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autogyne-redacted · 3 months ago

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Let's Talk About Security Culture: Why Keeping Secrets is Cool and Sexy

It's a natural impulse -- if you love crime -- to want to talk about how great it is. And if you hate America, it's only natural to want to share your dreams for its future with the rest of tumblr dot com. It can feel brave and transgressive. And there is a drive to share your soul with the world at the heart of social media. Surely I should be posting the most concrete implications of my politics, right? This is the poster's curse.

Security Culture refers to a set of "best practices" developed over the past several decades, largely (in a US context) coming out of radical environmental groups as they faced intense state repression, infiltration and entrapment. If you're not familiar, there's some fascinating crimethinc write ups to give you a window into that world:

Much of it boils down to: don't talk about crimes, past or forthcoming with people who don't need to know about them, and be mindful of the possibility of surveillance and infiltration. And, we can support each other as a community in minimizing risks, with an eye towards enabling bold action rather than getting bogged down in fears and anxieties. The guidelines that make sense for AG-based trouble-makers are different from the guidelines that make sense for posters, but plenty of common principles apply. To speak briefly to our position here as posters:

First, it bears saying that long term anonymity is nearly impossible to maintain. Unless you've never accessed Tumblr without a vpn, and avoided connections with other ppl who can be associated with you/your location, and never shared pictures without scrubbing metadata, and a bunch of other 100% consistent steps, it's trivial for the state to know who you are.

Second, just because something isn't actively being prosecuted now doesn't mean it can't be prosecuted later. The priorities of the state change and a shift in power towards the right or a growth in radical action from the left can suddenly make it a priority to destroy anarchist networks or just find a few ppl to prosecute as examples (who probably weren't that plugged into larger networks before getting arrested). Advocating for specific anti-government crimes or declarations of intent to commit such crimes are likely prosecutable, and even if charges don't stick, they're an easy vector for legal harassment.

Third, it's worth thinking about heat as separate from prosecutability. There are modes of engagement that may not be directly criminalized but signal that you are someone worth watching. Some people choose to be public in ways that make heat unavoidable. But it's worth noting that heat isn't strictly individualized, that it persists over time but also is going to shrink over time.

It's easy on here, ime, to see yourself as a proud member of the crime fandom but not much of a content creator. And it's easy to feel like you've generated an amount of heat where you're locked into that role. But heat you generated 10 years ago is probably pretty well gone. Heat you generated 5 years ago has faded substantially. It's worth thinking about how the world might shift in the coming years and what doors you want to keep open.

The non-individualized nature of heat also means that leaning into the spiciest of anti-state positions will make it a bad idea for people who are acting out those positions end up tied to you. Loudly talking about how "more people should be doing [X/Y/Z]" unfortunately sets you up to remain distant from people who might be doing or thinking about doing such things.

Which brings me back to: keeping secrets is sexy. Not spelling everything out builds intrigue. You can lay out a theoretical position and leave working out the practical implications of that as an exercise for the reader. There's value in opacity. The poster's curse and the drive to confess are extremely convenient for the state, but we can resist them. We can hold dreams in our hearts that we refuse to offer up to the posting spectacle.

#security culture #writing

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gh0stsp1d3r · 7 months ago

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𝒴ℴ𝓊 𝓃ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓂ℯ𝓃𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃ℯ𝒹 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

barrys little sister!reader x rafe, she’s naive, innocent, a bit dumb.

You sat on the chair in front of your desk, looking into your vanity mirror with focused eyes as you applied your lip gloss.

You pocketed it after, your eyebrows furrowed when you heard a knock on the door. Your brother was still selling, and he had always had specific instructions to not open the door when he’s not home.

You jumped when the person began banging now, shouting Barry’s name. You were torn, not sure whether or not to disobey your brother.

He shouted even louder, making you sigh and stand up. What’s the worst that could happen? You went over to the door, opening it so there was a crack.

“Hello?” You murmured, peeking through the crack of the door.

“Is he here?” The man asked, his voice urgent. You opened the door wider now, shaking your head at him.

His eyes widened when you opened the door. You were dressed in a pink juicy jacket, your lacy bra peeking out under along with miss me jeans, all things you had luckily found at some garage sale nearby.

And Jesus, if you weren’t the most precious thing he’s ever set his eyes on.

He stammered as he mumbled out an apology, beginning to walk away before you said something.

“Wait, sir!” You spoke, remembering how he also would never want to lose a customer, especially not because of you.

“Yeah?” He turned around.

“Are you- a friend of his, or something?”

He paused. “Something like that, yeah…” he said, his hands scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m sure he won’t mind if you stay here, just until he comes back. He’s out with some other guy right now.” You said with a small shrug, a smile on your face.

It’s as if you were a siren, because he didn’t know why, but he found himself drifting closer to you, shutting the door as he followed you inside.

“You want… coffee or something? Water?” You asked him as you went over to the counter, grabbing some chocolate milk from the fridge and pouring it into the cup.

“Uh.. no- no thanks.” He said, his hands on his knees as he sat on the couch.

You sat onto the other one, not noticing his staring while you drunk the chocolate milk.

“Uhm… if you don’t mind me asking, I’ve never seen you here before, and I know he never lets his girls stay-“

“Ew! No, no, no.” You quickly protested before he could finish, almost spitting out your drink. “I’m his sister.” You said with a giggle, his cheeks turned a light pink.

“Shit- ‘f course. I’m sorry.” He said with a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay. I live here, but usually I’m just in my room, and he tells me not to come out when people come over.”

“He never.. mentioned he had a sister. And he definitely didn’t mention he had one who was as pretty as you.” He spoke, his attempt at flirting clearly working when he saw your eyes widen and a small smile spreading across your face.

There was the sound of a motorcycle outside, stepping up to the trailer and going to unlock the door when he finds out it’s already open.

Barry furrowed his eyebrows when he opened the door to see you and Rafe fucking Cameron sitting there.

“The fuck is he doing in here? And what did I tell you about leaving this damn door unlocked? What the hell, y/n?” He said, voice booming.

You looked at him. “I’m sorry! He was banging on the door, and I was trying to do my hair. I can’t do that with all that noise!”

Barry sighed, shaking his head before waving his hand.

“Whatever, just- just go back in the fuckin’ room.” He said, making you huff and storm into the room.

“You never mentioned you had a sister.” Rafe spoke.

“I didn’t for a reason, country club.” Barry mumbled out when he noticed Rafe’s staring , already pulling out a bag full of the white powder.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A few days later, you were walking around the trailer park, simply saying hello and enjoying the nice weather. Rafe came up, presumably going to Barry. But you stopped him.

“Hey, Rafe!” You said with a smile again.

“Hey, sweetheart. He not here again?” He asked, nodding to the trailer..

“No. Out again. I’m so bored. That’s why I’m out here.”

“How long is he gonna be out?”

“I dunno… but he said he’d be a while.” You said with a shrug.

“It’s too late for a girl like yourself to be outside, you know? I think he would want me to bring you back inside.”

You sighed. “He would say the exact same thing.” You told Rafe with a pout, he just chuckled and put a hand on the small of your back, leading you back to your trailer.

“Uh, I should get going, I guess..” he told you, standing in front of the door now. You watched him begin to leave before you spoke again.

“Wait!” You said, stopping him like you did a few days before.

He turned around, eyebrows furrowed.

“Stay and keep me company? I think he wouldn’t want you leaving his little sister all alone.”

A grin making its way onto his face, he nodded. His plan was working.

Rafe and you sat back on the couch now, your legs propped up on the couch as you switched through the cable channels.

Rafe watched your every move with hungry eyes. He knew he needed to have you, and he would.

#rafe fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron prompt #my fics

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shatteredsnail · 2 years ago

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oOoOooOo the trust members want to have reliable communication soooo badly oOooOooO

#sorry for being annoyed about my place of work once more #just found out there was a silly top secret meeting between lt and the trust members to discuss reopening #and rec/ti aka the only departments i care about because it’s who i work for may not reopen till 2024.#it’s been like 4 months already. please i just want my job back #but that isn’t even the worst part. they said that. and then told everyone in the meeting to not tell anyone #because they don’t want anyone to leave if they find out. they’re just going to keep setting a reopening date every few months #technically one of our towers is open for rooms rn. but everyone’s showing up and realizing our restaurants and rec and literally everything #is closed and every other building is a hazard zone. so they cancel once they see and stay somewhere else in the area #but because of our cancellation policy we still make some money off of it so there’s zero motivation to tell people #it’s so d u m b. communicate to your customers. communicate to your employees. it’s not that hard #also. am i literally going to be in college in a different state by the time my position is functional again.#like. am i just doomed to work wherever people ask until then because it sucks doing that #i can’t say no because i’m working less hours rn and it’ll be considered limiting availability or whatever #so i’d either get an infraction or stop getting my supplemental pay. which i kind of need #but saying yes is awful because i did not apply to any of these jobs for a reason #apologies if you read any of this. i’m just mad

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cy-cyborg · 1 year ago

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Tips for writing and drawing Wheelchair using characters: Your character's wheelchair can tell us a lot about them

When you first start learning character design, you'll often be told something to the effect of "use your character's outfit to tell us more about them" - and this same principles can be applied to a disabled character's mobility aids.

Mobility aids like wheelchairs, to many disabled people, are a part of us. They can be an extension to a person's body and chances are, if you're going to be using this piece of equipment every day for the foreseeable future (or at least for a good amount of time for the foreseeable future), it's going to start reflecting some aspects of your personality, your interests, your passions, especially when you remember, a lot of people get their wheelchairs custom built for them.

You can use your character's wheelchair to tell us a lot about them without ever needing to show/describe them directly.

Let me show you two examples:

Take a look at these two wheelchairs. they're similar in shape and build, but still pretty different to each other. Can you make some guesses about their users based only on what's shown here?

intended answers below:

Please note, the following points are all generalisations and the real world is rarely this simple. This is to demonstrate how to use disability aids to contribute to your character's design, not how to make assumptions about real people in real life.

So here are some similarities between the chairs:

Both wheelchairs have ridged frames, this means the wheelchair can't be folded in any way. These kinds of chairs can imply a few different things depending on the person. They are typically lighter, sturdier and more durable, and indicate the person probably will be using the wheelchair for a long time and/or has the money to get something built to last (or lives in a place where cost not an issue due to universal/subsidised access to healthcare). They are also typically better to travel with when flying, as they are less likely to be broken by airport security/staff.

Both wheelchairs also lack anti-tip wheels, which are a third set of wheels that extend from the back of the chair. Them not being present could indicate the person is likely pretty confident in their ability to use the chair without worrying about tipping out. It could also indicate they are in an environment where the anti-tips could be more of a hazard than a help, such as on rough terrain.

So lets look at some specifics for the green wheelchair:

Take a look at the wheels. The front wheels are pretty small and appear to be solid, while the back wheels appear to be quite narrow (compared to the orange chair anyway). This indicates the user likely lives somewhere with decent accessibility like a (well funded) city where they are unlikely to encounter unpaved/dirt roads/grass. Small front wheels and thin back wheels are good for manoeuvrability and a smooth ride over even terrain, but they will get stuck as soon as bumps appear, so this probably isn't an issue for this person.

While its a bit hard to tell unless you have seen other similar wheelchairs, this wheelchair is very long in the front, meaning the footplate and front wheels are further away from the seat than most. There could be a few reasons for this. One either indicates the person has very long legs, or a lack of motion in their knees, making it harder to bend their legs. This is moves the chair's centre of gravity forward by a decent amount, making it harder to tip back, which could indicate the person's legs are very light. You tend to see this most often in the wheelchairs of bilateral leg amputees, who are at a greater risk of tipping backwards due to a lack of weight at the front of the chair (even if they wear their prosthetics).

The colour of the chair is bright. This could simply be the character's favourite colour, or maybe this colour has some significance to them?

There are stickers on the side of the chair relating to the Paralympics. This could indicate the person is a fan, or perhaps had some involvement in the games?

The wheelchair has handles on the back, but they are able to be folded down. This is a popular feature for people who are independent enough to go out on their own, but still want to have the option for some help. folding down the handles also deters random strangers from grabbing at you (an unfortunately common experience for wheelchair users).

There is some mild paint scratching to the front of the wheelchair, but nothing too noticable. This is typical of older chairs and people who are a little rough on their chairs. Maybe they've had a few stacks and falls throughout the years, probably going a decent speed.

Ok, now let's look at the orange chair

This wheelchair has very large, inflatable front wheels, and very thick back wheels. This will make the chair slower and less manoeuvrable on flat/even surfaces, but much, much easier to push on rough terrain. This is supported by the amount of mud on the wheelchair.

The seat on this wheelchair tilts upwards slightly. This is called a bucket (or according to an old basketball teammate of mine, a dump-truck lol). This is a feature you typically see in wheelchairs made for people with spinal injuries who are unable to move their legs and engage their lower bodies or core to help keep them stable.

The back of this chair is very low, indicating that if this wheelchair user has a spinal injury, it's probably pretty low on their spine, likely fairly close to the hips, making the person a low-level paraplegic. Higher-level paraplegics and quadriplegics usually need a higher back to help support them and keep them from flopping over, since all the muscles below their place where their spine broke either doesn't work, or is significantly weaker. Higher backs though can get in the way of pushing and reduce mobility, so people who need less support will likely opt for a lower back rest.

This wheelchair has no handles, which indicates the user is probably very independent and doesn't need a lot of help getting around.

The paint on this wheelchair is very scratched up, showing the person is very tough on their wheelchair and doesn't care to get the paint touched up.

This wheelchair has no breaks. This is very common on chairs with larger tiers as they don't tend to be as effective, but also on many outdoor wheelchairs, for two reasons. One is because they are made for rough terrain, so chances are, you aren't going to go far without a big push to get you moving. The second reason is that to get over large bumps and obsticals in a wheelchair, it can be helpful to do very large pushes using the top and front of the wheel. When pushing a normal chair, most people will only use the top section of the wheel to push since it's closest, but these big pushes that use the front of the wheel make it easier to push, since you can benefit from downwards momentum. However, this is also where the breaks are located on most wheelchairs, which can create a hazard. I've lost entire fingernails by them getting snagged on the breaks when pushing this way. So if you live somewhere where the breaks are not going to be helpful to you often, it makes sense to not get them.

And here are the characters who own these wheelchairs

The owner of the green wheelchair is an amalgamation of a few people I knew from when I played wheelchair basketball. They're a bilateral leg amputee, and judging by their outfit (The Official National Wheelchair Basketball uniform for Australia), they're an elite athlete. This wheelchair is not the one they play sport in, but it still needs to be durable enough to withstand the rough treatment of airport staff when traveling, as well as heavy day-to-day use that comes with being an active person. While it needs to be rough, the person also seemed to want to prioritise speed and manoeuvrability, and likely doesn't need to worry about rough terrain too much, so they probably live in a major city.

The owner of the orange chair was inspired by a family friend of mine. They live on a farm, and need a chair that can handle life in those conditions, rough terrain and all. This comes at the cost of speed and manoeuvrability on smoother terrain, but honestly, anyone who's lived in the country knows you won't find many of those around there anyway, so that's not too big of a sacrifice. They are paraplegic, are very confident in their ability to use their wheelchair, and probably doesn't need help too often, but still benefit from some extra stability support from the raised seat on their chair.

Conclusion

Once again, these are generalisations, and in real life there are always exceptions, but I hope this helped demonstrate what I meant when I said you can use your character's wheelchair to tell us more info about them if you're smart about it.

I originally planned to do a whole series of these, showing a wider variety of wheelchairs and the people who they belong to, but I guess I kind of forgot because they've been sitting, abandoned on my hard drive for the last 2 years 😅. If that's something you folks would be interested in seeing though, let me know, I'd happily revive the series lol.

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ariestrxsh · 4 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚_____________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⁭ ⁭

⁭ ⁭⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, lap dance, role play, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, praise, pussy worship, pussydrunk!matt, softdom!matt, exchange of money for sex

✍️ Summary: ✍️ You've started a job at a strip club in your town, and while you're on stage, you notice none other than Matt Sturniolo, a good friend of yours, watching you in the crowd. Neither one of you expected to run into one another here, but he approaches you as a customer and pretends he doesn't know you.

if you're looking for a chris version with a similar storyline, you can read it here 💖

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚_____________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Taste

I had just recently started my job at a local strip club, and because I was new and unsure about how the people in my life would react, I opted out of telling my friends and family about it, so instead I told everyone I got hired at a bar, which wasn't entirely false. We did serve alcohol.

It took me a few weeks to get comfortable dancing in my heels, and a month before my legs weren't sore after every shift. Having been here a little shy of six months, I was making enough money to spend on even sexier lingerie so I could bring in even more tips. I was also learning new tricks on the pole.

I liked my job honestly, and I didn't feel like there were many people who could say that. I liked the work, I liked the women I worked with, I got paid well, and I even liked a lot of the customers. I had fun teasing men and spending my time with them while they gave me money and attention. It was a nice exchange. And I felt like I was genuinely getting to know some of them, even though they weren't exactly getting to know me. I was putting on a persona, and it was usually catered to the person I was servicing at the time, but it's not like it wasn't me. It was just only one aspect of me that I amped up and played heavily into. But I loved it. I loved dressing up and playing a role that was so different from my everyday demeanor and being what these men wanted me to be. In my everyday life, I was reserved, introverted, and kept to myself most of the time, but when I was dancing, I was an exaggerated version of who I was when no one was looking. My fantasies, my sexual desire, an alter ego if you will.

It was almost my time to go on. I reapplied my body glitter and made a few finals tweaks to my outfit. I was wearing a white sparkly corset that pushed my breasts up nicely and a matching thong as well as glass six inch heels. I had my hair down but out of my face and curly. "Give it up for Mary Jane," the announcer came on. I didn't want to use my real name at my work, so I decided on Mary Jane because it was innocent sounding and was also nothing like my real name. 'Taste' by Tyga and Offset played over the speakers, there was a spotlight on me and other lights around me flashed and changed colors, and I seductively strutted towards the pole in front of me, gripping it with one hand and doing a little spin around it. I slowly descended down the pole with my back to it until I was in a squat, looking out at the crowd of men who were eager to see my body and what it could do. I came back up and hooked one of my legs around the pole, doing a ballerina spin around it. I could feel all these eyes on me, and I gained even more confidence as the dollar bills started raining at me feet.

I made eye contact with a few customers I recognized, men who were regulars. Then my gaze scanned across a familiar face that wasn't one I usually saw in this setting. Matt Sturniolo? In a strip club? This was not his scene at all. We were decently close friends, but I certainly hadn't told him I applied here, and I didn't think it was necessary considering I didn't think I'd ever see him here. He appeared to be alone. No one I recognized was near him. And when we made eye contact, he was looking at me some sort of way I'd never been looked at by him before, like he was hungry for me. He had to have recognized me, right? I may look different with my tits pushed up to my chin, but not that different.

I focused my attention back to my dance, manipulating the attention of every man in the room, contorting my body in ways that had every man wishing they were the pole between my legs. I finished my song, collected my ones, tucked them into my corset, and carefully got down from the stage.

Once I looked up from watching my feet as I stepped off the stage, I saw Matt making his way over to me. I was really nervous about what he might say. If he'd be mad that I didn't tell him I was working here or if he'd tease me. Instead, he looked me up and down with his lust-filled blue eyes and licked his lips. "How much for a dance from you?" He asked me, smiling. He couldn't be serious. I hesitated for a second. I had never been put in a position where someone I recognized outside of the club came in and asked me for a dance.

On some level, it felt inappropriate. On another level, it felt like a bad business move to not take him up on it. "$100 for three songs," I responded nonchalantly. He casually took a $100 bill out of his wallet and tucked it into my corset with my other money. I liked the way he did that. Then he grabbed me by the waist and started walking with me towards the back of the club where he could sit down. "So, Mary Jane, did they say?" Matt asked as he sunk into his chair and looked up at me, almost as if studying the way I was gonna respond.

Was he going to pretend he didn't know me? Was this part of the fantasy, acting like we were two strangers who just met in a strip club when we're actually pretty close friends outside of this. I nodded. I turned around and began grinding on him, and he grabbed my waist in response, slowly running his fingers down my curves. "How long have you worked here, Mary Jane? Matt asked me. "Nearly six months," I replied while I shifted my weight so I was resting right against his half-hard cock. He let out a groan in response. "It's a shame I've missed you any time I've been in here," he answered. "You come here often?" I asked, it sounding like a bad pick up line in my head. "Sometimes, depends on what's going on in my life. Depends on my needs at the time," he told me. I didn't know that about Matt.

There was something about being on his lap, brushing up against his hardening member in his pants that was turning me on more than I thought it should be. I had given men lap dances before that I'd found attractive, and it definitely left me a little wet a few times. But this was different. I definitely had always found Matt attractive, and there was an extra layer to this, Matt and I acting like this was our first time meeting. The way his demeanor was different in this setting and the way mine was too. I was beginning to wonder if I was starting to enjoy this more than he was.

"I wanna see your face," Matt growled into my ear, and I obliged by turning around and straddling him. I went back to basically riding him with our clothes on while we looked into each other's eyes. Matt's hands almost immediately found their way to my ass. "You have an incredible body, you know that?" Matt commented. "You're not so bad yourself," I smirked at him. Matt's hands moved from my ass to my breasts. The way he handled me was gentle but with purpose and demanding at the same time. I loved the way his hands traced my body while I continued to grind against him. "Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad," Matt responded, staring at my lips. "You can if you have another $100 on you," I replied. No matter how badly I wanted to kiss him, I made it a rule that I'd always charge for intimate touch like that, because the men had to know it was transactional. I didn't want to make anyone feel lead on. This was my job, and this was a sale.

Matt shifted my hips so that I was straddling his knee now instead as he reached for his wallet in his pocket. I found myself holding my breath as his leg rubbed up against my already wet cunt and caused friction that sent a shock of pleasure through my nerve endings. It took everything in me to keep from riding his thigh while he pulled another benjamin out of his wallet and tucked it into the bra of my corset. I leaned in to kiss him. His lips were soft and pouty. His kiss was gentle, the same as his touch. His tongue slowly slipped into my mouth and brushed against my own. It was wet and velvety. While he passionately kissed me, his hands made their way to my face, softly cupping it. I pulled away, looking at him with a deep desire.

"Your three songs are almost over," I whispered, maintaining control of the situation. "I can pay for another three songs," Matt said, about to shift me onto his knee again. "Matt, please. As your friend, I can't let you do this. $300 is a lot of money to be spending at a strip club," I lectured him, breaking character. "Mary Jane, tonight I'm just another customer. I make my own money, I can spend it how I like," Matt bit his lip at me. "I wanna spend it on you, baby. I wanna spoil you," his words sent more waves of ecstacy through my body.

"Alright, another three songs," I said putting out my hand to accept another bill. "Actually, how much to take you to the private room?" Matt gestured towards the more intimate spaces where no one could see us. "All that you have in your wallet," I said jokingly, making a gun with my hand and jabbing it into his chest, but he took me seriously. He pulled out his wallet, grabbed a wad of cash, stuck it in my g-string this time, and tipped his wallet upside down to show me it was empty all while he smiled. I reached down to the money he'd put in my panties. "Only catch is, I want you for the whole night. Until the club closes," Matt growled while I counted the money. There was almost $1000 in my hand. I was shocked that Matt had this kind of money to blow at a strip club. And the fact that he did this semi-regularly? Matt was very quiet about how much money he had and about what a freak he was, and I liked that.

I thought about declining his offer and telling him I couldn't mix business, friendship, AND pleasure. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd be dumb not to. He was hot, he wanted me, and I'd never made this much money in one night before. "Deal," I said, tucking the money into my corset. Matt grinned at me. "Follow me," I said, leading him back.

I'd taken men into the private rooms before many times, and I liked it. It was quieter, away from all the noise. There was a bed and a couch. Usually, men would take me in there because they wanted more privacy. I'd never slept with a customer, no matter how much I'd been offered, but there were a few times where I'd definitely maybe crossed an ethical line that could technically get the club in trouble, but I'd never tell. I was good at keeping secrets. There were a few men I'd given handjobs to, one john who had taken my tits out of my bra and teased my nipples with his tongue, and one guy who rubbed my clit over my panties until he made me cum. I remembered being so embarrassed and blushing after that encounter, but that was the most money I'd ever made in one night. Until tonight.

"Why don't you take that top off?" Matt inquired when we were alone in the room. I smirked at him as I pulled all the cash out of my bra and set it next to my shoes I'd slipped out of to get more comfortable. I was nervous for him to see me like this, but it was just business. I started undoing the clasps on my corset when Matt came up behind me to help me. When all the hooks were undone, Matt slowly slid my straps down my shoulders one by one. He let my corset slowly fall to the ground, and when it did, he took both breasts into his hands and looked at them in awe. "Shit," he whispered to himself, fondling them, brushing up against my sensitive nipples.

Matt made his way to the couch and comfortably sprawled out, taking up space and licking his lips while his eyes studied my every curve while running his hand along his hard dick in his pants. "Come here, princess," Matt said, rubbing his leg and patting it, motioning for me to sit down, so I did. Once I leaned back into him, he played with my nipples some more, teasing them, pinching them, sucking on them. His hands slowly moved to the front of my panties, rubbing me through the fabric for a few minutes, and moved my thong aside while I sat on his lap. "Your pussy looks so pretty with your panties all pushed to the side like that," Matt complimented me in a voice that was barely above a whisper as he reached for it. When he started moving his fingers in circles skillfully around my clit, I let out a soft moan. "Oh, you're so wet, darling," Matt observed, exploring me with his hands. I loved sitting on his lap like a giddy little girl. His touch felt amazing. He slipped a finger inside of me and then another one while he looked down at my entrance, enthralled by how much wetter he was making me. "Oh, Matt," I whimpered as I started to get close. "Come on pretty girl. Cum all over my fingers," Matt smirked. I couldn't believe I was hearing these words leave Matt's mouth, but I took them as a command. I came unraveled while I sat on his knee with his fingers pumping in and out of me. I felt my body tense up and tremble for a few seconds, and then a glorious release.

"Good girl. You think I could make you cum again?" Matt cooed, licking his fingers while I tried to catch my breath, but I nodded and smiled. He lifted me up off his lap, revealing a wet spot on his pants under where I was sitting, and Matt seemed turned on by it. He sat me on the couch and got down on his knees on the floor between my legs. He pulled my panties to the side again, and I felt his hair tickle my thigh as he leaned it and attached his lips to my vulva. He teased me by kissing and licking everywhere but my clit while he looked up at me, smiling. "Please Matt," I whined, tugging at his curls, trying to bring him closer to where I wanted him to lick me, but he was doing it on purpose, making me beg for it, and he loved it. "Your pussy is so pretty up close and personal like this. Let me take my time with her," he smirked, teasing my entrance and kissing the insides of my thighs. He finally gave in after a few more minutes of my relentless pleading, manipulating my sweet spot with his tongue. He started moving it faster and more enthusiastically. It felt so good, I found myself sliding down on the couch, slowly but surely inching my pussy towards his face. He grabbed my hips and held me in place while he passionately moaned against me, sending shivers through my body. Matt was surprising me by the minute. He was certainly a jack of all trades, and I was learning I didn't even know a lot about him at all, only the parts that he wanted me to see. And the more I saw, the more I liked.

I started digging my nails into his shoulders as he continued to eat me like a mad man, running his hands and his tongue anywhere he pleased, and every time I was responsive to the way he touched me, he moved more eagerly. I was a moaning, writhing wreck under the flick of his tongue the carress of his fingers. I had never let a customer go down on me before. There were a lot of ethical boundaries I was willing to cross at this point for Matt. It just made it even hotter that we were playing into this fantasy that we didn't know each other and that he was just paying for a stripper - and at this point, basically a prostitute. I liked that Matt was paying me to eat my pussy. What a dream. And he was so wonderful at it too. Such attention to detail. So thorough. So restrained yet so urgent. I couldn't get enough of how much he wanted me.

"I'm so fucking in love with your pussy, I could eat you for hours," Matt mumbled in between licks. He closed his lips around my swollen bud and gently sucked on it until I was trembling and nearly screaming his name. "Yes, pretty girl. Make a mess on my tongue. I know you can do it," he cooed. His encouragement along with his skillful mouth had my second orgasm hitting me even harder than the first. I couldn't keep my hips from grinding against Matt's tongue while I twitched and whimpered obscenities, gripping the back of his head.

"Oh my fucking god. Where did you learn to do that?" I smiled down at him once I started to recover from my intense climax. "You're the one who basically showed me what to do with your body language. All I had to do was listen," he smirked. His answer was as hot as what he had just done to me. I liked the way Matt was in tune with my body, and the way he was trying things out to see how I'd react and then doing the things I loved over and over again. It was similar to how I behaved with my customers.

"Have you ever gone down on any other women in these clubs?" I asked him. "No, not ever. This was a first for me," he confided in me, which made me feel special. "First for me too. Guess it wouldn't hurt if we went further.." my voice started to trail off. "Say no more, princess," Matt said, finally taking the time to take off my panties instead of just moving them to the side again.

He unbuttoned his pants, pulled down his boxers, and entered me with no warning. I felt myself invite him in easily, and he started pumping in and out out of me aggressively. I loved the way he filled me and the way he spoke to me. I loved the way his lips parted to let out a stream of moans and the way he looked at me with his glazed over blue eyes, letting me know he couldn't take it much longer. His cock repeatedly hitting my pleasure spot was sending me over the edge again. I throbbed around his thickness as another wave crashed over me, and I got lost in it for a moment. All I could feel was endless pleasure, and there was a ringing in my ears that lasted for several minutes after I came. Matt loudly groaned "Oh, fuck," while he pulled out, leaving a mess on my pussy, and we both watched as his cock twitched and released his sticky white substance. He smiled down proudly and in awe of the way his ejaculate glistened on my womanhood.

He collapsed on the couch beside me after it was all over. "You're so much different at work as opposed to the shy girl I see every day," Matt nudged me. "Not shy, just keep my cards close to my chest," I corrected him. "But yeah, you're so much different as well. Who knew you could fuck like that?" I said, licking my lips, and he grinned as I complimented him.

"I've gotta go, sweetheart. The club is closing in ten minutes, and I've gotta come up with something to tell Chris and Nick about why I've been gone for several hours," he laughed. He leaned down one more time to stroke my face, and he gave me a sensual, slow, deep kiss. "Matt, seriously, come again. I loved doing business with you," I smiled up at him, not wanting him to leave. "I'll be back darling. Don't worry. I'd pay a million dollars if I had it to drown in that sweet pussy again. Just promise me, it'll be our little secret."

#sturniolo smut #sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #ariestrxsh #taste

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months ago

Text

An adversarial iMessage client for Android

Adversarial interoperability is one of the most reliable ways to protect tech users from predatory corporations: that's when a technologist reverse-engineers an existing product to reconfigure or mod it (interoperability) in ways its users like, but which its manufacturer objects to (adversarial):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

"Adversarial interop" is a mouthful, so at EFF, we coined the term "competitive compatibility," or comcom, which is a lot easier to say and to spell.

Scratch any tech success and you'll find a comcom story. After all, when a company turns its screws on its users, it's good business to offer an aftermarket mod that loosens them again. HP's $10,000/gallon inkjet ink is like a bat-signal for third-party ink companies. When Mercedes announces that it's going to sell you access to your car's accelerator pedal as a subscription service, that's like an engraved invitation to clever independent mechanics who'll charge you a single fee to permanently unlock that "feature":

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/12/05/carmakers-push-forward-with-plans-to-make-basic-features-subscription-services-despite-widespread-backlash/

Comcom saved giant tech companies like Apple. Microsoft tried to kill the Mac by rolling out a truly cursèd version of MS Office for MacOS. Mac users (5% of the market) who tried to send Word, Excel or Powerpoint files to Windows users (95% of the market) were stymied: their files wouldn't open, or they'd go corrupt. Tech managers like me started throwing the graphic designer's Mac and replacing it with a Windows box with a big graphics card and Windows versions of Adobe's tools.

Comcom saved Apple's bacon. Apple reverse-engineered MS's flagship software suite and made a comcom version, iWork, whose Pages, Numbers and Keynote could flawlessly read and write MS's Word, Excel and Powerpoint files:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

It's tempting to think of iWork as benefiting Apple users, and certainly the people who installed and used it benefited from it. But Windows users also benefited from iWork. The existence of iWork meant that Windows users could seamlessly collaborate on and share files with their Mac colleagues. IWork didn't just add a new feature to the Mac ("read and write files that originated with Windows users") – it also added a feature to Windows: "collaborate with Mac users."

Every pirate wants to be an admiral. Though comcom rescued Apple from a monopolist's sneaky attempt to drive it out of business, Apple – now a three trillion dollar company – has repeatedly attacked comcom when it was applied to Apple's products. When Apple did comcom, that was progress. When someone does comcom to Apple, that's piracy.

Apple has many tools at its disposal that Microsoft lacked in the early 2000s. Radical new interpretations of existing copyright, contract, patent and trademark law allows Apple – and other tech giants – to threaten rivals who engage in comcom with both criminal and civil penalties. That's right, you can go to prison for comcom these days. No wonder Jay Freeman calls this "felony contempt of business model":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Take iMessage, Apple's end-to-end encrypted (E2EE) instant messaging tool. Apple customers can use iMessage to send each other private messages that can't be read or altered by third parties – not cops, not crooks, not even Apple. That's important, because when private messaging systems get hacked, bad things happen:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2014_celebrity_nude_photo_leak

But Apple has steadfastly refused to offer an iMessage app for non-Apple systems. If you're an Apple customer holding a sensitive discussion with an Android user, Apple refuses to offer you a tool to maintain your privacy. Those messages are sent "in the clear," over the 38-year-old SMS protocol, which is trivial to spy on and disrupt.

Apple sacrifices its users' security and integrity in the hopes that they will put pressure on their friends to move into Apple's walled garden. As CEO Tim Cook told a reporter: if you want to have secure communications with your mother, buy her an iPhone:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/tim-cook-says-buy-mom-210347694.html

Last September, a 16-year old high school student calling himself JJTech published a technical teardown of iMessage, showing how any device could send and receive encrypted messages with iMessage users, even without an Apple ID:

https://jjtech.dev/reverse-engineering/imessage-explained/

JJTech even published code to do this, in an open source library called Pypush:

https://github.com/JJTech0130/pypush

In the weeks since, Beeper has been working to productize JJTech's code, and this week, they announced Beeper Mini, an Android-based iMessage client that is end-to-end encrypted:

https://beeper.notion.site/How-Beeper-Mini-Works-966cb11019f8444f90baa314d2f43a54

Beeper is known for a multiprotocol chat client built on Matrix, allowing you to manage several kinds of chat from a single app. These multiprotocol chats have been around forever. Indeed, iMessage started out as one – when it was called "iChat," it supported Google Talk and Jabber, another multiprotocol tool. Other tools like Pidgin have kept the flame alive for decades, and have millions of devoted users:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/07/tower-babel-how-public-interest-internet-trying-save-messaging-and-banish-big

But iMessage support has remained elusive. Last month, Nothing launched Sunchoice, a disastrous attempt to bring iMessage to Android, which used Macs in a data-center to intercept and forward messages to Android users, breaking E2EE and introducing massive surveillance risks:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/11/21/23970740/sunbird-imessage-app-shut-down-privacy-nothing-chats-phone-2

Beeper Mini does not have these defects. The system encrypts and decrypts messages on the Android device itself, and directly communicates with Apple's servers. It gathers some telemetry for debugging, and this can be turned off in preferences. It sends a single SMS to Apple's servers during setup, which changes your device's bubble from green to blue, so that Apple users now correctly see your device as a secure endpoint for iMessage communications.

Beeper Mini is now available in Google Play:

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.beeper.ima&hl=en_US

Now, this is a high-stakes business. Apple has a long history of threatening companies like Beeper over conduct like this. And Google has a long history deferring to those threats – as it did with OG App, a superior third-party Instagram app that it summarily yanked after Meta complained:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

But while iMessage for Android is good for Android users, it's also very good for Apple customers, who can now get the privacy and security guarantees of iMessage for all their contacts, not just the ones who bought the same kind of phone as they did. The stakes for communications breaches have never been higher, and antitrust scrutiny on Big Tech companies has never been so intense.

Apple recently announced that it would add RCS support to iOS devices (RCS is a secure successor to SMS):

https://9to5mac.com/2023/11/16/apple-rcs-coming-to-iphone/

Early word from developers suggests that this support will have all kinds of boobytraps. That's par for the course with Apple, who love to announce splashy reversals of their worst policies – like their opposition to right to repair – while finding sneaky ways to go on abusing its customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

The ball is in Apple's court, and, to a lesser extent, in Google's. As part of the mobile duopoly, Google has joined with Apple in facilitating the removal of comcom tools from its app store. But Google has also spent millions on an ad campaign shaming Apple for exposing its users to privacy risks when talking to Android users:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/9/21/23883609/google-rcs-message-apple-iphone-ipager-ad

While we all wait for the other shoe to drop, Android users can get set up on Beeper Mini, and technologists can kick the tires on its code libraries and privacy guarantees.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/07/blue-bubbles-for-all/#never-underestimate-the-determination-of-a-kid-who-is-time-rich-and-cash-poor

#pluralistic #multiprotocol #interoperability #adversarial interop #beeper #reverse engineering #blue bubbles #green bubbles #e2ee #end to end encrypted #messaging #jjtech #pypushbeeper mini #matrix #competitive compatibility #comcom

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angellesword · 5 months ago

Text

Baggage l JJK (01)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, OC cusses excessively so watch out

Pairing: dad!Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

→ Next Chapter (02)

***

You know it's New Year's Eve when people flock to Incheon's Chinatown. Some were rushing to buy gifts for their families and friends, while others ate in a fancy restaurant or watched fireworks and the famous lion dance.

As for Jungkook, he knew it was New Year's Eve when he could earn double.

"I said I don't want to take a picture!" The loud wail of a little girl could be heard through the vast street of Chinatown. Many shoppers looked at the kid and her father with disdain. The child was crying hard, yet her father simply laughed it off, urging the child to take a picture with Jungkook or, rather, with Ronald McDonald.

Jungkook was wearing the infamous mascot costume of that red-haired clown of McDonald's.

"Come on, Wonyoung-ah. Just one picture, please?" Seokjin, the child's father, batted his eyelashes, acting cute. It worked on his partner Namjoon. Unfortunately, it didn't have much effect on Wonyoung.

"No! He's so ugly and scary!" Wonyoung stole a glance at Jungkook. The mascot looked so hideous that Wonyoung couldn't help but throw her ice cream at Jungkook.

"Wonyoung." Namjoon, who had been quiet all this time, grimaced when he saw Jungkook stilled—as if the ice cream that hit his chest also froze his heart.

Namjoon usually tolerated the young girl's brattiness, but seeing that Wonyoung crossed the line and even hurt someone older than her, Namjoon couldn't help but scold his daughter.

"Apologize to him." Namjoon tilted Wonyoung's shoulder, compelling her to face Jungkook, who was still rooted to the ground.

Jungkook had never liked kids. He thought they were annoying and full of shit. What happened today totally embarrassed him. Not to mention, many people witnessed the jarring scene.

"I don't want to! Why don't you listen to me! He's a bad clown! He scares people!" Wonyoung refused to look at the mascot. Honestly, Jungkook couldn't refute the kid's reason. He, too, was aware of how ridiculous he looked. Most of his co-workers went on vacation leave. No one was around to help him apply his Ronald McDonald makeup. He had to do it himself.

Jungkook had no talent when it came to makeup. He had accidentally put on too much white face paint—even his manager laughed at him. But despite feeling helpless, he still swallowed his pride and went out to entertain customers. It's just for one night. Someone who needed money to survive couldn't be picky with the little opportunity available.

Not everyone was lucky enough to throw away food like it was nothing. Wonyoung was a young heiress; throwing ice cream at Jungkook was considered throwing tantrums and not wasting food. They had money. They could buy people's silence.

That's precisely what happened. Namjoon was hellbent on making his daughter apologize, and after a long time of coaxing, Wonyoung finally (although reluctantly) managed to say she was sorry.

Namjoon apologized on behalf of his child, too. Conversely, Seokjin gave Jungkook some hush money after promising to 'discipline' Wonyoung at home.

Jungkook could only nod, once again forced to swallow his pride and accept the money offered to him. Poor people like him didn't only have fewer opportunities; they had no self-preservation either. He endured long hours of smiling as kids cried seeing his face. The brave ones were a little easy to deal with. They only clung to his legs, asking their guardians to take more pictures with him.

It was already late at night when the last customer bid him goodbye. Jungkook was exhausted; the cold winter wind made his body shiver. He was itching to go home.

"What happened to your costume?" The manager who laughed at Jungkook earlier couldn't laugh anymore, not when he knew it would cost the restaurant money to clean off the stain.

The chocolate ice cream thrown by Wonyoung heavily stained the costume. Jungkook explained what happened. Unfortunately, the manager only shook his head.

"Nope, that can't be. It's your fault you didn't dodge. I'm gonna have to deduct the laundry fee from your salary."

Jungkook's hands balled into fists when he heard about the salary deduction. There was ringing in his ears, and as if that wasn't cruel enough, the manager added, "I'm not going to double your payment this day. Half of it goes to dry cleaning."

The strong urge to grab the manager's collar and slam him on the wall made Jungkook's hands twitch. Who even dry-cleans a fucking mascot costume? A whirlpool of profanities at the bottom of his heart threatened to swallow him whole. Jungkook wished he could just disappear from this world.

Logic sided with him in the end, though. Jungkook needed a job. He couldn't leave even if he wanted to because if he did, where would that leave those people to whom he owed money? He couldn't escape his responsibilities. Yes, it would be satisfying to smack the hell out of his manager, but after all that gratifying feeling came the consequences: he would lose his only source of income, face a civil case, and be forced to look for a new job.

The last one was the hardest thing to do. No one would want to hire someone like Jungkook. He was a failure, and almost all business industries knew about it.

For the third time tonight, Jungkook swallowed his pride. He held the crook of his manager's elbow and beamed, "Manager Bang, have mercy on your poor employee, would you? You promised to pay me double today."

Jungkook struggled to steady his voice. He swore he never cried, not even when losing millions of assets. But things were different now. Back then, he lost everything because of his own decisions. But today's case was different. He didn't ask any of this. He didn't ask that stupid brat to throw ice cream on him. None of these was his choice...because sadly, he only had one choice:

It was to beg.

"Please? I-I need money. I need to..." Jungkook choked on his bitter spit. He shook his head. Never mind his needs, never mind his reason. It wasn't like others cared. He could only compromise, "What if I wash the costume instead? You don't have to pay at all."

Jungkook was so passionate about his proposal. He kept spouting nonsense. It was a pity, really. Even his manager couldn't bear looking at his face. It was such a cringe-worthy juxtaposition to see a happy clown almost crying.

"Okay, fine!" The manager cut Jungkook off. He had never seen someone desperately beg for money. It made him uncomfortable. "Do whatever you want. Just get out of my sight."

The manager shuddered again, but Jungkook smiled, almost kowtowing as he received his compensation.

"Thank you, Manager Bang!" Jungkook smiled at his manager before finally leaving the food chain. He didn't change his outfit, realizing that things were better off like this. It was winter, and he had no money to buy coats and boots. He had to make do with this clown costume.

With little compensation in hand, Jungkook walked around Chinatown, spending his transportation fee on food instead.

It was New Year's Eve, after all. He felt like he at least deserved to eat something delicious. Jungkook originally wanted to buy crabs but could only afford five sticks of chicken skewers and a bottle of the cheapest soju.

Jungkook had low alcohol tolerance. It had been many years since he last drank, and the consequences of that night had been awful—so awful he decided to never drink again.

Tonight was the only night he'd break his promise. It was New Year's Eve. He had no one by his side; he could only rely on alcohol to give him warmth.

As expected, Jungkook's vision doubled after just a few sips of soju. He couldn't stop drinking, though. The alcohol burned his throat and stomach, but it was nothing compared to his bitterness as he looked at the building before him.

The Bighit building.

Out of hundreds of restaurants and food stalls in Incheon, Jungkook had no idea why he chose to dine in a place where he would have a clear view of Bighit. He did so well trying to avoid going to this part of the city for years, so what changed tonight? Was the embarrassment he experienced earlier not enough?

Did he need to be reminded of the pain and humiliation he went through at the Bighit back then?

Or was it because he missed someone?

Jungkook's heart throbbed just thinking about that someone. It had been long since they last saw each other. Things had changed already. Take Bighit as an example. It was called HYBE now.

Some people left, including him. But some things never changed. The building was still as magnificent as ever.

Jungkook felt nostalgic. He couldn't stop himself from walking toward HYBE. Years ago, he could go in and out of this building as he pleased.

Everyone would bow down and smile at him. What a pity that he could only stare at the façade of this company now.

Jungkook wasn't the same man years ago, but the alcohol clouded his mind. He felt as if nothing had changed. He thought he could stand outside the building, smiling like an idiot as he waved at an angry girl leaning against her car, a frown decorating her lips while rolling her eyes.

Jungkook smiled despite himself. How shameless of him to think about that girl? To think that he could drink alcohol and pretend like he could turn back time?

Oh, how he wished he could turn back time. He would do anything to see that girl roll her eyes again, to hear her scream one more time.

Jungkook laughed bitterly.

He missed the girl.

The snowflakes fell, followed by tears falling from his eyes. The tears he thought had frozen over time.

And then he heard the sound of the fireworks before seeing it illuminate the dark sky.

It's New Year.

He heard the sound of her voice before seeing her face-to-face.

"Jungkook."

The fireworks enveloped his ears, but it was nothing compared to his loud heartbeat.

Jungkook looked at the person who had just uttered his name.

Did time really freeze? Was this some kind of New Year miracle?

Or was the alcohol still messing with his brain, making him believe that he was still the Jungkook from the past? The Jungkook could see the girl, also known as you, any time he wanted.

Jungkook blinked, chuckling.

It was absurd.

How drunk was he to see your car again parked in front of Bighit?

Jungkook was drunk, but the image in front of him wasn't a fragment of his imagination.

You were really here to pick Jungkook up.

Just like before.

***

NEW JJK ONESHOT HERE

→ Next Chapter (02)

This fic is originally a soukoku fic which I'm posting/revamping as a JJK one (I don't know, man. I feel like I have to change the characters to eradicate my writer's block. This fic has been on hiatus for many years. This will probably have 8 chapters in total. (I've written 4/8 already, so stay tuned!) This is also for those few readers who never fail to message me, asking if I will be writing more JJK fics. Here you go, I guess? Hehehe

I appreciate COMMENTS the most <33 I love you, guys. Thanks for reading.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #ficswithluv #jungkook bts #bts fic #daddy jungkook #parent jungkook #jungkook x yn #jungkook x oc #pseudo cheating

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howtofightwrite · 8 months ago

Note

Have you read GRRM books? He claims swords needed to be “especially designed for women’s hands” how true is this?

About as true as all of those, “girl guns.” Because, as you know, a woman cannot hold a Glock unless it's pink or sky blue. Which is to say, not even remotely true.

You might get a situation where a child would be unable to operate a weapon designed for adults because the grip is too cumbersome, but even this is going to be something of an outlier. Even years later the Nicholas Cage's line from Lord of War (2005) sticks with me, when describing the AK he narrates, “...so simple a child could use it, and they do.”

Just like basically any other common grip you encounter in your daily life, from screwdrivers to steering-wheels and cell phones, selling smaller, or more colorful ones, is strictly a marketing gimick.

Now, is a legitimate context, but it doesn't really have anything to do with the wielder's sex. If they had the money, the time, and the desire for a perfect grip, they might commission a smith to produce a grip specifically for their hand. Though, the only place I've ever come across this was in competitive fencing. I have seen cases where someone modifies their blade's grip with tape or other materials to better fit their hand, or the addition of a leather (usually shagreen) wrap over their grip, but even that is somewhat unusual. (Shagreen is leather from a shark or ray, and it grips the skin, making it easier to hold, especially when wet.)

Ironically, girl guns do illustrate the one case where have some weight: Weapons as fashion accessories.

I know I've complained about weapons (particularly handguns) as fashion accessories in previous posts, but the truth is that using weapons like this is not new behavior. In the early modern era, one of the ways the rising middle class liked to display their status was with a sidearm. (In this case, referring to a sidesword or, later, a rapier.) I've looked specifically into women carrying sidearms at that point in history, but it really would not surprise me in the least if they did, and if there were, that at least some of those swords were specifically designed to be more delicate and, “feminine,” per their owner's tastes. (Though, to be fair, a more delicate grip on a rapier would be fairly impressive, as the grips tend to be pretty thin.) This is a case where you might want to look into it further, if it really catches your interest, but I've never really run this down before.

If you're still dubious, feel free to wander into nearly any HEMA event, and you'll have a better than average chance of a woman being willing to prove this idea false with a Zweihander, that may in fact be taller than she is. (Historically, Zwiehanders could be over 2 meters long, and chances extremely good that you're shorter than 2 meters.)

I know I'm regurgitating previous posts here, but it really is worth remembering that swords are much lighter than people think. Zweihanders are some of the heaviest battlefield swords from history, and even the heaviest examples weigh less than 9lbs. Women in HEMA can, and do, use them effectively. Swords aren't about being big and heavy, they're about being a (in this case) seven foot long razor blade.

Since we're on the Zweihander specifically (and this may also apply for some of the other greatswords, such as the Scottish Claymore), this is a case where you might have a custom weapon forged for you. However, in this case, that's more about the right blade length, then worrying about the grip being too thick or too thin. Ideally, you want the blade length to match your height (roughly), this is because of the drills with the weapon itself, though you could adjust to a longer blade if that's what you had.

Now, to be clear, the idea of someone, particularly a noble, having a blade custom forged for them specifically isn't strange. That's something that did happen, both at the noble's request, and also as diplomatic gifts from other nations. Examples of the latter resulted in beautiful art pieces that you would never take into battle.

If you had a situation where you couldn't use a sword because the grip was too large (for, whatever reason), there are ways to fix that. In an ideal situation, you could simply pop off the pommel and grip, and then replace the grip with one that was a better fit to your hand. If the tang itself was the problem (this is the metal core of the grip, and is part of the blade, which the pommel attaches to), you might be able to shave (or file) down the tang, and then replace the grip with a new one, fitted to the now smaller tang. I'm not particularly wild about modifying the tang directly, simply because there is a (minor) risk of reducing the structural integrity of the sword in the process. Though, replacing the grip (especially on a sword with a threaded pommel) is very doable, and unless someone, somehow, screws up catastrophically, it should be a pretty trivial modification. (Again, replacing a sword's original grip with a new shagreen grip does make a lot of sense if the owner wants that improved grip.)

But, to the original question, it's not really a thing.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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