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sp0o0kylights · 2 months

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"Valentines Day is a capitalistic scam made to sell chocolate and flowers!" Eddie Munson bellowed, leaping to the top of a cafeteria table not even ten minutes into lunch.

"Do you think he was born like this, or just dropped on his head as a baby?" Heather asked, rolling her eyes as the super senior began waving his arms around, getting way too into his annual “anti-valentines day” rant.

Steve, who'd tuned out the dramatics in favor of trying to figure out how he could ditch school, only heard her because she’d begun running her foot up his leg.

Directly in front of Patrick.

As if half the school didn’t know he planned on asking her out after school.

Long over being a part of these kinds of games, Steve kicked out, forcing Heather’s leg off his.

He did it harder than he intended and immediately winced, as if he hadn’t meant to do it at all. Aimed a sad little look at her, softening his eyes in the way he knew ladies loved while murmuring a quiet "sorry.”

A pudding cup was offered as an additional apology--which Heather, thankfully, accepted.

Crisis averted, Steve used the movement of handing the cup over to get his legs well out of Heather's range. He had other things to think about today, and getting drawn into whatever drama Heather was trying to brew wasn’t on the list.

Particularly given the basketball team as a unit had started snubbing him out.

"Newsflash ladies! Your man isn't taking you to some shitty restaurant because he loves you, he's doing it because he hopes you'll give it to him in your car!" Munson continued, voice growing impossibly louder.

A crude gesture followed, involving hip thrusts and hand jabs.

Several of the cheerleaders shot him disgusted looks as he did it.

"Definitely dropped on his head." Carol said, glaring at Munson as his little group of freaks and geeks cheered him. "More than once."

Steve hummed an agreement, more on automatic than from actually listening. He knew how to look like he was paying attention, even if his head was deep in possible escape plans.

If he dipped at the last minute to the bathroom on the way to fifth period, Tommy wouldn't have time to stop him and he could make a break for his car…

That just left making up a plausible enough excuse as to why thee Steve Harrington, whose single status was the current hot topic of the school, left school early on Valentines Day.

("Candy, sex, the overwhelming affection of all the ladies." Tommy drawled out that morning, practically preening. "Valentine's Day is the best holiday man. Just look at all this!"

He waved a hand at his locker, which was absolutely covered in paper hearts.

"The rally squad put hearts on the lockers of everyone on the basketball team, Tommy." Carol argued, rolling her eyes. "Steve’s is practically buried in them.”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something else teasing and rude, but Carol’s elbow caught him in the gut first.

“If you keep acting like this you're not getting any sex." She warned.

"Aww baby, don't be like that. You know you're the only one for me." Tommy teased, with a wink that prompted Carol to smack him on the shoulder.

Laughing, he added: "Besides we can't fight or we'll miss our favorite game. Which poor gal thinks this year is the year Steve will take her out on a date!"

Carol allowed Tommy to put an arm over her shoulder, the two of them turning knowing grins on their friend as a singular unit.

Even if Steve hadn’t felt like their friend in a hot minute.

Not in the way he used to.

"I do love watching them stutter through their little confessions.” Carol admitted, like this wasn’t something they’d loved doing since middle school. “I wonder if anyone will ever top Cindy Komer."

Steve almost wasn't fast enough to cover his wince--that particular incident had been painful for him and Cindy.

Steve still had no idea what he'd said to make the then-freshman cry.

He thought he'd been nice about turning her down, but judging by Carol constantly quoting what he'd said, Steve had a feeling he'd accidentally been an asshole again.

Not that anyone ever thought it was accidental.

“Steve? Hel~lo? Are you listening?” Carol said, snapping to get his attention and God did Steve hate that.

Never realized just how much until Nancy but after she’d pointed out that Carol treated him and Tommy both like her dogs, well.

It was hard not to notice--and be a bit resentful.

“God you keep doing this, you’re turning into such a space case.” Carol continued, the edge back in her voice. The same one she’d been using for a while, like Steve was on her last nerve. “Please tell me you’re not still mooning over Nancy fucking Wheeler.”

“No.” He snapped, only to know instantly that was the wrong move, and try to fix it before Carol blew up. “No--I’ve just already had to fend someone off today. Like first thing--I was barely out of my car.”

There, that should keep Carol and Tommy both off his back for being “angry” and it wasn’t even a lie. He really had been asked out earlier, though the girl had been gracious about his rejection.

Of course, this kind of instant redirection came with a price--and in this case, it was being absolutely hounded for more information.

“Oh shit who!? Was it that Buckley girl?” Carol perked up immediately, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “I swear she stares holes in your head, she’s so weird…” )

"This isn't about romance! It's about showing who has the most cash, gets the most sex! It's a pathetic social ritual you're all falling for!” Munson yelled, jolting Steve back into the present. “I bet none of you even enjoy it!”

"Tell that to all the girls Steve’s dated!” One of the younger basketball guys hollered, prompting a wave of laughter from the rest of the cafeteria. “They seem to enjoy it plenty!”

Steve couldn’t see who had said it, and should have felt the normal wave of smug warmth that the team had his back.

Except his team had already proven they didn’t.

Were in fact, siding more and more with Hargrove, just as Tommy was.

They were rapidly approaching a watershed moment. Steve could feel it, the same way he’d always been able to tell when a crowd was about to turn.

He was losing, but was still on top of Hawkins social spaces enough, had caught it early enough, that he could turn everyone’s favor--if he wanted.

Emphasis on ‘if.’

Munson spun to face his table, hair whipping to smack him in the face. The guy had clearly been trying to grow it out, but right now he looked like one of those poodles Carol's mom loved so much.

So said Carol, anyway.

"You sure about that?" Munson challenged, a crazed grin breaking across his face. "Rumor has it King Steve lost his groove ever since Wheeler dumped him!"

Steve grimaced, though he was secretly thankful Munson went with "dumped" instead of "cheated on" (or any of the other vile words Billy had flung around, spreading across the school in the sick, crawling way rumors moved.

Hargrove had been positively brutal about the whole Jonathan and Nancy thing, and the only reason he wasn't here now to spin this whole situation against Steve was because the guy always vanished at lunch.)

Tommy's face morphed into an affronted snarl, hands slapping down on the table. He turned expectantly to Steve, waiting for "The King" to get up and "handle" Munson.

Like Steve even cared about this dumb high school shit anymore.

It took him a moment to realize Steve wasn’t planning on doing anything. Was in fact, going to remain perfectly quiet, other than an eyeroll and half-assed middle finger in Munson’s direction.

Tommy let out a disgusted scoff in his direction and then decided to handle things himself.

(Like that had ever been a good idea.)

“Shut up, Freak. The only game you have is in the prison showers.” He snapped, half rising from the table. “Isn’t that why you keep your hair long? So all the boys will actually fuck you?!”

Whistles and yells lit the air, though Steve didn’t miss how the girls at the table looked taken aback at the sheer vitriol in Tommy’s voice.

Even Carol looked startled, eyes sliding to meet Steve’s as if to confirm she hadn’t just imagined it.

The three of them had always been good at this kind of mindless high school banter, but this over the top, crude shit?

It wasn’t Tommy’s style.

It was Hargrove’s.

(That was its own growing issue.

The way Tommy was gravitating towards Billy.

How Carol kept expecting Steve to act like he used to.

That she blamed his “outbursts” on Nancy, snidely mentioning that Steve had better have learned his lesson about “changing his personality for pussy.”

Even now Steve knew they were only defending him because Munson was the one saying it.)

“I didn’t realize Harrington still had his attack dog!”

Munson put a hand against his heart as though injured, staggering dramatically backwards.

“I thought you were too busy putting your tongue up Hargrove’s ass to bark at people!”

Tommy immediately fired back, letting loose an uninspired string of curse words and something about Eddie being queer again. Steve didn’t hear the specifics--didn’t care to hear it, even as things started to spiral out of control.

All he wanted to do was go home.

Ideally before Billy got back from lunch and decided to make a spectacle himself, because Steve could feel that coming just as he could everything else.

He was running out of time to come up with an excuse to get out of here without making a production out of it, and Munson wasn’t someone he wanted to piss off today, given he’d half hoped to buy weed off the guy before he ditched.

…Which was looking more and more unlikely given Tommy had just screeched some insult that had put Munson’s sights back on Steve.

“You sure? Cause Harrington looks like he’s just gonna sit there and take it, just like he takes everything Hargrove and Wheeler and anyone else throws at him.”

He leered, leaning forward as if to see into Steve’s very soul.

“I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but our beloved King here hasn’t exactly been defending his crown. If anything, he’s abandoned it.”

The world stopped.

This was the first time someone actually called him out on the fact that he often let whatever crap Billy spewed go. That Nancy and him had a few awkward encounters publicly, with at least one of them starting a rumor that she’d told Steve to fuck off.

(She hadn’t of course, but Carol had stopped running damage control, and Steve was feeling the effects of her ire.)

Silence echoed, and Steve realized with a dawning sort of horror, that Munson was waiting for a response from him.

Just as the entire cafeteria was.

The catalyst was here, brought on early by one Edward Munson.

With a startling amount of clarity, Steve realized he was done.

With his so called friends, with the girls who’d tried corning him all morning, with Hargrove and just--everything.

He was over it.

If Billy wanted the crown so bad he could fucking have it.

(If Tommy wanted to pretend he was tougher than he was by mimicking the dick, then he could have that too.)

“This is stupid.” Steve announced, dropping the masks he so carefully wore. The ones he kept having to fix, because the Upside Down and its related demons (human and non) kept taking chunks out of it.

He stood, feeling the weight of the room press down on him as he faced them all down.

“Yeah--!” Tommy started to pile on, seeming to think Steve was about to unleash hell, and got the surprise of a lifetime when Steve turned and jammed a finger in his face.

“Shut up.” He snapped.

Knew instantly he only got away with it by the fact that he’d caught everyone off guard.

King Steve did a lot of things, but he rarely blew up.

“This is stupid.” He reiterated, voice booming across the lunch room, “ You wanna fight? Fine, but leave me out of it.”

“The King doesn’t want to play? Why I never thought we’d see the day!” Munson clucked his tongue, and without missing a beat Steve turned to him.

“For someone who is always screaming about nonconformity, you sure are happy to attack anyone who doesn’t do what you want.”

Steve’s voice was loud, but he wasn’t screaming. Wasn’t yelling or throwing his arms around.

He didn’t need to. Had never needed to.

“I heard you going off on that guy whose lunch you're standing on yesterday, because he wanted to watch the Colts play.” Steve continued, voice cold. “Half of your friends are terrified of you, because you’ll scream at them just like you accuse us of doing--and let’s be real here, Munson, you do it more.”

In a dramatic move that absolutely, 100% came from Dustin and his theatrics, Steve shrugged his letterman jacket off and bunched it into a ball.

“You might as well crown yourself King, because you’re the exact same as the rest of us. Here--you can start with this.”

Cocking back an arm, Steve let the jacket fly. Watched with everyone else as it landed neatly right at Eddie’s feet.

Shell shocked, Munson’s eyes drifted from Steve down to the letterman jacket and back. They were massive, those stupid eyes of his, but at least it meant Steve could see the realization wash over the guy in real time.

Steve should have felt smug about it. His past self would have.

Presently?

He just felt tired.

“You’re welcome to jam it up your ass.” He finished, before giving his own sarcastic half bow to the room.

The cafeteria was dead silent. Not a fork was scraped, or a loud piece of chip chewed. All eyes were on Steve, some waiting to see if Eddie would let him have the last word, others just shocked to see Steve lose his shit in front of them.

Idiot he was, he tried to rally anyway.

Even Tommy, who’d partly stood up, hands pressed against the lunch table looked shocked.

“What the fuck Steve!?” He sputtered, and it wasn’t long before half the basketball team was muttering similar remarks.

They were ignored.

Whispers ripped across the room when Steve turned on his heel, striding towards the exit and making it clear things were over, but Tommy didn’t give up.

“Fuck you Harrington!” He hurled at his back, Carol now standing and placing a restraining hand on his arm. “You’re not fucking better than any of us!”

Steve didn’t even look back.

"That's my point Tommy." Steve said, loud enough to be heard. "No one is better than anyone else. You lot are all just buying into your own bullshit.”

Then he was slamming through the doors, and out into the sunlight.

xXx

He didn’t want to go home.

Not anymore, which was ironic in a way that made Steve’s face screw up in a grimace.

Here he’d been dying to go to his stupid house all day, and now, after losing his shit and undoubtedly, the last of his social standing, he just didn’t feel like being by himself.

All alone, in a house too big for him, full of nothing but dark corners and a phone that never rang.

So instead, he wandered, reminiscing on how Valentine's Day used to be his favorite day of the year.

Steve loved the gesture of it all--the romance, the wooing. The butterflies floating in one's stomach, mixing with fear of rejection and a burning kind of hope towards starting something new.

Of course, Steve also had always had a girl in mind, when he celebrated. Now, after Nancy…

He did not.

It felt weird to go to Skull Rock--the place he himself had made into Hawkins hottest makeout spots. Likewise all the local restaurants were off limits--too many adults knew how much he loved the holiday.

Steve didn’t want to face that. The expectations, the knowing winks that would slide into uncomfortable frowns. Any possible advice given wouldn’t be appreciated, and the last thing Steve wanted was to get the “everyone has an off season, son” speech.

So he’d stayed away from his usual haunts. Explored some storefronts instead, the Beamer parked in front of Family Video as he wandered.

Had an entirely too peaceful two hours, which of course, meant he had to bump into someone.

At least, Steve thought dully, whole body tensing in preparation, it was Munson.

Not Hargrove, or Tommy, or hell--the children, demanding he help them fight some other fucked up creature the government had accidentally summoned.

“Hey Harrington.” Munson said, and it took a moment for Steve to realize the guy was embarrassed. “I uh, I need to talk to you.”

Steve just stared at him.

“If you couldn’t tell from earlier,” He warned, “I’m a little done talking for today.”

Or any day, for the foreseeable future.

“Yeah no--I, I got that. I--okay.” Eddie stopped rocking on his heels, before giving his entire body a shake, like the guys sometimes did while prepping for a game. “Hear me out, and then you can deck me or leave or whatever makes you feel better.”

“I’m not going to deck you.” Steve said, exasperated and frazzled and not wanting to do this whole song and dance a second time.

Not that it mattered, because Munson had already launched right into whatever it was he needed to say.

“There’s this book right? My Uncle got it for me. It’s a fantasy book all about this big battle and there’s these wizards in it, and--” He stopped himself, shaking out his hands.

Like he realized he was rambling and needed the movement to get himself back on track.

“I always--I guess I saw myself as a Gandalf kinda guy? Like I was this shepherd herding these lost sheep. A person who intimately knew all the dark forces of the world and could be a shield for them. Do not pass and all that.”

He chuckled, but it was weak, and he killed it almost immediately.

“...Okay?” Steve said, knowing he was supposed to say something here, even if he had no idea what.

Maybe something about how Gandalf the Grey wasn’t exactly a shepard given he’d led the hobbits straight into Mordor, but saying that meant admitting Steve knew what Lord of the Rings was, which wasn’t a conversation he felt like getting into.

Particularly not because he’d only read the damn things after losing a bet to Dustin and Mike both.

Munson nodded, as if acknowledgement was all he needed.

“I thought that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t and I didn’t realize I wasn’t until you pointed it out. You shouldn’t have had to point it out. You shouldn’t have had to say any of what you did.” He rushed to add, oddly sincere.

"Is this…" Steve might be confused but catching on, an uptick at the corners of his mouth as the tiniest spark of amusement leaked through. "an apology? Are you trying to apologize right now?"

Eddie groaned, flinging his head back. "No!”

Then immediately;

“Actually yes, but--”

Which caught Steve off guard enough that he laughed, and had to hide it with a cough.

“I am sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that shit about you, especially not about you and Wheeler. It's more than that though.” Munson swallowed, before squaring his shoulders. “It’s that you were right."

“I was right?” Steve repeated dumbly, because fuck, he couldn’t believe it either.

Not that Munson heard him. Eddie always had been hard to stop once he started, and Steve had been in enough classes with the guy to know the train had left the station.

"I did yell at Jeff because he wanted to watch that stupid football game.” He began, and Steve got a front row seat to watch as one Eddie Munson word vomited his way through a myriad of emotions.

“I fuckin’ lost it on Grant because he missed band practice to drive his sister to some thing. Gareth looked like I was going to hit him when I asked if I had really been that bad--same exact look he gave Hagan and those other assholes that cornered him in the bathroom two weeks ago!”

“Tommy did what?”

Steve was promptly ignored.

(Or more likely, Eddie simply didn’t hear him, too lost in his own voice to realize Steve had said something.)

There were a lot of mentions of the Gandalf guy. Where Eddie thought he’d gone wrong, and even something about a glowing eye thing that had Steve a little concerned until he realized Munson was talking about Sauron (and also made Steve realize that he’d been pronouncing Sauron in his head wrong, oops.)

“I called up this friend of mine who graduated. She’s always been no nonsense, so I asked her for her advice.” Munson said, finally seeming to slow down a little. “She told me I might as well eat my own doctrine because I sure wasn’t living by it, and that if I wanted to fix it then I should start by apologizing. To everyone but--to you, first.”

Eddie took a step back, winging out his hands as if to present himself.

“So here I am. Apologizing.”

A pause wherein neither of them did a thing, which caused him to awkwardly add; “To uh, you. Harrington.”

“Yeah I got that.” Steve said, because what else was he supposed to do here? “Good for you? I guess?”

“Most people either forgive a guy or tell him to fuck off.” Munson pouted, and mimicked like he was kicking at a rock.

It made Steve want to laugh again, though he shoved the urge down.

“Someone once told me,” He said instead, speaking slowly to make damn sure he didn’t let slip this piece of advice came from a middle schooler. “that apologies without actions don’t really mean anything. They’re a start--they let people know you’re aware you screwed up, but no one’s going to trust you if you don’t follow through. So I can forgive you, but I think you’re better off doing this with one of your friends.”

Someone who would hug it out, or at least tell Eddie how he could be better, at least.

Rather than argue, Munson just titled his head back, eyes to the sky. Like he was really thinking on the words, before giving a sort of accepting sounding noise.

“Trying too.” Steve admitted with a sigh.

“That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?” He asked, head coming back down so he could stare at Steve.

“The thing in the cafeteria was a good start.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie grinned.

“Yeah. Don’t think Hagan’s gonna see it the same way though.”

“We were falling out anyway.” Steve admitted, and hated how easy it was to say.

That they really were just going through the motions of friendship. Had been, ever since Jonathan had punched Steve in the face.

“Think you lost more than just him as a friend, to be honest.”

“Pro tip about the actions thing, Munson?” Steve said with a snort, once again unsure of where this conversation was going, “Nice people don’t typically point out when someone’s turned into a social pariah.”

“No, I get that. Say,” Eddie’s grin had grown, which Steve would have taken poorly except he invaded Steve’s space with a goofy little hop. “I think you might be in need of some new ones!”

“New…friends?” Steve hesitated, very unsure of what was happening.

Munson promptly stuck his hand out. “Yup! So--hello, my name is Eddie Munson, and I am here to apply for the position as your friend!”

Steve snorted, but the harshness of it was taken away by the grin on his face.

He took Eddie’s hand, noting how doing so made the older teen’s smile widen.

“Nice to meet you Eddie, I’m Steve.”

Excited, Eddie waived their arms up and down, with far more enthusiasm than the gesture required.

“How about we cement our new friendship by renting a truly terrible horror movie and drowning our woes with my other good friend, Mary Jane?”

Then he waggled his eyebrows, like that was something scandalous.

“Tempting me along with weed, huh?” Steve mused back, sticking his hands in his pockets once Eddie let him go. “Guess you’re a little like Gandalf the Gray after all. Just don’t send me on any missions.”

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie gaped, pure delight spreading across his face. “Have you read Lord of the Rings!?”

He got a shrug and a sly; “Maybe.” in response.

It was worth the barrage of questions, even if the rapid fire pace of them nearly gave Steve a headache.

(Just as it was worth it several months later, when Steve was comfortable enough to instigate wrestling matches with Eddie over the dumbest of things.

One particularly semi-drunk tussle over the remote led to an interesting discovery when Eddie popped a boner, and then frantically tried to escape when it brushed against Steve’s leg.

Instead of panicking--or letting Eddie bolt in his panic, Steve just dropped his whole weight down, effectively pinning the slimmer man to the floor.

“Steve.”

Eddie said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, the word filled with desperation.

The kind of tone someone whispered a prayer in, a sort of pleading that Eddie did better with his eyes than his voice. Or would have, given his own were firmly scrunched closed the second he realized he’d been caught out.

Except--

“Not right now I’m thinking.” Steve told him absently.

Which he was. Speed thinking even, if that was a thing.

Because if two plus two equaled four (which it did) then feeling the exact same, fluttering excitement about Eddie’s boner as Steve had Nancy’s breasts, equaled…

“The fuck? Steve--”

Steve shushed him.

That pulled a frustrated, embarrassed groan from Eddie that went directly to Steve’s own dick, not that it needed much help waking up.

“I think I’m having one of those crisis’s Robin is always accusing the basketball team of having.” Steve informed Eddie dutifully, the dots done connecting.

Eddie, still refusing to open his eyes, snorted.

“Whatever man. Can you at least be decent and hurry up with the beating? This is embarrassing enough.”

“I’m not going to beat you up.” Steve said, thankful that his brain managed not to add some shitty comment about the entire town being awash in rumors of Eddie’s sexuality. That he’d confirmed it here wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I’m going to try something. If you don’t like it, let me know.” Streve added, before screwing up his courage and leaning down.

That of course, got Eddie to open his eyes.

“Wha--” He managed, before Steve’s lips were on his.

For one single, blissful moment, Eddie Munson’s mouth was too busy to talk.

“Yeah?” Eddie said, voice wrecked, and oh, Steve liked that.

“Huh.” Steve muttered, when they broke for air. “Well that’s new.”

Liked the way Eddie looked at him more, hesitant, but with heat in his gaze.

Steve had always been good about knowing what to do with heat.

He leaned back down, pecking lightly at Eddie’s lips, and was delighted to find Eddie not only let him, but kissed back.

“Not bad, Munson, but I think I could give you a few pointers.” Steve muttered, nose ghosting alongside Eddie’s. “Let me show you…”

One boyfriend, several weeks, and another interdimensional monster later, Steve found himself socked in the arm by none other than his coworker, Robin Buckley.

In her defense, she’d confessed her love for Tammy Thompson, still somewhat drugged on the Starcourt bathroom floor, only for Steve to tease her that at least his boyfriend could actually sing.

“God you and Eddie Munson.” She muttered after, smile on her face. “How did that happen?”

Steve knocked his shoe into hers, returning the grin unabashedly.

“So remember last Valentines Day?” Steve started, all too eager to finally tell someone who understood about the best thing to ever happen to him.

Robin of course, would soon also be ranked in that same chart, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. )

#DADDYS BACK #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #pre steddie to steddie #0o0 fanfics #be gentle with me I JUST got my computer back lmao #this was a warmup I finished out #Ive been writing at work on my lunches #yes I have been working on adopt a jock #and the third part of the holiday hellfire fic #I think I stared at that steddisy one once #maybe #IDK this whole ass month has been a blurr

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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There’s never just one ant

So there's a great Thai restaurant in my neighborhood called Kiin. Yesterday, I searched for their website to order some takeout. Here's the Google result.

That top result (an ad)? It's fake. It goes to https://kiinthaila.com, which is NOT the website for Kiin.

The *third* result is real: https://kiinthaiburbank.com

Fake site:

Real site:

I got duped. I placed an order with the fake site. The fake site then placed the order - in my name! - with the real site, having marked up the prices by 15%. Kiin clearly knows they're doing this (presumably by the billing data on the credit card the fakesters use to place the order). They called me within minutes to tell me they'd cancelled the fakesters' order.

I could still come pick it up, but I'd have to pay them, and cancel the payment to the fakesters with Amex. Actually, as it turns out, I have to cancel TWO payments, because the fakesters DOUBLE-charged me.

Here's what that charge looks like on my Amex bill. See that phone number? (415) 639-9034 is the number for Wix, who provides the scammers' website.

How the actual FUCK did these obvious scammers get an Amex merchant account in the name of "KIINTHAILA" by after supplying the phone number for a website hosting company? What is Amex's KYC procedure? Do they even call the phone number?

And why the actual FUCK is Google Ads accepting these scam artists' ads for a business that they already have a knowledge box for?! Google KNOWS what the real KIIN restaurant is, and yet they are accepting payment to put a fake KIIN listing two slots ABOVE the real one.

To be fair to these scammer asshole ripoff creeps who are trying to steal from my local mom-and-pop, single location Thai eatery, they're just following in the shoes of Doordash and Uber Eats, who did the same thing to hundreds (thousands?) of restaurants during lockdown.

Doug Rushkoff says that the ethic of today's "entrepreneur" is to “Go Meta” - don't provide a product or a service, simply find a way to be a predatory squatter on a chokepoint between people who do useful things and people who use those things.

These parasites have turned themselves into landlords of someone else's home, collecting rent on a property they don't own and have no connection to.

There's NEVER just one ant. I guaran-fucking-tee you that these same creeps have 1,000 other fake Wix websites with 1,000 fake Amex merchant accounts for 1,000 REAL businesses, and that Google has sold them ads for every one of them. Amex and Google and Wix should be able to spot these creeps FROM ORBIT. Holy shit do we live in the worst of all possible timelines. We have these monopolist megacorps that spy on and control everything we do, wielding the most arbitrary and high-handed authority.

And yet they do NOT ONE FUCKING THING to prevent these petty scammers from using their infra as force-multipliers to let them steal from every hungry person patronizing every local restaurant.

I mean, what's the point of letting these robber-barons run the entire show if they're not even COMPETENT?

ETA: Dinner was delicious

#thai food #burbank #google ads #kyc #amex #wix #creeps #ripoffs #go meta

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ozzgin · 2 months

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Yandere! Demon x Gloomy! Reader

As much as you'd like to spend the rest of your life secluded away from the world, you need money. Conveniently enough, a new detective agency in town is hiring, and the salary is ridiculously good. The catch? Oh, you'll see once you sign the contract right...here. Congratulations! You've sealed a lifetime bond with their one and only employee, a demon from the depths of Hell!

Content: female reader, monster romance, dark humor, perverted goat demon yandere, based on ‘Yondemasuyo, Azazel-San’

[Part 2] [Monster masterlist]

There’s still enough time to go back, you think. It’s loud and crowded and you’d rather be home. The temptation is beginning to creep its tendrils over your mind, so you quickly pull out your phone and check your bank account. The numbers remind you why you’re here in the first place: if you don’t get a job soon, you’ll run out of savings.

Come on, it can’t be that bad. In fact, it’s the best offer you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Minimal interaction with humans, short hours, and absurdly good pay. A new detective agency opened in your town and they’re looking for an assistant. A regular person would most likely be put off by such shady circumstances. There must be a catch, but you couldn’t care less either way. What are they going to do, kill you? Sell your organs on the black market? They’d spare you the time to plan your own demise.

You climb the stairs and knock on the door. A deep voice tells you to enter, and you sheepishly make your entrance. The office is rather small and somewhat cramped, with stacks of papers scattered over the floor. Behind the desk sits a man – maybe in his thirties? – with messy black hair, sunken eyes, and an irked expression. Is this the detective? He looks like an angry thug. Not that you’re one to judge, given your overall gloomy aura that deters passersby with ease.

“Yes?” he asks curtly, not even looking up from his book.

“I’m here for the job offer. The assistant role?”

“Ah, yeah. Completely forgot about that.” He rummages through his drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper, slapping it on the desk. “Here’s the details. Same as in the ad. Here’s where you sign. Do you have questions?”

“Hmm, I guess not.” You hum, indifferent, and scribble your name.

The man finally glances at you, faint intrigue on his face.

“This went unexpectedly smoothly. What if it was a scam?”

“Then what?” You stare him in the eye with a flaccid smile. “There’s nothing to take from me. If it is a scam indeed, you’ll be the one disappointed in the end.”

His eyes narrow in an eerie grin, and he stands up.

“Perfect match.”

“Excuse me?”

He walks towards a secondary room and waits for you to follow him. Once you’ve joined, he turns on the lights, and you immediately notice a strange seal painted on the floor: Geometric symbols resembling a pentagram, surrounded by words in a language you don’t understand. You’re carefully observing the strange sight, so entranced that you don’t sense the detective lifting your hand and casually piercing your finger with a small scalpel.

Before you can react to the sudden attack, he presses your hand onto the contract you’d signed earlier. You wince in pain and swiftly pull your hand away, glaring at the man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demand angrily.

“I thought I’d already introduce you to the main tool we use to solve our cases.”

The sigil on the ground begins to glow and the edges move in a circular motion. A black ooze erupts from the center, rapidly expanding outwards. You glue yourself to the wall for safety, unsure of what is happening.

A clawed hand emerges from the cursed muck, grabbing onto the edges for support. Within seconds, a creature crawls its way out. A humanoid figure with curled horns and long locks, its body ending with goat hooves instead of legs, stands up and stretches before your terrified self. You tighten your jaw in anticipation.

“You always summon me during my best naps, damn it!” the demon barks.

The detective approaches the monster, completely unconcerned, and slaps its horns nonchalantly, earning a groan from the demon.

“Skip the unnecessary whining. This is our new assistant and your owner as of now.” He explains, dangling the contract before the horned creature and pointing a finger in your direction.

“The fuck? You said you’d end the deal if I completed that mission. You lied to me, you-!” the beast finally notices your presence and abruptly stops. “Well then, what do we have here?”

A wide, perverted smile replaces his frown, sharp fangs glistening with malice.

“Aren’t you a miserable one! You reek of apathy”, the demon exclaims, clacking his hooves in your direction. “Boy oh boy, I could just eat you up! Tell me your name.”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You wonder if this is some bizarre dream after all. The demon clamps your lips back shut.

“Tempting offer, but I don’t need head right now. Save the gesture for later, alright? Let’s try again: Name!”

Your brows furrow in disbelief at his crass insolence.

“I-it’s (Y/N).” you finally manage to blurt out.

He strokes your head lovingly, as if he’s praising some house pet.

“Good girl. You can call me Zzy.”

For a moment, you completely forgot about the detective being in the same room. He places the demon under a firm hold and shoves him away from you, then hands you a thick, leathered book.

“This is his grimoire. Read it once you’re home. First day is tomorrow unless you need more time.”

“Tomorrow is fine”, you answer in a daze, fumbling to find the exit and ignoring the horned monster waving at you enthusiastically.

You’re lying in bed, still a little shaken from the events you witnessed earlier today. A detective agency that uses a demon to solve matters, and you’ve just been coerced into selling your soul for a lifetime bond with him. You sigh in exhaustion. At least the pay is good, you tell yourself as you trace your fingers over the old text of the grimoire:

“Great President of Hell, ruling three legions of demons. Brings insanity or great sorrow to any person the conjurer wishes. Feeds on sadness and fear. Causes people to end their life.”

Hard to believe that depraved buffoon holds such power. Although it does explain, at least, why the detective was eager to use you as a replacement. Or why the demon showed such intense interest.

“Who’s a buffoon?”

The voice is so close that you feel its hot breath on your ear. You scream and jump back in panic, tumbling out of the bed and scrambling onto the floor. You rub your eyes just to make sure: the half-goat creature is lounging under your sheets, gazing at you with a bored expression.

“Christ! I thought you’re not allowed to leave the office?” you inquire, baffled.

“That’s why I snuck this in your pocket!” he says as he procures a small coin. “I can track down cursed items. Hehe~”

As if remembering a vital detail, he throws himself up and joins you on the ground:

“Oh, but don’t tell Mr. Detective about it, or he’ll feed me to the dogs. It’s our secret.” he pleads, hands put together in a praying gesture.

“What are you even doing here?”

“I figured it’d be useful if we got to know each other as soon as possible, seeing as we’ll be working together from now on.”

“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well…I also got really horny thinking of you and decided to just visit instead. How about a quick fuck?”

“Absolutely not. Eat a raw potato or something.”

“Don’t be like that! At least let me touch your boobs. Help a partner out, eh?”

Perhaps being scammed was not the worst-case scenario. You slap the demon’s groping fingers away and return to your previous spot in bed. It will be a long night.

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agaypanic · 1 month

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Is this how you request a fic? I have no idea but I’ll try. I’m craving Regina George content. Can you please write something where reader is apart of the plastics but she’s not mean like the rest of them and that’s why Regina likes her. When Cady shows up and Regina has an interest in cady it’s too make reader jealous but instead cady ends up liking reader who distances herself from the plastics and then Regina gets jealous and admits her feelings so reader doesn’t end up with cady. If that makes sense? Thank you!

Craving Your Attention (Regina George X Plastic!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Regina George is the queen of North Shore High and she doesn’t like to share her toys, even if she doesn’t really play with them.

A/N: kinda toxic!regina even tho thats not really a surprise. slight cady x reader, she likes you instead of aaron (also aaron doesn’t exist teehee). The girls arent homophobic bc cady tells gretchen she likes reader and regina ends up with reader (saying this bc idk if you’re gonna read this with 2004 regina or 2024 regina in mind, and obviously 2004 was a different time lmao) content warning for diet talk but it’s just part of one scene. Heavily relied on the mean girls (2004) script for this fic, so it's almost all written centered around Cady. all in third person which felt a lil weird to write because i usually write in second person lol idk if anyone’s gonna want a part 2 but imma lyk rn that im not planning on writing a part 2, mainly bc this took so painstakingly long

***

Everyone at North Shore High knew about Regina George. They’d be stupid not to. She was practically royalty.

A queen bee was nothing without her little worker bees. First was Karen Smith. She seemed to give a whole new meaning to the word ‘clueless,’ but she was friendly. In more ways than one.

Then there’s Gretchen Wieners. She was Regina’s eyes and ears, whether it was wanted or not. All she wanted to do was please her leader.

And finally, there was Y/n L/n. If any of the plastics were to be deemed approachable, it was her. She was Regina’s right-hand girl, maybe even a bit more than that. But no one ever brought that up.

But then Cady Heron came to North Shore.

“Is he bothering you?” Regina tilted her head as she looked at the redheaded girl and the familiar boy who was talking to her. Y/n, who was sitting next to Regina, looked up from her food in curiosity. Regina didn’t usually talk to anyone outside of the table during lunch. The girl made a nondescript noise, so Regina turned her attention to the boy. “Jason, why are you such a skeez?”

Jason rolled his eyes, but tried to seem polite.

“I’m just being friendly.”

“You were supposed to call me last night,” Gretchen pouted, looking over her shoulder at Jason.

“Jason.” Attention was brought back to Regina with the simple call of his name. She wore a sweet smile, which meant that Jason was probably about to get a bite taken out of him. “You do not come to a party at my house with Gretchen and then scam on some poor, innocent girl right in front of us three days later. She’s not interested.” Regina then turned to the redheaded girl. “Do you wanna have sex with him?”

She looked shocked, giving an immediate no.

“Good. So it’s settled.”

“You can go shave your back now,” Y/n finished, and the four plastics waved him off. Jason walked away, but not before muttering an insult to the girls.

“Good one,” Regina said quietly to Y/n, who couldn’t help but smile a bit at the small praise. Before she could reply, Regina’s eyes followed after the red-haired girl, who was now starting to walk away. “Wait.” The single word made her stop in her tracks and look back. “Sit down.”

Regina moved her hands, signaling Gretchen and Karen to move to the sides of the lunch bench to make room for this mystery girl. After some more encouragement, she sat down.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asked sweetly, trying to ease the girl’s nerves.

“Cady.”

“Why don’t I know you?” Regina asked, looking at Cady curiously.

“I’m new,” Cady replied. “I just moved here from Africa.”

“What?”

“I used to be home-schooled.”

“Wait. What?”

Cady took a second, wondering why Regina kept saying ‘what.’ She didn’t think it was that confusing.

“My mom taught me at home-”

“No, no.” Regina laughed. “I know what ‘home-school’ is; I’m not stupid. So, you’ve actually never been to a real school before?”

As she spoke, Regina leaned more and more forward towards Cady. And as the conversation continued, Y/n wondered why Regina was taking such an interest in her. Regina never cared about anyone who passed by, too involved in the latest gossip session Gretchen had started or in Y/n’s appearance. Not that Y/n really noticed that; she was busy thinking about Regina to see that Regina was thinking about her. Either way, she didn’t understand why the blonde was suddenly so fascinated by this new girl.

“You’re like, really pretty.”

Oh… That must be why.

Y/n seemed to tune the rest of the conversation out, too wrapped up in Regina’s compliment towards Cady and the bright smile she wore while giving it. She didn’t know why it bothered her. It’s not like Regina belonged to her. If anything, Y/n, along with the rest of the Plastics, belonged to Regina.

Even when Regina brought Gretchen and Karen in close to speak to them and Y/n, leaving Cady awkwardly leaning back to give them more privacy, Y/n didn’t care much to listen. The gist of the conversation was that they wanted Cady to sit with them at lunch for a week, something they had never considered doing with anyone else in this school.

“Okay.” Regina started as Gretchen and Karen relaxed back into their seats, and Cady leaned back in. “You should just know that we don’t do this a lot, so this is, like, a really huge deal. We wanna invite you to have lunch with us every day for the rest of the week.” Regina wore a grin that meant she was up to something, but Cady didn’t seem to decipher that, and the rest of the girls didn’t know what it meant.

“Oh, it’s okay—” Cady’s tone seemed to indicate that she was about to decline, but Regina interrupted her before she could.

“Coolness.” The bell rang, and Regina’s eyes darted over to Y/n before going back to Cady. Her mischievous smile remained present as she, Gretchen, and Karen grabbed their trays. “So we’ll see you tomorrow.”

The three Plastics stood up and left the table, leaving Y/n in a slight daze and Cady confused about what had just happened. Y/n suddenly looked around, realizing that her friends had left without her, but the new girl was still with her. She figured that she should say something before leaving her alone. She didn’t have to be mean or unpleasant just because Regina seemed to like Cady.

“On Wednesdays, we wear pink.” Y/n said it with a timid but sweet smile, trying to get over the revelation that the girl she loved was setting her sights on someone else. Her hand patted Cady’s a few times before she stood up and picked up her tray. “Welcome to North Shore.”

As Cady watched Y/n leave, and as Janis and Damian dragged the redhead away to interrogate her about her interaction with Regina, she couldn’t help but feel warm. Maybe public school wouldn’t be so bad.

***

The next day, Cady was slightly nervous to sit with the Plastics. She felt like a double spy. Janis and Damian were under the impression that Cady was doing it for them, to listen in on Regina’s secrets and relay them back to her friends so they could laugh at the pathetic and superficial nature of it all. And sure, that was the main reason she was sitting with the girls. But Cady also returned to the table so she could bask in a new light, Y/n.

But living in girl world came with a bunch of rules.

“You can’t wear a tank top two days in a row, and you can only wear your hair in a ponytail once a week. So…” Gretchen laughed lightly, seeming a little nervous for no reason as she looked at Cady, who was wearing her hair in a ponytail. “I guess you picked today. Oh! And we only wear jeans or track pants on Fridays.”

“Which totally blows in the winter,” Y/n muttered before sipping her Diet Coke.

“Now,” Gretchen started again, “if you break any of these rules, you can’t sit with us at lunch.” Cady seemed surprised, but Gretchen continued. “Not just you! Like, any of us. Okay, so, like, if I was wearing jeans today, I would be sitting over there with the art freaks.” She said it with a grimace, pointing over to a table a few feet away from the girls before looking back at Cady. “Oh, and we always vote before we ask someone to eat lunch with us, because you have to be considerate of the rest of the group. I mean, you wouldn’t buy a skirt without asking your friends first if it looks good on you.”

Everyone nodded except for Cady, who was processing all of these new rules she had to follow.

“I wouldn’t?”

“Right,” Gretchen said with a definitive nod. “And it’s the same with guys. Like, you may think you like someone, but you could be wrong.”

“One hundred twenty calories and forty-eight calories from fat,” Regina interrupted, reading a food bar that she had grabbed. She looked at her friends inquisitively. What percent is that?”

“Uh… forty-eight into one hundred and twenty?” Gretchen suggested, not really sure of herself.

“No, I don’t think so, Gretch,” Y/n said, trying to think of the correct answer.

“I’m only eating foods with less than thirty percent calories from fat.”

“It’s forty percent,” Cady said suddenly, proud that she was able to do the equation in her head. Everyone looked at her, expressions varying from impressed to confused. Cady suddenly felt the need to show her work. “Well, forty-eight over a hundred and twenty equals X over a hundred-”

“So then you cross multiply to get X!” Y/n finished off with a grin, thrilled that she knew what Cady was talking about. Cady smiled back at her with the same excited energy, although looking a little more subdued. Not only was this girl super pretty and friendly, but she also seemed decently smart. Maybe Janis was wrong about these girls.

“Whatever.” Regina looked at the two girls suspiciously. She tossed the food bar onto the table and stood up. “I’m getting cheese fries. Y/n, come with me.”

Taken back by the sudden command, Y/n stumbled out of her seat and followed Regina. Cady’s eyes followed her until she was out of sight, and she sighed quietly when she couldn’t catch a glimpse of the girl anymore.

“So!” Gretchen startled Cady with her enthusiastic voice and a hand on her shoulder. As she turned to look at her, Cady realized that Karen was also gone from the table. She must’ve gone to the bathroom or somewhere else. “Have you seen anyone you think is cute yet?”

Cady didn’t know how to answer. There was definitely one person that came to mind, but she didn’t know if she should say the name. Gretchen might react badly if Cady told her, which would most likely lead to her getting kicked out of the Plastics.

But at the same time, she didn’t want to lie.

“Well… there’s this one.. girl.” The last word was quiet and hesitant, but Gretchen picked up on it.

“Oh my gosh, who is it?” She asked excitedly. “Do you think it’s just like, a phase, or is it more serious?”

“I dunno.” Cady shrugged. “I haven’t known her too long to be sure.”

“Who is it?” Gretchen leaned forward in her seat, completely invested in Cady’s answer. It took the redhead a long moment of hesitancy to open her mouth.

“It’s Y/n…”

“No!” Gretchen straightened up, looking absolutely horrified. She looked around, ensuring none of the other girls were back yet. “You can’t like Y/n. Not only is she a part of the group, but… Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, and you’re, like, totally forbidden from ever bringing it up. But Regina is really possessive over Y/n. They’ve been best friends for, like, forever, and Regina chases off anyone who tries to so much as ask her out. And it’s not my place to say whether or not it’s more than friendship, but if I had to say something, there’s definitely something going on between them.” Gretchen took a much-needed breath, shaking her head slightly to clear her jumbled thoughts. “Look, the point is, you shouldn’t date friends. Especially Regina’s friends. But don’t worry, I’ll never tell Regina or Y/n what you said. It’ll be our little secret.”

Gretchen gave Cady a sweet smile, and that seemed to be the end of their little conversation. But for the next few days, Cady kept thinking about it.

She didn’t want to get on Regina’s bad side. That would mean no more things to tell Janis and Damian and no more seeing Y/n. And she also didn’t want to freak Y/n out. But just because Cady wasn’t allowed to like Y/n didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to look at her. Or think about her. Or talk to her.

A few days later, when Cady was with Janis and Damian at the mall, Janis asked when Cady would see Regina next. She said it felt weird to spy on her and that she didn’t want to do it anymore. And sure, it being weird was part of why she wanted to stop. But mainly, it was because Cady had started getting so distracted by Y/n that it was difficult to focus on Regina. Which was strange, because the blonde girl was so alluring. But Janis reassured Cady that Regina would never find out about her double agent status, that it would be their little secret.

So many secrets.

***

“Hello?” Cady held the phone up to her ear, wondering who was calling her at this late hour.

“I know your secret.” Cady stiffened at Regina’s voice coming through the speaker. She internally panicked, trying to figure out what to do. How did Regina figure out about Cady’s spying?

“Secret?” She decided that playing it cool was the better move. “What secret?”

“Gretchen told me that you like Y/n.” Cady relaxed at the fact that Regina had learned about her other secret, before freezing again. Right now, she wondered if it would be better if Regina knew about the spying. “I mean, I don’t care, do whatever you want.” Regina didn’t sound like she didn’t care, but Cady didn’t bring it up. “But let me just tell you something about Y/n: She’s, like, never gone on a date before. It’s not that she’s not pretty or anything, but no one’s ever really been good enough for her.”

“Oh?” What did this mean? Did Regina deem Cady good enough for Y/n after so many others tried and failed? Or was this a set-up?

Honestly, Cady was so happy for Regina’s blessing that she didn’t really care.

“I could talk to her for you, if you want.”

“Really? You would do that?”

“We’ve been friends since like, pretty much birth. I know exactly how to play it.” There was a moment of silence, and Cady could picture Regina picking at her nails. “But wait. Aren’t you mad at Gretchen for telling me? Because if you are, you can tell me. It was a really bitchy thing for her to do.”

“Yeah, it was pretty bitchy, but I’m not mad.” Cady was a little mad, but she didn’t feel like saying that. “I mean, it’s better she told you instead of Y/n. I dunno, I guess she just likes the attention.” Cady didn’t know why she said that last part, but it had just spilled out of her mouth.

“See, Gretch? I told you she’s not mad at you.” Cady was a bit confused, but then another voice spoke.

“I can’t believe you think I like attention!” There was a click, and Cady assumed the Gretchen had hung up. She had no idea she was even listening.

“Okay, love you. See you tomorrow!” Cady could hear Regina’s smile, and then there was another click followed by a dial tone, showing that Cady was now the only one on the line. She then hung up herself, processing the three-way call she had just survived.

And then after that, Cady realized that she had gotten Regina’s blessing to try to pursue Y/n.

***

“What day is it?” Y/n asked, looking down at her worksheet. She didn’t usually do homework at lunch, but lately, some of her classes had been kicking her ass.

“It’s October third,” Cady answered almost immediately, catching the suspicious eyes of Regina and Gretchen.

“Thanks, Cady,” Y/n said, looking up at the girl and giving her a sweet smile before returning to her paper.

“I dunno why you don’t just ask one of the Mathlete dorks to do it for you,” Regina said, looking over Y/n’s shoulder. “They’d probably even do it for free.”

“We’ve talked about this, Regina. If my teacher didn’t catch on, it would still totally bite me in the ass when I’d have to do a test all by myself.”

“You need help with math?” Cady asked, subtly leaning closer to Y/n. The girl looked at Cady, now completely distracted from her work.

“Yeah! I used to get it, but trig is crazy hard.” Y/n sighed, delicately rubbing at her tired eyes so she didn’t mess up her makeup. “I feel like I’m never gonna get it.”

“I can help you!” Cady said, excited over this opportunity. She had always excelled in mathematics, and now Y/n needs help with that exact subject? It seemed like fate.

“Really?” Both Y/n and Cady missed the slight glare that Regina was giving them.

“Oh right, Cady’s like, a total nerd.” They also chose to ignore Regina’s snide comment before sipping her Diet Coke.

“That would be amazing, Cady! Maybe I could come over after school today or something?”

Cady was about to say yes, a million times yes, but Regina butted in.

“Y/n, you’re coming over to my house today.” It didn’t really feel like Regina was reminding her of forgotten plans. Instead, it sounded like Regina was coming up with a reason for Y/n to be unavailable. Cady’s suspicions were confirmed by the confused look Y/n gave the blonde.

“I am?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… Well, how about tomorrow?”

“Perfect!” Cady spoke quickly and enthusiastically before Regina could say another word.

***

Over the next month or so, Cady tutored Y/n a few days every week. It quickly became their favorite part of their days. After helping with a few problems Y/n was stuck on, the two girls would get distracted by conversations about whatever they wanted to talk about. Neither of them felt the need to filter themselves in fear of being made fun of by one of the other Plastics, mainly Regina. Topics ranged from the latest gossip to future plans to their favorite things in media. If Cady had never heard of something Y/n brought up, which was the case nine times out of ten, the tutoring session would turn into a movie night or music party.

“Oh my gosh, so…” Y/n and Cady were in the middle of watching a chick flick that Cady had never seen when Y/n suddenly spoke. “I’m having a Halloween party at my place. We usually do it at Regina’s, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like doing it this year. Are you gonna come?”

“Yeah, sure.” Cady’s response made Y/n smile brightly, a sight that Cady could never get sick of.

“Awesome!” Y/n sat up from her slouched position, her excitement waking her up from her slightly tired state. “It’s a costume party, which’ll be a lot of fun. I can give you a flier with all the info tomorrow. Even though I know you’re invited, you need the flier to get in. It only admits one person, so don’t bring anyone else with you.”

“Grool.” Y/n blinked in slight confusion, and Cady realized what she had said. “I… I meant to say ‘cool,’ and then I started to say ‘great.’”

Y/n giggled, which made Cady’s cheeks heat up.

“Right. Well, grool.” The two laughed, and then Y/n looked down at her watch. “Oh my gosh, it’s so late. I should probably get going.” With the help of Cady, Y/n gathered her things. “See you tomorrow!” In a flash, Y/n kissed Cady’s cheek before walking out of the room and leaving Cady’s house. Cady’s cheeks felt like they were on fire, and she lightly touched the cheek Y/n had kissed.

***

One thing that no one told Cady was that on Halloween, many girls opted for very revealing costumes rather than actual costumes. So when she arrived at Y/n’s house, she stuck out like a sore thumb in her dead bride attire while her friends wore tight clothes and animal ears.

“Why are you so scary?” Gretchen asked with concern, looking at Cady’s appearance with wide eyes.

“It’s Halloween,” Cady said with a shrug, not knowing what the problem was.

Suddenly, a hand touched Cady’s arm, making her jump. But she quickly relaxed when she saw who was touching her.

“You came!” Y/n squealed, bringing Cady in for a hug. The redhead felt a bit flustered by the contact, plus seeing Y/n in her slightly revealing outfit. When they broke the embrace, Y/n held Cady by the shoulders, surveying her outfit. “And you’re a… zombie bride…?”

“An ‘ex-wife.’” Cady replied, using her fingers to air quote.

“Well, I love it.” Y/n finally let go of Cady, although she wouldn’t have been opposed if she kept holding onto her. “You want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Y/n squeezed Cady’s arm for a quick moment before turning around. She weaved her way through the crowd to get to the kitchen, where a shit load of different drinks were scattered on the counters. She started mixing a drink for Cady when she felt a presence behind her.

“What the hell is Cady wearing?” Regina asked, squinting to see Cady from across the room.

“She’s a zombie bride!”

“She looks like a freak.”

“Regina!” Y/n set down the bottle she was pouring and looked at the blonde. “Be nice.”

“Whatever.” Regina rolled her eyes, pushing her hair off her shoulder before leaning on the kitchen counter. “You know, you should probably be careful around her. She has a giant crush on you.”

“What?” Y/n’s eyes snapped to Regina, immediately curious. “How do you know?”

“She told me. She tells everybody. It’s kinda cute, to be honest. She’s like a little girl.” Regina laughed, and Y/n tilted her head and raised her brows, silently asking for more details. “Like, she writes ‘Y/n plus Cady’ and stuff like that all over her notebook. And she made this shirt that says ‘I heart Y/n’ and she wears it under all of her clothes.

“Oh, come on.” Y/n sighed and rolled her eyes, figuring Regina had been joking. “That’s not funny, Regina.”

“I’m serious! She’s, like, obsessed with you. And who can blame her?” Regina’s hand reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Y/n’s face. When Y/n looked at her friend, she was suddenly closer than before. “I mean, you’re gorgeous.”

“Regina.”

“If I’m being honest… I hate the way she looks at you.” Regina grabbed Y/n’s chin before she could look away, forcing them to maintain eye contact. “It makes me sick. She should know better than to think she has a chance with you.”

“What are you saying, Regina?” Y/n’s voice was barely a whisper, but the blonde heard her loud and clear despite being in a crowded room with blasting music and semi-drunk teenagers.

“I’m saying you’re mine, Y/n.” With every word, Regina inched closer and closer. “I don’t want you to be with Cady. Or with anyone else.”

Regina closed the small gap between her and Y/n’s lips, wrapping her arms around Y/n’s body to keep her close. After the wave of shock washed over her, Y/n reciprocated the kiss. Neither of them cared about any of the people around them watching. Including Cady, who watched from across the room with watery eyes and a breaking heart.

Cady had lost Y/n to a competition she didn’t even know she had. Y/n had finally gotten the girl she had been wanting for years after being kept at arm’s length away. And Regina had once again ruined someone else’s happiness for her own.

***

Regina George Taglist: @wedfan2 @pyro-les @natashamaximoff-69

#agaypanic #regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls #mean girls x reader #rachel mcadams x reader #rachel mcadams #renee rapp #renee rapp x reader

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a-little-unsteddie · 6 months

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stuck in your throat || a/b/o

hi so today is @lexirosewrites’s birthday today and like,, idk three or so weeks ago she followed me (hi lexi <3 happy birthday <3 hope today has been fun <3) and to celebrate both of those things i started writing an omegaverse fic, and i wanted it done by today but it is grew a mind of its’ own and now it’s much bigger than i thought it’d be so instead of the full fic, have a snippet <3

again, happy birthday lexi <3

“Hello?” Steve answered, having learned to not open the call with who was answering without knowing who was calling from one too many scam calls

“Is this Steve Harrington?” A soft feminine voice asked, taking Steve by surprise.

“May I ask who’s calling?” Steve asked, not willing to concede his identity until he knew it wasn’t someone looking to sell him ‘Alpha Pills’ or something just as ridiculous.

“Of course! My name is Chrissy Cunningham, you sent in an application for being a full time nanny and tutor?” She responded with a cheerful voice. “I can’t <i>really</i> go much more in depth without an NDA being signed.”

Recognition zapped through Steve’s body and he sat up in his seat. “Oh! Yes, I’m Steve. Um. I’d be happy to sign an NDA, just may I ask why?”

“Yes, you may! My client is a big fan of privacy and only agreed to hire someone if they were under an NDA for the protection of their pup.” aaand all of Steve’s anxiety surrounding the NDA pretty much melted away. Sure, maybe it was a bit much to do, and sure, now he was dying with curiosity to know just <i>who</i> he had ended up applying to, but the knowledge that the NDA was for the protection of the pup soothed any anxiety Steve had originally felt about signing an NDA. In fact, it kind of made his omega perk up. He shook off the feeling, focusing on Chrissy.

“That’s actually really relieving to hear,” Steve said with a laugh. “When or where can I sign the NDA?” he questioned, wondering when Robin would be home so he could tell her.

“Well, first, you and I will do a preliminary interview, just like any other job interview. Then, if all goes well, I’ll send you an email containing the NDA for you to review and sign,” Chrissy explained clearly and cheerfully. “After you sign the NDA, my client will perform an in-person interview and then we’ll go from there.”

“That all seems pretty straight forward so far,” Steve replied, standing from where he had been lounging on the couch. He walked to the kitchen, where he and Robin had put up a magnetic whiteboard calendar to fill with each of their schedules and plans. He grabbed the blue marker, his color, and prepared to jot down when they’d have the interview.

“Perfect! Happy to hear it,” Chrissy said with an audible smile.

“When will the interview with you be?” Steve asked, biting his lip as he stared at the calendar, which had sparsely been marked with his blue marker, even since starting this job hunt. Robin’s plans were in red, and was much more abundant due to having three part time jobs.

“Well, as soon as possible, really. If you’re available now, we could take care of it right away.” the woman responded, sounding like she was walking into another room.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed, recapping the marker and returning it to the pen holder. “Yes, of course. I’m available now.”

“Perfect!” Chrissy’s voice sounded from Steve’s phone as the omega walked back to the living room and sat on the couch. “So, starting off pretty easy here, what made you apply for this position?”

Steve thought back and grimaced at the reminder that it was Robin who had submitted his application to this particular job. He wasn’t about to admit that, though, and quickly found a more appropriate response.

“Well, I love taking care of pups, and I just got my teacher’s license a month ago,” Steve explained, which wasn’t a lie, so he figured it was probably as good of an answer as any. “I also saw that this job traveled, and my best friend thought that it’d be good for me.”

“Yes, that was going to be part of this conversation, too. So, you’re obviously alright with the traveling, then?” Chrissy asked and Steve heard what he thought could be pen scratching as she wrote notes. He swallowed thickly, suddenly anxious about what she was writing. He decided to ignore his anxiety, even as his scent soured around him with it.

“Oh, yes, traveling is more than okay,” Steve agreed immediately, “but it’s more important to me that I’ll be taking care of a pup, if I’m honest.”

This statement seemed to pique Chrissy’s attention, as the writing stopped for a moment. “Why is that?” she eventually asked.

Steve winced, wondering if he should be up front about it or not. If Robin were here, she would insist that he was honest. He decided on a half-truth.

“I’ve always wanted pups, and a lot of them,” Steve admitted, fidgeting with a loose piece of thread on the couch. He switched which arm was holding the phone, as he had started to get a little sore from holding it up for so long. “But I don’t have a partner, so I can’t really have my own right now. I discovered through babysitting for one of my neighbors that I have a knack for taking care of pups.”

The scratching noise was back as Chrissy listened to his responses. Steve was nervous he wasn’t doing well, but figured that it wasn’t going bad if she wasn’t suddenly calling the interview short.

“Your resume says that you’re good in high stress situations,” Chrissy said after a couple seconds of silence as she wrote down whatever notes she was taking. Steve briefly wondered if he should be doing the same thing. “I’m going to give you an example scenario, and you’re going to tell me how you’d respond.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Steve agreed, trying not to let his voice betray how anxious he was.

“For the sake of simplicity, we’ll say the pup’s name is Rosie,” she informed him before she continued to describe the scenario. “You’re taking Rosie to the park, when suddenly there is a crowd of people surrounding you and you lose sight of her. What do you do?”

Steve thought the scenario was odd, but not ‘out there’ enough to alarm him. He thought about his answer for a moment before replying.

“I would try to follow her scent, first, because that will usually lead me to any pup I’ve babysat. If that doesn’t work, I will call out for her. If the situation is bad enough, I would contact the authorities, and either you or Rosie’s father.” he paused for a second before continuing, trying to make sure he covered all of his bases. “But honestly? If Rosie is small enough, I would have rather carried her once I saw the crowd, or hold her hand, for the reason of lowering my chances of separation.”

Silence that’s only broken up by the scratching of pen against paper followed, and Steve was suddenly anxious that he answered incorrectly. He answered what he would do if it were his own pup, but what if that wasn’t right? What if he wasn’t cut out for this job?

“Alright, next scenario,” Chrissy said, moving swiftly onto the next one without commenting on his answer; Steve didn’t know if he preferred her not acknowledging it or if he would prefer to be told his answer was shitty up front. The next few scenarios were just as oddly specific, but Steve answered them exactly as he did the first one. He tried to not overthink his answers too much because between each one there would be a stretch of time that Chrissy used to presumably write his answers down.

“One last question and then we should be good to move forward.” Chrissy said a good twenty minutes of questions later. “When would you be available to start working?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, surprised that he was seemingly, maybe being offered the job. “Um—immediately. I would need time to pack, but other than that, I’m free.”

“Wonderful,” Chrissy said cheerfully. “Alright, now it’s your turn. Do you have any questions for me?”

Steve hummed, trying to go through his usual list of questions he asked during interviews that hadn't already been answered and came up empty. “Not at the moment, but I’ll make sure to write any I think of down, if I do.”

“Perfect! So, I will consult with my client, and I have a few other applicants that are interested, but so far, you are my top pick, but I don’t make the decisions,” Chrissy laughed, as if Steve was in on the joke. He laughed with her, not knowing what else he should have done. So, maybe not a job offer, but it sounded promising anyway. “I will be in contact in a few days, three at most.”

“Sounds good, thank you so much for considering me, Chrissy,” he responded with a smile, hoping to leave one last good impression.

#whdbehsh i literally screamed when you followed me lexi #and then showed it to everyone i’m friends with in steddie #and was like ‘well now i GOTTA write an omegaverse fic’#snd they were like ‘well you don’t gotta’#and i was like ‘no i do. and i will.’#and then i did 😌#steve harrington #chrissy cunningham #eventually eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #pre steddie #tw a/b/o #tw omegaverse #oh heck also #mentions robin buckley #stuck in your throat #unsteddie writing

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fireflysymphony · 3 months

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Oh my god your Aventurine x Bodyguard!Reader so good I have to give you so many praises for that! But I have to ask… if you can may I please hear your thoughts on Aventurine with a Reader that he adores to take with him to the casinos as like a lucky charm but in reality he just absolutely loves to show off that they are partners, if that’s alright please and thank you! I hope you have a wonderful day today!

Aventurine showing off reader

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! I really enjoyed writing it, and seeing someone else appreciate it makes me really happy. Here are some of my thoughts! I just love this man an unhealthy amount. I hope you enjoy this <3

Word count: 1.6k

Content Warning: GN! Reader, suggestive but mostly a crazy blond and some fluff, mentions of alcohol, not proofread, hope you enjoy <3

Headcanons

Long before the two of you began to date, he’d take you to his casinos with the intention of scamming you out of your money and possibly getting you drunk and taking you home with him later that night.

He got it in his head that it would end up like one of those sexy pornos where once he gambled you out of all your money, he’d seductively lean down and whisper in your ear “All your money’s gone, a shame angel, but let’s have one more round, yeah? If I win again, you’ll have to pay me back with something more… intimate.” And then he’d win and take you home with him to get his “payment.”

It never ended like that though. You were either too smart to gamble with him, or your teary eyed, defeated face once he won for the third time in a row would break his heart in a way he didn’t like or fully understand, so he’d stop himself from sucking you dry of anymore cash. And the next day you would find the money you lost plus some extra back in your bank account. He hoped you never found out that your tears were the only thing to melt his heart in a long time.

If you so much as mentioned not going with him one day, you’re in store for another one of Aventurine’s famous tantrums. This is when the phrase “good luck charm” started getting thrown around. You jokingly told him to get another person who throws themselves at his feet to be his lucky charm, and he lost it.

“No, no, no! It’s you that I want with me, nobody else! You're my good charm, singular! Please, come with me, angel, please!”

You didn't know why because you thought that’s what he was doing anyway since he often canceled your casino dates. In reality though, when you weren’t with him at night, it was because of dangerous work he didn’t need you getting involved in.

Most people who visited the casinos regularly already thought you and Aventurine were dating for multiple reasons. He always had some part of him touching yours whether it be a hand on the small of your back or him leaning on you whenever he was a little tipsy or bored of a game. He never let you pay for anything while you were with him, and despite being a rich man who could definitely afford two cocktails, he’d much rather hold his up to your lips and watch you drink from his glass. Aventurine wouldn’t let anyone approach you, especially if it was someone he had to confront for work that night, and if anyone tried flirting with you, they’d be out of luck, out of money, and out of a life depending on Aventurine’s mood. He didn’t like things that belonged to him being touched or stolen.

Safe to say, most people had pretty good evidence to conclude that you and him were together.

As you can imagine, this only got worse when you became official partners since Aventurine didn’t have to hold anything back. Your seat wasn’t the one next to him anymore, it was in his lap. He didn’t need to hold himself back from kissing you, and conveniently he mostly did it when other people were watching him. Before each round of poker, he’d ask you for a good luck kiss to bless his hand which lasted a little too long for everyone’s— but his— comfort.

Pretty much everyone knew that you weren’t just a good luck charm but a prize for him to show off, and he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon. Anyone who knew what was good for them backed off from trying to pursue you, and those brave souls who didn’t were in for a treat because Aventurine LIKED having them stare…. When he was in a good mood anyway. Bad mood, jealous Aventurine was a different story, but he’s for another day.

“I like it when they look at you, dove.” “But they look at me like you do.” “Exactly. But I’m the only one who gets to have you, pretty thing.”

Right after kisses, his eyes go straight to find the men he knew were into you, wanting to see their disappointed faces. He’ll even let them chat you up before pulling you onto his lap and kissing you. To him, crushing them emotionally was far more entertaining than outright killing them. This only goes for when you’re dating though. As stated before, Aventurine hated the thought of someone taking what he owned, and since you didn’t know you were his yet, he had to dispose of anyone who thought they had a chance.

It hurt him that the only place he could show you off was at the casinos. He owned them, so nobody was going to try to harm you unless they were prepared for the weeks long torture he had in store, not even the IPC spies he knew were around were safe from his wrath. To the IPC, you were nothing more than one of Aventurine’s ordinary flings, and he wouldn’t let anyone see past that facade, even if he wanted to rub his relationship in Topaz or Ratio’s face.

—-

“You always win, so I don’t understand why you need me here every night, wouldn’t you rather bring someone who’s unfamiliar with your tricks to scam?” You asked him one night before the two of you were officially a couple. He took you up to one of the VIP rooms, a few people mingling and chatting over cards around you. The two of you got a couch to yourself, yet Aventurine had an arm around your waist, not allowing an inch of personal space despite the size of the sofa. Aventurine was bored of the easy fish at the casino tonight. The card shark didn’t like his prey to fall too easily unless it was you, but you weren’t interested in losing any more money to him tonight..

“No, I’ve told you before! You’ve never seen me lose before, doll. Isn’t it obvious why? Because you’re lucky!” He answered, taking a sip of his third glass of champagne. He acted a lot more honestly when he was tipsy, his conniving grin never left his lips though, so nobody could tell how serious he was. That was if he let himself get tipsy in front of anyone but you— which he didn’t. You were the sole one who got to hear his slightly slurred speech and, on particularly rough nights, his lack of inhibitions.

“If I’m so “lucky,” why haven’t I beat you yet?” You hummed, shivering at the amount of money he’s coerced you into betting, yet somehow you’re more well off now since you met him than ever before.

“Because you’re my good luck charm, you have to find your own; I’ve sucked you dry of all your lucky, so nobody else can have you.” He waved his hand in the air like it was the most obvious explanation in the world before leaning his head on your shoulder, his glasses sliding down his nose and letting you see his pretty shining eyes. “You’re only mine to have, do you understand that?”

All you could do was sigh and fix his glasses. He was prone to say stuff like this when he was drunk and when he was sober too but it was worse when you had a little alcohol in his veins. Aventurine’s normal flirting was so teasing that you could chalk it up to him being just that, a teasing flirt who did this with everyone, but when he was tipsy or drunk, a serious edge pierced his words, a large contrast from his usual over-the-top teasing. You couldn’t trust that either. “You’re drunk, Aventurine.”

“Maybe so, but you still don’t understand, doll.” He took off his glasses, tossing them next to his empty glass on the table. He laid himself down on your thighs, his head turned away from you to face the rest of the room. When he was normal sober Aventurine, you didn’t take his advances seriously, and when he was drunk, you still didn’t take him seriously. It was annoying! Did he just give up? Was this a bet lost?

Sensing an incoming tantrum you set your hand on his hair, playing with his blond locks. You bit your lip, already regretting the ego boost you were about to give him. “…Now that I think about it: maybe I do have a good luck charm.”

The way he jolted up gave you an idea of where this was going, so you braced yourself for the storm about to hit. Shit, pouting might have been easier to sit through.

“D’awwww! Lovemuffin, do you mean it?! Really?! Say it again! Come on, say it to me again!” He somehow wormed his way onto your lap, poking at your cheek in eagerness. His legs straddled your waist, and everyone in the small quiet space turned their heads to look at you.

“What are you doing? Stop, get off of me! no-no it isn't you!” You shrieked, batting his hands away from your face as you shook your head. Now you really regretted saying anything. “You’re making a scene!”

“Sure it isn’t! Aren’t you just the most adorable thing, such a sweetheart to little ol’ me!~” He threw his arms around you, resting his head in the crook of your neck. He took back everything he previously thought. No matter what you were going to be his! “But if I am your lucky charm, I don’t think I’m working. You always lose!”

“Shut up, Aventurine!” You grumbled, hugging him back with a tenderness your words didn’t hold. Was it possible his words weren’t all faked?

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this more fluffy Aventurine post! Whether it be the sexy or scrunkly menace, I hope you enjoy him! <3 thank you to the requester for this idea

Requests are open!

#star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #fluff #suggestive #aventurine #honkai star rail #star rail x reader #star rail

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

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Have you heard about this new scam the banks have going? No, I don’t mean all of global capitalism, because that will just take too long to write about in this word hole. What I’m talking about is the purchase of distressed debt.

When someone can’t pay their student debt, or health debt, or student lunch debt, the faceless institution who gave them the money will eventually give up on getting them to pay it. They turn around and sell the rights to that debt to some other faceless institution, one that can afford to put a little more effort into it. Eventually, they give up too, and turn around and sell the bad debt in a big soup of other bad debt to some other, even more vicious asshole, who will turn a profit if they can collect, like, seventeen bucks of it, because that’s what they paid.

On the face of it, this is kind of insulting. How can someone who paid seventeen bucks for your debt turn around and demand that you give them fifty grand for that university degree that taught you several French words for “butthole” but couldn’t help you find a job or even a grad student position? If you think about it a little more, however, this is a grand opportunity. A lot of well-meaning individuals are buying up this debt... and then forgiving it. If you can buy $50k worth of student debt for $17, ripping that shit up will give you a lot more than $17 worth of good karma. Which will maybe convince the universe to give you that small little bit of an edge the next time you need it – negotiating for a good deal on a shitbox, blowing past a state trooper doing a large integer multiple of the speed limit, or getting into some dicey times with a malevolent operator of a logging truck while you’re working on your first screenplay.

Correcting the impulses of usurious monsters sounded like a good idea to get into, in order to benefit the human race. Unfortunately, yours truly is not exactly a fiscal mastermind, and the Banking Types can see him coming from a mile away. Even if I were to hose off the old man stench and hair from a Brooks Brothers suit I found at Goodwill, they’d know instantly that it’s not this year’s style and clam up. This is, of course, where the ominously-named proxy corporation comes in. My shark of an attorney, Max, set one up for me just for the purpose of buying debt, and then doing the corporate equivalent of shitting itself to death. For just a few bucks that I would otherwise have spent on old Plymouths, I helped a couple people out with their struggles.

Did I do it for a good reason? No. Am I telling you this to brag about it? Absolutely not. Is this a big, complicated story, intended to distract you from writing that ticket just long enough for my accomplice to finish cutting the transmission out of your patrol cruiser? You’ll have a lot of time on the walk home to think about it, officer.

#best of

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thegoldencontracts · 20 days

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(Not) A Love Triangle

Summary: The rumors say you and Azul are in a love triangle with Jamil. Little do they know, that's not the case.

This idea is not mine, it's by @quartztwst - what if you and azul think the other likes jamil but you're both actually jealous of him and he hates his life?

“Oh, Jamil-san!”

“Hey, Jamil!”

“Dearest Jamil-san, you really ought to join Octavinelle someday.”

“Come on, Jamil, old buddy old pal, don’t give that guy the time of day. You should look at my epic ideas instead!”

This was the life of Jamil Viper, and he absolutely hated it. You and Azul Ashengrotto were both constantly pursuing him.

“Hey Jamil, why don’t you come over to my room sometime?”

“Dearest Jamil-san, do refrain from giving that cretin the time of day. Octavinelle’s lounge is far better than that musky old place.”

People had spread rumors, rumors about you two both liking him because, well, of course they did. The universe just couldn’t let Jamil Viper have nice things.

It was a love triangle, or so they said. Azul and you were both fighting over them, bickering, and the student body was enamored. One particularly enthusiastic student even made a small manga one-off that was quickly hailed as the hold grail of Night Raven drama.

But there was one thing that those fools didn’t realize.

Neither of you liked him. You both thought the other liked him, and so you attempted to get him away from the other so they’d stop liking him. You two didn’t react like most jealous individuals did, because the universe simply had to throw another inconvenience the way of Jamil Viper. What had he done to deserve all this?

Even when you two weren’t near him, he still couldn’t get a single break.

“Look!” Ace said to you, pointing at Azul with an impish grin. “It’s your crush. Aren’t you going over there and shoot your shot?”

“S-Shut up!” You said. “He’ll overhear, and- besides, he doesn’t like me. Everyone knows he likes Jamil.”

You seemed to deflate at the mention of Azul liking him, and if it weren’t for how wrong you were, perhaps a teensy part of Jamil would’ve actually felt bad.

No. He didn’t have time to feel bad. The only person here to feel sorry for was himself.

But this was getting annoying, so he tried to avoid looking at you — he didn’t want to hear anything else about your little romance.

That didn’t work out.

“Hey, Azul,” Floyd drawled, slipping an arm over Azul’s shoulder. “You gonna confess to your little grouper fish anytime soon?”

Floyd had even changed your nickname to that of a creature symbiotic with octopi! It was so clear you two liked each other and not him. And yet, no one but him - and maybe the twins - seemed to realize it.

“S-Shut it!” His response was so similar to yours it was driving Jamil crazy. “I don’t like- well, er-“

Realizing there was no defense for himself, he buried his face in his hands, cheeks red.

If he wasn’t such a pain, Jamil would almost find it cute. But Azul was a snivelling nincompoop,

“It doesn’t matter,“ he said, voice muffled. “My love couldn’t possibly be requited, not when Jamil’s right there!“

Azul’s ego was like a balloon, truly — appearing large and imposing, but small in volume and easily burst. Jamil had never seen someone more insecure.

Pathetic.

He didn’t have the time for this.

“Let’s go, Kalim,” he said, and almost instantly, the two of you perked up.

“May I assist you, Jamil-san?”

“Don’t look at him, I’m a way better pick! At least I’m not trying to scam you and kill your grandma!”

“I resent that accusation. In fact, I’ve never killed a grandmother in my life! I am a very respectful and law-abiding-“

“Yap yap. Now, go. Jamil deserves better.”

“Than you, yes.”

Any pity in his heart was immediately stamped out. Of course, the two of you couldn’t allow him a moment of peace.

Of course.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #gn reader #azul #azul ashengrotto x you #twst azul

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kp777 · 6 months

Text

By Thom Hartmann

Common Dreams

Nov. 16, 2023

What baffles me is why a TV news personality who earns $2.9 million a year would go to such lengths to avoid even mentioning a solution that’s been signed onto repeatedly by virtually every Democrat in Congress for over a decade.

Why did NBC’s Kristen Welker use an incomplete frame for her question about Social Security at last week’s GOP debate, and why didn’t Lester Holt or anybody else correct her?

Here’s her question:

KRISTEN WELKER: “Americans could see their Social Security benefits drastically cut in the next decade because the program is running out of money. Former President Trump has said quote, ‘Under no circumstances should Republicans cut entitlements.’ Governor Christie, first to you, you have proposed raising the retirement age for younger Americans. What would that age be specifically, and would you consider making any other reforms to Social Security?”

The simple reality is that if a person earns $160,200 a year or less, they pay a 6.2% tax on all of their income. In other words, a person making exactly $160,200 pays $9,932.40 (6.2%) in Social Security taxes.

If you earn $12,000 a year, $56,000 a year, $98,000 a year, or anything under $160,200 a year, you also pay 6.2 cents of tax toward Social Security on every single dollar you earn. If you made $10,000 last year, you pay $620 in Social Security taxes: 6.2 percent. Like the old saying about death and taxes, you can’t avoid it.

BUT those people who make over $160,200 a year pay absolutely nothing — no tax whatsoever — to fund Social Security on every dollar they earn over that amount. After Warren Buffett or Mark Zuckerberg or Jeff Bezos pay their $9,932.40 in Social Security taxes on that first $160,200 they took home on the first day of January, every other dollar they take home for the rest of the year is completely Social Security tax-free.

If somebody makes $1,602,000, for example, it would seem fair that, like every other American, they’d pay the same 6.2% ($99,324) in Social Security taxes. But, no: they only pay the $9,932.40 and after that they get to ride tax-free.

If somebody earned $16,020,000 it would seem fair that they’d pay the same 6.2% to support Social Security as 96 percent of Americans do, but no. Instead of paying $1,004,400 in taxes, they only pay $9,932.40.

Hedge fund guys who make a billion a year — yes, there are several of them — can certainly afford to pay 6.2% to keep Social Security solvent. At that rate, they’d be paying $62 million on a billion-dollar income in Social Security taxes as their fair share of maintaining America’s social contract.

But, because the tax rate is capped to “protect” the morbidly rich while sticking the rest of us with the full bill for Social Security, those titans of Wall Street pay the same $9,932.40 as the doctor who lives down the street from you and earns $160,200 a year.

This is, to use the economic technical term, nuts.

And, while every wealthy person in America knows all about this because it’s such a huge benefit to them, I’ll bet fewer than five percent of Americans know how this scam for the rich works. (I searched diligently, but couldn’t find a single survey that asked average folks if they knew about the cap.)

There is no other tax in America that works like this. Most have loopholes designed to promote specific socially desirable goals, like the deductibility of home mortgage interest or children, but no other tax is designed so that anybody earning over $160,200 is completely exempt and no longer has to pay a penny after their first nine thousand or so dollars.

And here’s where it gets really bizarre: if millionaires and billionaires paid the exact same 6.2% into Social Security that most of the rest of us do (and paid it on their investment income, which is also 100% exempt today), the program would not only be solvent for the next 75 years, but it would have so much extra cash that everybody on Social Security could get a significant raise in their monthly benefit payments.

But because America’s morbidly rich don’t want to pay their share for keeping Social Security solvent, Republicans are having a debate about how badly they can screw working class retirees.

They ask:

“Shall we cut the Social Security payments?”

“How about raising the retirement age from 67 (Reagan raised it from 65 to 67) to 70 or even 72?”

“Or maybe we should just hand the entire thing off to JPMorgan or Wells Fargo and let them run it, like we’re doing with Medicare? We could call it Social Security Advantage!”

“Or how about turning Social Security into a welfare program by ‘means testing’ it, so rich people can’t draw from it and every budget year it can become a political football for the GOP like food stamps or WIC?”

Responding to Welker’s severely incomplete question, Chris Christie hit all four:

GOVERNOR CHRISTIE: “Sure, and we have to deal with this problem. Now look, if we raise the retirement age a few years for folks that are in their thirties and forties, I have a son who’s in the audience tonight who’s 30 years old. If he can’t adjust to a few year increase in Social Security retirement age over the next 40 years, I got bigger problems with him than his Social Security payments. “And the fact is we need to be realistic about this. There are only three things that go into determining whether Social Security can be solvent or not. Retirement age, eligibility for the program in general, and taxes. That’s it. We are already overtaxed in this country and we should not raise those taxes. But on eligibility also, I don’t know if out there tonight and if you’re watching Warren, I don’t know if Warren Buffett is collecting Social Security, but if he is, shame on you. You shouldn’t be taking the money.”

Christie was the only one of the five Republicans on the stage who even dared mention taxes.

Nikki Haley said:

“So first of all, any candidate that tells you that they’re not going to take on entitlements, is not being serious. Social Security will go bankrupt in 10 years, Medicare will go bankrupt in eight.”

Neither of those assertions are even remotely true, but, of course, this was a GOP debate. She continued:

“But for like my kids in their twenties, you go and you say we’re going to change the rules, you change the retirement age for them. Instead of cost of living increases, we should go to increases based on inflation. We should limit benefits on the wealthy.”

Her other solution, apropos of nothing, was to end government responsibility for Medicare and privatize the entire program by shutting down real Medicare and throwing us all to the tender mercies of the health insurance billionaires:

“And then expand Medicare Advantage plans. Seniors love that and let’s make sure we do that so that they can have more competition. That’s how we’ll deal with entitlement reform and that’s how we’ll start to pay down this debt.”

Ramaswamy’s answer was so incoherent and off-topic I won’t repeat it here. Suffice it to say he rambled on about the cost of foreign wars (Ukraine, Israel) “that many blood-thirsty members of both parties have a hunger for.” Apparently, Vivek doesn’t realize that Social Security isn’t part of our government’s overall budget but has its own segregated funds and trust fund.

Since it’s creation in 1935, Social Security never has and never will contribute to the budget deficit or influence any other kind of government spending.

Tim Scott said we should take a cue from Reagan, Bush, and Trump and just cut billionaires’ income taxes again because that does such a great job of stimulating the economy (not) and then claw back the inflation-based raises people on Social Security have received the past three years.

“Number two, you have to cut taxes. … So what we know is that the Laffer Curve still works, for the lower the tax, the higher the revenue. And finally, if we’re going to deal with it, we have to take our annual appropriations back to pre-2020, pre-COVID levels of spending, which would save us about a half a trillion dollars in the next budget window. By doing that, we deal with Social Security and our mandatory spending.”

DeSantis was equally incoherent, also refusing to answer the question about raising the retirement age and completely avoiding any mention of the sweetheart deal his billionaire donors get on their Social Security taxes. Instead, he said we needed to get inflation under control and stop Congress from “taking money from Social Security,” something Congress has never done and legally never will be able to do.

All this incoherence aside, Republicans appear to have a plan to deal with Social Security.

House Speaker MAGA Mike Johnson has been pushing a “Catfood Commission” just like Reagan’s 1983 commission that raised the retirement age to 67, reaffirmed the cap on taxes, and made Social Security checks taxable as income. He no doubt expects his commissioners will provide “recommendations” Republicans can run with to cut benefits without raising taxes on their billionaire donors, all while blaming it on the commissioners just like Reagan did in 1983.

When Johnson said that his “top priority” was creating such a commission “immediately” and that his Republican colleagues had responded to the idea “with great enthusiasm,” Democrats on the House Ways and Means Committee responded on Xitter:

“A week into his tenure, MAGA Mike Johnson is ALREADY calling for closed-door cuts to the Social Security and Medicare benefits American workers have earned through decades of hard work.”

But back to the original question. I understand why Republicans refuse to even consider lifting the cap on Social Security taxes so their morbidly rich donors won’t have to start paying their fair share of Social Security to keep the program solvent.

I’ve been watching Kristen Welker on television for years, and she’s generally been a pretty straight shooter as a reporter. Ditto for Lester Holt, who sat right beside her. This, frankly, astonished me.

Were they afraid Republicans would exact revenge on them if they raised the question of the tax cap?

Or was it precisely because they’re making millions, just like most of the executives they answer to?

More broadly, is this why we almost never hear any discussion whatsoever in the media — populated with other news stars who also make millions a year, managed by millionaire network executives — about lifting the cap?

One hopes the answer isn’t that crass...

Our work is licensed under Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0). Feel free to republish and share widely.

#social security #social security tax #social safety net #republicans #republican party #corporate media #journalism #2024 presidential election

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kyra45 · 3 months

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A reminder that scammers are using the situation in Palestine to make a quick buck by stealing images off news sources passing it off as their own or even taking images from real people there and using it as theirs. They are finding public fundraisers on Facebook or elsewhere and saving it to use for themselves. Scammers do not care about what’s happening there; They only want to make money without caring who’s getting affected by it and making it more difficult for Palestine people to get the support they’re needing.

These scammers pretend they’re from Palestine or say their family is in Palestine and usually use a story that sounds real enough but may seem slightly flawed. They may be going around sending DMs asking for donations in private instead and their posts often have a Linktree link to obscure their PayPal. This is a recent development due to their scams getting called out so often they’ve tried to hide it but keep doing the same thing several times over. However, this isn’t to say everyone who uses that is scamming and most of the time these scammers don’t have any other link on it meaning it’s only purpose is to try and hide the PayPal link out of sight but it also means you can track where it appears! Usually a scam account will reuse links across their blogs and give away their scam.

Additionally, these scammers claiming to be in Palestine/have a family in Palestine often will insist they do what they’re doing for safety reasons if you start asking them questions about their methods. They’ll start getting details wrong, make excuses, and then tell you that you just don’t understand anything at all and that you’re attacking them because you just asked a few simple questions. There has been a case of a scammer who used photos of an American family in a hospital claiming they were in Palestine.

Unfortunately, these scams will only get more numerous in time and the scammers will try to profit off of it since there’s plenty of footage they can claim as their own and plenty of images/stories to steal and pass on as theirs. They will not tell you anything with honesty and will continue to lie for as long as they’d like. They don’t stop when called out and usually just change usernames at a rapid pace and block anyone who comments on their posts saying they’re a scammer.

As a result, here is some suggestions:

1. Donate only to verified sources that are confirmed to be going towards Palestine

2. Donate only to accounts who is verified to be someone who is a Palestine resident usually via other users who know them well

3. Always be wary of DMs from complete strangers asking for money on the spot if it’s a brand new account though older ones pop up trying scams too

4. Ask questions to those who send you DMs that only someone in Palestine would know the answer to. See what they know and how well they reply or see if they stop talking to you the instant you ask them anything. Alternatively, ask for their paypal-me link and see if they’re willing to give it to you. Type it into search and see where it goes. Pay attention to the country, the persons name, and the images they have. Record it for archiving purposes

5. Just be wary of asks sent that claim to be someone in Palestine/have a family in Palestine. As far as I know and can tell, these asks are rarely from legitimate users needing support but that’s not to say they’re all scams some may be real people

Overall, just please be careful out there and pay attention to where your money will go. Make sure it’s a verified support method and ensure the funds are going to who needs it. There are links out there that go to legitimate places, and users are free to share this and add them if they’d like.

#Palestine #scam #how to spot a scam blog #psa #important information #longpost #long post

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luvring · 7 months

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ASTROLOGY BOT

1.2k words, just timeskip akaashi overthinking and crushing on gn!reader. LOL

akaashi has always considered himself ‘on the fence’ when it comes to superstitions and signs from the universe.

he might say ghosts aren’t real, but never goes near a supposedly haunted site just in case. he’ll ignore videos titled “for you” if he can’t relate, say it must have been a sign only after something goes wrong, and never acts on them even if he knows he has to.

but he can’t deny that he thinks about it throughout the day when it’s something he hopes is true—that maybe he’s tried out a few filters and trends to see if you, his crush of way too long, were his soulmate.

it’s bokuto this time, though, that sends him a sign.

a tweet, really.

an astrology bot on twitter that tweeted 17 minutes ago— “sagittarius, tell them you like them. they like you, too.”

AKAASHI!!!

i told you!!!

i turned their post notifications on to see if they’d say anything funny again and LOOK!!!!

keiji watches his friend’s texts come in through as notifications, eyes mostly fixed on the tweet, re-reading it over and over.

it’s a minute before he texts back.

it’s just a bot bokuto

it doesn’t actually mean anything

but bokuto is typing replies in mere seconds,

awwwww come on :((

remember when they were like

be careful virgo they don’t have the best intentions >:(

and IT WAS ABOUT ME ALMOST GETTING SCAMMED!! THEY STOPPED A SCAM!!! O____O

whats the worst thing that could happen???

i mean.. well…at least the worst thing that could happen ISNT u losing a bunch of money T_____T

imagine if u lost hundreds of dollars bc u confessed ;——; scary…

keiji breathes out a laugh.

i won’t lose hundreds of dollars but it’d haunt me for the rest of my life like every other embarrassing thing that’s ever happened and u know that

but thank you

i’ll think about telling them

he’s vaguely aware of bokuto sending another text with his name in all caps before he turns off his phone. it lands somewhere beside him on his comforter, and he takes off his glasses if only to run his hands down his face.

there’s a feeling he gets, akin to both butterflies and a 10 meter drop, when one of these bots decides to let his imagination get away from him.

for a few minutes keiji lets himself think it might be true, and that you think about going on dates with him the same way he does with you.

the latest idea he had was taking you to a new board game cafe that had opened nearby. he had skipped then swiped back up to its ad—a perfect spot for couples looking to spice up a regular cafe date!

he hadn’t closed his curtains properly that night, and the moon lit up his room while he stared at the ceiling. would you be competitive? would you rather play a co-op game?

would you see him sipping on his drink, and ask to have a taste?

he thought about how he might accidentally have some foam above his lip, and how you’d softly laugh before tapping above your own to signal his appearance. he cringed at the possible humiliation of looking silly in front of you, but it went away with the foam you’d gently swipe with your thumb, or maybe even hold his face to kiss away instead. you’d tease him and say it was as sweet as him.

but it’s nonsensical.

as far as keiji knows, whoever runs the account is using a random generator to pick a sign and bullshitting every tweet in their drafts.

it’s almost always only a sentence anyway.

but does that mean it’s a sign that this one was two?

keiji forces himself to stop thinking and takes a deep breath, letting the warmth hit his palms still covering his face. silence washes over him, and he lets his ears focus on the traffic outside, and the sound of the washing machine running a couple of rooms away.

but then he thinks about you. and he scrunches his eyes shut and groans, hands moving to grip his hair before he rolls over onto his stomach.

there’s a thud as his phone hits the ground while he pulls the blanket to cover his head.

sagittarius, tell them you like them. they like you, too.

not just tell them you like them, as if it was a shove to be courageous for once, but they like you, too.

did you like him, too?

was he good enough for you to like him?

did you hate him?

was he going to trust an astrology bot as uninformed about your feelings as he was?

maybe more importantly, was he going to let a bot dictate whether he finally confesses to you after almost a year of pining? a year based on the fact that one day you held the elevator door open for him with a smile and already knew what floor he needed?

(you had noticed him as the new employee, though he didn’t notice you while busy getting used to his job. he made sure to note the fact you got off the floor above him so he could press the button for you next time.)

and keiji doesn’t really believe in signs or the supernatural. he doesn’t want to let himself, because if he does then there’s probably a ghost in that shut-down building on his way to work, he’s gotten himself twenty years of bad luck, and he’s big enough of a coward that the universe decided to take it upon itself to tell him that itself.

but he’s hiding under his blanket when the absurdity of it all hits him—the anxiety and what-ifs and pretending he didn’t know you liked going for lunch a little earlier than him, and that he didn’t plan his break to say hello—and he feels like he’s sixteen again.

and maybe if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to feel other than being rejected, he thinks it’s being sixteen again.

so he jolts up.

and somewhere, in the back of his mind, keiji wonders if the universe jolted up with him, excited to see where this goes.

adrenaline working, he reaches for his glasses and fumbles to put them on with one hand while the other feels the floor to find his phone. the bright screen makes him squint, and the notification of bokuto’s “AKAASHIII :((” welcomes him before anything else.

sagittarius, tell them you like them. they like you too.

the tweet seems to be engraving itself into his mind as his shaky fingers hold his phone, and he taps your icon.

he skims the last text you had sent,

thanks keiji!! i’ll see u tomorrow then :) and remember we get off early!

it's a little embarrassing how his chest tightens at you his name and a smiley face. but he goes to type one himself, spending a second to mentally tell the astrology account they’re changing lives, but nothing more or else he thinks he might throw up—

btw if you’re free, did you want to grab food after work? there’s a cafe i wanted to check out with you :)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #akaashi x reader #akaashi fluff #haikyuu x gn!reader #hmm.... going 2 make a ramble post 4 this

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lisafication · 6 months

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Digging Graves for your Morals; Or, The Ethical Problem of Outlawry

Hello, yes, I am here again. This one is shorter, I swear (it’s under four thousand words, even). If this is the first post from me you’re seeing, this is a follow-up to my prior essay posted here on the game The Coffin of Andy and Leyley, although it should be able to mostly stand alone.

At the end of my last essay, I touched on both the game’s nearly uncompromising moral scepticism and relativity, but I didn’t really dig into it. I outlined that the game only textually frames actions as ‘morally bad’ in the context of a morality set by the society and the world that has treated them as no better than farm animals raised for the slaughter. Well, I have a lot to say on the topic of ethics on the topic of The Coffin of Andy and Leyley, so buckle in, this one’s going to talk about the social contract, moral scepticism and everyone’s favourite topic: Mrs. Graves.

As usual, this was originally posted and formatted for on Sufficient Velocity and you can perhaps more easily read it there. Spoilers abound, and my content warning from last time still applies.

She’s not too hot on either ethics or her mother

The Meat of the Matter

Since a lot of this is optional or otherwise missable information, let’s review the premise the game gives us. If you’re already aware of all of this, I apologise, it won’t take long.

First off the bat, the quarantine at the start of the game was a hoax-driven money-making scheme of which you can pick up more-or-less all the relevant details of. This is entirely missable and by the time it’s possible to discover, our protagonists have better things to dwell on and have dialogue about, so I’ll give you a summary of what you can deduce from reading the notes and thinking about it.

The quarantine is an organ harvesting operation, as per some documents you can discover in the wardens’ office. They entrap the residents, test their blood types and starve to death those they deem surplus to requirements — alternatively the starvation itself could be their method of ‘preparing the harvest’, there’s evidence in both directions and it hardly matters — harvesting the organs of the others for sale. As our protagonists are AB-typed, the ‘universal recipient’ or ‘most selfish blood type’, they’re some of the first on the chopping block.

If you read through the newspapers and the documents in Mr. Washing Machine’s car, you can discover that ultimately ToxiSoda are responsible, and a similar thing is happening in a different city under the guise of a ‘chemical leak’. Should you further investigate matters, you will find mentions of the ‘man behind it all’, the doctor, or the Surgeon, as the fandom have been referring to him — you may recall Mrs. Graves mentioned someone similar! Yeah, he’s the guy who runs ToxiSoda, who are themselves partners with the water company that faked the parasite outbreak in the first place.

It’s all a life insurance scam, apparently

How much the details of the operation matter is something open to interpretation — it might just be something for players to figure out and Episode 3 will not cover the Surgeon at all, or he might play a major part; it's not particularly relevant to this essay. What matters is that it happened at all — indeed, it’s fairly easy to justify Ashley and Andrew in everything they did in Episode 1 (flashbacks aside), arguing that if they’d made any other decisions they’d have died — an argument that the victims dug their own graves, even if the Graves siblings put them in them. How correct that is is a matter of debate, but that you can make the argument at all matters, and we’ll be returning to this later. In my last essay (and again in the introduction here), I made an analogy to farm animals, raised without love and for slaughter. Let’s put a pin in the ‘for slaughter’ part for now and take a look at the ‘without love’ part.

That’s right, it’s time to meet the parents.

As Andrew notes, there are significantly more compelling reasons for you to say that

They Fuck You Up, Your Mum & Dad

They really do.

Our charming protagonists are, as with many things depicted in this game, an exaggerated, almost farcical example of this phenomenon — one that’s just grounded enough to still feel very real, just like the siblings themselves.

The late and lamentable Mrs. Graves is just the same: originally a teen mother, hopelessly out of depth with two difficult children — even if one was good at masking it — and an unreliable, emotionally unavailable (at least to their children) partner who can’t hold down a job, ends up foisting them off on each other and doing a Parental Negligence because she simply Cannot Cope. That’s the real part. The part where she gets paid off by an organ harvesting operation to leave them to die, that’s the borderline-farcical exaggeration that throws all the nooks and crannies of her character into sharp relief.

Mrs. Graves does not have a good relationship with either of her kids. Having self-admittedly fobbed the job of raising Ashley off on her son, to the degree that they did not even celebrate her birthday as kids, both of them hold differing degrees and types of resentment for her.

For Ashley, it’s hate — perhaps not quite so clear cut as that, as it’s her that calls for the eulogy and she shows some potential signs of discomfort while cleaning up her parents’ corpses, but by and large, it’s fairly simple and straightforward, as usual for Ashley. The sentiment is not exactly unreturned, either.

This brings Ashley’s heart great delight!

The most clear incident raising her from everyday ‘neglectful’ to ‘wow she wanted nothing to do with this kid’ is the optional ‘birthday cake’ scene, obtained by finding the present in Ashley’s first ‘transitory world’ dream, in which we see Ashley’s birthday and the founding of a lemon cupcake tradition between Leyley and Andy. She has received nothing from her family, notes that her ‘friends’ would say they were busy before she even told them the schedule and Andy takes her out to buy cupcakes with his pocket money.

This scene gets a callback in Andrew’s dream later. Just remember to Ask Nicely, rather than Kill Her.

Parents of the year, everyone.

So with Ashley it’s as straightforward and obvious as she herself is — she hates her mother, her mother hates her. With Andrew, as with Andrew himself, it’s a fair bit more complicated. His mother is a much more nuanced figure, who is believable in her role as an unfortunate teen parent who was trying her best. He has a degree of trust in her against, seemingly, his own good judgment In her conversation with Andrew, she acknowledges her fault in raising him and seemingly sincerely tries to offer him a ‘way out’, an olive branch.

I think many people have had relationships where they might say this

This scene in particular intrigues me, because she is acknowledging fault in a way that Andrew strictly avoids doing — and well, there’s nothing Andrew likes more than a good way to avoid acknowledging any fault of his own. With her dominant relationship over their father as a model for Andrew to draw comparisons to his own relationship with Ashley with, it’s no surprise that the narrative resonates with him to the point of ‘Accept’ being many people’s first completion.

Of course, that’s not all there is to it. There is a fascinating contrast with her later conversation with Ashley, where she — despite accusing Ashley of brainwashing Andrew — refers to Leyley and Andy as ‘two psychos’ and states that she always knew they were responsible for Nina’s death and that, implicitly, they owe her for not turning them in.

There's something about mother-daughter relationships here that I just do not have the time or reading to dig into, unfortunately.

Meanwhile, when Andrew interrogates her on her possession of their death certificates, she has… an interesting, plausible story about a life insurance scam and claims that she really did think they died in the fire, implicitly denying the claim that she sold them. It’s entirely possible that she’s describing the details of the ‘scam’ correctly — you can even buy that she genuinely does care for Andrew in some way, if not Ashley, but her claim about being an honest, grieving parent shocked at their deaths… doesn’t add up?

This is a very normal reaction to your supposedly dead children showing up in your house.

As Andrew himself notes after hearing her story, she’s full of shit. This gets into speculation, because there are a few ways to read this, but the most plausible ‘gist’ is that she and her partner were paid off in money and jobs to not raise a fuss — the surgeon she mentioned is almost certainly the founder of ToxiSoda, remember?

The overwhelming difference in presentation between how she speaks to Andrew and Ashley invites investigation — and when Andrew turns down her offer and tells her he isn’t interested in her offer in Decline, her reaction isn’t… despair, it’s shock — and well, there’s a good reason for that.

Why do you think she did it in the first place?

This is the happiest we see her

Well — it’s so she can finally fit into society. That white picket fence, that idyllic 1950s life — hell you can call it the American Dream. She wants that, or as close to it as she can get — the working-class teen mother, living in poverty, aspiring to the middle-class. It’s a very common, very real and very grounded motivation.

And to that end, she effectively sold off her children. It’s no wonder she can’t fathom why Andrew wouldn’t choose the same.

That’s the part that makes you think — just like the deaths in Episode 1, well- maybe the siblings are justified here, too. It’s a weaker argument, but it’s still one you can make under many common moral paradigms today — what goes around comes around, all that jazz. Just look at how awful she was to Ashley.

She’s finally found what she’s been striving for.

Here’s the thing, here’s the thing though — what, reasonably, could she have done? Andrew and Ashley briefly highlight this in conversation about Ashley’s ‘friends’ in Episode 1 — was she supposed to fight gunmen to try and break them out? Throw food to the balcony from four stories?

Moreover, as she herself says to Andrew… would anyone really have been able to do better than her in her position? She was seventeen when Ashley was born, living in poverty with a partner who couldn’t even remember Andrew’s name when he was a kid. Anyone would have had difficulty, let alone with these kids.

Her evils are — they’re not any deliberate action, but rather… prompted inaction. She didn’t have the emotional energy, resources or plain capability to properly parent her children, she didn’t have any solutions to their murder of Nina in a state so blatantly hostile to its underclass, she didn’t have a way to connect with Ashley and she took the money rather than fight a futile and likely suicidal battle against a corporation and its armed goons in a dystopian setting.

Ashley, notably, does not deny this.

Her sin is the one we’re all, I think, guilty of — that of not trying hard enough, that of inaction in the face of difficult tasks, of not standing up on principle because it’s just too much that day and you don’t have the spoons, you’ll do it tomorrow (no you won’t). It’s a petty, everyday kind of evil — that of not doing enough.

Is that enough to condemn her? Certainly, there’s a pretty manipulative read of her that likely has some truth to it — in the locked door in Ashley’s dream in ‘Decay’ you can discover that she has a ‘not-hatched’ tar soul — but consider that lens — the game won’t make up your mind for you, so you’ll need to choose that for yourself.

The dad is interesting in terms of negative space — but he’s mostly important in that he doesn’t matter, so I decided to not fit him in here. He has art, though — just no sprite, because, well, he’s never mattered to either sibling.

The Contract We Call Society

Right, it’s time to get a little bit Theoretical in here. Not much, but a little. Social contract theory is a complex topic with a lot of nuance, much of which I will be eliding in the name of not writing a twenty thousand word paper on semiotics, law, and anthropology, but the short analogy is… the idea that as long as you play by society’s rules, as long as you are a good citizen, a good person, the state, or the community, will take care of you.

In a number of ways, the harshest penalty levied by many historical states and legal codes was not death, but rather the criminal status of outlawry, a practice that’s cropped up a number of times in history — the practice of no longer being protected by the law. This meant one could be killed or worse with impunity — you were no longer protected by mob justice and, while overexaggerated as a term of reference, certain texts from Medieval England refer to outlaws as bearing a wolfshead, ‘for the wolf is a beast hated by all folk’. Never minding that wolves are actually delightful, this was a time when wolves were actively hunted and sold by people — and the same was intended to happen to outlaws. They were ‘fair targets’ as far as society was concerned, no longer to be treated as your fellow citizens.

This was the gravest punishment on the books, for most of these legal codes — something saved for those who had broken the social contract so completely that there could be no turning back (civil outlawry is… a bit different, that’s not the topic here). Among others, a modern critique of the concept is that it offers no incentive for improvement, no incentive to change or to cease harming society — if an outlaw has none of the social contract’s protections, what reason do they have to obey… any of the social contract? If that seems familiar, well, let me ask you this:

What if the state or community fails its end first? What responsibility does the innocent outlaw have to that contract?

It’s an interesting phrasing, that the world is better off.

It’s time to talk about the incest, and part of why it’s there. The cannibalism too, but that’s less impactful here. If you’ve seen me elsewhere, you might have seen me say that the incest is a load-bearing narrative pillar — in large part due to it being a critical facet of the siblings’ relationship, but in another large part due to it being an equally critical part of how the game uses taboo.

A taboo is in this context something that is considered repulsive and to be avoided by society. It’s a more complex term than that — you can also use it for certain sacred actions or utterances that are only permitted to certain people, for example — but that’s what it is here. Swearing, premarital sex, BDSM and murder are, approximately from weak to strong, some example taboos held in modern Anglospheric society.

Strong taboos are a staple of horror — they shock, they disgust, they draw people’s attention and it’s that last one that’s critical here. Incest is a very strong taboo — while I am absolutely not segueing into its historical context, the very well-established Westermarck effect gives it a certain timelessness and immunity to desensitisation that most other taboos don’t have — murder, to contrast, is a taboo we’re largely desensitised to in modern media and works of modern media have to put in actual work to make a murder seem horrifying — through atmosphere, cinematography, evocative prose etc.

And this is important because the use of taboo I’m covering in this essay is that the incest is used to invite judgment — it is so ingrained as a ‘wrong thing’ in people’s brains almost regardless of background that it forces the player to engage with the work morally. And that’s where the fun starts.

I’ve mentioned before, very briefly, about the juxtaposition of tone between the Burial & Decay endings, contrasting with the very monstrous difference in morality. Burial is remarkably light-hearted — they play around with the drain blockage, they joke about their mother’s personality and this is further exaggerated on the Love path, where Andrew is much more comfortable with casual contact and the two make a game out of how far they can throw their parents’ skulls, the humour is directly contrasted against their abhorrent actions.

I’ll be real Ashley is far more merciful than I, I’m shuddering at the thought of that gunk in my hair

In comparison, Decay is… bleak. I’ve seen it being referred to as being ‘emotionally sandblasted’ and, yeah I think that’s fair — it’s uncomfortable, it’s heavy and it’s just not fun. And this is the route in which, if you chose Trust into Accept, Andrew has bought into the narrative that his mother’s offered — that he can fit just fine into society if he wasn’t stuck, if not for Ashley — the route that ‘fits’ most closely to the social contract, to Andrew feeling the guilt that we think he should and hating the monsters that they’ve become, as the social contract deems them. Given the pains the game takes to attach the player to the protagonists, this normative moral ending is very easily interpreted as the bad ending.

And well, isn’t it?

Thing is, as mentioned above, the social contract has never held up its end for them. The game takes careful pains to point out to a viewer that they’ve never had the life that society promises people, so why do its moral standards apply?

The game invites you to judge the characters, and in the same motion, asks you from what principles you judge them, making a pretty good guess in that, like most people who haven’t spent a large amount of time navel-gazing and reading some very boring books by very dusty old men, they come from the society around you.

Love even has Ashley express this sentiment directly after the incestuous dream — she asks you — well, Andrew, but this is also something for the player to mull over — why this is what’s engaged your morality or sense of revulsion, rather than the desecration, cannibalism or murder.

Andrew and Ashley are both very funny and very fascinating in this scene.

And that’s the framing that it casts all of its own moral judgement in — even the ‘tar-soul’ aspect is… well, it’s unclear what it even means. Mrs. Graves was a ‘not-hatched’ tar soul, after all. Other than that, it’s society and the world being better off without them, rather than any kind of assertion of objective morality. Due to the present of ‘soul colour’, we’ll presumably see the game make some moral statements in Episode 3, but as it stands?

It’s nearly completely morally sceptical, in and of itself — it’s not interested in moral assertions or education, it’s interested in making you question your own morals. Deconstructive (not that kind), rather than dialectic, to be mildly pretentious.

It uses taboo and shock to invite moral judgement, but then uses tone, charm and our instinct to look for the happiest end for our blorbos to get you to recognise that these are principles you yourself brought into the game, rather than any it’s handed you.

To summarise: you’ve brought these principles in from society, but what do the siblings, the protagonists, the villains to the world, owe society? Enough that they should follow them? It failed them first, after all.

Closing Thoughts

This one is a bit less energetic than the last, tragically — my sleeping schedule is the stuff of nightmares recently, I love windy weather. Wait, no the opposite. Huge thank you to everyone who commented on the last one, you are the wind beneath my wings and the main reason I managed to get this out this week.

This essay is a bit more interpretative than my last one — certainly, there are alternative readings and I’ve been toying with the idea of deliberately taking a reading I don’t like very much and writing from that perspective as a demonstrative exercise recently — mostly that you shouldn’t just take my word for things!

Otherwise, if the last bit at the end seemed murky, I apologise — I did try to write a more detailed version, but firstly, it was three thousand words and secondly, I re-read it the next day and I could not understand what the fuck I was talking about. Personally, I blame Derrida — suffice to say that I strongly recommend playing through it with an eye towards considering culpability, morality and why you think certain characters are more or less forgivable than others, and for what deeds. See what you get out of it.

I managed to keep one particular thread open to wrap up with here — I try to keep speculation on Episode 3 content to a minimum in the main essays, but it should be fine here — you might have noticed that I refer to Episode 1 and Episode 2 being on something of a spectrum of justifiability, with the siblings’ actions being ‘more’ justifiable in Episode 1 and ‘less’ justifiable — but still justifiable if you try — in Episode 2.

To continue the thought of the happiest ending being the one in which they step the furthest away from common morality and to further jar the viewers’ sense of morality by contrasting societal morality and blorbo-oriented morality, Episode 3: Burial could continue this trend in having a major victim be someone who, well, has done nothing wrong and isn’t even guilty of bystander syndrome.

I wonder if there’s any good candidates, someone who’s sweet, harmless and will indisputably be an innocent victim…

…I’m sure she’ll be fine

#the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #analysis #essay #ashley graves #andrew graves #mrs graves #nnnnot sure what the next topic will be #might do a deranged take on purpose #this one and the last one have been very grounded #I'll get to my asks tomorrow #probably #I've been busy sorry

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gingerlurk · 28 days

Text

Honey

Din Djarin x f!Reader

A Lovers' Crest one-shot (Here's its Masterlist)

Summary: You and the Mandalorian hatch a plan to trap an elusive bounty. And Din Djarin absolutely hates it. Until he doesn't.

[Or, the characters from Lovers' Crest have a little post-story adventure! Can be read standalone.]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pwp, unprotected piv (be safe), creampie, semi-public sex, (there's an unconscious guy in the room), established relationship, Din lifts you but damn he is a strong strong man, Reader described: wearing a dress, heels, having longish hair, does a lil pole dance. I know this isn't how a 'honey pot' situation works but oh well it's just a bit of fun.

A/N: What's this? It's the first fic I ever wrote. Posted to AO3 in June last year. No idea if it's anything anymore, but it dragged me out of a desperate writing slump - and led me to write the longer fic - so I will always feel affection for it.

‘No.’

‘Oh, come on!’

‘I said no!’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t like it. It’s not a good idea.’

‘It’s a great idea. And… all we’ve got.’

So, Din Djarin sits in an upscale-style club sharing a table with Mythrol mobster Earl Gorstrik.

The crime boss has been an elusive target for months, and a royal headache for Greef Karga. Taking out shipments of essentials, extorting construction projects and all manner of agency rackets, Gorstrik’s activities had pushed poor old Greef into upping the reward to nearly double.

‘Just get this fucker out of my business, please,’ Greef had begged him last time they’d dropped into town.

Then you had proposed an idea that had set his blood to boil, a constant roll that continued to this very moment. He’d remained unconvinced by the whole plan, but especially by your assertion that you would be sure to ‘really make it worth his while’. Din is dubious.

He doesn’t even get to have Grogu for company. This is not a child-friendly mission.

Gorstrik is yammering in his ear.

‘Seriously, Mando,’ he slurs. ‘I’m so glad a man of your calibre recognises the value of partnering with my… endeavours…’

Din is barely taking it in. Why are these types always so verbose? He mutters something about ‘needing to expand prospects’ and that sets the mob boss off to wax lyrical about property scams.

Din swears he’s going to ditch this whole, terrible attempt, when the music pounding in every corner of the place transitions to one of heavy bass and soaring synths.

Earl Gorstrik slaps at Din’s shoulder. ‘Oh excellent! It’s starting. Ever been to one of these Mando? No, bet not. Haha! Sit back and enjoy!’

Lights dance on the raised catwalk that dominates the middle of the room. Long, shiny polls descend from above, dropping within arm’s reach of the stage. A tall, lovely twi’lek female struts into view. Skin-tight body suit and stratospheric pumps. She reaches up to a poll and spins, smiling at the whooping and hollering rising from the patronage.

A short, sultry routine ends as the poll she holds rises back toward the ceiling. Din follows it, and her, up to spy the lofted gang plank that vanishes into an upper area.

Gorstrik leans into Din’s space.

‘You like that?’ he breathes. ‘Best part? If you spot someone you really like, you can arrange your own little meeting. Heh, up there,’ he points to the disappearing legs of the performer. ‘Just wave down a tender.’

Two human males saunter to neighbouring polls. They look to be twins. A stunning display of athleticism and strength concludes as they too rise upwards. Din spots several hands frantically waving at the establishment’s staff.

Fed up, Din is about to take his leave – to go find you – when a vision walks onto the stage and sucks all the air from his lungs. He’s locked rigid in his seat and his cock swells so fast it’s almost painful.

An adept lighting droid starts with revealing a pair of black, luxurious stilettos that step with languid grace down the catwalk. Silhouetted legs are shown to be bare as they curve up, all the way up – impossibly far – to the hem of a scant black dress. Deliciously tight and hugging every single curve.

Reaching the pole at the very end of the stage, the vision twists to face away from the crowd and is lit up all at once. The Mandalorian’s eyes are wide and his mouth has fallen open behind his helmet, made utterly transfixed by what he’s seeing onstage.

Glossy hair cascades over bare shoulders, swishing gently as you turn back to the crowd with a flourish. Your glittering eyes lock onto Din’s visor for a split second and he fair nearly blows his load then and there.

You take hold of the pole and give a single lazy spin, letting Din’s eyes roam every inch of you. Then you slide down the pole some and spin again, extending your legs so the sides of your knees and shins skim the flooring.

A few of these rotations before you tuck your long legs under you to stand for a moment. You make one swaying motion to put momentum into the pole and swing yourself up, using a turn away from the audience to open your legs, kick up and cross them to lock over the pole.

With your lush thighs riding the cool metal, you lean back and extend an arm out to the audience, gazing upside down into the pulsing darkness.

You let the pole drift back to stillness, allowing every set of eyes in the place drink in your figure, bust heaving, hair falling below you and swaying. Then you swing your upper body upwards, grasp the pole and drop your hips so your legs release out into open air and propel it all into a renewed twist.

After a moment, you plant your heels and the pole lowers with you as you sink into a narrow squat, facing away from the audience, which is by this time splitting the air with pitched screams and shouts.

You look over your shoulder with mischief in your eyes and the whole place goes ballistic.

The pole begins to rise and you move with it to stand. You let it slip along your figure, waiting until it is moving past your head to slide your arms around it and lift from the floor. It is given to look as if you’re floating on air, still twirling and giving an exquisite 360 view of your legs.

As you vanish into the loft, Din’s reverie is interrupted by a waving hand next to him.

He turns, Gorstrik is beside himself. A frenzy of other hands bat at the air, but Din’s table companion always gets first flush.

‘God damn,’ he exerts. ‘What a show. You do not get enough of that type of cream around here anymore.’

Din fights to quell the incredible urge to rip this pig’s head clean off his shoulders. He channels it all into issuing the slightest shrug he can manage. Gorstrik scoffs.

‘Suit yourself, man,’ he stands. ‘I’m getting my ass a front row seat to the encore. M’sorry, Mando you understand. Particulars can be worked out with my second here.’ He gives a vague wave to the pinch-faced twit next to him and scurries toward the elevator.

Din seethes.

Your voice crackles in his helmet, whisper quiet.

‘Staff access is on the residential side, basic hatch code to get in. Stairs, then make a left. My booth is second along.’

He makes a grouchy show of ‘only doing business with the actual boss’ before leaving the irate lieutenant at the table.

He stalks onto the street and rounds the building to the alleyway that connects the red-light district to the high-density worker housing. Spotting the door you described, he makes short work and slips inside. Climbing the stairs two at a time, he’s trying to concentrate and stop his mind wandering to all the ways this could go wrong.

Could be going wrong.

Why has he let you be alone with this scumbag. That was incredible. What if you’re not quick enough. Hells, fuck! Where had you learned that? What if… So fucking sexy. Why didn’t he just… Maker but that was incredible. He follows your directions and slaps the booth’s open panel.

The door slides across to reveal the scene. A small, velvet-lined room. One long bench against the far wall with a floor to ceiling one-way window looking out over the club floor. Your back is to the door and you’re settled in that narrow squat again, heels spiked into the floor, nimbly cuffing the unconscious Gorstrik, who is sprawled out by a drinks stand.

‘Just in time,’ you say. You peak over your shoulder at Din and slowly, agonisingly, start to rise up. Knees straighten first, keeping yourself bent at the waist. Ass on full display, the hem of your dress has ridden up to show just a hint of cheek. Finally, you lift your torso and turn toward him, something droll to say on the tip of your tongue.

You don’t get the chance. Din has kicked the door hatch closed and barrelled into you. Hands grip your waist first, pushing you back into the wall, then reach down to lift your knees to lock them at his sides. Holding you up, he paws at your ass.

‘Where’d you get this dress,’ he growls into your ear, letting you loop your arms across his shoulders and use the purchase to grind yourself against his erection.

‘Boutique in the main square,’ you mutter, eyes already closed and focused on lust. ‘Only used some of the advance.’

‘It’s obscene.’

‘Mmm, I don’t have to keep it.’ You rub the front of the dress against his chest plate, pushing your breasts into the firm pressure. ‘Could turn it to scrap for engine cleaning,’ you tease.

‘Absolutely not,’ he grinds out. He rubs at your thighs until the dress inches up, exposing your soaking panties. ‘This dress,’ he grunts. ‘This dress is for me now. You’ll wear it for me.’

‘Fuh—Fuck,’ you huff. ‘Thought you’d like it.’

‘Mmm, so fucking divine,’ he keens. He leans back a little. ‘Help me out here, love. Get this cock out for me.’

You reach a hand down and fumble with buckles and garment until you can push his pants low enough for his screaming hard on to bounce free. You immediately move your hand and tug the edge of your underwear aside.

‘Now Din,’ you moan, looking down. ‘Fuck me n— ah!’ He sheaths himself home in one go, piercing you to the wall.

Hips sitting flush, Din trembles at your tight walls stretching and fluttering around him. He lets you adjust. ‘Oh fuck, so ready for me. That performance of yours get you just as worked up as me, did it?’

Humming an affirmative, you reach up to brace your elbows on top of each pauldron, locking your hands together behind his helmet and nuzzling your face into his neck. Like this, you can tilt your hips back and forth to grind into where you two are connected, his pelvis making a perfect surface to work at your aching clit.

It’s so goddamn sensual when you use him like this.

He holds onto your ass and helps you along by lifting you up with each one of your thrusts, creating a harsher connection each time. You writhe and work yourself against him, legs shaking with effort.

‘Din, Din,’ you lift your head with a gasp. He watches your eyes screw shut and your mouth fall open to release harsh, pained puffs of air. You’re so close, he can see it. You press your face into the sharp curve of his helmet and whisper, ‘Din, tell me t--’

‘Come for me, mesh’la,’ he snarls into your ear. ‘Do it, come now.’

You cry out and smack your head back against the wall. Din loses himself in your blissed out features. In the feel of your legs spasming around him, tightening muscles drawing aching throbs out of his cock. You push your hips in tiny little circles to suck down every drop of your climax. ‘That’s it, beautiful. That’s perfect,’ he murmurs to you. ‘You’re perfect.’

Huffing harsh breaths, you open your eyes and smile at him.

He pulls out of you and takes your quivering legs from around his middle, dropping them to plant your heels on the floor. Then he pushes off the wall, spinning you to face the bench and bending you over. A heavy boot nudges at your ankles to spread them apart. He’s back inside you in one intense thrust of his cock.

This position affords you the view through the one-way window, so you’re both looking down at the bustling bar floor.

Din begins to move, barely letting any room between your bodies as he grinds hard and deep. You shuffle your feet wider to give him even more. He chokes out a groan.

‘When you were on that stage,’ he hisses from behind, hands in a bruising grip on your hips. ‘Fuck, when you were up there, everyone down there wanted you.’ He sees your head turn to roam over the crowd, you look over your shoulder again at him, eyes unfocused and lustful.

‘Oh yeah?’ you say, hands sliding a little on the bench with your movements. ‘All of them?’

‘Every. Single. One.’ He punctuates each strangled word with a harsh, deep thrust. ‘Wishing they were here now. Wishing they could have you like this, know the feel of your clenching pussy. Sucking me in so hard, can- can barely pull myself- out…’

He grips a fistful of your dress and uses the leverage to drag himself back before pistoning into you again. The obscene sounds of your slick flesh pumping against each other fill the air.

He’s so deep he can feel the pressure building within you again right as you slam your fingers hard against your clit, letting the friction of his furious thrusts carry you over the edge into another orgasm.

‘Fuuuuck,’ you both groan in unison. He loops an arm across your front and slings you up, back flush to his chest as he drives up into you. His rhythm is starting to falter, the haze of pleasure reaching toward unbearable. You know what he needs and how to bring him over the edge with you. He trusts.

‘But none of them can have me,’ you gasp. ‘Only you. Only you- know- this- pussy, Din.’ The final words are accompanied by the last few slams of his hips as he spills inside you with another strangled moan. He feels, as always, like his soul is being sucked from him and drained into you. It goes on for an age, wave on wave as you squeeze and clench around him. He finally slows.

His hand moves from your chest up to cup your face, fingers sifting through the hair at your shoulder.

As he huffs deep breaths into his helmet, you squeeze again and he gasps in near pain.

‘N-n, please mesh’la, you’re gonna kill me.’

‘Mm, sorry, thought you liked “the feel of my clenching pussy”.’

‘Oh I do, I do. Hope you let me feel it again when we’ve actually finished this job.’

‘Admit it was a great idea,’ you clench one last time and at that he withdraws from you. Groaning a raspy sigh. He turns to your captured prize.

‘Honey pot,’ he mutters. ‘Ridiculous.’

Din tucks himself away and bends to hoist the limp quarry over a shoulder, readying to exit.

You adjust your dress, feeling delicious as Din’s seed slides past the hem. A job well executed and a fucking great time had by all. You grin to yourself. You’re going to walk down the street with this man’s spend slicking your thighs together. It’s filthy and you love it.

Thanks for reading! Have a great day and drink some water x

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #the mandaloria/reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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