactly they were up to. 

Of course, by then it would be too late, but his rage would be delicious. 

Rowan wondered what her rage would taste like, if it would be as sweet.

Narrowing his eyes, he sucked in a little more smoke from his cigar as he looked over across the water, his gaze landing on her figure immediately. Aelin was out tanning on her family’s yacht, followed by guards and not even leaving the marina, but still trying to act like she was in control. It was admirable, albeit stupid and pointless. 

She had no idea he was up here, on the second deck of the boat right next to hers. He’d swindled it away from the previous owners with a threat and a well placed stack of cash, using it as another method of his surveillance. They’d make their move soon, but for now he just wanted to watch. 

Rowan was sunning himself, stripped down to just a bathing suit as he laid back in his chair, set up to have the perfect vantage point. Maybe he should’ve felt like a creep, but he didn’t really give a fuck. 

Her blue eyes were closed and hidden behind a pair of expensive shades, her body highlighted by a tiny white bikini that was verging on obscene. That’d been a secret purchase, he supposed. Rhoe Galathynius wouldn’t have allowed it, no matter how much his princess pleaded. 

She could spend however much money she wanted, but she couldn’t wear anything that made her look like anything less than a perfect future mafia wife. Rowan wondered if she knew what was planned for her, who was planned for her, if she accepted her fate or not. He could answer that last one easily: she would never. She would get married kicking and screaming, until her parents found the right leverage, or the right incentive. Whichever would do the trick to make her willing to make the right connections.

It was the way of their world. Rowan knew it. Her parents knew it. Little Miss Princess would know it soon enough.

Movement caught his gaze, and Rowan turned his head to see a new figure joining Aelin on the back deck, watching as she sat up and smiled, moving her sunglasses so he could see those eyes of hers shining. From a quick glance, observing dark hair, blue eyes, and a million dollar grin, Rowan knew exactly who’d shown up. 

Dorian Havilliard. 

Another person of interest for The Cadre, though for different reasons. Rowan knew of their friendship, but he couldn’t stop his free hand from dancing along the edges of his gun as he considered if that was her intended. He could end that little problem easily right now. It would be a simple shot, and then he could slide off the boat and into his car before they even figured out where it came from. 

If the previous owners of the boat tried to spill who they’d sold it to, well, Rowan was sure Lorcan would send someone to take care of it. 

But he restrained himself, knowing the complications it could cause. Not for his own safety, but for their plan. It’d taken too long to get to this point already, too much death and sacrifice. Rowan wouldn’t thwart their chance at revenge for something as petty as this. Even if the thought of Havilliard dropping dead right there gave him an immense amount of satisfaction.

Still, Rowan forced his hand to relax, letting it rest back on the arm of his chaise lounge as he soaked in the sun. Havilliard wouldn’t be an obstacle for long, anyway. Nothing would.

The name - Rowan Whitethorn - wasn’t known in these circles, but his other name was. Hawk. One of the five names of the Cadre, an organization that had been causing chaos for all of the mafia families within the past year or so. All of it was very much deserved. The criminals of Rifthold were going to pay for the crimes they’d committed years ago, whether they were aware of what they’d done or not. 

They’d start with the Galathynius’ and the Havilliard’s, before moving on to the Hamel and his precious Assassin’s Keep, and then finally to the one woman they all despised. All five of them were from different backgrounds, and had different reasons for this revenge. But that woman…she deserved death by all of their hands.

But that would come later. For now - it was getting close to time to steal a certain mafia princess straight out of her castle, and welcome her straight into hell. 

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[flieslikeamoron]

WIP Wednesday

I've posted a couple snippets of this before, but I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere with it. So this is the first two chapters of my Steddie Schitt's Creek AU. I'll start posting it on AO3 once I'm far enough into it, but if you want a preview...

This is about 5K words. Rated T so far for kissing and slightly impure thoughts. 

Steve Harrington is in hell. Granted, he's not wanted for tax crimes, insider trading, money laundering and whatever else his parents were getting up to. So it's not like he needs to flee arrest like they did. But is he really better off?

They put away a nice little offshore nest egg, fled the country for the Maldives as soon as they realized the heat was about to come down, and never said a word to him about what was coming. No heads up. No maybe you should come on vacation with us. No here’s an account we set up for you in the Caymans. Nothing.

And that's what Steve has left to his name. Nothing. Just a handful of clothes. And a ludicrously small amount cash. It's the kind of money he used to drop on lunch, or drinks at the club. Nothing. The cars are gone, and the New York apartment, and the house in the Hollywood Hills, and the beach house, and the other beach house, and the European beach house, the jet, so much of his wardrobe it makes him want to cry... The only thing left, the only thing that wasn't in his fugitive parents' name, the only thing he actually owns is a Family Video store in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

Of all the pointless things. Why couldn't his parents have given him a sweet little boat or a cute little ski cabin or something the day he was born? Why did it have to be a useless video store?

He knows why. At the time they'd only owned about fifteen or twenty video stores. The start of a regional chain that grew into a national monster that grew into a media conglomerate. At the time it had been a way to welcome their new son into the family business. A new store. A new kid. Both born on the same day. It was symbolism, not a real gift. He's never seen the store. He doubts they have either. He completely forgot he even owned it until the lawyers sat him down and laid out the complete devastation of his life. 

He doesn’t know who’s been running it, but someone has because it’s still open. Somehow. The Family Video part of his parents’ empire went under years ago, thousands of stores shut down all over the country. Just this one lonely shop left shambling along like some kind of zombie. An obsolete relic of a bygone era. He might as well own a Model T factory.

But it’s all he’s got. So now. Instead of whatever resort his parents fucked off to, instead of a fun little yacht or a Swiss chalet, he’s heading for Hawkins, Indiana. On a bus. A Bus! Where he has been trapped for over twelve hours with the absolute dregs of humanity and the pervasive smell of literal shit wafting from the disgusting excuse for a toilet.

He emerges. finally, with four suitcases, the last precious remnants of everything he holds dear, into the absolute worst place in the world.

The bus station seems to be right on the edge of what the sign across the street proclaims “Historic Downtown Hawkins.” There’s a row of quaint brick store fronts. Faded awnings over old-fashioned window displays. There's a restaurant called Mabel's. There's a Laundr-o-matic. There's an honest to God "General Store" like something out of a black and white movie. Like Steve's time warped into the actual past. Do these people even have cell phones? Has he discovered a land cut off from modern society like some explorer uncovering a hidden tribe in the Amazon? That would explain why they still have a video store.

His head is pounding. Everything is so fucking quaint. Someone says hi to him, giving Steve a cheerful wave as he passes. A disturbingly casual friendliness that puts Steve on edge. He waves back anyway, pasting on a big, fake smile. This is a nightmare, but he’s been in bad spots before. He just needs to sell the store and get the hell out of here. 

But first things first, he needs a place to stay. 

He pulls out his phone. Does this place even have Uber?

--

The car pulls up surprisingly quickly. A big boat of an Oldsmobile that’s seen better days. Not exactly Uber Black, but beggars can’t be choosers.  Steve wheels his bags to the trunk. The driver doesn't seem like he's going to help, which is not going to do his star rating any favors. There's no porter so Steve pops the trunk himself. Only about two of the bags will fit. He puts the other two in the backseat, and climbs into the passengers seat.

The driver is a shaggy haired guy about Steve’s age. He just sit there. Staring at Steve, wide-eyed. "Hawkins Motel?" Steve says, annoyed. It's all in the app, isn't it? The guy opens his mouth, and closes it again. Is there something wrong with him? Does he not speak English? His haircut looks like he did it himself without a mirror. Steve mentally docks another star. "Anytime today," Steve snaps. He could maybe stand to be a bit more polite, but he smells of bus, and this has been the worst day of the worst week of his entire life.

The guy shrugs, still looking a bit surprised that driving an Uber means having another person in your car. "The motel you said?"

So he does speak English.

"That's right." 

At least it’s a short drive. The motel’s toward the outskirts of the town, not that it seems like they get a lot of tourist traffic around here. As his driver pulls up to the check in office, Steve hesitates. The place looks- It’s a long row of dilapidated rooms with blue painted doors. Haphazardly tilted air conditioning units in the windows. A couple windows with cardboard taped in where the glass should be. An overflowing dumpster. It looks like it has been, or will be, the scene of a murder.

“Are you okay?” 

“Be honest. Do you know of any murders that have happened here?”

The guy thinks about it for a second, rather than just rattling off a no. Which Steve appreciates. “Not that I know of,” he says. “But there’s a B&B back in town if this isn’t your speed.” He gives Steve a small smile. “Byers’ House. Really nice place.”

Steve can’t afford really nice. He mentally adds a star back to the guy’s rating for his honesty. “No, it’s- It’ll be fine. Could you just wait one second while I check in though? I need to get to Family Video after I drop off the bags.” 

“I’m kind of in the middle of-”

“Five minutes, I swear. And you’re going back that way anyway, right? I’ll pay cash.”

The guy gives him a long look. “You can’t just-” the guy says, losing steam halfway through. Steve smiles as the guy caves with a muttered, “Fine.” It’s the Harrington charm. Works every time. 

--

Family Video is on the other end of “Historic Downtown Hawkins” from the bus station. It seems to be getting into a less historic area, surrounded by a strip mall on one side. The video store has that classic brick look though. A mural on the side of the building with a mashup of movie characters from Elle Woods to Darth Vader. It could easily be removed, wouldn’t affect the sale price. There are large windows on either side of the door, the classic coming attractions posters surrounded by lights. But as Steve climbs the stairs he notices the posters are made by hand. Some of them look like well done art by someone who knows what they’re doing, some of them look like the scribblings of a five year old. 

How quaint.

He grimaces, pushing the door open. Cringing at the cheerful tinkle of a bell. "Welcome to Family Video." The girl at the counter looks up from her magazine, bored. "Can I help you find something?"

"The manager?" Steve says.

"That's me." She straightens up. "Is there a problem?"

"I'm Steve." Steve tries out a smile as he makes his way over to the counter. He has a great one. But she seems unmoved, not smiling back. "Harrington." He points in the vague direction of the Family Video logo on the wall. "As in, the family in Family Video."

She cocks her head. "I think my family is the family in this Family Video. We've only been running the place for 28 years." She adds, "Buckley." She points to the nametag on her suspenders that says Robin. She's wearing suspenders. Somehow they kind of work for her.

"I'm sure my family appreciates all your family has done to keep the store up and running."

"Last one in the country."

Steve gives smiling one more go. She looks at him stone faced. So much for the famous Harrington charm. Steve supposes what he's about to say isn't going to give her a lot to smile about. "I guess this is awkward," Steve says. "But the fact is I own this building, and the franchise license."

"The hell you do." She crosses her arms over her chest, lifting her chin.

"I do though," Steve says. "I don't know what deal my parents worked out with your parents. Obviously, we've been- I've been- Hands off. So that's thirty years of profits you haven't had to share and rent you haven't had to pay. I won't be seeking to recoup that, by the way."

She snorts. "Go ahead and try. There aren't any profits to share. We barely keep the lights on."

"Maybe this is an opportunity then," he says. "To turn this-" He makes a motion, encompassing the worn counter she's standing behind, the overflowing shelves of Blu-rays and DVDs, the scuffed floors. The general aura of decline in this shrine to an outdated form of media. "Into something profitable."

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"Well, the building has value. If the business doesn’t."

"The business has value," she argues. "It's just not in profits."

Steve cocks his head. "I don't follow."

"It has value to the town. We host movie nights in the town square all summer. We have groups that meet here to talk about film or books or writing." She motions at a couple squashy chairs in the corner with another mural on the wall. It’s the Gremlins doing a dance from Singing in the Rain. "We have an annual film festival. It’s happening next month. There are-"

"That's great," Steve interrupts. "But I need actual money. Not feel good small town vibes." He has to get out of this hellhole. And if that means selling this building out from under this stranger he doesn't give a shit about, he'll do it. That's business. That's how the world works. 

“And I need you to go be delusional somewhere else.” She frowns at him. “You don’t own this place.”

“Really?” he says. “Because I have a copy of the deed in my bag back at the hotel and another on file with my lawyer. How about you?”

“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” She manages to sound confident despite the fact that Steve knows for a fact she doesn’t have the goods. 

“I’m happy to come back tomorrow with my extremely legal paperwork that will hold up in any court of law,” he says. “And you bring… Whatever you can dig up to help your case. If that doesn’t settle it, you can spend the profits you don’t have on a lawyer.” 

“Great,” she says, voice flat. “Is there anything else I can help you with.” The amount of rage coming off her would be intimidating if he wasn’t completely sure he owns this place. And if she wasn’t wearing suspenders. 

--

Steve heads to the diner down the street from the video store for dinner. He feels sort of shitty. Maybe he should have made his lawyer do this part, but he can’t really afford the retainer. So fuck it, fine. He’ll be the bad guy. It's not like it's his fault Robin’s parents put all their eggs in the basket of a store they didn't even own. What is Steve supposed to do about it? He needs the money. He owns the place. It's not on him to preserve some weird non-profit video store, just so kids can hang out there and talk about movies or whatever she was going on about.

"Anything I can get you?" a pretty blond asks. Steve grabs the menu, gives it a scan. The last few weeks have been one indignity after another. Steve didn’t really think he had any farther to sink, anything left to lose. But looking at that menu a lead weight sinks to the bottom of his gut, his throat suddenly going tight. He wants his salad with truffle vinagrette, he wants wagyu beef not meatloaf, he wants hiramasa not tilapia. He doesn’t want chicken fried anything ever. 

"How about you bring me your favorite thing on the menu." He tries his smile out on the waitress just to make sure it's not broken. It’s probably not his best effort, considering how desperately he wants to cry about toro tartare. But she smiles back, charmed. He takes a second to notice how well she fills out her apron. Chrissy, her name tag says.

"Anything?" she says. "You don't have any food allergies, or-"

"Surprise me, Chrissy." She blushes at the sound of her name in his mouth.

“It’s so weird that you’re like… Here.” She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. Very cute. “I’ve never met anyone famous before.” 

“I know what you’re going to say,” Steve teases. “I’m more handsome than the pictures.” 

She laughs. “Are you here for a while?” He can’t tell if it’s a come on or just curiosity. 

“I have some business to wrap up,” Steve says. “But I’ll be here for a week or two.” Not more than that, surely. How long can it take to sell a stupid building?

"I'm really sorry about what happened. With your family and everything." She leans in, like she thinks he might be embarrassed for anyone to overhear her talking about something that was all over the news, all over twitter, all over tiktok, all over everything. The charges being made public. The feds turning Steve’s New York apartment inside out. Steve getting escorted out into a sea of flashing cameras. Every microsecond of his misfortune documented.

"Thanks," he says, clipped. The last thing he needs is pity from some girl who probably peaked by captaining her high school cheerleading squad, some waitress who's probably never left her home town. Steve's fucking broke, but he's still better than this town. Better than these people. He doesn't need her pity.

She senses the shift in his mood, the smile no longer directed at her. And straightens up. "Anything to drink?"

--

Steve fishes his phone out of his handbag when she's gone. He knows he shouldn't, but he checks his Instagram. He has friends all over the world. Had friends all over the world. And now look, he can watch them having fun without him in real time. Watch them not thinking about him. Not missing him. It's all right there in the palm of his hand.

There’s Kassandra sun bathing in Ibiza. And there’s Oliver clubbing in Toyko. And there’s Stavros. His boyfriend of a record breaking three months. Kissing some guy on the private plane he was supposed to be using to fly Steve out of here. And there’s Stavros kissing that same guy on his yacht with a breathtaking Mediterranean sunset behind them. Steve zooms in on a carpaccio with a jealousy so intense he feels sick to his stomach. Fuck Stavros, honestly. But he would kill for that carpaccio. 

"Here you go," Chrissy chirps. She puts down a plate. "It's not actually on the menu, but it's my favorite. It’s like avocado toast, but it’s hash browns instead of toast. The kitchen makes it for me special." She puts down a second smaller plate with a few huge onion rings. “Mabel’s famous for her onion rings. Or- It’s the sauce, really.”  She adds a milkshake. “You can use the shake for dipping too.”

Steve looks at the food. It’s all so… Fried. He looks at her face, the tentative smile there. He feels a flush of something uncomfortable. Feels sort of small, air knocked out of him by the way she bounced off his coldness and came back with a little piece of herself and a smile. Something hooks into his chest, and tugs. 

“Thank you.” It sounds- Pathetically sincere. “It looks delicious.” That’s a lie, but he’s fucking doing his best.

Her smile grows to a bright, wide thing. Her pretty face lit up. She tilts her head, taking a breath. "Listen. I know you probably have- It's probably not what you're used to," she says. "But if you want to meet some people, there's a party out by the lake tonight." She shrugs. "I know it's hard to be new in town." She smiles again. So cute. "At least you could get a couple beers out of it."

"Will you be there?"

She blushes and nods. Pretty. Tempting. A nice distraction. Maybe even something he could put on his Insta.

“I’ll see you there.”

--

The party is exactly what Chrissy said it would be. Big bonfire. A couple kegs. A bunch of locals getting drunk, getting loud, hooking up. Steve looks around for Chrissy, pushing his way through the crowd. He doesn’t see her, and being around these yokels is bad for his morale. He grabs a beer and does another pass through the crowd, looking for anyone who’d make a good picture. He doesn’t need to advertise that he’s at a shitty party, but making out with someone hot might give Stavros second thoughts about taking that generic twink to Mykonos when he could have had Steve. 

Steve looks past the rowdy center of the party to a guy standing a bit away from the fire. Long hair. Leather jacket. Shit-kicker boots. Steve can see a tantalizing bit of ink on his hand as he lights a cigarette. A bit more ink peeking out of the worn neckline of his tshirt. He looks like the kind of guy that'll sell you drugs or steal your wallet.

Perfect.

The camera is already open on Steve’s phone as he steps in close to the guy. Steve takes a fist full of his shirt in hand to keep him from stepping back as Steve plants one on him. The phone clicks and Steve' glances over at, about to take one more. 

The guy cups Steve's chin. Warm fingers insistent, turning Steve away from the phone. Turning the hurried, awkward mash of their lips together into something that catches. Steve opens up, unthinking, for the heat of his mouth. The hand tight on his waist urges him closer, into the brush of leather, the heat of a body up against his. There's a lazy confidence to the way the guy slips him a little tongue. Steve leans into it, into him.

And the guy pulls back.

It takes Steve a second to let go of the grip he has on the guy's shirt. To remember why he came over here. His phone. Right. He never did get that second pic. He licks his lower lip. His eyes still on the guy. On his mouth. When Steve looks up enough to catch the guy's eye, the cocky quirk of his eyebrow, he can feel his face going hot.

Jesus.

Why is this guy even getting to him? He flirted his way out a Saudi prince's compound. He made it through two countries without a passport. He got into KissKiss without a lock of human hair. He does not get flustered. Especially not by small town guys with hair like they've been in a bunker since the 80s, and rough fingers and that infuriatingly amused look on their face.

"Um," Steve says. The guy's smile gets wider. Fuck. 

“I have to-” Steve makes a vague motion, and starts walking in any random direction that’s away from how hard his heart is pounding, from how obvious it must be that he wants. From how easy it was to get under his skin. He tries not to picture that taunting grin being directed at his back while the guy watches him basically make a run for it. 

--

Steve hitches a ride back to the motel, dreading taking an actual look inside his room. The bags are where he carelessly tossed him. The floors are worn linoleum. The air conditioner rattles like a plane propeller. The tile in the bathroom is chipped and discolored. He lines up his bags neatly in the closet. No point in unpacking. He won’t be staying long. 

There are cigarette burns on the blanket, but the sheets seem clean at least. He slides gingerly into bed and pulls out his phone. He looks at the picture he took. It’s not great. A bit blurry. There’s the awkward stretch of his arm holding the camera. But if he cropped it- He zooms in on the guy’s face, trying to get a better look than he did at the party. It’s really only half his face. Steve can’t see that glint in his eyes, that curve of the grin that sticks so sharply in Steve’s craw. The soft focus blurry moment of his mouth against Steve’s still sends a thick pulse of arousal through Steve’s gut. The memory of the guy’s fingers against his chin, the demanding heat of his mouth.

He deletes the photo from his phone without posting it. It wasn’t Instaworthy.

CHAPTER TWO

Steve wakes up feeling worse than he did the time he accidentally roofied himself. A shower helps a little. The water temperature could charitably be called lukewarm. But Steve stands too long in the tepid spray, drawing in deep breaths, filling his lungs with the smell of his shampoo. One of a kind, made just for him. Because he’s the kind of person people want selling their brand. Because he’s the kind of person who has what other people want. He’s the kind of person other people want to be like. 

Or he was. 

No, he still is. No one will touch him right now, but that’s temporary. The next scandal will come along. People will forget about the bullshit, and remember that he’s Steve Harrington. 

He fortifies himself with a look in the mirror. He hasn’t changed. He’s still got a face made to sell collagen spray and a body made for thirst traps. He takes a little extra time with his hair. He takes a little extra time choosing his outfit, running his hands through the couture in his suitcases, the thick wool and crisp linen, bumpy tweed, featherlight jersey. He pulls out a couple favorites. The gray pleated skirt. Thom Browne, of course. He hesitates between the matching sports coat and the red LV bomber. He always feels like hot shit in the bomber, but he should probably go for the look that says I’ll see you in court. His fingers trail over the soft leather of the bomber as he puts it back in his suitcase. 

He snaps a couple pics when he’s done. There’s no way he’d post something with this hotel room as a background, but look at his hair. Perfect. His outfit. Impeccable. And there’s that Harrington smile. 

--

There only seems to be one Uber driver in this town, but at least the guy was- Well, no, he wasn’t friendly. But he did help Steve carry his bags to the motel room. He knows the town too. Maybe Steve can pump him for the dirt on Robin and the store.

It’s a van than pulls up to the motel parking lot though, not the Oldsmobile from yesterday. Steve peers in the window, just in case he’s about to get kidnapped.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath when a very familiar pair of brown eyes meet his. Long hair and tattoos. Leather jacket just like last night. Steve would almost rather walk. But he is dressed to threaten legal action. Probably best not to show up sweaty.

Steve opens the sliding door to the back. It’s full of an alarming amount of crap. Tools, and random metal parts of something. A car? Steve doesn’t know. Wood, a small plastic lawn chair, a lawnmower, an amp for some reason- 

The guy pats the passenger’s seat. “Up here, big boy.”

Steve climbs in as smoothly as he can. Just because he humiliated himself last night doesn’t mean he has to do it again.

“I’m Eddie,” the guys says. “And you’re… Steve?” He reads off the phone in his hand. “I didn’t catch your name before.”

Steve could maybe pretend he doesn’t remember. Do the whole “I’m sorry have we met?” It can be devastating if you drop it on the right person. But he’s pretty sure all he’ll get if he tries it on this guy, Eddie, is a knowing smirk. 

Fuck it. “Came on a little strong,” Steve says. “Sorry, I guess.”

Eddie pulls out of the parking lot. “No apology needed. You’re not that bad a kisser.”

Steve knows exactly what Eddie’s doing, but he can’t just not set the record straight. “I’m a good kisser.” Eddie shrugs, still with that teasing grin on his face. His eyes on his rearview. “I escaped from the Yakuza because of how good a kisser I am.”

Eddie shoots him a skeptical look. “If you say so.”

“I’m serious. I have literally been given a car because of how good a kisser I am. A really nice car.”

Eddie laughs. “I mean, if you want to prove it we could try again. See if I’m inspired to buy you breakfast.”  He chucks Steve under the chin, condescending. Steve wants to eviscerate him. He also kind of wants to take him up on it, a surge of heat spearing through his gut. What is it about this fucking guy? He bats Eddie’s hand away. 

“Excuse you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are we asking for permission before we grab each other now?” 

“That was a one time grabbing,” Steve says. “Temporary insanity. So how about we both agree to keep our hands to ourselves from here on out.”

“Your loss.” Eddie flashes his teeth. He’s such an asshole. It’s really unfortunate how bad Steve wants to touch his dick.

--

There’s a closed sign on the door of the video store, and no lights on. It’s well past nine. This is no way to run a business. Steve knocks on the door, but the lights stay off. 

He waits five minutes, ten, before giving up and heading down the street toward the diner. He’ll kill some time having breakfast, then try again. Chrissy’s at the counter in her perky little ponytail. He smiles when she gives him a blushy wiggle of her fingers, and takes a seat at the counter.

“Did you have a good time at the party?” she asks.

“Would have been better if you were there.” She giggles, handing him a menu. “I looked for you.”

“I had to close up.” She bites her lip, scrunches her nose. “I got there late.” She leans in across the counter and lowers her voice like she’s telling secrets. “I looked for you too.” 

Steve wouldn’t mind the distraction. A no strings fling with someone like her. Someone who’d be sweet on his tongue. Soft in his arms. Not like Eddie. Eddie’s too- 

Eddie pops up from behind the counter with a screwdriver in his mouth. Fucking hell. Is the guy a living jumpscare? Why is he everywhere Steve goes?

He has his hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, and his jacket off. Tight Metallica tee that shows off the tattoos on his arms. Full sleeves of stark black ink that Steve doesn’t have time to pick apart before he’s making himself look down at the menu. He’s thinking about breakfast and not about rough fingers on his skin, a warm mouth wrapped around his- Nope. He’s not thinking about that.  

“Flirt on your own time, Chris.” Steve looks up at the warmth in Eddie’s tone. It’s teasing, but without the edge he takes when he’s poking at Steve.

Chrissy rolls her eyes at him and smacks him on the shoulder. “Shut up, jerk. I’m not paying you to hassle me.”

“Where’s that replacement motor?” Eddie asks. She looks around, and snatches it up off the counter. He takes it, and holds on, her hand caught in his as he raises an eyebrow and says, “Be good.” They both look at Steve. He hopes they don’t think they’re being subtle. 

Steve watches as they look back at each other, a whole conversation in the way Chrissy wrinkles her nose and Eddie gives his head a shake. They’re definitely fucking. So much for that distraction.

--

The store’s still closed when Steve gets back from the diner. This has to be deliberate. Is Robin avoiding him? Hoping he’ll go away? Joke’s on her. It’s not like he has anywhere else to go.

A bunch of kids are sitting on the steps of the store, arguing with each other about Minecraft or whatever kids like. 

“Anyone know why they aren’t open?” Steve asks.

One of the kids, curly haired with a trucker hat shrugs. “We were wondering the same thing.” 

“Maybe she’s sick,” a red headed girl offers. 

“She seemed fine yesterday,” Steve says.

“Usually you’re not sick right up until you are, so-” The red head looks at Steve with a level of withering disdain only middle schoolers are capable of. 

“What are you guys even doing here?” Steve says. “Don’t you have netflix?”

“Of course we have netflix,” a lanky, dark haired scarecrow of a boy says. He runs a close second on the withering disdain meter to Red Head.

A chorus of voices overlap each other.

“Robin has lots of stuff that’s not on netflix.”

“And she lets us play DND at the store.

“We’re making a movie.”

“What kind of movie?” Steve instantly regrets asking. 

Five voices start clamoring. Steve gets about three words of it. One of the words is “Demogorgon,” which he’s pretty sure is not actually a word. A smaller boy with stick straight brown hair in a truly unfortunate bowl cut holds up several weird drawings that don’t help make anything clearer. 

“Did you do the window?” Steve asks the kid, ignoring the rest of the useless non-information being yelled at him. He points at the poster for Ghostbusters. It’s one of the better ones.

“Yeah,” the kid says. “I’m Will.” He points at a signature in the corner of the poster. Steve’s having a hard time not looking at his haircut. He’s pretty sure it would qualify as child abuse. 

Trucker Hat grabs the stack of pictures from Will’s hand and starts laying them out on the sidewalk. The other kids start yelling again, rearranging the order and calling each other stupid, uninspired, derivative…

“We still don’t even have a hero!”

“And who’s going to play Daisy?”

“Plus the third act and-”

“But the costume has to-”

“Guys,” a good looking, dark-skinned boy says, swinging a bat in front of him. “Come on. I can play the hero.”

“You’re not a hero, Lucas. You’re a shrimp,” Trucker Hat says.

“We already decided none of us would be the hero,” Scarecrow says. 

“What about him?” Red Head asks. 

Steve looks up from the pictures he’d been trying to puzzle through. It’s like a very confusing comic book with no words. “What?”

“Are you like, athletic?” Will says.

“He is pretty tall,” Scarecrow admits reluctantly.

“He’s obviously not busy.”

“Can you swing a bat?” Lucas asks.

Steve isn’t sure he likes where this is going, but- “Can I swing a bat.” Steve snorts. “I played polo against Prince William. And I won.”

“They don’t use a bat in polo,” Trucker Hat points out.

“Gimme the fucking-” Steve snatches the bat out of Lucas’ hand. He puts his handbag down and spins the bat around his wrist once to get a feel for it. Then swings at the closest thing to him. Which happens to be a mailbox. With a gnome sitting on top of it. 

The gnome goes flying, and keeps flying. 

“Holy shit,” Lucas says. The kids watch wide-eyed as the thing sails all the way down the block and across the street. Knocking through a window with the loud smash of glass shattering. 

Oops. 

But still. “I told you,” Steve says, flipping the bat up and catching it one handed.

“Jesus Christ.” Trucker Hat sounds a little bit impressed, and a little bit freaked out.

“That’s the police station,” Will says, sounding more freaked out than impressed.

A few cops burst of the building.

“Run for it,” Red Head says, taking off on her skateboard with a gaggle of bicycles in hot pursuit.

By the time the cops make it down the street Steve’s the only one there. Bat in hand.

“Fucking kids.”

[griseldagimpel]

The Locked Tomb: The Cryo Project

I wanted to look at the cryo project described in Nona the Ninth in more detail, since I'm in STEM myself. (Standard Disclaimer: All opinions are my own and do not reflect my employer, etc.) All quotes from the text below are transcribed by me, so any errors are also my own.

It was me and A- and M- at the start. It wasn't that they didn't have money for a bigger team; we were simply the only ones capable of what they were asking.

Alright. So this is wildly unrealistic but is one of those cases where an author is sacrificing realism at the altar of a better story, which is fine.

In terms of realism, for a project the scope of cryo project, I'd expect it to have a bazillion people working on it, split into small teams, who are also all only working on one specific aspect of the project. Also, the person in charge of the project is usually not really in the weeds of working on developing the project.

But for the sake of the story, John and his team are the only people working on the project, which both limits the number of characters the author needs to establish and increases the stakes of the plot. And having John be in charge of the project - I'll get to that - gives him responsibility, while having him be one of the people actually working on the project creates investment. He's not just some manager handling time cards or whatever; he's actually doing STEM stuff.

By the way, I've seen fans interpret John as a failson tech bro, and no, this is wildly off base. Tech bros are all about capitalism and maximizing profits; any talk of wanting to save the world is either hype or them getting high off their own supply. John, on the other hand, is working on an actual STEM project to solve an actual problem that will actually help people. So not a tech bro.

And failsons come from money. From what we get of John's upbringing - playing with second-hand Barbies and so forth - suggests John grew up on the poorer side of things. Now, as a member of the cryo project, John is likely making some good money in his adulthood. But think "nice house in the suburbs with a second fridge in the garage", not "mansion". He's in a "can afford to buy a small boat" place financially, not a "can afford to buy a mega-yacht" place. (Failsons are also incompetent, but John has legitimate accomplishments.)

C- was brought on by the oversight execs for contracts, you know, checks and balances...

I have never as an engineer dealt with a lawyer on a project before, but from this I'm going to conjecture three things. First, it's a trillionaire (or a trillionaire's company) bankrolling the cryo project. Second, C- was brought on because the trillionaires wanted to shift their focus to the FTL ships. Thirdly, the cryo project was behind schedule and over budget.

Upper management for whatever company is employing John, A-, and M- bid for the cryo project from the trillionaire's company with an unrealistic schedule and budget. They get the contract because of that and because they have the right people. Project goes over budget and is behind schedule, but at that point, it's easier to negotiate an extension. I mean, the fate of the world is at stake. What is the trillionaire's company going to do? Cancel the project?

But after negotiating extension(s), the trillionaires have decided to shift plans. Why save everyone when they can just save themselves? They can just make FTL ships and leave.

So C-'s job is to find something that John's team is doing that could be used by the trillionaire's to break contract. That's why she's onsite, hovering over their shoulders.

Alternatively, it is possible that John, A-, and M- are contractors working directly for the trillionaire's company. They aren't direct employees, though. Otherwise, there wouldn't be need for C- to try to break the contract. (Okay, yes, I'm assuming At Will employment here, and the above wouldn't apply if John, A-, and M- were in a STEM union. But, look, the story is about trillionaires abandoning humanity to die in favor of saving themselves. I don't think it's a setting where strong unions are a thing.)

Sure, the maternity stuff wasn't totally ironed out, but we were nearly there, and the packing was perfect.

I'm going to guess that one of the specific reasons that cryo project is behind schedule and over budget is that "figure out the maternity stuff" wasn't taken into account in the original bid and has proved to be more complicated than upper management originally [unrealistically] expected.

Of course they bitched about the timeline, and they bitched about the money, but they were always going to bitch about the money.

This is true.

And this is pretty much confirmation about my conjecture that the project is behind schedule and over budget.

Our rule was, nobody knowingly left behind.

This sets up the conflict. John and his team want to do what's right. The trillionaires only care about themselves.

Even when they were constructing the other ships, we got told straight up that it was nothing. ... We even lent them G- at the time because they wanted to talk about coating.

The ships here I presume are the FTL ships.

And this supports my conjecture that the same trillionaire's company is behind both the cryo project and the FTL ships. That's why G- can be shifted between teams.

When they called me up and said the cryo project was over...

John is the one getting the call because he's in charge of the project. He might be project manager, but it's also possible that he's simply the team lead. Anyway, he wouldn't have been the one to have hired A- and M-, and he's not there boss, exactly, but he does have seniority on the project. But that's why they treat him as a colleague; because that's what he is.

He said that the official paperwork claimed they'd decided to pull back and think things through again, but he'd always known they'd reinvested in something else, he just didn't know what.

Further support for my conjecture that the a trillionaire's company was funding both the cryo project and the FTL ships. Thematically, the trillionaires decision to only save themselves comes at the direct expense of saving everyone.

The economy tanked. It hadn't been in great shape to begin with. A- was panicking because our kill-fee money was suddenly worth nothing and what if the banks crashed and that nothing went too?

Without C- to provide a justification to void the contract, the trillionaire's company funding the cryo project had to pay out a penalty fee to void it.

We got a lot of attention at first because they wanted someone to blame, wanted to know who we were. M- and A- could've walked into new jobs in a heartbeat but I was irradiated, I'd never work in the industry again.

This is very strong evidence that John was in charge of the project. That's why he's getting made into the fall guy.

[laurfilijames]

Lust and Lace

Pairing: Evan Lace x female reader

Words: 4,151

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing, mentions of infidelity, drugs and prostitution. Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: Being with Evan Lace has always been an unattainable dream, until he loses everything while at the same time he gains exactly what he's needed.

A/N: This story may contain some spoilers to the episodes of Westside that Dean is in, but will not follow the plot closely (especially not how it ends for Evan 😭) If anyone would like to know more about the show or his character please feel free to message me!

I have fallen hard for this character, and to those of you who have watched him in this series, it may seem ooc but I just wanted to give this man some love. He deserved better.

Also the moustache.

Prompts used were Evan Lace, "We're not done here." and Mirror Sex.

---

Women wanted him. Men wanted to be him. And even more wanted to see him fail.

Evan Lace was a prick. A rich, selfish, business man who made most of his success by doing dirty deals with the other higher-ups in Auckland, and just as many with the scum who were the real ones to make the world go 'round; not hesitating to assist in something shady or illegal in order to take money out of one rich hand only to place it in another.

You were stuck in between; a waitress at a high-end restaurant lounge where Evan frequented with the other sports car driving dicks who treated you like dirt, and had grown up in the shitty end of the city where they would never dare venture aside to get their drugs or visit their favourite prostitute.

But for years Evan had held a level of respect toward you, always flashing a knowing smile that peaked out from beneath his moustache and showed the dimples on his smooth cheeks, his blue eyes lingering on your face that burned hot from his glare as you waited on him weekly. It was unspoken and inactive, but there was something that lay in wait; a deep, mutual yearning that sat on scales and threatened to tip in your favour.

Today was the same as any other; stealing glances at each other while the others at the table - including his fiancé, Joanne - were sucked into boring conversations about the latest designer fashion or art or whose yacht they would take around the harbor on the next hot day.

"Get me out of here," he whispered as you leaned across to refill his water glass, trying your hardest to disguise your smile, the proximity of his face to your chest making you swelter.

His eyes remained fixed on you as you retreated and moved to stand between the fat, balding car dealer and some other privileged man beside him, no one the wiser to Evan currently undressing you in his mind.

Still, nothing had ever come to fruition between you, not wanting to cross the already-toyed with line of being a complete sinner in life - even considering he had cheated on his first wife with the current woman dangling off his arm - but you couldn't deny it was something you had desired since the moment you met the smooth-talking entrepreneur.

Taking a quick break between serving their many courses, you peered at yourself in the bathroom mirror and prayed their meal would soon come to an end, hardly feeling capable of keeping your hands or mouth to yourself each time you had to bring or retrieve something from their table; the tension between you and Evan blatantly obvious to everyone but the self-absorbed idiots he was forced to rub elbows with to keep money pooling into his bank account.

It was just your luck when Joanne and her posse of high-maintenance women strolled into the bathroom, their disapproving stares at you making an automatic smile break out on your face despite the irritation you felt inside. You refused to give them the satisfaction of leaving right away, and lingered as you reapplied some lip balm and fixed your hair.

"Where are you and Evan headed this weekend, then?" One woman asked Joanne who fluffed her too-poofy hair and picked out an obnoxious shade of hot-pink lipstick to cake on her unfaithful lips.

"Nowhere," she drawled, smirking at her friend in the mirror. "I am going away, but he is staying home. I need a break from him," she said quietly, almost as if to herself. "...need a new man to play with."

Her friends broke out in a cackling laughter, and she easily joined in, making it clear that not an ounce of shame filled her for cheating - for what you knew was not the first time - on her fiancé who chose to stay faithful despite what he truly wanted or how he felt.

You gave a curt nod and another fake smile as you excused yourself to squeeze past the shoulder pads of their neon-coloured clothes, hearing them continue on as the door swung back and forth while you stood on the other side of it.

"I thought you were fucking that young lad who works for him?"

"I am!"

You sighed and shook your head, glancing over to see Evan looking down as he wrote out the cheque to cover the entire table, knowing he would be giving you a lavish tip and that the company he kept didn't deserve an ounce of his generosity or attention. His features looked bored and withdrawn as he settled back into his chair after putting his pen back in the pocket of his jacket, and like many other times before, his eyes found yours across the room.

Did he know of her infidelity? He had to, you told yourself, moving over to the bar to polish wine glasses with a cloth as you lost yourself in thought. It wasn't as though she was exactly subtle, and as far as you were aware he had kept his hands to himself for the most part during their relationship. If he knew and was unhappy, why did he stay?

"Ah, the mysteries of the rich!" Your coworker said to you as he came up from behind, having caught you staring as they all collected their expensive suit jackets and overpriced purses from the chairs they sat too comfortably in.

You hummed in response, unable to say anything else, and sensing your unease, your friend spoke instead.

"Why don't you take off, eh? You've been here long enough today. I'll finish up and see you tomorrow."

"Ta," you thanked, genuinely, setting down the cloth as you removed your apron.

The sun was just beginning to set as you stepped outside and walked slowly to your car, enjoying the warmth on your face before it disappeared. To your surprise, you looked up to see Evan leaning against your old, rusty sedan, his freshly waxed, white Audi parked beside it an alarming contrast. He looked perfect, his tailored suit hugging his form, his wavy hair highlighted in the golden hour of the day, the lines around his eyes showing through behind the rim of his brand-name sunglasses.

"You're too expensive to be seen sitting on that car," you joked, making him chuckle and stand so he could turn slightly to look at it, pulling his shades down to rest on the bridge of his nose.

"Eh, it's not half-bad," he claimed, trying to flatter you rather than patronize you.

"Is there something I can help you with?" you asked, your brows knitted together as you watched his grin fade and he tilted his head to squint at you after removing his sunglasses.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know Joanne and her friends can be kind of nasty…" He placed his hands on his hips, wincing slightly with what had to be embarrassment for his bitchy to-be wife.

You laughed out of annoyance, realizing her and her clique must have been making remarks about you when they returned to the table.

Doing a quick survey of the area to check for any signs of her, you asked dryly; "Where is she now?"

"Oh, probably sucking some idiot's cock," he said, too nonchalantly given the topic, waving a hand in the air.

"Why are you with her, Evan?"

Almost nervously, he kicked a stone with his polished shoe and tucked his lip in his teeth, his moustache twitching slightly as he scrunched up his face and forced himself to look at you.

"It's easy? She sticks around…knows the game…" He looked at you earnestly, placing his hands on his hips again before giving an unknowing shrug. "I loved her."

"That's past-tense, Evan."

He nodded, and his tongue darted out nervously to lick the hair on his upper lip.

"Yeah, well-"

"She doesn't love you," you finally blurted, not worrying or caring if your blatancy would cause an outburst from him or for whatever "thing" you had between you to go up in smoke despite the flame barely being ignited. You took a step toward him, your hand landing on his forearm to give it a gentle squeeze. "You deserve better. Even you know you and her shouldn't be together."

His face turned stoic and you watched his cheeks flinch as he clenched his teeth together and exhaled deeply through his nose.

"It's not that simple," he stated, his tone almost angry as he tried to convince himself his engagement to Joanne was something it wasn't.

His blue eyes danced back and forth as they bore into yours, and he drew even closer to your body, making your eyelids fall shut as you waited for what could come next.

"You know I want you," he whispered, close enough that his moustache grazed your flushed cheek and made you swallow down a whimper that had leapt up in your throat. "I always have."

"Then have me," you offered, your voice stronger than you felt, your tongue speaking on behalf of the desire that fueled you for the man in front of you who was unattainable.

His nose nudged your cheek carefully as he breathed you in, his lips slowly brushing over your soft skin to steal a taste of what he wanted, making every fiber of your being scream at him to finally kiss you.

To your disappointment, he backed away, taking with him his intoxicating scent of expensive cologne and tobacco; capable of maintaining a resolve that you were sure you didn't have, and gave you a dangerous but sincere look.

"We're not done here."

His promise sparked on your skin like electricity, making you ache for him more than you ever had before, and you stayed fixed in the same spot as you watched him get in his car and drive away.

Weeks had passed with no sign of Evan, and you found yourself stopping whatever you were doing to check if it was him who walked in the restaurant each time the door opened. You hoped he was okay, having heard whispers of things happening involving him and people who didn't have his best interests at heart, and part of you felt tempted to go to his house to check on him.

He has a fiancé, you said to yourself for the millionth time already since you got home from work, knowing you would have nothing to use as an excuse if you showed up and Joanne answered the door.

You kept thinking of every possible scenario, trying to make sense of his absence as you cleaned up your kitchen from making yourself dinner, until your phone rang on the wall and halted the worrying momentarily.

"Hello?" you spoke into the receiver, your other hand twirling the spiraled cord as you waited for the caller to speak.

Silence.

"Hello?" you asked again, hearing nothing but the faintest sound of someone breathing, and then they hung up.

Slowly, you placed the phone back on its holder and turned back toward your kitchen sink, wracking your brain in trying to establish who that could've been.

Your curiosity was answered not twenty minutes later when a knock sounded on your front door, and to your shock, it was Evan who stood on the other side of it.

He looked worn and upset, traces of anger intermixed with the other two, and without question you ushered him in and shut the door behind him.

"Evan w-"

"I'm sorry, I just needed to get out of there," he blurted, running his hand down his face, his moustache rough against his fingers as they passed it.

"Out of where? Was it you who called earlier?"

He seemed agitated, turning away from you and breathing heavily as he continued to fidget with various parts of his body, like he couldn't figure out what to do with himself.

"My home- house, whatever the fuck that empty building is," he explained, but it only elevated your confusion.

"Empty?...Evan what happened?"

"She's gone. Everything is gone. Joanne. My stuff. My fucking cars. All of it!" he shouted, making your heart leap in your chest, his anger fueled by hurt that was clear in his blue eyes as they glistened with tears in the light from the lamp beside the couch.

He stepped toward you, his features trying to work out which emotion to show, and he sighed as he brought his hands to his hips and looked at you pleadingly.

"I called. I wanted to see if you were home-" He started pacing and you were tempted to reach out to hold him in an attempt to stop him. "I need to be with someone I can trust."

Your heart broke at his words, and you closed the space between you, gathering him in your arms to pull him into a hug.

"You can trust me," you vowed, feeling him relax into you as he wrapped his arms around you in return.

"I should've left that bitch long ago," he mumbled angrily against your shoulder, and as much as you agreed, you stayed silent.

After a moment of relishing the feel of being this close to each other, Evan broke away to look at you, his gaze steely. "I should've been with you."

You swallowed thickly, the very thing you wished for finally spoken from the lips you wanted to kiss, but you hesitated as the feeling of being second-best washed over you.

"Will I be a placeholder until the next model dripping with dirty money comes along?" you dared to ask, your heart trying to steady itself as his thumbs rubbed back and forth on your arms.

His brows furrowed and he looked even more weary as the lines around his eyes and dark circles that hugged them accentuated how bloodshot they were.

"No," he shook his head. "None of that shit fucking matters," his voice rose slightly as anger fed his words again. "I want you."

You had difficulty believing him, so conveniently coming to you the moment he was abandoned, but then again his ability to refrain from you for so long reminded you that he didn't see you as some cheap fuck to root for a good time, and that maybe there was some truth in his feelings for you.

"Prove it."

It wasn't exactly fair, requesting this from him the day he lost everything, but you wouldn't see yourself succumb to being used by someone who exploited people as part of their livelihood, especially with your heart being the item at stake. Still, you longed to comfort him, to show him what he really deserved and what kind of love he could have, and your mind and your heart continued to battle as you stared back into his eyes that held their own confliction.

Evan crashed against you, his hands flying up to hold your cheeks desperately as his mouth covered yours with a strong demand, and you welcomed his advances easily and kissed him back fervently.

You both moaned as you finally tasted each other, and soon everything else was forgotten as your bodies focused on the pure lust that was shared between you.

It was hard to believe it, that you stood in your living room kissing Evan, happy to do this forever but willing to go as far as he wanted to take things.

His purpose quickly became clear; the way he handled you in a rough and eager way and had you stripped bare in a matter of seconds making your head spin, and as he tore desperately at his own clothes, you guided him to your bedroom.

Once there, you stood staring at each other for a moment, taking each other in before he gripped your face and crashed against you again. It was easy to spot the scars left on his torso from where his first wife had attempted to kill him; his thick flesh covered in dense, curly hair unable to disguise that awful moment in his life you had hoped were just rumors. His cock bounced and nudged at the apex of your thighs, and as much as you wished to continue memorizing his body, you were more than okay in settling for this.

Reaching between your bodies, you gripped his shaft and brought it to settle between your folds, and as you kissed you slowly glided along his length, the sensation dragging both of you to a point of no return.

Your hands groped each other everywhere, and reluctantly, Evan broke your union and walked over to sit on the foot of your bed, his eyes a beacon to you as much as his erection was, and you were drawn over like a moth to a flame.

Moving to straddle him, he stopped you, a subtle shake of his head giving off enough authority to halt you in mounting his lap.

"Face the other way," he ordered, giving a nod at your full-length mirror that hung on the wall in front of where he was seated.

Turning, you caught his stare in the mirror, his eyes holding you in place as he slid his hands up and down your sides, his mouth pressing kisses onto your bum and lower back. You held your breath when one of his hands disappeared from your view, and you felt it slowly trail over the curve of your bum and between your legs, his fingers scissoring to open your slick-coated folds.

He hummed in approval, allowing you to let out the shuddered breath you kept trapped in your lungs, watching as he pumped his thick fingers that were still decorated with white-gold rings in and out of you.

You were desperate to touch him, seeing his leaking cock twitch occasionally with a throbbing need to be tended to, watching his stomach move with his ragged breathing the more he continued to work you.

"Sit," he finally said, his blue eyes burning your already too-hot skin as he peered up at you. It was incredible; being able to watch the way he admired you as you slowly positioned yourself on his lap, his cock pushing forward through your folds to reveal its weeping head. Unable to resist, you brought your thumb down to rub over the silky tip, making him groan loudly behind you and his hands to grip tightly on your hips.

Curses spilled from his lips and you braced yourself as one of his hands slipped between your bodies and gripped his member, his other smacking you playfully on one of your plump cheeks to get you to rise off his lap enough for him to line up to your aching core.

As slowly as was possible, you sank down on him, taking him inch by inch, his girth stretching you out and filling you perfectly until you encased him completely. Feeling your legs relax in not having to support you any more, the tips of your toes dangled just off the carpeted floor, your arousal bursting through you in being able to see yourself perched on top of him.

"Fuck, you feel even better than I thought you would," he praised, his hands greedily squeezing at your breasts, his eyes trained on how they manipulated your soft flesh in the reflection.

Finding your confidence in his caresses, you began to roll your hips, and your head fell back to rest on his shoulder as the rhythm created on your g-spot had you melting already; wanting to quickly chase your high at the same time you wanted to savour every second.

Evan's hand slid down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit easily as if he knew your body well enough to not need the help of the mirror, and with a few firm strokes he had you singing his name, your eyelids falling closed as you gave in to his touch.

"No. Open your eyes," he demanded, his finger and thumb clasping your chin to guide your face forward again as the others still circled on your clit. "I want you to see who you belong to."

You did as you were told, meeting his gaze in the mirror with a heavily-lusted look, his claim on you making your skin erupt in goosebumps that worked in combination with your building orgasm.

"And who do you belong to now, Evan?"

You felt his cock flex inside you, the only tell his body allowed that your question had stirred something in him, and his lips gently pressed on your shoulder, and then your neck, his eyes never leaving yours once.

He blinked a couple of times, his mouth smoothing back and forth against your skin to tickle you slightly with his moustache, and he stilled as he took a deep inhale.

"You."

The honesty in his admission sent you soaring, and when he let his hand fall from your chin and took one of your nipples between his fingers to pinch it, you cried loudly and began raising yourself up and down his shaft again at the same time he increased the speed and pressure on your swollen bud.

You watched his face scrunch up with effort, beads of sweat decorating his brow as he concentrated hard in fucking you the best way he could; his hips driving upwards into your body each time you slammed your own down on him.

The sight of his wet cock sliding out and then disappearing back into your soaked folds along with the lewd sounds created by your natural lubrication sent you into a frenzy, and despite the intensity of the pleasure wanting to make you shut your eyes, you found you couldn't look away.

Never had you felt more desired; Evan keeping his eyes locked with the reflection of yours as he saw you through your climax, admiring you like you were the most exquisite thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

He could feel you clench around and squeeze his cock with every thrust, each blow sending his engorged tip to pummel the spongy spot that had you on the brink, and with a few more harsh motions on your clit, you spasmed around him and brought him to his own end.

Evan shouted and swore as he buckled into your back, his hips stilling as you finished off both of your highs by riding him until you had no more strength left in you and his kisses on your shoulder turned into panting breaths.

You reached an arm up so you could cradle the side of his head in your hand, and you smiled when he turned his face into your palm and kissed it gently, the hair above his lip tickling your skin.

He hugged you from behind, resting his forehead on your shoulder as his arms wrapped around your waist and held you until his cock softened and slipped from your body.

The absence of him inside you made you feel chilled, your previously heated skin now cooled and too exposed, and slowly you stood from his lap and wrapped your dressing gown around you.

Evan followed suit, standing as he began to retrieve what parts of his outfit made it into your bedroom.

It felt difficult to know what to do now, and you wondered if you should let him be, or offer to be his solace for the rest of the night. The silence was maddening, and part of you felt maybe he regretted it, watching as he became more agitated in gathering his belongings.

A frustrated sigh left him when he failed in finding one of his socks, your heart aching for him as he spun around searching for it while half dressed, before looking at you with a defeated expression.

He walked the short steps over to you, pulling you against him with a hard grip on your arms that revealed just how upset he was, his mouth claiming yours again with a passion you hoped never died.

Your fingers scratched along his hairline on the back of his neck, and you inhaled him as he pressed his tongue against yours, his intensity quickly escalating before he abruptly broke the kiss and panted for air.

He grew more flustered, like he couldn't decide what to do with himself, realizing again that his life was turned upside down from the usual way; orderly and calculated and almost always getting what he wanted.

His wounded eyes looked desperately into yours, and his lips parted and then closed again as he rethought whatever he was going to say, until finally he found the courage to make his request.

"Can-" his voice trembled slightly, and he looked away as if ashamed before making a quick glance back at you and squinting as if he was terrified of what answer you would give. "Can I stay?"

---

Taglist:

Everything: @guardianofrivendell @midearthwritings @cassiabaggins @lilith15000 @trishthedishofreis @linasofia @unbeatablecurlgirl @the-poldarkian @lathalea @enchantzz @blairsanne @legolaslovely @middleearthpixie @i-did-not-mean-to @sketch-and-write-lover @jotink78 @medusas-hairband @feeweeeee @missihart23 @fortheloveofdurin @i-am-still-bb @roobear68 @ichoosechoasandbeingqueer @legolasbadass

[system-of-a-feather]

Honestly, I think the best thing the Riku-Data combo has ever said is that "This is probably going to be one of the hardest periods in our life save for any unexpected disaster, death, or massive illness" cause like, yeah damn right it is and we are more than ready for shit shit cause literally it's the silver lining to our trauma and abuse actually put into play. Like our trauma didn't "benefit us more than harm us" and I'm not gonna be like "This is what our trauma trained us for uwu" cause fuck that shit

But quite frankly since we survived the brunt of the trauma and the first 5-7 years of healing enough to restitch ourselves together pretty strongly, the side effect of having this adulthood shit pushed on us and having a (unhealthy but moderated) sense of extreme adulthood and budgetting skills and sense of having no support paired with the fact we kept a highly strict and minimalist life to set ourselves up with a good foundation of money and in a good place like...

We're good honestly. Like we're 22 and honestly having divorced the fucking stupidity that is Capitalism (not @ people still in it, its brain washing, Capitalism is stupid not victims in it) and it's fucking bait of chronic self torture, having a fucking amazing fiance, making great progress in whatever our transitioning goal is, having a number of hobbies and joys in life, having a decently set career and stable income with no plans for children because this world sucks, too queer for kids, and having kids in this economy is impossible - so as long as we know how to care for ourselves, manage money, and slowly upgrade shit towards the number of plans between Riku and I until we can have a mostly self sustaining life style save for a few things that aren't worth it - save any unexpected disaster we honestly have shit in the bag.

The thing that is a far out ideal if we play this "end game content" well enough would be to literally just buy a plot of land and transfer whatever we do for our personal life on there and either move friends and shit onto there to have a cheap sustainable life and/or leave it an open resource wherever we live for homeless and people in need to get shit like for real.

I really don't fucking get this need and desire people have to like idk take a vacation to Baja to sunbathe and buy some arbitrary keep sake that just shows off your wealth when you could just invest into having a fucking nice and peaceful life you can vibe in.

Like yeah I want some nice guitars and some nice clothes and shit but like I really don't get these stupid vices of wanting to live in a Mansion *sparkle* and have Gucchi *sparkle* like cool live in an empty mansion where you have to call your family on a phone to talk to cause thats fun and not isolating at all.

Fuck Capitalistic Materialistic "I'm Rich Look at Me" goals like literally they're stupid and just empty beyond the immediate joy of it. The real deal is just getting shit you can have to enjoy the world better and improving crap like.... for real I'm a self centered person but its really not about being "uwu selfless think about others" just like why

I still really don't fucking get why people don't just make shit better. Its not a moralistic thing is just you could buy a yacht youll use like once a month tops or you can actually just work to solve a problem that will have a longer pay out of both entertainment and enrichment while also building good terms with others

Like why

Why buy such stupid lavish things you probably will never use

It's really not a moralistic thing here for me. It really isn't. It's just so much more fucking entertaining, sensical and overall a fucking better decision to try to build a more sustainable way of living that is cheaper for people and thus help address some of the largest issues and problems plaguing society than idk, buying a yacht or a mansion that I'd only use like 3 rooms of regularly.

Like yeah I'd buy a stupid expensive guitar and leather and good clothes because you cant expect anyone to just sit here and be 100% giving 100% of the time and never treat themselves without burning out + this ISN'T A MORALISTIC THING AND JUST A HOBBY / PROJECT but that shit is all shit I *would regularly use*

Just like... why.

WHY.

WHY BUY SHIT YOU ONLY WILL GET JOY FROM WHEN YOU BUY IT AND USE IT ONCE A MILLENIA WHEN YOU COULD INVEST IT INTO A PRODUCTIVE PROJECT

Like isn't the WHOLE thing about Capitalism is investing into Capital??? Then why do all the Rich People Buy Stupid Shit. Like JESUS christ it pisses me off how fucking stupid and brain dead American Capitalism is and how they fucking trap people in this fucking STUPID circle of suffering. Like in it's own fucking fundamentals it doesn't FUCKING make sense

Like fuck man as a part I was grilled to be a capitalistic war machine before I looked at that and said FUCK that so I GET how capitalism works which makes me look at this crap and Im like YOU GUYS AREN'T EVEN INVESTING INTO CAPITAL WHY WHAT DOES THIS SHIT SERVE YOU

Anyways fuck man, I was trying to reflect on how we are doing good and it just (de?)evolved into a capitalistic rant #SorryNotSorryMan

-XIV

[dorianeverleigh]

I will never get over the fact that we, the human race, collectively chose this path of destruction.

We have known for a very long time that our way of life is detrimental to the one and only habitable planet in our peripheral. We know we can't just move to Mars or Enceladus as much as low IQ billionaires try to make it a reality. But the human race said "Fuck it, tonight we ride! We're here for a good time, not for a long time!" And now we are careening toward absolute total annihilation. All it would have taken was a little bit of change. But sustainability is not profitable. Green energy is not profitable. We could be living in a much better world, with a much brighter future, if we just stopped allowing capitalism to dictate our lives. We knew coal and oil were fucking things up. We knew what to do about it. We knew the best path forward, but we chose profits instead of future.

Imagine if all of the idiot wealth hoarders in the world were using the piles of money to create a brighter more sustainable future instead of buying a mini yacht to carry their helicopter next to their super yacht. Or instead of burning money trying to play irl space invaders and colonize Mars (because there's nothing left to colonize on our own dying planet); we could focus on saving our own planet. But no, let's shoot a car into the orbit just for funsies.

The alarm bells have been at full blast for so long, and the global "political" efforts to combat the effects of our dying planet have all been lies (as per usual) and now the scientific consensus is that it's too late. And it fucking sucks. I know that people as a whole are good. I know that compassion and empathy are more common than not. Even though the most rotten people in this world are the loudest, overall I do believe humans are good. But I also know we are sheep. We are followers and we need guidance. But don't be fooled! Just because someone speaks loudly, articulates properly, and displays confidence, does NOT mean they are right, moral, or just. And just because someone is in a position of authority does not mean they have your best interest in mind. And, I cannot stress this enough, being wealthy ONLY proves you know how to obtain wealth. Wealth does not equate to intelligence. Wealth does not mean you're an expert. And wealth definitely does not mean you're a good person. (Quite the opposite actually.)

My only advice is to just stop paying the billionaires and millionaires as much as possible. Shop local. Eat vegan (if you can). Buy an electric car (or no car at all). DIY and up cycle every chance you get. Reduce waste. If we stop feeding the machine it will die. Understand this though, it's not on us. Sure we've been roped into this terrible cycle of murdering our own planet, but most often we don't have an alternative. Remember when your grocery store shames you for not bringing a reusable bag it was THEM flooding the world with single use plastic. Or if coca-cola tries to make you feel shitty for not recycling, it's THEM producing the abundance of waste. Remember that Shell and Exxon are poisoning the oceans, not your little jalopy carting your back and forth from work. So yes, while each of us can do our part, it's better to spend your energy taking down the rich people who created this mess in the first place. Eat the rich!

[ukfrislandembassy]

The thing that does get to me about the coronation is definitely the angle of 'this country is in a terrible state now why are we doing this grand opulent event', and the thing is I understand this, but I don't quite see it in the same way. The last coronation also was in a time of relative poverty in Britain - the country was broke after the Second World War, rationing of certain goods was still in place and the empire was about to disintegrate. Back then, however, the coronation could be seen as a sign that things might get better, that we had something better to live for after such a massive global trauma as WWII.

But the poverty we live in now is different. It's not an unavoidable consequence of a massive armed conflict, including years effectively spent under a national seige. Instead it is the direct result of willful policy by our elected government over more than a decade (austerity, Brexit, Liz Truss etc.). Our country has been intentionally divided and pit against itself by a party that calls itself 'conservative' but really just want to strip the state for parts. To that end, they are happy to use the monarchy as a tool in their game, another symbol that they can repurpose in service of their culture war and thereby attempt to squash dissent. Hence why they're happy to splash public money on the royal family, even when said royal family state outright that they do not need it (see e.g. the government offering £200million to spend on a new royal yacht that was explicitly rejected by the royal family, or when Prince Philip died and Queen Elizabeth refused an offer from Boris Johnson to alter Covid restrictions for his funeral).

And so, in what to me is a sad irony, even if the monarch themselves would wish to improve the lives of 'their subjects', they are incapable of doing so in any really meaningful terms, because the monarch (rightly) has no meaningful power over elected officials. Thus, if the government of the day has an agenda that is actively make life worse for most people in this country (the latest batch being the new voter ID laws that we've been seeing the effects of at yesterday's local elections), there is nothing the monarch can do to meaningfully stop it (and I will remind you you wouldn't want them to have that power to do so either). I'm also not convinced that an elected head of state would actually do anything to help this either.

Of course you have a right to feel angry, of course it's fine to prefer the idea of an elected head of state over the monarchy, of course it's OK if you feel uncomfortable at the ceremonial and pageantry. I myself think at the very least there should be large-scale reform of the monarchy as an institution. But between Buckingham Palace and the Palace of Westminster, I find the latter a far better target of my anger, because for me this coronation throws into such sharp relief just how much of a mess our politicians have made of this country. And that's not even getting to their enablers on Fleet Street that have such a stranglehold on the political discourse in this country, who are arguably even more culpable that the politicians themselves in our current mess.

[apartmentforrentindubaimarina]

Affordable Short Stay Apartments for Rent in Dubai Marina

Introduction

Dubai Marina is the waterfront station that speaks popularly for opulence and a great skyline worth looking at. What makes Dubai Marina a high-in-demand destination for tourists and expats? It appears synonymous with luxury – world-renowned bars, clubs, and restaurants surround the area making it one of the top-notch destinations for short term rentals. In this blog by StaysDxb, we are going to see how you can have an affordable stay in Dubai Marina, focusing on economical short-term rentals. Ultimately, we promise to give some tips and tricks on how you can find the perfect apartments for rent in Dubai Marina.

Two such prime examples of stylishly reasonably priced apartments for rent in Dubai Marina are Chic Living Dubai Marina and Marina Living Yacht Club Views. Both are one-bedroom short-term rental apartments, perfect for solo travelers, couples, or just a small family. Both of the apartment options are situated right in the center of Dubai Marina, within easy reach of Dubai Marina's vibrant nightlife, restaurants, and shopping malls, and also make sure that tranquility is maintained within the premises. From rentals with modern furnishings and up-to-date equipment to the striking view of either the marina or the famous yacht club, a perfect blend of affordability and high-class living is hard to find.

Why Dubai Marina?

It’s truly a haven, offering the best of both worlds. Dubai Marina, being urbane, is treated to scenic views of the Persian Gulf and the city skyline. This place just buzzes with life, given the numerous dining, shopping, and entertainment options around every corner. It is adequately connected, with an easy route for access to the metro or Sheikh Zayed Road, hence proving convenient for business or leisure travelers. Starting with a stay in Dubai Marina, you are able to do everything from walking in the famous Marina Walk right down to visiting the nearby JBR Beach. Because of this fact, the area is one of the more popular choices for short-term rentals, and just about as expensive, the myth goes. As a matter of fact, though, you can get apartments for rent in Dubai Marina which will fit your budget once you know just where to go about it.

Tips on Finding Affordable Temporary Rentals

If you know where and what to look for, finding a reasonably affordable short-term rental shouldn’t be as hard as it seems. First, consider the time of year that you are booking. Dubai has tourist high seasons, especially during winter, starting from November and continuing up to February when the heat is a bit more bearable. Make use of the off-season if that can accommodate your schedule; this will get you better deals for your short-term rentals. Paying directly through property management websites or platforms can at times circumvent many of the additional fees charged by third-party booking platforms. Other websites, such as StaysDXB, will allow direct booking for apartments for rent in Dubai Marina to get the best price. In addition, check out the special offers or discounts, if any, given by the landlord for longer stays because many give reduced rates for week-long or month-long rentals.

Budget-Friendly Features to Look For in Apartments

Even for modest, short-term apartments for rent in Dubai Marina, it’s really not best to compromise on basic amenities. Search for apartments that offer free Wi-Fi, access to gym facilities, swimming pools, and fully fitted kitchens. The Chic Living Dubai Marina and the Marina Living Yacht Club Views provide all the listed amenities herein, making sure that your stay here will be less expensive but enjoyable and more convenient. Also, consider a location where an apartment would face the Marina. Living near public transportation, such as the Dubai Tram or Metro, will help one save money that could be spent on taxis. 

Conclusion

Budget travelers need not find Dubai Marina beyond their means. If the time of stay is right, the booking of stay was done at the right time, the amenities focused on are the bare minimum and a few centrally located apartments for rent in Dubai Marina were chosen, then Dubai Marina can be experienced in its full luxury and convenience without going overboard. If you are willing to do some amount of research and have some flexibility, you will find that finding an ideal short-term rental in this beautiful area would be quite possible.

[sophism84]

Sunday rant: Money and privilege has ruled for centuries. Industrial Revolution comes, war comes, what do we do as a result? Sell our nation to corporations, so people could get more wealth and privilege, because why even own a yacht if you don’t have the worlds biggest? The biggest lie the 50’s sold us, corporations care. Now we literally look for an inanimate, money seeking corporation to show us moral behavior.

If you just google corporation is shows you that they are held to less account than your average person. The Americans that as a result of selling out our nation to the corporations, the banks, the Epsteins, where money rules all, can no longer afford a home. They have you marching off probably working 70 hours or more a week to afford to live, when do you have time to do research about what the place you buy your food from is paying it workers, or ceo?

I’m poor by choice. This drives other people crazy about me. I know I could’ve done a lot of things to get me tons of money by now, if I made different choices I could be living in a mansion. I would never deny that more money would make my life easier or help me take care of my health better. But the culture that comes with being wealthy. I feel like it’s a fog I never wanna get lost in. Our culture needs to change, that’s the only way that our policies and the way we run the country will change. A shift in mindset, the way things are looked at, the brainwashing of America by politicians and billionaires aligned with foreign dictators. Man like the way my family treated money and everything when I was little made me hate it. I saw all the problems it created. I saw what it drove people to do. I don’t have a career. I almost don’t wanna participate in the corporate world cause it’s such bulkshit. Not saying that my jobs aren’t bulkshit. The wealth gap is out of control. The question is, will we or the next generation finally get tough angry and sick of shit enough to reject the status quo and make America a country you can thrive in again. Man can you imagine thriving instead of surviving. Like damn. Now I know that’s for people with money. But the fact that my dad worked at McDonald’s and put himself through college I worked two jobs and couldn’t do the same. Shows just how much the change that the choices our fathers and mothers have made have impacted our economy.

My recommendation: start at the Supreme Court. Put term limits on senators, make bribes illegal(I thought they were idealistic me), don’t let the politicians deciding policies buy and trade stock, stop supporting foreign countries that want to see America fall.

[sealifewatersportsdubai]

Luxury on the Waves: A Guide to Dubai’s Elite Yacht Adventures and Beach Days

Dubai, with its towering skyscrapers, luxury shopping malls, and pristine beaches, is a city that epitomizes opulence. For the elite, a day in Dubai is not just about enjoying the best that money can buy—it's about experiencing a lifestyle that blends sophistication with adventure. If you've ever wondered how Dubai's affluent spend their day, here's a glimpse into a world where yachts, beaches, and exclusive experiences are just the beginning.

Morning: A Leisurely Start with Beachfront Luxury

The day often begins in one of Dubai’s luxurious beachfront hotels or private residences. Imagine waking up to the sight of the sun rising over the Arabian Gulf, casting a golden hue over the sparkling waters. For the elite, the morning is a time for relaxation and indulgence. After a gourmet breakfast featuring international delicacies, it's time for a refreshing dip in the sea or a private pool that overlooks the beach.

Dubai’s beaches, such as Jumeirah Beach and Kite Beach, offer the perfect setting for a morning of leisure. Whether it's taking a stroll along the soft sand, engaging in a yoga session with a personal instructor, or simply lounging under a private cabana with a fresh coconut drink, the morning is all about enjoying the tranquility and beauty of Dubai’s coastline.

Late Morning: Setting Sail on a Private Yacht

As the day progresses, the real adventure begins. For Dubai’s elite, a yacht tour is not just an activity—it's a lifestyle. Sea Life Watersports Dubai, one of the most popular yacht rental companies in the city, offers an array of luxurious yachts ready to set sail. These yachts are equipped with the latest amenities, including spacious decks, sun loungers, gourmet kitchens, and even Jacuzzis, ensuring a lavish experience on the water.

Setting sail from Dubai Marina, the yacht cruises along the coast, offering stunning views of iconic landmarks like the Burj Al Arab, Atlantis The Palm, and Ain Dubai. The calm waters of the Arabian Gulf provide the perfect setting for a leisurely cruise, where guests can soak up the sun, enjoy a glass of champagne, and take in the breathtaking skyline.

For those looking to add a touch of adventure, the yacht tour can include stops for water sports. Jet skiing, flyboarding, and snorkeling are popular options, allowing guests to dive into the crystal-clear waters and explore Dubai’s vibrant marine life. Sea Life Watersports Dubai ensures that every need is catered to, with professional staff on hand to assist with equipment and safety.

Afternoon: A Lavish Lunch on the Water

As noon approaches, it’s time for a lavish lunch, and what better place to dine than on the deck of a luxury yacht? Many yachts come with private chefs who prepare a customized menu featuring fresh seafood, gourmet salads, and decadent desserts. Guests can enjoy their meal while anchored near one of Dubai’s beautiful islands or marinas, with the gentle waves providing a soothing backdrop.

For a more immersive experience, the yacht can dock at one of Dubai’s exclusive beach clubs, such as Nikki Beach or Zero Gravity, where the elite gather to enjoy fine dining, live music, and vibrant atmospheres. Here, the afternoon can be spent mingling with other affluent guests, enjoying signature cocktails, and perhaps even indulging in a massage at the club’s spa.

Late Afternoon: Exploring Dubai’s Hidden Gems

After lunch, the day continues with more exploration. The yacht sets sail again, this time heading towards some of Dubai’s hidden gems. These might include the World Islands, a man-made archipelago designed to resemble a map of the world, or the tranquil waters around the Palm Jumeirah. The elite often use this time to relax, perhaps taking a dip in the warm sea or simply lounging on the deck with a good book.

For those interested in a bit of culture, the yacht can make a stop at one of Dubai’s historic sites along the coast. The Dubai Creek, for instance, offers a glimpse into the city’s rich maritime history, with traditional wooden dhows and bustling souks lining the shores.

Evening: Sunset and Sophisticated Soirees

As the sun begins to set, the yacht tour takes on a new dimension. The sky turns shades of pink and orange, creating a magical atmosphere perfect for a sunset cruise. This is a time for reflection and appreciation of the beauty surrounding you. The elite often use this moment to capture stunning photographs or simply to enjoy the peace and serenity of the evening.

Once the yacht returns to the marina, the day is far from over. The elite may choose to continue their evening at one of Dubai’s renowned fine dining restaurants, such as Nobu at Atlantis or Zuma in DIFC, where Michelin-starred chefs serve up world-class cuisine. Alternatively, they might head to a private event or party at one of the city’s luxury hotels or beach clubs, where the night is filled with music, dancing, and celebration.

For those who prefer a quieter evening, a private dinner on the yacht, under the stars, offers a perfect end to the day. With the Dubai skyline glittering in the background, it’s a moment of pure luxury and tranquility.

Conclusion: A Day Well Spent

A day in the life of Dubai’s elite is a blend of relaxation, adventure, and indulgence. From the peaceful beaches to the luxurious yachts, and from the thrill of water sports to the sophistication of fine dining, every moment is crafted to perfection. Whether you’re a resident or a visitor, experiencing Dubai like the elite is a dream come true, and companies like Sea Life Watersports Dubai make it all possible. So, when in Dubai, why not step into this world of luxury and create your own unforgettable memories?

[dubaihomes]

Why Should You Choose Emaar Properties in 2024?

In the market of luxurious properties in cities like Dubai some builders like Emaar Properties is a word that can be heard from several people. 2024 is becoming a fantastic year to choose Emaar if you want to buy a new home or put money into real estate.

Trust of Emaar Properties

A company called Emaar Properties has been around for a long time in the market and is known for its good homes and modern services. When you buy a house from Emaar like Ocean Cove in Rashid Yachts & Marina then you know that the building was done by professionals. This popular name makes you feel safe.

Beautiful designs of the buildings

Emaar is known for making really nice and attractive buildings. Not only are the homes but the other works done by this builder becomes a hub in the city of Dubai. Emaar's designs are stylish and useful, whether they are for an apartment, a villa, or penthouses. They only use the good materials and pay attention to the needs of the buyers.

Properties by Emaar are Good to Live

Emaar knows that location is very important when it comes to buying a house in Dubai. They build their new properties in popular places that are near schools, parks, shopping malls and public transportation. When you live in an Emaar home like Emaar Ocean Cove then you are not far from what you need.

The investment in Emaar is very good

It is not just about purchasing a house when you buy from Emaar but it is also a good investment for your money. Emaar properties tend to get more demands to buy or for rent in the future. This means that you can get more money when you sell your home than when you got it. It is a cool and safe way to put your money to get good profit.

World-class Facilities

The services at Emaar homes are top-notch. You have everything you need to live a comfortable and exciting life. Normally properties like Emaar Ocean Cove have parks and play areas to swimming pools and gyms. The facilities are world-class so that you will have a good time staying in Dubai.

Living in a community

Emaar does not just build homes but also friendly neighbourhoods for your family. When you live in an Emaar home, you become a part of a lively and friendly community where everyone can find something to do, which makes it easy to make friends and feel at home.

24x7 Help Available for Customers

Emaar is known for having better customer service. All the way through the buying process and after the sale services, they are there to help you. Their team is always ready to help, which makes the whole thing easy and comfortable.

Conclusion

You won't be sorry if you choose Emaar Properties in 2024. Emaar has a big popularity for its quality, beautiful designs, and new services. They have everything you need in a home or business. Trust Emaar like many other happy people do and live a luxurious and easy life in their new houses in Emaar Ocean Cove in Rashid Yachts & Marina.

[madchild-dennis]

Let me redo this:

BOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM

The Government is investing IN WHAT?

THIEVES!!!

So instead of charging, reprimanding and holding them accountable for DECADES of stealing from the POOR. They are given the opportunity to be a place of iNtEgRiTy.

No consequence for their actions

No infrastructure to make sure they do NOT take advantage of the poor.

No care for the people wronged

Just:

Tax cuts to make importing horses cheaper

Investments to make them better/be an industry of integrity

They don't ever go to jail/consequences for their actions.

An opportunity to fix themselves without the possibility of being charged as they fix face and their infrastructure. ALL BACKED BY THE GOVERNMENT.

So these people and industry which requires SIGNIFICANT wealth to participate in doesn't even get a slap on the wrist but their CRIMES are ignored. Then granted a Government branded covering and shield to become a industry of integrity.

WHY is that so?

Because these are WEALTHY individuals who may be foreigners/whites/AFLUENT population of Jamaica.

Let me paint a picture. One horse can cost $100,000 to $1,000,000+ USD or EUR. That's ONE FUCKING HORSE. So the people who own the horse pay that. Then caring for a horse AIN'T CHEAP. Then training cost. Then administration fee. Then betting.

These ain't middle class income type of industry. This is the TOP 1%.

Those RICH, no they ain't just rich. This is OLD MONEY (could be originated from slave plantations in the Caribbean or further), NEW MONEY, BILLIONAIRES, US/Euro Multi-millionaires, and much more. To be in this circle of people you have to HAVE WEALTH; Not be rich. Mega/Super Yacht kinds of money.

They do NOT need money. In fact the reason the steal from the poor is to make sure that's their profit margin is high while charging enormous fees for their premium services. So GREEDY MOTHERFUCKERS who won't suffer if they had integrity in they way they do business in the first place or even if they were charged for their CRIMES.

So the RICH, WEALTHY and the AFLUENT gets an opportunity to fix themselves up get funding to make sure they are of integrity. Get tax breaks and get to make more money. Given the opportunity to continue to be GREEDY.

While the poor people, the source of most of the crimes, the Government ONLY care to punish. These poorer people aren't given the opportunity and protection from the same government so that they can live, survive and be a GOOD contributing citizen to society. Instead of "criminality".

I've spoken to "bad men" who may have illegal guns. Who may have stolen and much more. Their concern is being given the opportunity to be able to live, save, grow and provide for their families. Many who when given the opportunity to travel, would not live the same as they do here. That's so they do not loose the opportunity abroad. Because they feel they can work and get what they deserve and more than survive. I'm sure would do the same if given the opportunity here.

However, instead of given them the opportunity to do so like making the minimum wage liveable ($29,000/week). You choose to create a world that do not care about them unless they are aliens (a foreigner), WEALTHY, highly educated, famous or such. Then also rewarding the wealthy criminals with more money on top of that.

Don't talk about giving them a chance to be educated or skilled. They are STILL exploited or barely paid what they're worth.

So criminality of lighter skinned and WEALTHY (especially established wealth maybe from the backs of slaves) are ignored while the criminality of the poor gets the "FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW"!!!

Please note the Minister of Finance said it is to bring integrity to the industry. Which means they KNOW of the crimes committed by the industry. So instead of consequences/application of the "full extent of the law" THEN given a second chance. Their CRIMES are ignored and then straight to a PR stunt.

Just like this fucking Government.

[bwatchesforeigndramas]

Finding the Perfect Yacht for Your Needs in Fort Lauderdale

Fort Lauderdale, Florida is known for its expansive waterways, beautiful beaches and excellent year-round weather, making it the perfect place to purchase a yacht. Whether you are looking for a luxury vessel or a smaller, more affordable boat, the city has plenty of options to fit your needs and budget. With so many choices available, it can be difficult to determine which yacht is the best fit for you. However, with the right research and knowledge, you can easily find the perfect yacht for your needs in Fort Lauderdale. With its wide array of marinas, boat dealerships, and boat shows, Fort Lauderdale is the ideal place to purchase a yacht. With experienced and knowledgeable staff, you can get all the information you need to make an informed decision. Additionally, there are plenty of financing options available to help you get the yacht of your dreams.

Identifying Your Needs

Before you can begin to explore the available yacht options, you need to sit down and carefully consider your needs. What type of yacht do you want? Do you want a sailboat or a motorboat? How big do you want it to be? What type of amenities do you want it to have? Do you plan to use it for weekend getaways or for longer trips? Will you be taking passengers with you, or will it just be for your own use? These are just some of the questions you need to consider in order to identify your needs and start the yacht-buying process. Yacht sales in Fort Lauderdale are booming as the city is known to be the "Yachting Capital of the World".

Researching Available Yacht Options

Once you’ve identified your needs, it’s time to start researching the available yacht options. Start by doing an online search for the type of yacht you’re interested in. You can also look at local marinas and boat dealerships to get an idea of the different types of yachts they have available. Don’t forget to take note of the prices and features of each yacht, so you can get a better idea of what’s available.

Comparing Yacht Features

After researching the available yacht options, it’s time to compare the features of each one. Make sure to take into account size, amenities, price, and any other features that you may be interested in. This will help you narrow down your list of potential yachts and make it easier for you to decide which one is right for you.

Calculating Your Budget

Before you start seriously shopping for a yacht, you need to calculate your budget. How much money are you willing to spend on a yacht? Keep in mind that yachts can be quite expensive, so you want to make sure you have enough money to cover the cost. Additionally, consider the ongoing costs of owning a yacht, such as maintenance and docking fees. 

Touring Potential Yachts

Before you commit to buying a yacht, you should take the time to tour a few potential yachts. Make sure to take note of any features that you like or don’t like, and ask any questions that you may have. This is a great way to get a better idea of what you’re looking for and will help you to make a more informed decision.

Making an Offer 

Once you’ve found a yacht that you like, it’s time to make an offer. Contact the seller and let them know how much you’re willing to pay for the yacht. You may be able to negotiate a lower price, so make sure to do your research and be prepared to haggle.

Finalizing the Purchase

After you’ve negotiated a price and made an offer, it’s time to finalize the purchase. Make sure to get all the necessary paperwork in order and transfer the funds to the seller. Once the paperwork is complete and the funds have been transferred, you’ll be the proud new owner of a yacht!

Conclusion

Finding the perfect yacht for your needs in Fort Lauderdale can be a daunting task. However, with the right level of research, you can find the perfect yacht that fits your budget and lifestyle. It's important to consider your needs, budget, and preferences when shopping for a yacht in Fort Lauderdale. There are many excellent options available, and with the right approach, you can find the yacht that is perfect for your needs.