#title insurance building

[heberthome]

What's this whole "title insurance" thing is about?

Hey there, homeowners and future property moguls! 🏡 Are you thinking about buying some real estate and wondering what this whole "title insurance" thing is about?

Brittany Long Sales Executive T: 936.756.2070 | C: 936.333.0393 | Mitel: 23106 BLong@OldRepublicTitle.com Old Republic Title | Old Republic Insurance Group 4507 W Davis St | Conroe, Texas 77304 oldrepublictitle.comCo-written by Brittany Long & A Keith Hebert Introduction Hey there, homeowners and future property moguls! 🏡 Are you thinking about buying some real estate and wondering what this…

[dawnwriterimagines]

Clear Skies

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Silence rung in the Chief Officer's main office, the woman's lips set in a line as she glares down at the mortified brit facing her.

"You did what?" Price couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without consoling with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Your now former captain blinks, confused. Then, angered. "Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace. She would've never come to you, and you were foolish to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she speaks, unbothered. "A position, it didn't look like she'd miss, Captain."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

"I seem to remember, under my orders, you handled a particular matter that you gave no pause to," she leans back, a sly smirk barely hidden by the edge of her mug. "Just fine."

Jaw clenching, Price grits his teeth. "The worst mistake I've made on the force."

"No," Laswell interjected. "Your mistake is believing you have any type of authority on this force, that I don't already have."

With a single finger, as Price's hand loosens around her packet, Laswell slides her folders back to her. Standing from her chair, she crosses around the table to her desk, passing John Price with a brush of the shoulder. "Oh John," she spoke, humming a humored sound. "The military is engrained in each member of the force, it's in your blood. It's in hers. She'll be back," she slides the folder into her assortment of documents. "They always are, in one way or another."

"Back to you," Price seethes, silently.

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, leaning against her desk, slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, was it?"

Wary eyes drift away from the Station Chief, "Well what about Gray?" he swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service."

Laswell crosses her legs, humming. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped classified. "You and your team have some things to discuss."

Brows furrowed, Price reluctantly takes the folder, opening it. Eyes widening at the new information, quickly running over the entire document before they close with a heavy sigh.

---

Entering the residential building again, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. You rush through the open hallways quickly, the squeak of your boots from the rain was enough of an announcement to your arrival.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see the silhouette of this place again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothes arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing.

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it'd just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, one of them could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. "Open. Open, open, open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound. "Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Uhm, I-uh," you take a subtle step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no it's fine. It's just, I-I'm uh..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, once cutting your thumb on the diamond. Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten... "It's nothing."

He notices. "You're with someone."

"No," You swallow a knot in your throat. "Not anymore." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"Oh, he's not dead," you say. Before breathing out, "But, he is to me.."

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, softly.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The charming stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment you can't help but take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of. He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

And then you remember.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the things you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the battle scar." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It's not."

Confused. "Not what?"

"From a battle," you admitted before pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator, the both of you still facing the other.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

The metal doors close with a light thud.

---

Entering the room that had been your home for so many years, you pull your mattress onto the bed frame, fixing it to sit. You had broken your desk chair while trying to throw it at Johnny earlier.

Your IV pole had somehow made it here as well but you were sure putting a needle back in your arm wasn't the smartest idea.

You did notice someone had come to tidy the place up, the door having been replaced since and the lock restored. You don't hesitate to lock the door immediately, carefully looking around the room, turning on every light you could.

You wouldn't say you were afraid of the dark now, but you can't say you're fond of it either after everything.

Opening the blinds of the window, you shove them aside, letting the light of the street lamps in as well. Ok, maybe, you were afraid of the dark now. You used to hate sleeping with even the TV on, now you can hardly close your eyes without feeling like you're back in that cell.

Slipping your towel off of the side table, you walk over to your bed, sitting. It's quiet in here. Uncomfortably so. You used to have an old radio, playing soft music. Your TV blaring an old TV show as background noise. Neither of those things seemed to be present in the room, most probably taken during your time in the hole.

Running the towel over your still wet hair, you let it land in your lap, urging yourself to breathe evenly.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

You lean into your hands, breathing shakily, closing your eyes, it was all just so much.

Running your fingers through your hair, you lean back and look up, your upper shelf laid just above your bed. You turn, shifting over to the shelf, luckily it had remained mostly unbothered compared to everything else.

Lifting a music box from the desk, you set it beside you, opening the compartment, a soft hum of music beginning and building to a magical bell tone that continues to build until you remove a velvet box. Closing the lid, the music halting to a abrupt stop.

You stare at the velvet box in your grip, running your thumb along the material. You could never take your ring with you on missions, never wanting to risk losing it, so you always kept it where you could find it, where you'd never lose it.

Flipping the box open, you suck in a short breath as you stare at the engagement ring, sadly tracing the band. You'd be lying if you said a piece of you didn't still love Simon, of course it could never be the love it was. Now it was just a shameful attachment to the first man you'd ever loved.

It was during a mission that he proposed. Or at least the aftermath of one. Though it had been successful the team was forced to lay low for a few days in enemy territory.

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "Si?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “You know I’ve fought a lot of battles, but none quite like this one.” The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "You're the only reason I keep pushing forward, I want a life with you, I wanna share it all with you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming emotion. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos with you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. “We’ve been through hell and back, but there’s no one I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare.

You felt your heart race, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love. Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

Who would've thought things would've ended this way.

Sniffling miserably, you grab at your hair violently, clawing into your skin, "Such a fucking idiot--" you grit out, breathing shakily. "Stupid. Stupid, dumb--" you hit yourself, your palm slapping into your forehead, your nails dig into your scalp. You inhale messily, unable to breathe, "It's your fault," hyperventilating, angrily. "You did this..."

You sob out, your face flushed with a horrible warmth that closes up your throat as you cry. You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Your fist wrapping around the velvet box, the side of your fist going back to his your head feverously, until it hurts. Until you're satisfied. When you stop, you scream and run your hands down your face, unable to contain your maddening grief, "FUCK!"

Hurling the box to the other side of the room it collides with the plastered wall, cracking the paint and denting the wall. It breaks, the ring spilling out somewhere along the floor, you don't look for it, instead you're shoving over your dresser, pushing everything off the side of your desk, kicking the wooden pieces of your favorite chair. You scream and cry and shout, tossing everything you could possible get your hands on in your room. "You're so fucking stupid!"

Slamming the music box down onto the floor, it crumbles, music spilling out before fading to a broken tone and then fading into silence.

You rip open memory photos you had taken of the team, their smiling faces, your content expression. With no strength to rip the book by hand, you step on the left pages, pulling the next side with a rageful sound. You continue to do so until every. last. picture is completely torn apart.

Shoving it all into the trash, crying all the while, as you shove it all inside the metal bin, your eyes squeeze shut. You drew in shaky breaths, but each inhale felt too shallow, too quick. The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement. Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision as you fought to catch you breath.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat and making it harder to breathe.

A strangled sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, collapsing back onto the floor.

Glass shattered all around you, wood splintered to pieces, the room is ruined once more and you're breaking all over again.

You sat there for hours, curled into yourself. It was moments later you'd remember you have to pack up your life here now.

Opening the door of your closet, holding your last pieces of sanity together as you pull your suitcases from the storage. Breathing heavily, you stare with blurred vision into the empty cases, this was it, you were done, so abruptly, so painfully...

Everything hurts now.

Your body, your heart, everything. And you weren't sure it would ever get better.

But despite it, you slide your suitcase over to your bolted shelves, beginning to pack. Wiping away the tears that stained your face, every piece of clothing made you feel just a bit lighter.

[afloweroutofstone]

It's simple, we build massive amounts of public housing, loosen zoning laws, replace property taxes with land value taxes, directly promote the creation of housing co-ops and community land trusts, end homelessness through housing first approaches, create a land registry to eliminate the need for title insurance, establish a national renters' bill of rights, replace the home interest deduction with a progressive tax credit on primary residences, and implement 20-30 other reforms. Housing fixed

[fatliberation]

hi, i'm a fat person who is just starting to learn to love and appreciate my body and i'm very new to the fat community and all that.

i was wondering if you could maybe explain the term ob*se and how it is a slur. i've never heard anything about it being a slur before(like i said, i'm very new here) and was wondering if you could tell me the origin and history of the word or mayy provide links to resources about it? i want to know more about fat history and how to support my community but i'm unsure of how to start

Welcome!

Obesity is recognized as a slur by fat communities because it's a stigmatizing term that medicalizes fat bodies, typically in the absence of disease. Aside from the word literally translating to "having eaten oneself fat" in latin, obesity (as a medical diagnosis) straight up doesn't actually exist. The only measure that we have to diagnose people with obesity is the BMI, which has been widely proven to be an ineffective measure of health.

The BMI was created in the 1800s by a statistician named Adolphe Quetelet, who did NOT sudy medicine, to gather statistics of the average height and weight of ONLY white, european, upper-middle class men to assist the government in allocating resources. It was never intended as a measure of individual body fat, build, or health. 

Quetelet is also credited with founding the field of anthropometry, including the racist pseudoscience of phrenology. Quetelet’s l’homme moyen would be used as a measurement of fitness to parent, and as a scientific justification for eugenics.

Studies have observed that about 30% of so-called "normal weight" people are "unhealthy" whereas about 50% of so-called "overweight" people are “healthy”. Thus, using the BMI as an indicator of health results in the misclassification of some 75 million people in the United States alone. "Healthy" lifestyle habits are associated with a significant decrease in mortality regardless of baseline body mass index.  

While epidemiologists use BMI to calculate national "obesity" rates, the distinctions can be arbitrary. In 1998, the National Institutes of Health lowered the overweight threshold from 27.8 to 25—branding roughly 29 million Americans as "overweight" overnight—to match international guidelines. Articles about the "obesity epidemic" often use this pseudo-statistic to create a false fear mongering rate at which the United States is becoming fatter. Critics have also noted that those guidelines were drafted in part by the International Obesity Task Force, whose two principal funders were companies making weight loss drugs. Interesting!!!

So... how can you diagnose a person with a disease (and sell them medications) solely based upon an outdated measure that was never meant to indicate health in the first place? Especially when "obesity” has no proven causative role in the onset of any chronic condition?

There is a reason as to why fatness was declared a disease by the NIH in 1998, and some of it had to do with acknowledging fatness as something that is NOT just about a lack of willpower - but that's a very complicated post for another time. You can learn more about it in the two part series of Maintenance Phase titled The Body Mass Index and The Obesity Epidemic.

Aside from being overtly incorrect as a medical tool, the BMI is used to deny certain medical treatments and gender-affirming care, as well insurance coverage. Employers still often offer bonuses to workers who lower their BMI. Although science recognizes the BMI as deeply flawed, it's going to be tough to get rid of. It has been a long standing and effective tool for the oppression of fat people and the profit of the weight loss industry.

More sources and extra reading material:

How the Use of BMI Fetishizes White Embodiment and Racializes Fat Phobia by Sabrina Strings

The Bizarre and Racist History of the BMI by Aubrey Gordon

The Racist and Problematic History of the Body Mass Index by Adele Jackson-Gibson

What's Wrong With The War on Obesity? by Lily O'Hara, et al.

Fearing The Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia by Sabrina Strings

[seungfl0wer]

*I’ll do anything*

Part Title: Devils Helping Hand

Genre: Angst/Smut/Fluff?

Paring: Minho x Reader (Fem)

Warnings: Mafia!Au, Mentions of death, Sick sibling, Mentions of being shot, also mentions of being Minhos slave, slight blood mention

This will be a small series. For my 🔪 anon, they have a beautiful brain and now I’m obsessed with the thought of Mafia boss Minho 😪 (Their request/thoughts Here and Here) also side note this is the first series of writings I’ve done in a long while so please bare with me and my ramblings.

Series Master List

-🩵

You prepared for this for weeks, wanting it to go right because it meant everything if you could pull it off. Staring at the building knowing there was people in there willing to shoot you on sight. But none of that mattered if you could pull it off. Your brother has been getting worse and worse. He’s been in the hospital for the past month battling his illness but nothing seems to be helping. There’s a new treatment they want to try however it’s expensive. The insurance can only cover so much of it and the rest is up to you.

You’ve been working your ass off 2 jobs, barely eating to save money and your sleep schedule? People slept? You sighed loudly watching as people got into their car to leave. You’ve been scoping out the schedules of them seeing when they leave how long they stay how many go in and out. It was gonna work. It had to work. You find the window that’s been open for the past 3 days slinking your body through it. Bingo. The room was close to the one you needed. You peaked out the door quickly checking the surroundings before bolting to the room beside.

The door was locked but you learned how to pick a lock just for this. You worked your janky skills as you heard voices down the hall. Heart races as you quickly tried the lock and then it clicked. You were in! You hurriedly got into the room so know one could see. One thing that was very odd to you was there was no cameras. You even had a mask you were gonna wear but realizing there wasn’t anything you didn’t put it on.

You searched the room opening ever drawer and checking ever nook you could. You were getting frustrated not being able to find the safe you knew was there. Until you remembered in those movies people would keep things behind paintings. Eh it was worth a shot to check. Moving the few art pieces you rolled your eyes as you actually found the safe behind a painting of the boss. He was handsome, but word had it he was a very cold hearted man. I mean he had to be doing this job.

You searched anywhere to find a code he might have wrote down anywhere. You sighed why couldn’t it have been one of those with the tiny keys. As you looked you heard the door opening “fuck” you say in a whisper “this is it huh” you said to yourself. You weren’t going to go out with a fight though. You stood behind the door waiting for him to come in as he shut the door he looked over to his desk. Noticing things had been moved he turned to grab the door again only to be met with your eyes.

He was so calm and collected while your heart was about to beat out of your chest. Your palms started to sweat and you could feel a lump get stuck in your throat as you tried to speak. He tilted his head a bit looking you over “who hired you?” He asked staring at you eyes staying locked “I’ll pay you double what they’re paying you” he said still studying you. He seemed almost confused you looked like such a sweet girl. Your innocent eyes shaking as you stared at him.

“No one sent me” you admitted, trying to make eye contact with him. He scoffed a bit “you broke in here with out no one find you and you expect me to believe you” he laughed “what the hell did you come here for then? Do you have a death wish?” He said making his way to his desk. This wasn’t going as you expected but you weren’t leaving here empty handed. You stared at him as he looked at the painting that hid the safe. “Ah so you came for money is that it?” He questioned. You nod “My brother is sick” you said softly “i don’t give hand outs sorry” he laughs a bit before you cut him off “then let me work for you, I can do anything.”

He paused looking at you “I can get a whore anytime” he was about to say before you continued “I can clean really well, I’m also a pretty good cook” he raised an eyebrow he was honestly more confused than anything. “Pay me the money for my brother and in return I’ll be your servant” you said choking back tears. You couldn’t tell if it was from being upset about your brother or the fact this man could literally just kill you here.

He walked to his desk sitting down staring at you with big boba eyes “and if I refuse?” He smirked “what will little you do to me hmm?” He has a point what exactly could you do if he said no. The only thing you could really muster out was a “please” your hands trembled now, shaking so bad it felt like you were vibrating. Your legs felt like jello so wobbly and weak. You looked over your face making his way to you he lifted your head to make you look at him. He stared at you thinking hard “You will do anything I ask you. No protesting. Everything I say to you is met with a yes sir. If you cannot follow these orders say goodbye to your brother.”

That last part hurt a bit, but you nodded excepting the offer “good girl” he said in response dropping your face “how much exactly do you need?” He says like the money is an after thought like he was so rich it wouldn’t matter. “His first treatment would be 80K but his insurance is covering at least 10K so 70K.” You croaked out. It was so much money and that was only for the first treatment and it may not even work. You had 5K saved already from working yourself to death but it would take you forever to get it all.

He nodded “pocket change honestly” he said with a cold expression “I’ll pay it in full for you to come work for me for at least 6months” he said staring at you. You were honestly shocked 6months? You thought he’d just make you a slave forever “however you will move into my home for the time being so I can keep you close. Don’t want you running off after I pay” he laughed a bit “like you’d be able to hide from me” he said still laughing. “And if he needs another treatment we can work something out.” He said cracking his neck slightly.

You kinda just nod your head was empty at this point. Your body had almost gone numb at the thought of what you had offered. If you got yourself killed who would be there to help your brother? So you made a deal with yourself there and then, you were gonna put a smile on and work as hard as possible. No matter what the man would through at you. You were gonna live and live to see your brother better.

“So is it a deal darling?” He said his voice so sweet sounding but his face turned into a smug smile. “It’s a deal.” You said locking eyes with the man “Good choice, now please sit while I grab my stuff. We will swing by your house before we head to your new home.” You nod “oh by the way darling I never caught your name.” He said nonchalantly rummaging through his desk “I’m y/n.” You said as you watched the man he nodded slightly “Y/n- hmm. A pretty name for a pretty lady” he smiled.

Was he hitting on you? Your eyes widen a small bit thinking to yourself. The smile on his face widened a bit at your expression “gonna put you to work when we get there cause I’m starving” he said finding the paper he needed “oh by the way kitten, if you are going to my little slave just know you will not leave as innocent as you came here” he said smirking getting up putting his bag over his shoulder. That’s it. You had literally just sold yourself, not just for work but your body.

Shit. You said to yourself can’t he get any hooker or whatever he wants. He wouldn’t want you right? RIGHT!?

-🩵

He opened the door for you to get in the car he got in after sitting beside you. He told the older man driving your address and you headed to your house. Your mind buzzing thinking of what you are getting into. You broke the silence with a low “shit.” Minho turned his head in question wondering what had made you said that. But before he could ask the man had pulled into your place. It was a small janky apartment where he knew well had a lot of problems. Just last week someone from his group had shot someone dead in the street.

His eyes looked over at you how could you be living here? Someone so beautiful in such a crime ridden place, you didn’t have anyone here to protect you he thought to himself. Or did you? He never thought to ask honestly. And if you would have someone what then? He’d make sure they’d be outta the picture.

Minho broke out of his thoughts as you tapped his shoulder “uhm we’re here” you said softly looking at him with almost puppy dog eyes. You both walked in silence up to your door, your apartment was pretty empty you hadn’t bought much of anything after moving here. It was the closets and cheapest place you could get to your work and your brother. The place itself was very neat and clean almost looked like you just moved in.

Closing the door behind you, you turned to Minho “I have a question” you said avoiding eye contact. Before he could respond he heard a faint meow coming from the only chair you had in the living room. He smiled his expression softened as he knew what you were gonna ask. “I’ve always loved cats” he said walking towards the crusty looking cat. The cat rolled over as he approached exposing her little patchy belly. Her fur was a burnt orange color with a black and white batches over. She was a little chunky thing, with only one eye. Her meow was cute almost like a kittens meow how high pitched it was.

“Will she be joining you?” He asked as he petted her soft fur. His body language was so different now, he seemed approachable and kind. “Is that ok with you?” You said with hopeful eyes. He nods “of course” he pauses for second “when we get home you will address me as sir as I said before. You haven’t said it once but I will let it slide for now.” He said standing up staring at you “get what you need quickly.”

You head to your room grabbing clothes and such. As you did the man snooped through your house. Checking your fridge. Empty. Empty?? His jaw almost drops at the sight. It was so bare not even condiments. There was a single bottle of water, a small carton of milk and jar of jelly. What the fuck do you even eat? He questioned. How are you even alive if this is what your fridge looked like. He looked in the cupboard seeing a few canned foods but he noticed you had a whole shelf of cat food, treats and wet food. Of course. Damn you’re so sweet aren’t you. Buying food for your cat over yourself. God how’s he gonna be this tough guy over you when you’re this loving? He thought.

You came back out with a suitcase packing the cats stuff and putting her in her carrier. You looked at him as he stood by the door scared for what is to come but relieved your brother will be taken care of. You two walked back the car heading to your new “home” back again in silence.

-🩵

You pulled up to a beautiful house, it was nestled in the woods you could see a beautiful garden at the side with a small pool on the other side of the house. The house itself was not overly big. Bigger than one man needed but no mansion like you thought he’d have. Stepping out of the car Minho grabbed the carrier as you took your suit case out. You headed inside where he gave you a small tour, showing you where you’d be staying which was right across from his room.

“Alright now that you know the place I’m starving.” He said stretching his arms above his head “let’s see how your cooking skills are” you nod as you both walked towards the kitchen. You looked through the fridge that was stalked to the brim of fresh vegetables, fresh fruit and meat. Anything and everything you could really want. You quickly get to work on making him some fish over rice and some fresh steamed veggies.

As you cooked he watched over you, like a Sargent almost. He found it so attractive you could cook because he himself loved to cook. That’s a reason he’s never hired a chef but now he had you. Watching you make him food, your pretty lips in a pout almost as you focused on what you were doing. His body almost moved on its own, he pressed himself against your hands coming up to grab yours as you cook. “You should do it like this” he said helping you cook the fish.

He was so close to you, you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck. Body pressed as close to yours as he could. His other hand resting firmly on your hip as his other wrapped around your hand that was holding the pan. You could feel him moving his hips slightly against you. Soft enough he thought you wouldn’t feel, but you did. God did you feel it. “Y/n” he said softly “you’re doing so well” his voice barely audible. The very intimate moment was interrupted by his phone ringing. His sighed loudly as he pealed himself away from your body grumply answering the phone.

“What” he hissed at whoever pulled him away from you. “Alright I’ll be right there” he said another loud sigh escaping his plush lips. “Of course I gotta go” he rolled his eyes. You titled your head a bit as you heard a car horn honking. He quickly went to the door “Make yourself at home I won’t be gone longer than 2 hours.” He said rushing out the door. You breathed out almost sad he had to leave. You wondered how much time he actually had to himself. He seems like he works himself a lot especially at the state of his house. You finished making his dinner placing it in the microwave for him to heat back up.

You kept yourself occupied cleaning up the kitchen, you cleaned up half the house before you sat down falling asleep on the couch. Minho finally came home later than he was supposed to. It was 3am, he looked exhausted slight blood painted his shirt. As he walked through the door he was almost shocked at how clean you had gotten things already. He saw you sleeping on the couch he was going to carry you to bed but remembered his shirt. He took a quick shower before coming back out. While he was in the shower you had heard him come home. You heated his food up for him setting it out on the table with a glass of whine you had found.

You slumped back into the couch waiting for him to come out only to quickly fall back asleep. The couch was so comfortable. You had been sleeping on a small bed on the floor. Anything was honestly better than it, it was so hard and lumpy.

Minho came out of the shower the smell of the food had filled the air his hungry stomach lead him straight to the kitchen. His heart cried as he saw you had warmed his food up and sat it out for him. Why the fuck are you being so kind to him? He thought to himself. He quickly devoured the delicious food you had prepared and oh boy was it delicious. He made his way to the couch seeing you had fallen back asleep he picked you up taking you to your room. You laid you down putting the covers over you and quickly kissing your forehead.

This was it. You were gonna ruin him. You already had his heart melting. Do flips at the sight of you. The thoughtfulness you had already shown and being so obedient cleaning when he didn’t expect you to already. He stared at you softly for a moment “one of us is gonna destroy the other, I can feel it. And honestly I hope it’s me who’s destroyed at the end” he said before placing another kiss to your forehead leaving to his room. He laid there staring at the ceiling just thinking of you before drifting off to sleep.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

[gators-aid]

decode (pt. 2) - toji f. x reader

previously titled: leave us

masterlist.

part one. | part three.

you and toji fushiguro have been in an on-again-off-again relationship all throughout high school. over the summer break after graduation, you find out you're pregnant. too bad toji has already skipped town after your last breakup.

tags: fem!reader, gun violence, harassment, physical violence, mention of domestic abuse (not between toji & reader), teen pregnancy (reader and toji are both 18-19 range), mentions of abortion, mentioned that toji sold drugs, americanized setting, non sorcerer universe, 00's setting, reader is megumi's mom, toji initially denies megumi is his, i aged up gojo, geto, and shoko so you can have some frens, exes to lovers (eventually), their relationship is toxic rn, not beta read we die like toji :(

wc: 2.7k

4 years later..

You pull Megumi’s hat over his ears to protect them from the cold and squeeze his body closer in your arms. “My mom can’t watch him today, she’s got a doctor's appointment. Shoko and Geto are working right now, too! I promise he won’t cause any trouble. He can sit in a booth while I’m working. Pleeeease, Nanami! You know he’s a good kid!” You beg your boss. He looks down at you and your son, contemplating which rules this would violate. 

It’s Gojo who comes to your defense.

“Come on Nanamiiii, I can help her keep an eye on him! You won’t have any problems, my Megumi is the sweetest little thing, aren’t you baby? Aren’t you?” He leans over to squeeze Megumi’s cheek until Megumi turns his head into your chest to escape Gojo’s teasing. 

Gojo had taken up working at the diner with you after he dropped out of college on account of, “My family has enough money for me to never have to work again. Why would I waste it in college when I can spend my youth working a minimum wage job for fun?”

You and Shoko had punched him in the face for that one. 

“Any disruptions to the customers and you’ll have to figure something else out, Y/N. This is a one time thing. Gojo, don’t let the kid be a distraction to you. You need to stop forgetting you have tables all the time.” You smile and give Gojo a victory high five. “Are you excited to spend the day with mama, Megumi?”

Megumi had turned four a couple of weeks ago. You two now lived in your own modest apartment. It was close to your mother’s house and your job. Usually your mother would keep Megumi for you during work hours, and when that wasn’t available Gojo, Geto, or Shoko would help you out. With all four contenders busy, there was no choice but for you to bring Megumi with you to work. Babysitters and daycare were out of the question on your salary of shitty tips. You could barely afford the apartment. The only way you could get furniture into it was on a loan from Gojo (which he refused to let you pay back). 

You, Nanami and Gojo walk into the back of the building through the kitchen to punch in. “Our little Megumi’s gonna be joining us today!” Gojo announces to the kitchen staff, mainly comprised of high school students and Hakari. You hear various coos as you walk Megumi through the kitchen. “Can you say ‘hi,’ baby?” You whisper to Megumi through his knitted hat. 

He pulls his face from the interior of your sweater and meekly waves to the staff, who all burst into bright smiles. There had been a few times your mother had brought Gumi to the diner to see you during hours, meaning the staff had not only heard of, but had seen Megumi around quite a bit. 

Megumi, unlike his father, was incredibly shy and quiet even for his young age. He was one of the best babies you could ever ask for. He cried of course, even had a nasty case of colic when he was little, but on average he cried far less than a normal kid. For a while you were concerned, bringing him to every doctor your insurance would allow to get second opinion after second opinion. Their conclusion? It’s just his personality. 

"It seems like he cried all his tears out during his first couple of weeks!" One doctor had joked. Yeah, so had you.

Every time you looked at Megumi, you saw Toji. Their resemblance was undeniable. Sometimes it felt as if he hadn’t inherited a single genetic trait from you. Some days, it made you more sad than others. You hadn’t seen any baby pictures of Toji, didn’t think his family even owned any, but if you had to guess, Megumi had to be the spitting image. You’d see old classmates you hadn’t talked to in years only for them to comment on how much they resembled each other. Not knowing about you and Toji's dramatic breakup.

You and Gojo punch in and take off your coats to hang them up on the rack. Yuki, one of your newer coworkers, bursts through the door with a few empty water glasses. “Agh, thank god you two are here!” She exclaims, setting them down by the sink. “I’ve got this table of guys that are driving me batshit. The kitchen guys don’t get it. I need a freakin’ break.” 

You giggle at her and take off Megumi’s hat from where you’re holding him on your hip. “I can take the next one!” You hang up Megumi’s hat next to your coat. “Just let me get him situated.” Yuki gasps and runs over to you. “Hi Megumi! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s nice to meet you, I’m Yuki! Oh my god, Y/N he’s so freakin’ cute!” She exclaims. 

Gojo and Yuki get to talking shit about her table while you walk out onto the floor to choose a booth for Megumi to sit. You choose the one furthest from the door and closest to the kitchen and set him down on a side where you’ll be able to see him clearly for the majority of your shift. “Okay Gumi, I’m gonna be working but I’m gonna come over and check on you a lot too, okay?” You set your bag next to him and pull out a few toys and a coloring book. “I’ll get the kitchen guys to sneak you some food, okay?” He nods and grabs a blue crayon from his half empty box. “Okay, mama.” He replies in the sweetest voice you've ever heard.

You give him a kiss on his forehead and move a piece of his hair behind his ear before moving to the other side of the booth and adjusting your waist apron. “Y/N, you got table three.” Yuki announced. You looked behind you to see Gojo and Yuki approaching Megumi’s table. “Megumiiiii! What are you coloring?” Gojo slid into the seat next to Megumi and his toys. 

“How many?” You asked Yuki. “Just two.” She responded, “The one guy’s hot, maybe you could get laid tonight.” You scoffed. “First of all, don’t say shit like that on the floor when we have customers who may hear you.” You give her a pointed look, “secondly, you’re too young to be talking about intercourse. You’re like twelve.” You smile at her and turn around to go greet your table. 

“I’m literally 18!” Yuki exclaims as you walk away.

“Exactly the point!” Gojo responds for you.

You pull out your server book as you approach your table and click your pen. “Hi, I’m Y/N, welcome to-” when you look up, you freeze. 

First, you see Jinichi, Toji’s brother. When your eyes move over to the other side of the booth, you see him in the flesh for the first time in five years. 

He’s looking down at the table, so you can’t see his face, but from his build alone you can see he’s almost doubled in muscle mass since you last saw him. His hair is longer, bangs falling over his eyes, and he sports a black muscle tee to show off how much he has bulked up over the years. He's intentionally avoiding your gaze.

All the feelings you’ve felt over these five years, anger, rage, resentment, loss, pain, sadness. They all come rushing back at once. Five years of wondering what he was up to while you stayed up with Megumi as a newborn when he had colic and wouldn’t stop crying for almost a month straight. As you operated on auto pilot and almost cried when you saw him smile again. As you cared for him through his first flu, which you had eventually caught too. Rushing him to the hospital for a slight rise in temperature as your mother convinced you over the phone that everything would be okay and you sobbed hysterically. When Megumi took his first steps, when he said his first word. You always thought of Toji. 

How would he have reacted? You may not have trusted him, but you don’t think he’d be a particularly bad father if he were to put in the effort. Every time Megumi smiles, every time he frowns, it looks like Toji has walked right back into your life. When you two talked about kids, it was never very serious. You always talked about the idyllic. How many you’d have, what their names would be, if you’d move out to the countryside so they’d have space to play. You never discussed how you wanted to raise them, how you two would afford it, if Toji would stop dealing.

“Well, well, fucking well!” Jinichi starts. “This is just fucking hilarious!” You can see Toji tense up where his elbows rest on the table. Jinichi leaned back in his seat looking back and forth between you and Toji. “High school fucking sweethearts! Look at this shit, Toji, that's your girl right there! Hey Y/N-” Before Jinichi can finish his sentence, Toji bangs his hands on the table, making the condiment bottles rattle loudly, and bringing the entire restaurant's attention towards the three of you. Toji mumbles something under his breath that you can’t pick up. You’re still physically frozen in place.

Jinichi had always been an asshole. Toji didn’t like you to go over to his house for multiple reasons relating to his family, but one of the major ones was because of his brother. Jinichi always had a smart mouth. Liked to put dumb ideas in Toji’s head, one of which was the one that eventually got him shot and bleeding out on your bedsheets.

“Ahh, come on little brother. You’re so intense nowadays. We’re here for a good ol-”

“We’re here for fucking business, Jinichi. Shut the fuck up. We don’t want nothin’.” Toji says, finally addressing you without even looking your way. You feel someone grab onto your shoulder and quickly turn to see Gojo. He gently pulls you away from the table. 

“I- I didn’t-” you begin, before Gojo can even get you five feet from the table, Jinichi is back at it. “Hey, what the hell, don’t take my waitress! I ain’t ordered nothin’ yet! Hey Y/N, you look good by the way! Usually girls get ugly after they have babies!” 

It’s so sudden and quick that if you weren’t five steps away, you wouldn’t have seen it at all. Toji leans over the table, somehow calmly and aggressively at the same time, to grab his brother by the collar of his shirt. “That’s enough. Don’t make me fucking tell you again.” He says, his tone quiet and deadly. 

All you can think about is Megumi, where the fuck is Megumi? He’s your priority right now. Your head whips toward Megumi’s table, where you see Yuki with her hand on Megumi’s shoulder as he watches you intensely. 

“Fuck. Gumi.” You whisper to yourself. 

You pull away from Gojo’s grasp to race toward your son. “Mama..” he whispers as you reach him and pull him tightly into a hug. “It’s okay honey. Don’t worry about it.” You firmly grasp the back of his neck to ground yourself. This is exactly why you had said all those things you said to Toji all those years ago. You didn’t want your child growing up in an unstable environment. You didn’t want Toji’s issues to be a cause of stress for yourself or for Megumi. It'd be slightly different if these were two random guys in the diner. Sure, you'd shield Megumi if it got intense, but the fact that one was his father made the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the slightest movement.

“You look sad mama. Did the big men hurt you?” You laugh at his innocence. “No, baby. They didn’t hurt me.” They did hurt you. In a deep emotional way that you didn’t feel like explaining to a four year old right now. “Let's go honey, little kids shouldn’t see this.” 

“I’m a little kid, right?” He asks. “Yes, you are.”

“What the hell is going on?” You hear a booming voice come from the kitchen door and see Nanami walking towards Toji’s table. “Nothings going on!” Jinichi yells. “You know how the little brothers are, always got a goddamned inferiority complex goin’ on or somethin’!” Toji still has a grasp on his shirt as Jinichi is yelling at Nanami. 

“I’m going to have to ask you two to leave.” Nanami says calmly. “I ain’t fucking leaving. I came here for some fuckin’ service from my brother’s old-” Suddenly, Jinichi’s head is being slammed onto the table, and a collective gasp is aroused from the restauraunt. 

“Come, Gumi.” You pick him up in your arms. “Yuki, can you pack his stuff up for me please?” You ask as you contemplate your next move. “Of course, of course.” You can’t head to the front or kitchen door without Gumi potentially seeing more violence. You would have to rush past in the hopes that nothing else happens while you’re moving by. The kitchen door is closer from here, less potential for Megumi to see anything. 

“Ok, Gumi. Can you close your eyes for me real quick, baby?” You ask, rubbing his back. “Ok, mama.” You move Megumi so that his face is pressed to your chest and book it toward the kitchen door. You hear more commotion as you pass by, but will yourself not to turn around and check. Gojo and Yuki follow you in from behind with your bag. When you’re in the kitchen, you’re quick to set Megumi on the ground to grab his hat and secure it on his head. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I never would’ve given you that table if I knew.” She apologizes as she hands you your bag. You laugh. “It’s not your fault Yuki. By the way, remember what I said about no intercourse? You wanna implement that policy because of fuckers like him-” “Mama!” Megumi chastises. “Sorry, bad word.” Yuki lets out a relieved sigh.

“I didn’t even see them walk in, Y/N-” Gojo starts. “Oh my gosh guys, it's not a big deal! Seriously, I’m just worried about Gumi seeing anything.” Even as you say this, your hands shake as you attempt to zip up Megumi’s coat. Gojo gives you a knowing look and grabs your own coat off the rack for you. 

“I just, um, need a little break. I can’t afford to lose out on the money tonight.” You say, grabbing your coat from him and sliding it on. “I’ll cover you-” Gojo starts, but you interrupt. “I’m not taking money from your family, Gojo!” You pick up Megumi and hold him on your hip. “I’m not saying that. I’ll split the tips from tonight with you. My apology for not seeing them before.” 

“No, Gojo.”

Nanami walks in the kitchen door. “Take the day off,” he says to you before walking back to his office. “No, Nanami I’m ok I’ll just take him to my mom’s really quick-” 

“You’re too shaken up to do anything else today. I’ll schedule you more next week to make up for it.” Nanami supplies. “Thank you.” You say, silently relieved. Was your distress seriously that obvious? You would have to tone it down in front of Gumi.

“Wooow Nanami you’re such a good manager-” 

“Can it Gojo, you’re gonna have to pick up the slack tonight.”

You’re already making your way out the back of the building when Gojo responds with a whine.

“Hey what the hells going on out there?” Hakari asks as you walk by. “Some bullshit.” You respond. “Mama!”

You weren’t even in the building for thirty minutes today, but it feels thirty degrees cooler when you walk out. The trek to the bus stop is gonna suck. 

It's a ten minute walk from the diner to the bus stop. You cling onto Megumi for warmth, making sure he's buried not only in his own coat, but in yours. When you get to the bus stop, you realize it’s gonna be another fifteen minutes before the bus comes. Megumi isn’t one to complain, but you can feel him shivering under you. “Just a little longer baby.” You soothe him, rapidly rubbing his back and arms in an attempt to warm him. 

It must be some sick joke for an old pickup truck to pull right in front of the bus stop and roll its window down. 

“Do you need a ride?” Toji asks.

You've gotta be fucking kidding.

part two is up! thanks so much for all the love on the first on! 70 notes is crazy!

pls send requests or questions to me! and also let me know if i missed anything in the tags!

thank you guys !!!

(i'll make a masterlist maybe when pt 3 goes up but im too lazy rnnnnnn)

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #25

Satan: What are some good cities?

Solomon: Owl

Satan: Too many fireflies, infested

•

Mammon: Scary how fast someone can mean so much to you

Leviathan: Scary how fast you can mean nothing to someone

MC: Scary how fast I switched my car insurance to geico

•

Leviathan: Dead leafs? That’s card yard salad now, and it’s the new food trend

Raphael: Leaves*

Leviathan: Where are you going?

•

Mammon: I got some many love in my souls

Luke: Why do you have more than one soul?

Mammon: Irrelevant

•

Diavolo: Assert your dominance by calling your friends by their student ID number

•

Simeon: Homework? Decent grades? The Bible said Adam and Eve not Adam and achieve

Belphegor: I almost spit everywhere

•

Leviathan: Fanfic titles be “we have not touched the stars (nor are we forgiven)” and then you look at the tags and the first one is “anal fisting”

Satan: I choked

•

Mammon: I can’t believe clowns are real what the fuck…

Belphegor: DID YOU JUST DISCOVER MIRRORS?

Mammon: SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

•

Beelzebub: You ever get a bus driver that drives like they’re running from god

Solomon: You’re really complaining about the discount roller coaster?

•

Beelzebub: Due to plaque build up, human arteries are sometimes crunchy. Also, the arteries themselves are made up of a smooth, elastic (possibly gummy?) type of tissue. Therefore I imagine that eating a diseased human artery would be a similarly experience, texture-wise, to slurping one of THESE babies

*picture of a nerds rope*

Raphael: May the only thing that dampens the flames of hell for you be God spitting in your face

•

Leviathan: So, do seahorses read fpreg?

Lucifer: Seahorses are illiterate. A quality I wish I had so I didn’t have to read this post

•

Mammon: Laying an egg hard and loud

Solomon: Will the person who tagged this “Stephen Colbert” please approach the bench

•

Satan: Someone in my younger siblings class said they were “yandere for them” and my sibling responded “first of all cringe, second of all red flag” and no phrase has entered my daily lexicon so fast

•

Mammon: I go to Home Depot

Beelzebub: I eat the tools

Satan: Stop it

Belphegor: Crumch

•

Mammon: There’s no crime in being a thief

Lucifer: What a thief does is steal someone’s property without their permission, which is a crime

Asmodeus: Not when I do it. I’ll steal your heart and you wouldn’t mind

Solomon: …

Satan: That was very smooth

Leviathan: I’m gonna steal both your organs and money

•

Diavolo: What do teens like?!? Is it memes? Memes about skeletons? Piss? Communism?

Solomon: This post is 20x funnier if you imagine a CEO shouting it at his board of directors

Last • Next

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

I’ve been wondering, how do you think that First died? Do you think it was natural causes (i.e. old age or sickness)? Or maybe died while fighting a monster? Or something else?

Oh, I always was a great fan of the whole 'First was absorbed/hosted by Nomicon' theory aka First didn't die die, but his mortal body and soul became a founding/essential part of Nomicon and he joined with it, sorta like what we see happen to Plop Plop, but more epic!

Many people seem to believe that First's spirit being in Nomicon happened because Randy changed the future (at least according to wikias it seem to be a leading theory for many), and that before Randy intervened, First just wiped his memory like it was implied/used as demonstration in Ninja Identity/Supremacy and just continued his life without his memory as a Ninja, but that kinda doesn't make sense to me at all???

First was born into Ninja Clan, his Clan created the mask, heck his Clan (seemed to have) founded Norrisville all the way away from Japan and on Americas continent! - did he just wipe his whole life and stumbled around confused how people knew him??

Amnesiac/Mind wiped First is an interesting thought (damn, it actually would make such a cool angsty AU lol) but its personally not my favorite headcanon for First.

Though of course we can argue that First did get mind wiped but it doesn't stick. So there would be a copy of First's memories in Ninjanomicon and First with his memories but like...without his mask and title? Which also doesnt' make much sense to me?? Does he just.... continues on without his mask but still fighting? (Likely - but also ??? why not just continue it in the mask??) Does he just grows older and watches as the new ninja bounces around? (Less likely - So in that case what's the point of giving NinjaNomicon to Messenger if he is still around???) It seems to me as a sad sort of end to his legacy.

(Would make a banger sad and angsty Retired!AU too tho lol)

I feel like First is too passionate/determined to end that sort of way. So to me it would make much more sense that he would try to keep fighting/protecting in any way possible and leaving his spirit behind would be one of the most sure ways. Also makes sense to me that to create NinjaNomicon a sort of 'sacrifice' was needed, and since First is the, well, First - he is the building block upon which the Ninjanomicon started to grow and "live". (and yes i am completely ignoring the whole time paradox with Nomicon because I love it as a funy haha episode joke but absolutely hate it for lore and it gives me a headache xD).

So, my personal headcanon is that after defeating/capturing the Sorcerer, First spent at least a decade meticulously writing down his Clan's history and all the knowledge they ever possesed (and basically pouring his soul into Nomicon thru writing ;) ), settling his affairs and making insurances/plans/backups and etc. all the while also still keeping Norrisville safe, before he finally handed over the Nomicon to the Messenger, stepped into it for one last Ultimate Lesson and just went poof. And no one ever saw him again.

[steddielations]

“Eddie? Hey look at me, what is it? What’s going on?”

It’s Steve.

Eddie has to blink a few times to confirm that, yes, it is Steve Harrington standing outside his apartment building, it’s Steve Harrington’s hands holding his face, it’s Steve Harrington’s gaze bleeding concern behind his glasses.

“Those dickheads— I hit ‘em with— Oh fuck, my cane,” Eddie’s out of breath, looking around frantically but he must’ve dropped it when he took off.

“Where? In the alley?” Steve asks, squeezing Eddie’s shoulders when he nods, “Wait here.”

Eddie nods again, wildly, watching as Steve disappears behind the building. It doesn’t take long, enough for Eddie to catch his breath and somewhat recenter himself. Relieved, he watches Steve jog back around, cane in hand. Shit’s expensive, insurance only covers one, he couldn’t afford to lose it.

“They’re gone. You must’ve scared them off, champ.” Smiling to try and put Eddie at ease, Steve gives the cane a spin before handing it back to him. Eddie rebalances himself, but he still feels rattled.

“Don’t give me any reigning titles yet, man, all I did was high tail my ass out of there.”

“You whacked them pretty good with this thing first, even left a dent. You okay? Looks like they got you right here,” Steve’s touching him again, Eddie’s overly aware this time, the warmth of a hand on his cheek. The instinct to seek comfort takes over, he almost leans into it, but he flinches away instead, hissing when Steve’s thumb brushes a tender spot.

little something from my virgin eddie wip

[threepandas]

Bad End: Stolen

I was furious.

Terrified. Completely enraged. Sick to my stomach. Overwhelmed and yet expected to function. To keep my shaking hands smooth and screaming thoughts orderly. All I wanted to do want scream. Cry. Destroy and destroy, weep and RAGE.

Then hide in a closet under blankets until the monsters went away.

But... but he wasn't going too, was he?

"Ah, my honored Sister, how good of you to join me." Greets the murderer before me, voice cool and smooth like the scales of a snake. There is a gleefully victorious lilt to that voice. A curling possessiveness to the title.

I am not his sister. We are not ever REMOTELY related. It is not even a matter of me disowning him for what he's down. It is simple truth. We are not, by blood, related. We were not RAISED together. Our relation? A farce. A legal machination by my... my Father, oh gods... No! Don't get swallowed by the memories! T-The blood. Focus!!

Fafnir is... WAS just one of many promising, talented, ambitious young men with no father's that DEFINITELY were my Father's bastard sons, no really. He most certainly wasn't COLLECTING meritorious youth into our house, under his name, and training them up with his wealth and influence. To bypass the bullshit class system and give them a chance at better lives!

Maybe suggest they pay it forward.

My father would never be so duplicitous. No, no, he was just a very lustful man... that no one ever saw going out to have sex. Who's wife had never been the least bit upset with him. And to whom he was fiercely loyal. Yes. Very, very lustful my father... w-was.

It was just while the family continued it's work on opening up opportunities for the lower classes. Jobs and better quality of life. Hospitals and schools. Fighting against those who benefited from nothing changing. It was slow. Like pulling teeth. The work of lifetimes, he'd said. I... I was expected to help continue it.

I'd been GLAD too. So utterly RELIEVED I was reborn into a house with some fucking sense of RESPONSIBILITY. Duty and honor and taking care of people! Building up social services! I had grand plans. Even after recognizing, a little alarmed, that I was on the fringe of a god damned OTOME game of all things.

One I barely remembered. Had played, loved most likely, as a preteen. A literal lifetime ago.

It didn't effect me, right? I wasn't here for boys or parties. Politics or fanciful dreams. Let someone else have their lace filled, flower coated, high drama adventures of love. I had late night paperwork and community research. Surprise to orphanages and hospitals to insure their was no corruption or mischief going on.

That one health clinic in Oakworth that took forever to get going.

Except...

Except??

Fafnir was a capture target! Which is why it took me forever to realize. As he had been so very small and filthy at first. Then merely small and in poor health. Short hair because his poor hair had been beyond saving. We passed by each other. Nodded, maybe exchanged pleasantries, but did not truely interact.

He lived in the dorms. I lived in the main house. He was basicly a student my father was paying to have taught, using our name. I was my father's actual daughter. We may have LEGALLY been related. LEGALLY brother and sister. But in actuality? We were no such thing.

Honestly, most of the "Sons"? Kept their original last names in day to day life.

Or at least... they did.

I.. I think I had shit taste, as a preteen. That or my luck has finally run out. Maybe it was my family's fortune, that finally could no longer best the odds. After all, there is always one. That ONE soul. Who sees something good and doesn't care about anything or anyone but themselves. Ruins things for everyone.

As long as they get their's, right?

A sea of motivated and ambitious young men. Trying to change their station in life. Have Better and MORE. Change the world around them. Leave their marks. Is... ha! Is it any wonder, in hindsight, that our luck eventually gave out? It was always going too. I guess Fafnir just wanted MORE.

He was supposed to go to the Royal Academy, fall in love. Compete against prince's and duke's, knights and heirs to merchant companies. All for the heart of the only daughter of a Ducal house, that had been (of course) raised by peasants. A carriage accident and presumed death cliché.

I honestly couldn't even remember his route. I might have read about it. But had never PLAYED it. He had had short hair, all but two had. So I played the foriegn prince route, even though he was kind of an ass. He was a handsome one at least. At least to me. It was just, I had never... still never...

I liked men with long hair.

Something which I had never told anyone.

Yet? As Fafnir grew? He did not transition into the character I remembered, like the others had. He grew his hair out. Became not only fiercely protective of it, but invested in higher quality products to care for it. Discovered my favorite perfume maker and commissioned a cologne for himself, that would mix well with the scent I always wore. Systematically tracked down each and everything I've ever liked, behind my back, to consume and memorize every facet of them.

I was blind to it.

My Father was not.

And... a-and... it cost him his life.

Father was not pleased with want he saw. But assumed it was a crush at first. We were young after all. Young people do weird, awkward, over the line things. Are learning about boundaries even as they grapple with sudden floods of hormonal shifts. A terrible time, really. It could be excused. As long as it didn't go TOO far. So long as someone sat Fafnir down for a talk.

They did.

He got more subtle.

A cycle developed. One my Father was not pleased to see. Fafnir would cross boundaries, be caught, get scolded, and contritely apologize... then get more subtle in his approach. Be more clever. As though all he had learned was "don't get caught". and "if you want to get, what you want to have, you need to have the skills to get passed us."

He grew concerned. Eventually, alarmed. I had thought nothing of it, back then, because "of COURSE he was supposed to go" to the Royal Academy? But... we honestly, really, Truely? HADN'T sent anyone there before. And there HAD been far more skilled boy then him. Prodigies.

But... my favorite ribbon necklace had gone missing.

From the room where I slept.

Overnight.

My Father took one look at Fafnir's pleased expression amongst the chaos and needed no further proof. He would not kick him out. Far too dangerous, he thought. But he WOULD send him away. Now?

Now I wish he'd risked it. Because... because everyone was dead. Struck down by the monster we let into our home. And by ancient law, which we both KNEW he was planning to exploit? This was a... a "family matter". Because, after all, we WERE legally family. Members of the same House.

"Such hesitation, Sister. You'd think I was a threat." He muses into his cup of tea, swirling it lightly. His eyes flit back to me, lips curling just slightly. "Don't worry, though. I understand completely. I would never hurt you."

But he would hurt others. He already has. Most of them didn't survive it. Ha ha... like a brutal yank on some unseen leash. I want to cry. Not sure if this is what shock feels like. But yes, thank you, for the lovely remind, Fafnir. That you have filled my home with bodies. The corpses of those I loved.

I use what little dignity I have left to walk forward and sit down.

Oh look, he has utterly ruined all my favorite things in one blow. There, my favorite tea. That, my favorite flower. Across the table my favorite snacks. Even a few favorite fruits. A dish or two. My favorite cup. And now? N..NOW? All I will every be able to associate with them is death. The stench of copper and the horror of this moment.

The joy of them is gone.

"See? Isn't that better? No more standing awkwardly to the side. Now we can sit, face to magnificent face. I've brought you a few things I know you'll enjoy. Isn't that nice? I've wanted to do this for the longest time." He sighs in contentment, as though this were no more then a matter of busy schedules and social anxiety. "And now? Now we are finally together. Siblings for now, but I am working to fix that. And if i can't, well..."

His smirk was a thing of nightmares.

"I'm head of the house now. You're finally Mine."

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Feel the need to push back on a couple of things.

New Orleans (even post-Katrina) is not a "third world country." Also, the preferred nomenclature is "developing country" or "global south." But NOLA doesn't qualify, no matter what term one uses.

"Succession by popular vote instead of by hereditary primogeniture." -- even Harry's not that stupid. What Harry means by "modernizing" is to split the Duchy of Cornwall and then Lancaster, and for him to get all the perks - security, grace and favour home, staff, etc - without having to read the red boxes or meet the PM weekly or be sent somewhere he doesn't want to go. What Meghan means by it is what she's still trying to do: let me use my title to get fame, freebies, and financial remuneration, without having to live in the UK or do any work.

Lastly, I don't want to denigrate Earthshot or Homewards but as I understand the projects (and maybe I'm misunderstanding) their impacts won't be measurable for a while either. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I have no objections to the Homewards project (as I understand it) and my sole - but fierce - objection to Earthshot is the galas. (I don't care if that's how most non-profits make money, it's the wrong move for an environmental org.)

Thanks for this. A few things.

You misunderstood what I meant by post-Katrina New Orleans. I wasn't talking about post-Katrina today or post-Katrina 2010s. I meant immediately post-Katrina, as in September 1, 2005 post-Katrina. New Orleans, and especially the Lower 9th Ward, was left in really horrific conditions that absolutely were reminiscent of developing nations. Celebrities with no connections to New Orleans (like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie) flocked there for years to do charity work and many of them used their New Orleans-based humanitarian aid efforts for self-promotion. I should have been clearer about that.

And by the way, while today most of New Orleans has largely recovered from the effects of Katrina, Rita, and Wilma, there are still parts of it - especially in the Lower 9th Ward - still dealing with the impact, long after the rest of the city and the rest of the world moved on. For example, it took 10 years for residents to get a single grocery store after the storms. Many residents are still tied up in financial problems from storm damage, insurance, and rebuilding. And there are buildings condemned from the storms still standing, still with FEMA search and rescue symbols on them, still with mold and personal belongings and flood damage in them, and there's reasonable belief that some missing/unaccounted-for people from the storm may still be in those abandoned structures. (And also let's not forget the ethical and moral issues being debated still today.)

If you still don't believe how horrific post-Katrina was or that a city in the US could feel so abandoned that it paralleled developing countries, I encourage you to read memoirs or listen to stories from Katrina survivors and New Orleans residents about what it was like after the storms. (This book is hard to read, but it's worth it. There's an Apple series made if you'd rather watch it instead.)

To your third point about Earthshot projects not having results yet, nope. The Earthshot projects may not have global results yet or large-scale results, but they do already have results, even if small. Because Earthshot isn't funding brand new initiatives - Earthshot is funding small, proven, existing projects and awarding the winners grants to scale up their operations. It's right there on the website:

"Proven prototypes" and "signs of success" means that the projects must have outcomes and results to report in their applications. They can be small datasets, but they're still datasets, outcomes, and results that Earthshot winners are able to compare their grant-funded work against to measure the effectiveness of those grants.

Further, Earthshot's Roadmap, which describes how they evaluate nominations to determine finalists and winners, has specific requirements for nominees to demonstrate actual impact of their work:

So, yes, Earthshot projects are able to deliverable measurable results quickly. And we know they're delivering measurable results immediately because Earthshot and William are promoting it. That's the whole point of those "come see what Earthshot winners are doing" videos on social media and engagements - it's to show how the companies are using their prize grants to deliver on the metrics they were required to support in their nominations.

[eriquin]

Time Travel AU The Trolley Problem master post

Since I'm going to be posting this serially on tumblr until I figure out a good name for it, I'm gathering all the links here.

Summary

Steve Harrington goes to sleep sometime after the apocalypse and wakes up in October of 1983. He remembers what’s going to happen. No one else does.

Part 1: Pancakes Part 2: The Bet Part 3: The Game Part 4: High School Part 5: Nancy Part 5.5: Robin Part 6: Jonathan Part 7: Dad Advice Part 8: Back to School Part 9: Spinning Eddie a Story Part 10: Failing to Convince Eddie Part 11: Eddie Reconsiders Part 12: The Sword Part 13: The Book Part 14: The Plan Part 15: School Daze Part 16: Fight with Carol and Tommy Part 17: An Attempt at Reconciliation Part 18: Sunday Part 19: The Demogorgon Part 20: Finishing the Fight Part 21: The Party Grows (apparently I posted this on December 3rd and forgot to make a note of it. I've screwed up the posts entirely. This is what I get for not keeping up with my notes.) Part 22: In It For Real Part 23: A Hasty Exit and a New Plan Part 24: Monday Part 25: The Party Part 26: The Wizard and The Paladin Part 27: The Storm Part 28: Eleven Part 29: Tuesday Part 30: No Quick Breakfast Part 31: Wayne Part 32: Trap building Part 33: The Ambush Part 34: The Pool Part 35: Heather's Party Part 36: Chief Hopper Part 37: Clean Up and Deal With It Part 38: Wayne Returns Part 39: Back to School Part 40: Nancy's Suspicions Part 41: Tommy and the Boys Part 42: Insurance Part 43: Hopper's Investigation Part 44: Robin and Steve Part 45: Hawkins Power and Light Part 46: Grounded Part 47: Will's Decision Part 48: Lost and Found Part 49: Will's Brainstorm, The Terrible Plan Part 50: The Kids Are Not All Right Part 51: The Suspicious Lab Part 52: The Bait and The Trap Part 53: The Vanishing of Will Byers Part 54: Wayne and Hopper Part 55: Claudia's Sympathies Part 56: Search and Rescue Part 57: The Upside Down Part 58: The Bodies in the Quarry Part 59: The Attempted Lab Break-in Part 60: Hopper meets El Part 61: The Babysitter’s Club Part 62: Joyce's Terrible Friday Part 63: The Lab and the Kids

This is now up on ao3 under the title The Trolley Problem

[noturvlentine]

An encounter (pt 1)

༺ ♰ ༻

Leon Kennedy x reader series!!!!

Summary [series]- after Chris Redfield has requested for your transfer from the BSAA, you’re tasked with uncovering a chain of bio-terrorist attacks alongside Leon Kennedy. Destruction, duty and your untold past brings you spiralling into an unlikely bond with your partner, as efforts are made and promises are broken.

hi!! bear with me while I attempt to write this little series i had going on in my head for a while- it might be 5-10 parts or so but im trying to see how long this narrative goes in terms of chapter length. EVERYTHING IS A WORK IN PROGRESS!!!

i might finalise and actual title for the series later but i thought it was nice to get the first chapter out while the rest unfolds in messy notes ive been taking down. I’ll definitely put the masterlist to this series on here when ive got more parts written :)

hope this isnt too much of a confusing read and any feedback is appreciated!! Also- requests are still open!!! - j🖤

1.8k words

Part 2

༺ ♰ ༻

Washington DC

8:30AM

2009

Two days. That’s all they gave you. Two days time off from the last BSAA issued mission which had you sitting in the med bay for three consecutive nights, test after test to insure you hadn’t caught any strain of virus from getting beaten up by B.O.Ws. You’d been transferred to the USSTRATCOM before you could get comfortable in your own bed again. Chris Redfield himself had you commissioned for a good two months down at a station in South America, carrying out operations for BSAA intel which had gotten you into a whole lot of trouble by the last week, hence the man himself took in three squadrons to finish the job. And when the time came for STRATCOM to issue additional ‘more than capable’ agents, Redfield had personally put in a request for you to be transferred to a more- suited position. You’d been under his and the BSAA’s command for the past 8 years as recommended by your commanding officers from military- seeing as they’d found no other candidates as hard in the head and skilled as needed.

Now you were here, headed towards the reception of an all-too-well government agency better built then the BSAA could’ve ever wished for. Not like you had a choice anyway, Redfield wouldn’t be allowing you back into his side of the field for security reasons and well, because he was worried. You felt so- small in this large hall that would be USSTRATCOM’s lobby, your interaction with the woman at the desk echoed like a pathetic whisper.

“I’m sorry but you’re not registered here. I can look you up if you were with any other department-“

“That won’t be needed, she should be cleared.” A smile interrupted your one sided exchange with some government receptionist.

You turned to the woman who’d just claimed she had cleared you.

“Ingrid Hunnigan, I’ve been issued to your transfer.”

There was no need for an introduction, she basically had you on file. Hunnigan made her way around the desk, signalling for you to tail behind.

You wanted to ask her details on the job, how long you’d be out, when you’d be out, introduction to an F.O.S agent- nothing came out except small nods in understanding as she pointlessly flagged out the entire building as you walked through the rustling halls. You’ve grown to not care much about human interaction outside of what needed to be done.

“They didn’t brief you on anything?” She whipped her head around and stopped in her tracks.

“Not at all.”

And that was enough to receive a huff of disappointment as she redirected her route.

Oblivious to your party, a certain agent was currently flicking through your life’s record at the end of the hall, skimming over your profile and various written reports out of a Manila folder, fair in size but not large enough for a normal agent file. His eyes tracing over your documents- despite your age you were quite accomplished, issued in the military and pulled out of ranger school to transfer to the torturous trainings of the BSAA and other government parties alike. You’d even remember briefly having sessions at USSOCOM before you were on field with the BSAA, you’d come in, left a mark and went straight off to work for Chris Redfield.

As you kept walking, Hunnigan had managed to find you a copy of the mission briefing at her office before heading out to the hall again. You were handed a thick set of papers- enough to make you question how big of a job this was. Before your eyes finished with the first page, Hunnigan was three steps further down the hall.

“Leon!” She stopped in her tracks. “I thought you weren’t meant to be here until 9?”

Leon. You seen and heard of him time and time again from Redfield despite their lack of interaction with one another. That name alone made you look up from your hands, startled almost. You envied him in some way- or at least what you had heard of him. Not because he was the presidents golden boy, nor because he was everyone’s favourite toy to send after bio-terrorists. No, you simply envied his will to live and to save others- you envied that in Chris a little bit too if you were completely honest. Little did you know, he had heard a bit about you here and there too.

“Well it doesn’t hurt to arrive a bit earlier.” He turned and greeted you with a warm smile. Unusual huh. Not many people with a tragic life like his working two and two for the government had enough will power to greet anyone like that. Your lack of reciprocation made the exchange unlawfully bitter. He stood up from the bench in the hall, reaching his hand out for you to shake.

“This is agent Kennedy, I’m sure you’ve heard a bit about him from around the place. I assume Chris has familiarised you with his presence on this earth.” Hunnigan was inclined on introducing you two and before she could finish your name, he’d already repeated it back to you. He was tall, but not an intimidating height, a firm but gentle grip, roughly shaven and kind blue eyes. No one ever mentioned his look of warmth before.

“I’m sure you two will have more than enough time to know each other, and seeing as your both here why don’t we just get started.” You don’t remember her conversations with you being this light hearted, well- if you could even call them proper conversations amidst your prolonged stroll through the building.

Washington DC

Conference Room 6A

09:00AM

You were almost like some sort of loyal hound to Chris. Sure, you followed orders, got the job done but under the necessary circumstances. Not to mention- being backed up by a squad. You really never left his side despite his muddled up tactical morals, you always managed to fall under his command. This was different. The strings were coiled tighter. And there was no Redfield to suggest that he had a better idea.

You could tell by the annoyance in Leon’s otherwise-abnormally-kind eyes that he wanted to protest against the idea. He was a field agent, a rather special one but he certainly wasn’t some sort of government spy. And neither were you. Hunnigan wasnt exactly asking. In fact she had no say in approval as shes just an F.O.S agent who’s unfortunate circumstances had her picking up after Leon Kennedy.

“Leon we dont have another option” she sighed, tiredly removing her glasses and setting her hand to pinch on the bridge of her nose. “Look, if this really is a plan that’ll result in a chain of bio-terrorist attacks then we can’t be stuck in the deep end.” So- nothing but a wild goose chase into unmarked territory.

Unmarked, exactly what people look for when they want to satisfy themselves with bioterrorism. The BSAA could only ever cover so much terrain, and Chris wanted to punch himself for how easily the US stuck their fingers into his shit.

“Leon-” she sighed again, some sort of tired mother fed up with her teenage son’s lack of common sense in the world, blandly trying to explain to him basic parameters. “We wouldn’t have called if there was anyone else suitable foe the mission.” Leon huffed at the repetitiveness of the lines to follow, which earned him a less patient, more aggressive tone from Hunnigan. “You’d still be shit faced on vacation right now and /kitten/ here would still be tailing Chris Redfield like some sort if spirit animal.”

Leon shifted his gaze towards you, surprised to see no reaction from the otherwise offensive nickname Hunnigan spat out at you. You weren’t denying it, and Leon had had enough of her passive aggressiveness.

“If this all goes south, well have escorts from our nearest location pull you out of there immediately-“

Bold promise to make. You knew STRATCOM was good- but how good? Last time you heard anything about their squads was from Chris Redfield ‘warning’ his team not to fuck up because he didn’t want his XOs filling out mountains of post-operation paperwork. Cleanup was a lengthy process and he hates seeing squad kids packed in bags because of some strategical fuck up. ‘I don’t want a repeat of STRATCOM’s last mission’, he’d said for months on end, pestering kids into learning their shit and paying attention more. Redfield wasn’t in the position to lose any more soldiers- he couldn’t afford to.

You leant back on the table, hands rested over the ledge so you could scornfully and casually flick through the rest of the file laid out beside you. Leon was still standing beside you, a good distance, arms crossed staring firmly at Hunnigan, patiently awaiting her next spew of words. She sighed, deep and heavy and put her glasses back on as she sat up in her chair.

“You leave tomorrow at noon. Escort will be waiting out the back of West Wing so if you could please familiarise yourself with that area and collect your gear before then that would be great.”

That part was directed to you. West wing is on the west side of the building, but where the fuck that is you hadn’t bothered paying attention to. Hunnigan opened her mouth to say something again- but ultimately decided against the idea and instead followed her instructions with ‘any questions?’, before all of you remained in silence and she quickly dismissed you. Hunnigan, in a silent annoyance, packed up the file and left the empty conference room leaving you and Leon to wilt in each others presence.

You watched the dust particles floating around the ray of sunshine hitting the carpet, tapping your finger on the edge of the table.

“Sorry about her. I think she’s just sick of me at this point. But a job’s a job, right?”

Out of the blue, Leon uncrossed his arms and sighed in amusement. You looked up at him, phased by his forgiving attitude, sending a huff and nod in agreement. You resentfully pushed yourself off this table, informally stretching your back as you adjusted yourself.

“See you tomorrow then I guess.” You snarked, backing your way towards the door.

“No introductions?”

“You’ve read my file-“

“That file says nothing about you-“ Leon laughed. You shrugged in return as you reached the heavy wooden door to the hall.

“Nothing to know Agent Kennedy.” You mumbled, like he could barely hear it.

AN: OKAY THATS AN IDEA OF WHAT IT MIGHT BE AND I HOPE THAT WASNT TOO HORRIBLE!!! if theres anything you’d like me to know just shoot a message or send in something :)

[weirderscience]

checking on r/youtubedrama (because of brainworms) simulator

30 minute video titled "Sloopy is SO OVER" (upon googling who tf Sloopy is, it is revealed that he has like 9 billion subscribers and is sponsored by exxonmobil)

Why Is Nobody Talking About DongleDick's FBI Confiscated Hard Drives

KingLinuxGuru94, the CEO of some PC building startup, has been arrested for insurance fraud.

Logan Paul

Miss LittleDisneyPrincessLovr swatted Guyson McAnimereviewer because he brought up her white supremacy tweets

animator PinkiePieSluts (whom you may remember from 2011 when she debuted with her Pedophilia Scandal in which she groomed 20 different 11 year olds) has kidnapped a minor

Heartbreaking: Guy who makes funny vlogs fell down the antivaxxer rabbit hole

[cirie-won-thirty-four]

I’m gonna need commies to hijack the democratic party like the fascists did the republican party! The antithesis of trump isn’t just another democrat who’s unhinged (Like Gavin Newsom who everyone keeps suggesting), Its a borderline ‘terrorist’ with antifa allegations that’s just like

‘yeah fuck cops and the MIC, if Im president, my goal is to abolishing the whole institution’ or

‘my eventual goal is a moneyless stateless America and to start, I’m implementing a wealth cap of $999,999,999.’ Or

‘i’ll imposing STEEP fines for heavy dirty energy usage, infact every company has a national mandate to come up with a clean energy transition plan for the next 5 years, and if you don’t achieve that, you are shut down NO LOOPHOLE. The department of energy had the same mandate, sparing no expense, to switch to clean energy! Whatever we need to build or buy, we are doing it!’ or

‘Healthcare is free now, we’ll find the money! Private hospitals no longer exist and medical insurance companies are abolished’, or

‘No more landlords! If you already own a home, the government will give you the money you paid for it back, If you have a morgage? No you don’t! In fact we’ll give you back the money you already spent and then give you the title! and for all other properties that are not primary residences, the government will buy them all and distribute them to everyone so that everyone has a place to live!…If you want to hold on to a non-primary residence, then the taxes you pay for it will be steep as fuck and the more non-primary residences you have the higher the tax!’

‘human rights are not up for debate like don’t fucking play in my face. Protections for all who need it! I don’t care SHUT UP’

Like just some ABSOLUTELY balls to the wall charismatic psycho. …. ‘That will never take hold’ lmaooo well 10 years ago Americans didn’t think fascism would become a thing in their country and look at it now! Why not communism?

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * * *

“Socialism is a scare word they've hurled at every advance the people have made. Socialism is what they called public power, social security, deposit insurance, and independent labor organizations. Socialism is their name for anything that helps all people.”

—Harry Truman, 1952

+

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 7, 2024 (Wednesday)

The Democratic presidential ticket of Vice President Kamala Harris and Minnesota governor Tim Walz continues to gain momentum, with people flocking to their rallies and pouring money into the Democrats’ campaign: in the first 24 hours after Walz joined the ticket, the party raised $36 million from more than 450,000 donors, more than a third of them giving for the first time. In contrast, the Republicans seem to be imploding. For years, people have noted that the party seemed to be painting itself into a corner, but it’s very odd to watch it now seem to be trapped.

Yesterday afternoon, after Harris’s selection of Walz had hit social media and enthusiasm was building, Trump posted on his social media company an elaborate and bizarre fantasy that President Joe Biden would suddenly try to take back the 2024 Democratic presidential nomination.

“What are the chances that Crooked Joe Biden, the WORST President in the history of the U.S., whose Presidency was Unconstitutionally STOLEN from him by Kamabla, Barrack HUSSEIN Obama, Crazy Nancy Pelosi, Shifty Adam Schiff, Cryin’ Chuck Schumer, and others on the Lunatic Left, CRASHES the Democrat National Convention and tries to take back the Nomination, beginning with challenging me to another DEBATE. He feels that he made a historically tragic mistake by handing over the U.S. Presidency, a COUP, to the people in the World he most hates, and he wants it back, NOW!!!”

Aside from Trump’s obvious yearning to go back to running against Biden, on whom his personal attacks seemed to stick, and his attempt to find some nickname that will stick to Harris, this rant shows that the Republicans seem unable to counter popular Democratic policies.

The heart of their policies were in Project 2025, the extremist vision of a country ruled by a strongman who took the civil service, the Department of Justice, and the military under his own control in order to slash the popular, secular parts of the government and replace them with Christian nationalism. Right-wing evangelicals liked what was outlined in the project, but when the majority of Americans began to understand what was in it, they were quite clear they wanted no part of it. Trump then tried to distance himself from it, although he had publicly praised it, his political action committee had called it his plan, and more than 100 of its architects were people who had served in his administration.

And then it turned out that Trump’s vice presidential pick, J. D. Vance, had written the introduction for a book by Heritage Foundation president Kevin Roberts, the chief author of Project 2025. The original publication date for the book, which calls for “a peaceful ‘Second American Revolution,’” was in September, shortly before the election, but today the publisher announced it would put off publication until November, after the election.

But advance reader copies of Roberts’s book are already in the hands of reviewers, and Madeline Peltz of Media Matters is posting some of the content online. In it, she notes, Roberts “rails against birth control, in vitro fertilization, abortion, and dog parks. He says that having children should not be considered an ‘optional individual choice,’ but a ‘social expectation,’” and that reproductive choice is a “snake strangling the American family.” It is no accident that Vance’s numbers with women continue to fall.

And the Roberts book is only one of Vance’s recent unpopular steps: it turns out that he also wrote a glowing blurb for a book written by ghostwriter Joshua Lisec under the name of far-right conspiracy theorist Jack Posobiec. The book, titled “Unhumans: The Secret History of Communist Revolutions (and How to Crush Them),” calls for purging their enemies from society. “In the past, communists marched in the streets waving red flags,” Vance wrote. “Today, they march through HR, college campuses, and courtrooms to wage lawfare against good, honest people… In ‘Unhumans,’ Jack Posobiec and Joshua Lisec reveal their plans and show us what to do to fight back.”

Without popular policies, MAGA Republicans are simply falling back on the old narrative techniques they used in the past. This morning, Trump called into Fox & Friends, where he fell back on the old argument that Democrats are essentially communists who are undermining American culture. Of Harris-Walz, he said, “This is a ticket that would want this country to go communist immediately if not sooner.” Trump also tried to hit on the culture wars Republicans have fallen back on since the 1970s, warning that Walz is “very heavy into transgender. Anything transgender he thinks is great.”

Trump also tried to push the idea that Harris’s choosing of Walz over Pennsylvania governor Josh Shapiro proves that the Democrats are antisemitic. “I think it's very insulting to Jewish people,” Trump said. This is a hard sell considering that of the 26 members of Congress who are Jewish, 24 are Democrats, and of the 9 Jewish senators, 8 are Democrats and 1 is an Independent. And then, of course, there is the fact that Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff is himself Jewish.

When the stock market tumbled Monday, Trump tried to pin the slide on Harris—calling it the Kamala Crash—and Vance seemed to bet against the United States, predicting that “[t]his moment could set off a real economic calamity around the globe.” When the market rebounded Tuesday, the two remained silent.

Indeed, Trump is largely off the campaign trail, raising suggestions that his handlers don’t want him in public out of concern about what he will do—not a frivolous concern after his angry performance last week before the National Association of Black Journalists.

Meanwhile, Vance is traveling around to the sites where Harris and Walz are speaking. His crowds are embarrassingly small compared to theirs, and he seems perhaps to be trying to intimidate his opponents as Trump tried to do when he loomed behind his 2016 Democratic opponent, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. Today Vance and a phalanx of his team approached reporters near Harris’s plane to attack her, only to discover she wasn’t around, at which point he boasted the plane would soon be his.

But rather than seeming intimidating, he came across as so desperate for attention that he had to stalk a more popular figure across the tarmac. Former representative Liz Cheney (R-WY) apparently thought so: she reposted Vance’s photo of his group of about nine people walking away from Harris’s plane and commented: “Looks like [Vance] brought all his rally attendees to the airport with him today.”

MAGA Republicans also appear to be reaching to their past by attacking Walz with the sort of “swift boat” smear campaign attacking his military service they launched against decorated veteran John Kerry when he ran for president in 2004. Indeed, the Republican operative widely thought to be behind the attacks on Kerry, Chris LaCivita, is now in charge of the Trump-Vance campaign. Vance today suggested that Walz is engaging in “stolen valor.” Vance served for four years as a Marine, including as a military journalist in Iraq, where he did not experience combat. Walz served in the Army National Guard for 24 years, during which he deployed in response to natural disasters in the United States and served in Europe in support of U.S. operations in Afghanistan.

A number of observers are saying that part of the genius of the Walz pick is that he seems to many people to be the dad and grandfather stolen away by the right-wing rage machine of talk radio and the Fox News Channel and replaced with frightened, angry people who suspect their neighbors and insist the country is going to hell. It seems unlikely that doubling down on that narrative will attract the voters the MAGA ticket needs to win a majority of votes in 2024.

Yesterday the Republican-dominated Georgia State Election Board passed a rule that could delay the certification of an election until “after reasonable inquiry that the tabulation and canvassing of the election are complete and accurate and that the results are a true and accurate accounting of all votes cast in that election.” In a rally on Saturday, Trump thanked the three Republican members of the board—Janice Johnston, Rick Jeffares, and Janelle King—by name, calling them “pit bulls fighting for honesty, transparency, and victory.”

In 2020, Trump tried to get Georgia to throw out its certification of Biden’s victory there, claiming the vote had been marred by fraud, especially among the state’s Black population. He told Georgia secretary of state Brad Raffensperger to “find” him 11,780 votes—one more than the 11,779 that had given Biden the state.

Yesterday, news broke that former Trump lawyer Jenna Ellis, who was indicted in Arizona for her participation in the scheme to replace the state’s real electors for Biden with fake ones for Trump, has agreed to a plea deal. In exchange for the state dropping its charges against her, she has agreed to provide information and materials about the scheme and to testify “at any time and place.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON