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notafunkiller · 10 months

Text

sweet nothing

Summary: Bucky and you attend an awards show, but an interviewer makes sure to ruin your night before it even starts. The loss of your project makes you have a breakdown when you get home, and Bucky does his best to comfort you.

Pairing: director!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 24, Bucky is 36), teasing, dirty talk, language, pet names, fingering, oral sex (the reader receiving), clit play, come eating, a little metal arm kink, daddy kink, no condom (but they are both clean and the reader is on birth control), no mention of y/n

Word Count: 4.2K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: Bucky’s look is obviously inspired by Sebastian’s appearance at D23 Expo in 2022. Also, this happens a few months after the second part, in October.

An extra thank you to @marvelouslizzie and @lavenderhaze967 for being my beta readers and for the endless support.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You really can’t decide what to say. The remark came so unexpectedly, you were taken aback.

You don’t know how they knew about your vacation. The photos and some false info were spread all over the internet, and you found out only after you came back home.

You expected things to calm down from July until now, though, but they didn’t. They actually became worse and worse. But despite that, you didn’t even think you were going to get this type of comment tonight, especially since you announced you refuse to talk about your personal life. You should have known better… Bucky was right, you can never trust the press and you should never have expectations.

“Even though this has nothing to do with tonight and I said I won’t talk about anything related to my personal life multiple times...”

“I wasn’t-” The interviewer tries to interrupt you, surprised by your cold tone, but you don’t let her. If they want to speculate, then at least you can let it out now. They can do whatever they want after.

“To make things clear, Mr. Barnes is actually one of the most professional people I’ve ever worked with… one of the best: kind and supportive, and he always gives the best feedback.”

“Miss-”

You ignore her once again, raising your hand to stop her. “He is blunt, honest, and hasn’t been anything but professional the whole time. He made a massive contribution to the film industry and he’s been in the public eye for so long... If you had done your research, you’d have known how everyone, especially the women he worked with, talked and talk about him.” You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure before you look straight at the camera. “Also, no, I did not sleep with him or anyone else to get any kind of role. Thank you!”

You don’t realize how much you’re shaking or how many tears you were holding back until you reach the bathroom. You’re thankful Bucky is inside already. He doesn’t deserve this shitty attitude, and you know he would have made a scene and stopped this on the spot if he’d witnessed it.

So you don’t tell Bucky about it, not wanting to give him bad vibes, especially since you know how he already feels about going to events in general. Your table is full when you get there: a part of the cast and the crew along with Bucky’s manager. Natasha couldn’t come this time, but you know everyone, so it’s better than you expected.

“Wine?” Bucky asks you softly, leaning in so only you can hear him.

“Later, please. I have a small headache.”

“Oh, no, baby.” He kisses your forehead as soon as you finish talking. “Do you need a pill?”

You love how he never hides or tries to keep his distance when you go out together. Maybe it’s nothing much after all, but you know how discreet he is, how much he values privacy, and it makes you truly feel a part of his life.

“Don’t worry, it will go away.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, yes.” You brush it off with a smile, and he nods, unsure, getting back in his chair properly.

You can’t let your emotions eat you alive, anger or nervousness... you just can’t. But it’s easier said than done because time passes so slowly until your categories are announced. Not even joking around with Bucky’s manager helps. She has such amazing vibes usually, but you are too deep in your thoughts to fully embrace them.

By the time the nominees in your category are announced, Bucky gets you all ice cream, making sure they put two spoons for you: one with chocolate and another with biscuits. It’s so delicious, but you instantly stop eating when the small video with a few of your scenes is projected. People around you clap loudly, but you can’t look around much, your cheeks so flushed when the camera stops on you again. Bucky even whistles using the index and middle fingers of his flash hand, which makes you giggle. He’s so cute!

“And the winner for Best Actress in a Drama is...”

It’s like the world stops for a second: the tension, the lack of air, the ringing in your ear... you can’t hear anything. But you can read body language and see everyone’s shoulders falling. You don’t dare to look at Bucky, only smiling in joy for whoever won and trying to hold back tears. Every woman on that list deserves it. They are all fantastic. You aren’t upset because someone else won. You just feel like a failure because you lost. It’s like you disappointed the people who care about you, who took a shot with you. Bucky... who saw something in you and risked it. You know how silly it is because he isn’t the type of person who would even think that, but you can’t just control the train of thoughts that keeps overwhelming you.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

You still can’t look at your sweet, comforting Bucky. Fuck, such a crybaby... You just nod and take your spoon with your right hand so you can have more ice cream.

He better wins!

The movie loses shortly after you, and it’s your turn to comfort him. You don’t pay attention to the camera focusing on you or Lucas tapping on his arm in a consolation gesture when you turn your face toward him and kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry, bubba.”

He melts instantly under your touch. “Don’t be.”

But how can you not be? It makes your insides burn. This man you know so well professionally and personally deserves every fucking award this industry has. He is fantastic! The movie was fantastic, too.

The urge to cry takes over you the moment the winner of the best director category is announced, but it’s not Bucky. And you think he senses it because he squeezes your thigh gently to assure you. You…

You cannot believe this.

You have a bitter taste in your mouth for the rest of the night there, which is short since Bucky suggests leaving earlier. You hate awards ceremonies officially, too.

The car ride is no better. You find it harder and harder to hold back your tears, and the last thing you want is Bucky to see. He asked you if you were hungry, and asked you to stay over at his place. How could you say no? No, Bucky, I want to go home and cry angry and disappointed. You spend most of your nights at his house anyway, so it would make him worry. Especially since the distance to your apartment is longer.

You let a deep breath out when he closes the door, turning on the lights as you start to take off your shoes.

“Home sweet home.” He gives you a tired smile.

“Ihm. Finally.” You don’t trust your voice to say more than that and you let your bag and phone on the small table before going straight to the kitchen.

“Next time we’re invited, we ditch to watch a movie or something and make love.”

His words are enough to send you over the edge somehow. When you hear his footsteps closer, you instantly turn around to face the sink, grabbing the kitchen counter in an attempt to hold back the tears. But it’s so hard…

“Baby?”

Fuck, he’s so close.

“Bubba?”

And that’s all you need to burst into tears. But you’re not just crying, you are fully sobbing when you feel his arms wrapping around you.

“Bubba, breathe, please.” He rests his head on your shoulder, and you feel so naked, so bare in a way... Something you feared for so long. You are vulnerable in a way you only let your family see you, not even them maybe. It’s like you’re giving him access to your inner child. And it’s terrifying.

“I-I’m ss-sorry.” You are gasping for air between words, and this makes you feel even worse. You sound so pathetic.

“What are you sorry for, bubba? Focus on breathing, please.” Bucky’s voice is so calm and soothing, you almost let yourself fall into his arms. You can’t believe this safe sensation you feel. It’s shocking to you. You trust him to hold you and comfort you even when you look this deplorable.

“In and out.” You breathe in and out every time he says the words and it slowly becomes easier; the air doesn’t feel like it burns your lungs anymore.

You feel his kisses on the back of your head. “Good girl, perfect. Just like that.”

You open your eyes as soon as your body stops trembling and turn to him instantly. You probably look like a wet raccoon, but you don’t care. You hug him so tight you wonder if he can even breathe. But you can’t let go.

Bucky’s glad he took off his jacket since the zipper would have hurt your face.

“I’m right here, not going anywhere.”

“I’m ss-sorry,” you say weakly, taking a step back. “It’s just so unfair!”

His whole face softens even more. He understands... your first nominee and your first loss. This is never easy, especially for someone ambitious and talented.

“I know it hurts, but I promise you more will come, and they will finally give you the awards you deserve. You were amazing.” He takes your hands into his and brings them to his mouth.

“It’s not about me!”

“What?”

“You deserved to win!” You can’t control the anger in your voice. “This movie, the whole concept, the team... Maybe it’s because of the way I-”

“Stop right there! You have nothing to blame yourself for. And you don’t have to feel bad for me, okay, bubba?” His mouth finds your forehead. “Of course, it bothers me a little, but these awards come and go. Sure, some bring more opportunities, but I don’t give a fuck about it. You were a fantastic lead. You are fantastic! But I promise you, you will get more awards because you deserve them. I was mad for you. Don’t worry about me, alright?”

“But you deserve it!”

“It’s just an award, baby. I am proud of this project and of everyone who was a part of it, especially you. It wasn’t easy and it was emotionally draining.”

He wipes your face, and you curse. You should have worn waterproof mascara.

“I just don’t...”

“Don’t ever blame yourself again.” He pauses. “Actually, you will because you can’t control that, it’s not a switch. What I mean is don’t try to hide from me, don’t let the thoughts overwhelm you before talking to me. Or someone... anyone: your sister, your mom, Natasha. I just want you to know I am here for you.” He kisses your lips shortly. “I got you, and you got me.”

He barely has time to finish his sentence before you grab his face and kiss him, your tongue immediately licking his bottom lip. It’s something about the way he reacted, about his permanent attitude and the way he looks that makes you dizzy. So dizzy that you easily switch from feeling anger and fear to sexual desire.

You keep kissing him until you two can’t breathe anymore. He’s so sweet, so good. You can’t help it...

“I want to suck your cock.”

He opens his eyes instantly.

“What?”

“Want to take you inside my mouth. Now.” You repeat with such urgency that his shock is increasing.

“Wait, you don’t have to-”

But his words die as your hands are already on his belt, taking it off in seconds. When it loudly hits the floor, you unzip the pants, dragging them down along with his boxers with force. So much force he gasps.

“Please, daddy.”

You drop to your knees in seconds, making sure to properly grab the base before leaning in to kiss his wet head.

“Jesus!”

He has to grab the kitchen counter behind you to stand still.

“Just me.” You smirk a little and take more of his cock inside your mouth. He’s getting harder little by little. When you start to move your hand , though? He finally gets in his usual horny mood, understanding you really want this.

“Fuck, look at you! On your knees just for me. So needy!”

You moan, bringing your left hand to his balls as you start to bob your head. You just want him to come.

“Baby, please. Fuck me!” He groans, and you suddenly feel your hair getting pulled hard as if he’s trying to get you away from his cock. You stop sucking just to snap:

“Why are you taking my cock from me?”

“Because it wants to be inside my pussy.”

You snort.

He helps you stand up and kisses you without any worry. You moan when you feel his hands on your breasts, then to your sides, and before you can even say anything, you hear the sound of the material ripping.

“Hurry up!” You complain, waiting for him to finish undressing you as you keep kissing his neck.

Your bra and underwear are next and you can’t believe how free you feel.

“You are so fucking beautiful!”

“Need you, please...”

He nods, immediately lifting you in his arms, and you don’t stop kissing him until your back hits the bed.

“How do you want me?” You ask, and he frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Position, Bucky.” You try to clean your face with the back of your hand as you wait for his answer.

“We can start like this.” He gets between your legs and lifts them on his shoulders. His hair is messy, all over his forehead, and you giggle, brushing it away from his eyes.

You’re so wet he gets inside you in one movement, and you both moan. The fullness is so good, you arch your back. Sex with Bucky will never get boring, you are sure of it. He’s a perfect combination between caring, desperate, and curious.

“Bucky!”

“Yes, bubba, I’m here.” He kisses you as he starts to thrust. “I’m right here.”

Your legs are wrapped around his ass, pushing him inside you harder every time he pulls almost completely out.

“God, I love your cock so much!”

“Just that?” He pouts, making you laugh. He’s a baby and a daddy at the same time.

“I love you, bubba, you know that.”

“And I” thrust “want” thrust “to hear” thrust “it again and again.”

“Fuck.” You close your eyes, turning your face to the side without realizing.

“Eyes on me, doll. Eyes on daddy.”

“It’s hard...” you cry out, even more turned on by him calling himself your daddy. It fits him so much!

“Fine.” He uses his metal arm to turn you around on your tummy.

“Bucky!” You scream because of the sudden movement and the empty feeling since he pulled out.

“Hands and knees since you don’t want to look at me.”

You shake your head, amused, but you get in the position, raising your ass as much as you can. You love when he fucks you like this. Everything feels deeper, and there’s no distance despite the fact you can’t properly see him or kiss him. “So dramatic of you.”

You flinch without realizing when you feel his palm connecting with your ass cheeks.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, no.” You quickly assure him, looking up when you hear his worried tone. He never spanks you too hard, and the amount of strength he uses makes you enjoy it. It always makes you wet. “Just didn’t expect it.”

“Good.” He kisses your forehead. “Ready?”

“Hurry!”

He quickly gets inside you as soon as you finish speaking, and you gasp. It takes your breath away, but you can’t help but wiggle your ass. His hands grab your hips and he finally starts to literally pound you just the way you both enjoy it. His cold metal fingers feel so good.

“B-Bucky!”

“Do you love it, baby?” You hear him, but you don’t understand how he expects you to answer. You can’t even breathe properly.

“Ihm.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet around me. I love you so much.”

You try to tell him you love him back, but the words are so distorted you give up.

You’re close already.

“Are you gonna come for me? Are you gonna be a good girl and let go? Make daddy prouder?”

And just like that, you come. You don’t hear anything anymore: you can’t distinguish the words, only his voice. You feel so good, so light, that you don’t realize the wave of tears that hits you.

Bucky smiles, knowing these are from so much pleasure, and doesn’t continue to thrust much until he comes inside you. You moan again, encouraging him to fill you. To give you as much come as he has.

“Yes, yes. Please, need your come.” And you know he loses his mind every time you do that. “Please, daddy.”

A few seconds later, you feel him move his hands.

“Fuck me, baby, this was incredible.”

You nod, trying to find your words again.

“Yes, it... it was.” He helps you turn around after he gets out of you and groans.

“You look so fucking good! Perfect to eat right now.”

He makes you laugh before you slowly kiss him, moaning when your tongues find each other. There is something unique about the way he uses that mouth.

“I mean it. Gonna eat you now, ok?”

It’s the only warning you get before your head drops to the bed again and his is between your legs. His shoulders are broad enough to keep your legs extra spread, and you try to keep your eyes open just to enjoy the sight.

But it’s hard. His tongue on your clit then at your entrance, licking and eating his own come combined with yours makes you so weak you have to grab his hair to have a focus point other than his mouth.

“Jamesss.”

Your hips move uncontrolled toward his mouth as soon as you feel him slowing down. He tries to keep your back on the bed by pushing your tummy down with his metal arm, but it’s impossible. The coldness on your skin makes you cry even more.

“Fuck, fuck, Bucky, please...”

You can’t believe how close you are again, but his tongue is always great. You don’t remember a single time he didn’t make you come like this.

You gasp when he moves his tongue up to your clit quickly, which you did not expect. Even though you should have... you should have expected him to bring two metal fingers to your mouth and command you to suck them, then to push them inside you at once as he sucks on your clit. And sucks. And sucks. And when he takes it between his teeth, grazing it just enough, you come.

You don’t even realize you are screaming, the pleasure so overwhelming you can’t think even for a second. And he doesn’t stop, he keeps using his tongue and fingers until you have to beg him to.

You’re trembling, absolutely consumed when he moves up to kiss you.

“Fuck, we taste so good, doll.”

You kiss him again, making sure to lick his lips before he opens his mouth. You taste amazing together, indeed.

“Yes.”

“Good. Are you feeling better now?”

“I can’t feel my body,” you say before laughing.

“Are you sore?”

You touch his face. “I feel well fucked, daddy, don’t worry.”

His face is priceless every time you call him that. It’s funny how a big man like him gets red so easily. You never get over this.

“You and that… name.”

You pinch his chin immediately, stroking his hair. “As if you don’t enjoy it.”

“I do. Look what you did to me!” He shakes his head in a disapproving way, and you feel happy. He makes everything lighter... easier for you. He learned when and how to push you, and it helps that you have a similar sense of humor.

“I’m better now, thank you. It’s just so unfair because you are a wonderful director.”

“Just director?”

You giggle, seeing his pouty mouth. “And writer.”

“And?”

“And?” You raise your eyebrow.

“What else?”

“I don’t-” You burst into laughter when you feel his hands tickling you. “Stop! Stop! F-fine! Best... best boyfriend.”

“What? Didn’t hear you.”

You roll your eyes. He’s so predictable sometimes.

“B-best boyfriend in the world. Now stop! You’re so unfair!”

“Alright.” He gives you a boyish grin, which makes him look so young. His smile never changed from what you saw. His childhood pictures, his college ones... he kept it and it makes him so adorable.

“I love you, old man.”

“Not this again.” He fake puffs before kissing you. “I love you, too.”

You wake up with a few notifications and a message from Bucky telling you he’s gone to do some grocery shopping. You were wondering why the house was silent. Even when he wakes up earlier than you and tries to be silent, there is a low sound from the TV or his music player.

What you don’t expect is to have thousands of DMS and following requests as soon as you open your Instagram.

You don’t understand at first, still sleepy and hungry, until you scroll through your feed and see Bucky’s post. You almost drop your phone.

There are two photos. The first is only with you, but you don’t remember when he took it. You’re not looking at the camera, staring at the sunset, so it’s clear he took it without you knowing. He’s had this for months... and he never showed it to you. God, you miss Italy!

When you swipe to the next pic, one with both of you as he’s biting your cheek, you laugh. You were being so silly that day. Your fourth date... He was ready to eat your whole face and he didn’t want to take no for an answer, so you started to bite and suck his chin in return. It was the first time you spent the night at his house. It feels like years ago...

Then your eyes finally drop to the description and you start crying a little.

I already won the best award that exists a few months ago❤️ Thank you for your support!

You notice he turned off the comments, but many common friends liked the post.

Fuck, that means you are officially together everywhere. Wow.

You can’t believe what you woke up to. You two never kept your relationship a secret, but you preferred being discreet. You are aware of how this looks from the outside, both of you do, but does it matter? At the end of the day, the people you care about know the truth, you work hard to get jobs, and that’s enough.

You immediately open your gallery and choose a couple of photos with you and him, then just with him: hugging, Bucky kissing your cheek, him making dance moves, his face up close... some random pics you love.

You choose to use only a red heart as your caption at first, but before you publish, you add a few words because it doesn’t feel enough and even tag him on your boobs.

What a view: @jbuckybarnes #photosdump

Happily, you let the comments on and look for a certain short video you absolutely adore from your vacation: he has his head on your lap, napping soundlessly while you run your hand through his hair. His face might not be visible, but it’s clear it’s him. His shoulders, his moles, and his hair...

You remember how he groaned and whined every time you stopped touching his curls, bringing your hand back to his head.

“Bubba, more...”

Smiling, you tag him in a small font, choosing a color to fit the yacht floor, and post it.

The next fifteen minutes you spend in the bathroom, taking a shower, doing your routine, and changing into some clothes you left here the last time.

“Baby?” You jump when you hear Bucky in the bedroom all of a sudden, but you don’t let the shock hold you back from jumping on him.

He catches you, thankfully, and holds you by the ass as you kiss him all over his face and neck before stopping on his lips. Your tongue finds his and you moan in his mouth shortly after, making him groan, too.

“Good morning!”

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head on his chest.

“I love you, too. Didn’t want to leave before you woke up, but we needed breakfast.”

“Can’t believe you did that.”

“What?” He asks genuinely confused.

“You know what!” You say, words muffled by the material of his T-shirt. You are surprised how this small normal thing made you so happy you can burst.

“Ah.” He realizes, leaning in a bit to kiss your hair. “I should have done it ages ago.”

You really hate how he tends to take the full blame when it’s not the case. “We then... but now it’s the perfect timing.”

“Yes, the perfect timing.” He carries you around until you are both back in bed.

The breakfast can wait, so can you to see his reaction when he finds your posts.

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biblio-smia · 4 months

Note

reader comforting ethan when he's crying?

you've never seen ethan cry before.

you've seen him tear up, sure. you two loved watch too many movies together for that to never happen. you even caught him trying to discreetly wipe a tear and attempting to disguise a sniffle, but you had been way worse off for any effective teasing.

turns out, there's a first for everything.

you've almost given up knocking on ethan's dorm room (though you were sure he was in there) when the door began to creak open, stopping your closed fist mid-knock.

it takes a while for ethan to reveal even a sliver of his face, which is immediately worrying. his head is down as he leans against the doorframe.

"ethan?" you ask quietly, not wanting to ask directly what was wrong.

he looks up at you, hesitantly, pale skin around his eyes red.

"ethan..." you mumble, eyebrows scrunching in concern. ethan looks away, wipes his eye with the back of his hand. you put your palm against the door and ethan lets you, backing up to let you in.

he turns away from you and doesn't stop walking until he's reached his bed. he flops on his back and you carefully lie down next to him.

you're anxious as you stare up at ethan's ceiling, swallowing thickly, unsure what to do. you've never discussed with ethan what type of comforting he needs when he's cried so violently his eyes are puffy and you desperately rack your brain for any ideas.

carefully, you reach for one of ethan's hands, slowly folding your fingers over his.

"is this okay?" you whisper, squeezing ethan's hand lightly. he clasps his hand around yours and you think he nods.

you don't want to say something obvious but you don't want to pressure him, either. you turn in your spot to look at him, hand still holding his. from here you can see tears still slowly slipping down the side of ethan's face, watching as he stares straight up and swallows thickly.

you place a hand on ethan's chest and he finds it instantly, squeezing it lightly. he's glad you're here.

"i don't think i like seeing you cry very much," you say quietly, softly thumbing over ethan's finger. and you don't. the sight makes you helplessly sick, creates a ball in your throat you can't swallow down. you wish you could take ethan and make everything bothering him disappear, but you haven't even gotten to the root of his tears yet.

"i'm sorry," ethan says softly, shakily.

"no," you scold softly, leaning in to kiss ethan's tear-stained cheek. "not your fault."

"partially my fault," ethan admits.

you slip one of your hands out of his, place it on his cheeks. you're half thumbing his cheek and half wiping tears away, attempting to comfort him in the ways you know best.

"do you wanna talk about it?" your voice is soft, touch even softer as you pat the rest of ethan's face dry. he closes his eyes and sighs, rolling over to rest his head on your shoulder.

"'s a whole bunch of things," ethan admits, voice slightly muffled. you don't mind, adjusting to accommodate him, fingers softly twisting his curls. "it's stupid."

"it's not stupid. unless hotel for dogs made you cry again."

ethan manages to laugh, albeit shakily. "it was one tear."

"it wasn't even sad, baby."

ethan laughs again, sniffling.

"wasn't a movie," ethan shakes his head. "i, uh... got a c on my paper," ethan began.

"okay," you said, hand on ethan's shoulder, trying to coax the rest out of him. you knew how much ethan's grades meant to him, but you were sure there were other things contributing to the breakdown; ethan had a bad habit of letting things bottle up until he couldn't contain them anymore and they forced their way out.

ethan sighs. "and i fought with quinn."

"okay." you squeeze ethan's shoulder.

"but... bad. she said she hates me." ethan's voice is shaky again and you kiss the tip of his nose.

"she doesn't hate you," you insist. "you're her baby brother. you'll get on her nerves but she could never hate you."

ethan considers this for a moment, takes a shuddery breath.

"get her some candy and apologize," you suggest. "she'll forgive you."

"maybe. yeah."

there's something else, you're sure. there's something in ethan's eyes that's unspoken, something you're sure has overstayed its welcome in ethan's brain.

"what's wrong, eth?" your voice is gentle, your touch feather-light. ethan doesn't feel very deserving of it and it's making his vision blurry with fresh tears.

"i guess i just don't... i just don't feel enough sometimes." ethan's voice breaks painfully, and he buries his face back into your shirt as he cries.

"ethan..." you say sadly, pulling him tighter into you. you're not sure if you're able to fix this for him, but maybe a problem-solver isn't what ethan needs right now. "i'm sorry, baby."

ethan shakes his head but you beat him to the punch.

"i can't stop you from feeling that way, but i can be here for you when you do," you start. "because you mean so much to me."

ethan has moved his face just slightly, enough so you can catch a sliver of him.

"i don't lower my standards for anyone, eth. so, at the very least, you're enough for me."

you can feel ethan smile, just a little. you're not sure how else you can convince him he's probably the best thing that's ever happened to you, so you place a kiss on ethan's lips instead.

"let me take you out," you say. "i can't have my boy thinking he's anything less than perfect."

"shut up," ethan groans, but he's smiling. blushing, even.

"can't make me," you grin, kissing ethan's cheek.

he definitely can make you, especially when he pulls you close and kisses you softly.

"can we just stay here for a bit?" ethan asks quietly, fingers on your cheeks as you steal a few more kisses.

"i think i can work with that." you comply easily, pulling ethan close again. you let him play with your fingers, let him kiss your jaw. anything to keep his mind off of things.

you'd let him do anything to not see those tears from your pretty boy again.

masterlist | requests are open!

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry #scream #scream x reader #v + ethan #v writes

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comicaurora · 3 months

Note

These have been pent up for a while, so there's a whole list lol. Some are Aurora, some are not.

1) Can lacrimas carry out multiple purposes at once? Or will they blend them? I'm assuming that this is possible, considering that the automaton in the ruins was using a lacrima as a brain

2) Has anyone tried to make tools or weapons out of lacrimas? I'm talking like chisel that needs no hammer. Or maybe a Fire lacrima on a bow that sets your arrows on fire

3) Can you engrave runes on lacrimas to make them affect themselves?

4) Where can I read more about the Twins? If I'm not wrong they're the creator gods, aided by the Light dragon and the Void dragon to create life, but I might be getting a wrong read on that

5) Since we see Erin successfully become the first Void mage, does that now mean there's potential for him to make a Void lacrima? The dragon probably won't allow it, but still

6) What exactly does elemental corruption of each element do? Fire literally burns you up, as we saw in Arc 1. I can infer that Life likely makes you a chimera. Void corruption makes you a cave crawler. But what do the other one do? Does Earth make you a statue? Does Wind disintegrate you, Thanos style?

7) Now onto the non-Aurora questions, is your art vector or raster? I believe it's vector, but it's always better to confirm

8) What are your opinions on reading into the environment and the character design to infer things about the character themselves? In any type of media

9) Have you played Baldur's Gate 3?

10) Do you have any music that you'd recommend? I've listened to every song I liked so many times that I hate them now.

11) I'm new to Tumblr, anything that I should know? You don't have to answer this one if you don't wanna. I think I know some of the basics already. Reblog what you like, and avoid the terfs, right?

You might be able to tell that I like the idea of the lacrimas a little bit. Just a teensy bit. The artificer in me definitely isn't obsessed. I appreciate any answers you can give :3

Cheers!

Ooh, lots of stuff!

Yes, it's possible. A lacrima can be engraved with multiple spells, set in a casing engraved with commands, or some combination of the two. Typically, all spells engraved directly on a lacrima will activate at once when the lacrima is "switched on", but a spell can be quite complex, and conditional activations are possible - "if-then-else" statements, basically.

Yes, magic items exist.

Generally no. If the lacrima is disrupted or broken, the spell generally stops functioning, so a self-affecting lacrima will run only as long as it takes for the lacrima to distort or break.

There's an extra lore page about them!

He probably could if he wanted to (and the Dragon allowed it) but Void energy is very dangerous, so he likely doesn't want to.

Each form of elemental corruption agitates the presence of the element in the mage's body. Earth corruption can damage or alter bones, encourage unhealthy petrification of soft tissues, etc. Wind corruption can have physical effects but it often most obviously produces breakdowns in the person's ability to speak or understand language. Lightning damages, numbs or intensifies a person's physical senses.

Raster, I draw with CSP's digital pens. I've only very briefly experimented with vector art - I don't like how it simplifies the lines.

I think it's a fun school of analysis but, like all literary analysis, it runs into trouble if it tries to lock down exactly what the writer was thinking or intending (which is an objective fact that one can be incorrect about) rather than trying to analyze the story on its own and what meaning might, intentionally or unintentionally, be factoring into it.

Nope

don't trust my taste in music it's 90% nu metal and sonic OSTs

Like what you like, reblog what you want, generally it's considered dubious form to add a comment to a reblog unless you have something profound to contribute (commenting in the tags is fine), steer clear of discourse and callout posts and generally the sectors of the site that are constantly on fire, blocking someone for any reason is 100% fine

#asks #aurora #not aurora

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pariskim · 2 months

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thinking so hard about charlies character in frank shoots every member of the gang. its like after his breakdown in s15 finale he's kind of putting pieces together in his head and letting himself acknowledge that his family is fucked up and their lives being tied together in the destructive way they are is dangerous, the end scene in the bar, he says i cant hold onto it. he's already lost his dad, and i keep looping back in my head the scene with bonnie where hurts herself as a sort of repentance to going behind charlies back. she tries so hard to keep up this image of herself as a perfect mother that she repeatedly hurts charlie in the process by not treating him like an actual person. he gets pissed and sure hes gotten mad at his mom in the show before, but the slamming of the phone and macs reaction makes me sooo. like it paints such a picture of his childhood home and continuous cycle of anger and violence to apologize for things nobody can fix. he takes his sisters vase, the ones who still call him dirtgrub like thats all he'll ever be, a way he can make his own 'family legacy'. the first thing he does is ask mac to contribute. mac is the only one who was there for him, genuinely, in times of need throughout his life and he says he should be charlies legacy. frank shoots the vase as he enters, a literal and figurative shattering of what couldve been charlies future. hes getting older and they're going to be in this bar for the rest of their life together and charlies jokes fall away. hes the straightman in these last few episodes and theres no laugh when dennis says their legacy is getting wasted in their stupid alcoholic business, just a sort of resigned look of halfhearted acceptance and a broken family heirloom on the floor

#this is so long-winded sorry. im thinking #ias analysis #iasip

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sedlex · 1 year

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In the middle of feeling sorry for everybody in this scene, I both hate and love that the one who reacted better was Blake.

Body language (the ears and the self protective arm thing) shows that she was startled by being sarcastically yelled at by Ruby for the daring act of sorting her feelings out and having a good day, meanwhile Weiss is ultra baffled by how fast things are devolving in chaos, Yang got hit so hard in her caretaking abilities that barely managed to contribute one word, Jaune is in the middle of his super dramatic breakdown, Ruby herself is building up to her second panic attack in 5 minutes, and still...

still she tries to put on a bit of a smile and steer the group away from the metaphorical cliff, just to be told to shut up

Will she? Nah.

I do think she's made so much progress and is the one mentally stable and in the right place to understand best what's going on with the others and keep her newfound role.

I won't be surprised if in the next episode Blake is the one leading the efforts to retrieve Ruby from wherever she run off to.

#rwby #rwby9 #rwby spoilers #blake belladonna

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therainscene · 1 year

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I’ve been enjoying the sympathetic, we-aren’t-being-shown-the-whole-story takes on Henry lately, and it’s reminded me of something I always found odd about the scene with the rabbit.

On the surface, this looks like a budding serial killer engaging in that red flag behaviour of torturing animals. We see the ensnared rabbit screaming and struggling in front of a young Henry, and older Henry tells us, “as I practiced, I realized I could do more than I possibly imagined...”

But then we see young Henry’s face... and I dunno, maybe it’s just me, but I don’t see a child torturing an animal for fun. He seems thoughtful, troubled.

What really gets me about this is older Henry’s narration over this shot: “I could reach into others, into their minds, their memories.” What does that have to do with killing a rabbit? He’s not in a mind-reading trance here, his eyes are open.

Immediately following this scene, Henry segues into telling us about his parents, how he’d reached into their minds and seen that they’d done “such awful things”. We see Victor haunted by a vision of the baby he accidentally killed. It screams like the rabbit, unable to escape its burning crib.

Here’s what I think actually happened with the rabbit:

Virginia set up traps to get rid of pests. (Victor was spooked by the dead animals around his property, so I don’t think he was involved.) Henry saw this while practicing his mind-reading, and upon investigating, found a terrified, injured rabbit. He sympathized with it; his mother viewed him as a pest, too, a problem to be solved via cruelty. He killed it to end its suffering, and soon developed a habit of mercy-killing all the animals ensnared by his mother.

I think this reading is a much better fit for Henry than “weirdo kills animals as practice for murder.” When he kills his human victims, he tells them, “it’s time for your suffering to end; it will all be over soon.”

He finds children ensnared by abuse and forced conformity. He sees them in pain, trapped in their burning cribs by cruel or foolish authority figures. He sees himself. He shows them the mercy he wishes he’d been given.

This is, of course, hypocritical. Henry has no right to decide on other people’s behalf how they should cope with their pain -- he’s turned into the same abusive authority figure he’s always railed against. He sees humanity as “a unique type of pest”, just as his mother saw him. Even his beloved spiders were kept imprisoned in jars so he could study them, just as Brenner imprisoned him in the lab.

Many abusers see themselves as victims, and they’re often right. That doesn’t justify the abuse they perpetrate, but in their own minds, they feel justified. They feel like they have no other option. That’s what makes the cycle of abuse so hard to stop.

Here’s what I find most interesting about sympathetic Henry: if he’s a demonstration of the good within evil... what does that imply about his narrative foil?

Will does not like to hurt others and he does not want to become that person. He couldn’t even shoot the Demogorgon in self-defense.

But he’s quick to hurt himself if it means helping his loved ones. He was willing to sacrifice himself in order to close the gate in S2, and he immediately bottled up his feelings to deal with the Mind Flayer in S3 despite being in the midst of a complete mental breakdown as a result of bottling his feelings up for too long.

And in S4, Will knows that his feelings are exactly what will make Mike feel better, but he’s too scared to come out or risk making his bestie feel uncomfortable, so he shills for heteronormativity and disguises his feelings as his sister’s under the assumption that’s what Mike wants to hear.

It is not what Mike wants to hear.

Mike feels pressured to lie to El. El is so distracted by his bullshit that Henry has time to kill Max. Max’s death opens the final gate.

The world ends, and Will Byers played a key role in it.

In his zeal to be a Good Celibate Gay and do no harm, he contributed to the worst harm imaginable. But he felt justified in what he was doing. He thought he had no other option than to decide on Mike’s behalf how he should feel.

Henry’s gonna have a fucking field day calling him out on that one.

Will isn’t a villain and he isn’t going to become one; the real villain in Stranger Things isn’t a person or a monster so much as the monstrous things people do. If there’s one lesson to take away from this show, I’d say it’s to remember that any of us -- even sweet, gentle, well-meaning Will Byers -- is capable of evil.

But it’s okay. Will’s internalized homophobia may have helped end the world... that just means honesty, acceptance, and love are the tools he’ll need to save it again. We’re all capable of that, too.

#stranger things #byler #henry creel #will byers #my analysis

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azaracyy · 3 months

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to the next stage of our adventure! digimon survive week 2024 day 7: post-game / future personal thoughts under the cut - less about the artwork and more about shuuji and lopmon themselves. a long rambling containing major spoilers and heavy topics. will cause whiplash. proceed with caution.

other than the fact this may be boring and long-winded, cw and tw: there will be mentions of self-harm and suicide. if these topics make you uncomfortable, please step back. if you're sure, then alright. i'm aware this is a weird place to ramble about shuuji and lopmon considering the notorious highlight of their story would match the themes of day 5 (villains) and day 6 (dark & loss) better. unfortunately (ironically?) i never planned to feature them for those days, so... pretty sure i'm not the only one feeling this, but when i discovered that a good part of the fandom seems to loathe shuuji with utmost passion, even after they claimed to have completed the game, i was confused. the way his death happened and (understanding) the cause made me uncomfortable for a while, but never drove me to the point of hate... once i recovered from the initial shock, what i felt towards him was more pity, then respect (on truthful route). i feel shuuji should have been one of the most appreciated characters in survive. yet it was the opposite that happened. (between you and me though, knowing there was this discourse with the fact digimon survive is a visual novel, i'm not that surprised it turned out this way...) from my point of view, lopmon evolving into wendimon then killing shuuji symbolizes suicide, the act of taking one's own life. it was the climax of shuuji's mental breakdown, leading him to basically self-destruct, causing damage to everyone around him and ultimately himself. lopmon evolved, just like he hoped. but failed to do it like other kemonogami partners (maintaining control of themselves and fending off enemies). the next and final outcome was death, through his own partner actually eating him alive too. it reminds me how when someone thought they have prepared well for something important yet it failed spectacularly, the devastation and frustration would eat them in the same way from inside. and they probably would for one second think, "i'm better off dead". the more i pondered about it, the more it hit home, so of course, the last thing i could do is hate him, when his struggles sound similar to my own - having to rely on consistent achievements to prove your value, to feel you are worth living and not a waste of resources. the part where shuuji went all abusive on lopmon felt like the equivalent of pushing yourself to the extreme to reach your goal, to the point of neglecting your own needs. it's like a student so absorbed in their study, sacrificing food and sleep, until their body eventually snaps and shuts down for good (...this in fact happened to one of the students at my previous workplace. she was in her last year of high school. life was just about to truly start for her when her classmate informed us of her sudden death). even in truthful route where shuuji and lopmon survive that point, things aren't immediately nice and easy for him. you can see that he still has self-doubts, and what i think is impostor's syndrome. he could be making a great contribution to the team and still put himself down for having done "nothing". i have found it interesting that artists and writers tend to be especially fond of shuuji. so perhaps it's not just the matter of one's upbringing - whether you were raised in a harsh, competitive environment and/or with family with (unreasonably) high standards so you can relate more easily to him - but also whether one can see just what every struggle shuuji and lopmon went through symbolizes shuuji's mental state. out of all survive characters, i think shuuji and lopmon pulled off this thing called "surviving" the hardest, no joke. which is why i almost always gravitate to drawing them happy because that's what they deserve :') after all this, what i also would like to say is, it's okay if a character makes you uncomfortable. it's okay if you hate a character. but never, ever bring down the character to people who like them or even consider them their favorite or comfort character. if you must, do it in your own space and only with like-minded people.

#digimon #digimon survive #shuuji kayama #lopmon #survive week #survive week 2024 #obligatory shuuji-focused post where i make myself go a bit ✨ extra ✨#sorry for the long rambling tho i just thought i never had the chance to put this in words and this time i really want to do it #thanks for being patient with me :')#so i didnt manage to post for all days after all but i still have the ideas and sketches #if i ever finish them i will post and tag #if we have another survive week next year i hope i can actually prepare early so i could just schedule posts like a boss #then enjoy every submission without having to worry about finishing my next one #back to commissions starting tomorrow o7 updated my vgen listings recently so feel free to look around if you'd like #let's keep surviving y'alls #png

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punkshort · 10 months

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Chapter warnings: smut (m masturbation), language

Chapter Three

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

You were nervous about the office dynamic once you broke up with Justin. That following Monday, you walked into the department and risked a glance over to his desk. He was hunched over his keyboard, burying himself in some report, looking mildly panicked. You frowned as you made your way to your chair and slunk down, punching in your password while you waited for your computer to boot up.

Colleen popped up quietly behind you.

"Sooooo? How was camping?” she whispered with a huge grin on her face. "Tell me all the details!”

She propped herself against the edge of your desk, trying not to draw Justin’s attention.

“I broke up with him,” you whispered back, eyes wide. You needed to tell someone, your nerves were on fire. You knew you shouldn’t have told the queen of gossip, but people would have figured it out soon enough. Colleen’s jaw dropped.

"What?! Why?” she whispered back, but louder than the first time. You put a finger up to your lips, indicating she was being too loud.

"I don’t know, I just don’t feel the same way he does. He’s a sweet guy, but there’s no spark. I didn’t want to lead him on,” you told her, and turned back to your computer, opening your email program.

“Well, your timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I don’t think he’s got the time to be upset over it. He came in this morning to an email from Joel, with Heather cc’d, wanting a full breakdown on the 401K contributions for the past 6 months. Apparently, he caught some discrepancy, and he wants answers first thing this morning,” she said, raising her head a few inches to glance over the top of your cubical wall in his direction. “He must be shitting his pants; Joel never contacts any of us directly. I don’t think he even knows most of our names.”

You felt guilty as relief flooded through you. At least there was a distraction from the elephant in the room.

About an hour later, Heather came to collect Justin. He followed her out of the room with a folder tucked under his arm and nervously running a hand through his hair. As he walked by your desk, he gave you a tight-lipped smile, which you returned. At least he wasn’t the type of guy to be an asshole about being dumped.

It had been three hours since Justin and Heather left for their meeting. At this point, his absence was painfully obvious to the whole room, and everybody had given up on trying to be discreet.

The whole department had rolled their desk chairs out to the openings of their respective cubes so they could all see one another as they gossiped and speculated wildly. All except for you. You tried your best to stay out of it, but you kept overhearing everyone’s chatter, and it was incredibly distracting.

“They couldn’t possibly still be talking about a minor discrepancy, could they?” one person asked.

“No way, something happened by now. Oh my God, what if he was stealing from our 401Ks? I read a newspaper article about someone doing that last week!”

“Oh come on, Justin wouldn’t do that,” Colleen chimed in. “I bet they finished up their meeting a long time ago, and he and Heather are in her office doing a deeper dive into the numbers together.”

Everyone went quiet for half a second when the electronic beeping of the door keypad caught the attention of the room. Chairs were hurriedly being pushed back up against desks, and fingers furiously typed, trying to log back into computers that had been long asleep during the gossip.

Heather walked into the hushed room with an empty banker’s box in her hands and headed straight for Justin’s desk. She set it down on his chair and turned to address the room openly.

"Hey guys, I’m sorry I didn’t have the time to call a formal meeting, but I wanted to tell you all personally before the email from HR comes out... Justin quit this morning.” She paused when a couple of people quietly gasped and exchanged looks. “Now I know we are going to have some big shoes to fill, I may call upon some of you to help and do some overtime until we can find a suitable candidate to take his position. As always, if any of you want to recommend anyone you know, my door is always open. But for now, we will just have to make do. Does anyone have any questions? You know I like to be transparent with you.”

Heather glanced around the room of stunned faces. Everyone was wondering the same question, but nobody had the nerve to ask it, until Debbie spoke up from behind you.

"Why did he quit? Was it Joel?” She was standing outside her cube, frowning with her arms crossed, no doubt feeling some residual anger from when Cheryl quit just a few short months ago. Your boss sighed, and slowly nodded.

"Yes. Well, yes and no. Joel really grilled him in that meeting this morning, it went a full hour. I did everything I could to take some of the heat, but Joel was just dialed in on Justin today, I don’t know what got into him. He had a million questions, one after another, and it eventually got to a point where he was outright questioning Justin’s job performance and skillset. It finally got to be too much for him, and Justin announced he was quitting.” Heather paused for a moment and looked around the room at the team. She turned and pulled Justin’s chair from his desk, moving the empty box to the floor. She sat down, looking as if she was exhausted from just recounting the events from the meeting. She rubbed her pointer and middle fingers against her temples for a moment, and then continued.

“Joel didn’t say anything wrong; this is his company, and he has every right to ask those questions… he just has such a harsh way of addressing things. It is a lot to handle. I managed to grab Justin at the elevators and took him back to my office for a while. I tried to convince him to stay but he just wouldn’t hear it, he had his mind made up. I’m sorry guys, I really tried. I know this will put a burden on some of you, I will do my best to fill the position as soon as I can.”

The keypad that operated the door started chiming, and in walked Mike from the mailroom. He had his head down, looking at the pile of mail in his cart, bopping along to the music feeding through his CD player and into his headphones, oblivious to the awkwardness in the room. He stopped at your desk like usual and dropped a big stack of envelopes in your inbox, gave you a quick smile, and turned to leave.

Heather quietly began filling the box with Justin’s personal effects, looking like she desperately needed a cigarette or a coffee break. Or both.

You exchanged a quick glance with Colleen, one that said ‘we are definitely going to talk more about this when she leaves’. Then you noticed the envelope at the very top of your mail pile: Sullivan Agency, LLC.

Your heart thudded in your chest. It was a strange feeling – your body was waging a war within you: relief vs fear. Relief that you didn’t have to pay Mr. Sullivan’s balance out of your paycheck, but fear that you would now have to go to Joel’s office as he requested and tell him about the check.

You shakily opened the envelope and sure enough, as promised, was a check for the full balance due on his account.

You stood up, feeling slightly lightheaded as you made your way over to Heather. She jumped slightly when you quietly said her name.

"I just got the check from Mr. Sullivan. What should I do? Should I just email Joel and tell him it came, or do we really have to go to his office?”

You prayed she would tell you to just email him, but unfortunately, she said “We should tell him in person, I don’t want to make him even more mad.” She stopped organizing Justin’s picture frames and buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to collect herself. She raised her head up, clasped her hands in front of her mouth in thought, then turned in the chair towards you.

“I really hate to ask you this… do you mind going up to his office by yourself? He’s had enough of me today, and quite frankly I’ve had enough of him, too. He seemed to take a liking to you, it won’t be that bad, it'll be quick.”

She looked at you hopefully, desperately, eyes begging, but followed up with “If you are really uncomfortable, I can go with you, it’s just...” her gaze drifted back to Justin’s desk, and the enormity of just how much work this put on her plate was likely hitting home. Updating a job description, meeting with HR, creating the job posting, screening applicants… the list went on.

You shook your head, always the people pleaser you said, “I got it, don’t worry, I will go up there right now and just get it over with."

You gave her a small smile as relief flooded her face. Heather asked if you were sure, and you promised her you were. Before your resolve broke, you turned on your heel and left, heading towards the elevator.

The moment the elevator opened and you stepped out onto the 10th floor, your heart lept into your throat. The nerves were finally catching up with you. You looked up and saw a small desk situated between two closed doors. Behind the desk sat a kindly looking older woman. She had hair so grey that it looked almost blue, and it was woven on top of her head into a conical shape. She looked up at you through her plastic pink framed glasses, which were adorned with a chain that wrapped around the back of her neck so she wouldn’t lose them. She smiled at you warmly, her bright pink lipstick somewhat smudged on her front tooth and beckoned you over. Your eyes flicked to her name plate - Ruby Potter - as you returned her smile and walked over.

“Hi there, dear, who are you here to see?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Miller," you said without thinking. Ruby chuckled.

"Dear, they are both ‘Mr. Miller’. Which one?”

"J-Joel, I’m here to see Joel. I have a check for him," you stuttered, your cheeks warming from embarrassment.

She picked up her phone and punched one of the buttons on her speed dial, lazily lifting the headset to her ear.

"You have an accountant here to see you,” she said. She had forgotten to ask your name. You tried to mouth it to her, but she waved you away, as if she did this all the time. You couldn’t hear the words on the other end of the phone, but you could hear the tone – it was sharp and aggravated. Ruby seemed unphased. Once the other end of the line went silent, Ruby said “So do you want me to send her in, or not?” She nodded with whatever Joel said in response and hung up the phone.

“Go right on in, dear. His office is that one.” She languidly pointed to her right, your left, and then turned her attention back to her computer. You took a moment to appreciate the elderly woman’s ease. She clearly dealt with Joel’s wrath countless times, yet she was completely collected. In fact, she sat before you, well past her retirement years, working directly for the man himself without a care in the world.

That gave you a small confidence boost. If Ruby could handle Joel, so could you. Afterall, it’s just words. You had a job to do, you did nothing wrong, you are here because he requested it.

You approached Joel’s office door and gently gave it three quiet knocks. You waited until you heard his acknowledgement to enter. You twisted the doorknob, opened the door just enough so you could squeeze through, and shut it behind you.

Shit, maybe you should have left it cracked. Too late now.

Your eyes locked onto the back of his tall, broad frame as he stood facing away from you, one of his arms resting above his head against the window. He was overlooking the city through the floor length windows as he finished up a call on his cell phone.

You had no idea what he said on the phone, you were far more distracted with how large and strong his shoulders looked in his white button-down shirt. Your gaze slowly traveled down, taking in his dark grey dress pants and noticing how generously they hugged his backside. You only wished he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows like before - you wanted to see his muscles twitching under that tanned skin again. You watched in a daze as he lifted his arm from the window and ran his long fingers through his dark curls, wrapping up the phone call.

Get it together, what is wrong with you??

He pushed a button on his cell and began speaking without even turning around.

"What do you need now? I already told you-“ Joel swiveled around to see you standing before him, eyes wide, nervously clutching the envelope in your hands from Mr. Sullivan. He stopped short when he realized you weren’t Heather, and his expression softened a fraction. You must have surprised him, because before he could catch himself, he was raking his eyes up and down your entire frame, sending a shiver up the back of your spine. You were grateful you happened to wear your most flattering light blue sundress today. You thought this morning when you put it on that it would give you the confidence to get through seeing Justin at work for the first time since your break up. You never thought you would need that confidence for this moment.

You meekly cleared your throat.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. You wanted me to tell you when Mr. Sullivan’s check came…” you trailed off, your cheeks feeling warm under his intense gaze. You needed to look somewhere else. You glanced down at the now crumpled envelope in your hand and stretched out your arm to eagerly show him your prize. You were at least 10 feet away from him, barely inside his office at all. It looked ridiculous; he obviously couldn’t take it from you at this range.

He nodded, pursing his lips, and then showed mercy on you when he finally looked away to take the few short strides back to his desk chair. He sat down, glancing back up at you expectantly from across the room.

"Sit.” he ordered, motioning towards one of the two chairs placed in front of his desk.

You responded to his command quickly, and you thought you saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it disappeared too fast for you to be sure. You sat down in one of the chairs, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you waited while he scrolled through his emails, looking bored. Looking down at the envelope in your hands, you gently fingered the edges in order to focus your energy somewhere. Why did he want you to sit? This should have been a quick conversation.

Joel cleared his throat, and keeping his eyes on the computer monitor, he began to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt. First the left sleeve, then the right, taking his time. He began to methodically roll his left sleeve up, up, up all the way to his elbow, before he leisurely did the same to the right sleeve. You didn’t realize your eyes had snapped up when you saw him begin to uncuff his sleeves, so by the time he finished, you had barely blinked and your lips were slightly parted, breath ever so slightly quickening as he finished his task. You didn’t notice your reaction, but out of the corner of his eye, Joel certainly did. He fought to contain the confident smirk that threatened to spill across his face.

He was right, you had been checking him out in that meeting.

“Give it to me,” he said, turning his probing gaze towards you once again. You looked into his dark, beautiful eyes for a moment, not sure what he meant. Then it came to you. The check.

Wordlessly, you outstretched your hand once again to hand him the envelope. Without breaking eye contact, Joel reached out and took the envelope from your grasp, but in the process grazed two long fingers gently against the back of your hand, sending sparks through your entire body at the contact. You gasped softly, and clamped your mouth shut. You dropped your gaze, embarrassed, while you waited for him to open the envelope and hopefully dismiss you. The tension was too intense, you needed this to end.

Joel didn’t seem to mind the tension in the room, or even notice it for that matter. He slowly opened the envelope and pulled out the check within. He took note of the amount as a small yellow post-it fell out. You hadn’t seen that before in your rush to get up to his office, you had no idea what it said.

Joel picked it up and read it thoughtfully to himself. When he didn’t say anything after a minute, you finally spoke.

"What does it say?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper.

He swallowed before bringing his heated gaze back up to you.

"It says: Thank you for showing me such kindness during my time of need. I’m sorry for the late payment. It won’t happen again.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap, a small smile threatening to tug at your lips.

“You were right this time, but don’t be naïve. Not everyone is always tellin’ you the truth,” he warned, sliding the check and post-it note back into the envelope. You nodded in agreement, still sheepishly looking down at your hands.

Joel gazed at the top of your head as you stared at your lap. He didn't want the conversation to end.

"You’re doin’ a good job," he told you, pausing to reflect for a moment. "Thank you for making that connection with my client. I’m not good at all that. Talkin’ about their personal stuff. That’s more Tommy’s side of things.” He reached across his desk and held out the envelope for you to take back.

You looked up at his outstretched hand, and careful to avoid touching him again, took it.

"Thank you, Mr. Miller,” you replied softly, and stood up from your seat.

You gave Joel a quick smile and turned to head towards the door. Halfway to the exit, you stopped and turned back around, finding Joel’s eyes had yet to leave your body.

“I bet you would be good at it," you said, then your eyes widened as you realized how that sounded. “I-I mean, talking to the clients, learning about them, their personal lives…” you rambled as heat spread across your cheeks.

He stared at you for an awkward moment, considering your words.

“Well, I should be getting back to work,” you said, hitching your thumb to the door behind you, but before you could turn away, Joel stopped you.

"Thanks, sweetheart, maybe I’ll try it sometime,” he said, his expression softer.

You nodded and forced yourself to look away from the uncharacteristically relaxed features on his face. You turned to leave the room, but the door suddenly swung open. You nearly lost your balance, but a strong arm shot out to catch you.

“Jesus, Tommy, would ya watch it?” Joel growled from behind his desk, his expression leaving no traces of the softness you had just witnessed.

“Sorry darlin’, didn’t know my brother had anyone in here.” Tommy eyed you up appreciatively and grinned. “I don’t believe we formally met, I’m Tommy,” he stuck out his hand, which you quickly shook and gave him a polite smile, telling him your name.

You hastily made your exit, squeaking out an excuse about work, and shut the door.

“Do ya ever knock?” Joel seethed, but Tommy was too busy staring at the closed door, still thinking about the way your ass looked in your blue dress.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” Tommy said, ignoring his question, and strolled over to a small cluster of framed pictures on the wall that haven’t been updated since they started the business. He leaned in to examine them more closely. “You need to be gettin’ back out there. I won't even give you any shit for dippin’ your pen in the company ink, like you did to me.”

“The hell you on about?” Joel replied, taking the opportunity to adjust himself under his desk while Tommy’s back was still turned. The way you were blushing and squirming in his office had a bigger effect on him than he thought. And you hadn’t even been trying. Not like him, rolling up his sleeves on purpose to see your reaction. He shuddered to think what it would be like if you actually tried to seduce him. He would be a puddle on the floor.

“Nothin’ was goin’ on, she just brought me a check.” Joel stood and walked around the front of his desk, leaning up against the edge of it, arms crossed and surveying the back of Tommy’s head.

Tommy chuckled, still examining the photos.

“Yeah, right. She was blushin’ like a whore in church when she left. Ya know, you should really get some new pictures in here. Did ya know you still got this old picture of the bunch of us at that rodeo? It’s got Amy in it.”

Joel sucked in air through his clenched teeth, the rest of his hard on instantly disappearing at the mention of her name.

“Sorry, Joel. It’s been so long, we still ain’t allowed to talk about it?” Tommy walked over behind Joel’s desk and flopped down in his chair, which made Joel have to turn around and sit in the same chair you had just occupied moments before.

“What’s there left to talk about?” Joel sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Do you still talk to her? Keep in touch?” Tommy asked, fiddling with a pen on the desk.

“No.” Joel responded harshly. “Why would I? Last I heard, she’s been shacked up with that prick somewhere in the Midwest.”

“It’s been five years, and I still haven’t seen ya go out on a date, coffee, nothin’. Why are you doin’ this to yourself?”

Joel shook his head and stood up, already missing the warmth your body left in the chair.

“I’m just busy, Tommy. Haven’t met anyone worth chasin’," he replied, grabbing a pen and pad of paper from his desk.

“Well, that little lady that just left is well worth chasin’, if you ask me.” Tommy stood up too, and joined Joel as they headed out of the office to the conference room for their next meeting.

“Nobody was askin’, just drop it.” Joel couldn’t have Tommy egging him on, it was already difficult enough to keep his mind off you.

Joel hardly heard a word all throughout their meeting with the Marketing department. He vaguely remembered the head of the department nervously working through a technical error on his presentation, which made IT have to get involved. But Joel barely noticed. All he could think about was you.

You: in that thin, blue dress. He remembered how your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and how you bit down on your lower lip when you tried to hold back a smile. He thought about how soft your skin felt when he gently grazed it with his fingers. How your knees pressed together as you squirmed in your seat, waiting for him to turn his attention to you. But you had no idea that his attention was always on you, even when you weren’t around. It was all consuming, at times overwhelming, the way he constantly recalled images of you in his mind.

Joel was relieved when the IT department could not fix the technical error, and the meeting had to be rescheduled. Everyone in the room held their breath, Tommy included, for Joel’s inevitable outburst, but surprisingly none came.

“Check with Ruby and put it on my schedule,” Joel said, collecting his things and leaving the room.

Tommy stayed behind to chat with the head of Marketing while Joel made a beeline for his office. He shut the door quickly behind him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he leaned his head back on the door.

What was going on with him? Why couldn’t he get you out of his head?

This was Tommy’s fault, had to be. He kept bringing you up and forcing these thoughts into his head.

But it wasn’t Tommy’s fault when his cock jumped after he touched your hand and heard you gasp.

Fuck. This had to stop. He rubbed his hands over his face roughly, then something Tommy said came back to him. It had been a long time since he was with Amy. Tommy was right, he hadn’t been on any dates, he was just sexually frustrated. It was building up, and he needed a release. That would clear his head.

Joel turned and headed towards his private bathroom, which was just a small pocket door in the wall, hardly visible when you first walked in. He went in and locked the door behind him. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already throbbing from the past hour of torture his thoughts have led him on.

Joel gripped the base firmly in his fist, and he squeezed his eyes shut, dreaming of you wearing that dress in his office. This time, when you squeezed your knees together, he imagined you were trying to create some friction to relieve the wet heat between your legs. You were just as turned on as he was in his fantasy. Joel lazily ran his hand up and down his cock, as his imagination kept carrying him away.

He wondered what kind of panties you were wearing under that dress. Maybe they were lace, or a thong. Maybe you weren’t wearing any at all. There we go.

He started running his hand up and down his shaft faster, his breath quickening as his fantasy took hold.

Now he was bunching your dress up around your hips, hitching your leg around his waist as he grabbed onto the back of your neck, bringing you closer so he could suck on the pulse point in your throat, making you moan his name. He pushed you on top of his desk, and you let yourself fall backwards, recklessly shoving papers and files off his desk.

He could feel his release bubbling to the surface now, as his movements became more frantic, and his other hand grasped the towel bar next to the sink for leverage.

Now Joel saw you bouncing on his cock, still wearing that pretty little dress, but your tits were spilled over the top. He pulled one nipple into his mouth, making you cry out and bounce faster, while his fingers brushed gently against the other one. You grabbed the sides of his face and dragged his mouth up to yours, hovering over each other’s mouths, gasping, but still not touching, as you bounced faster, faster, faster…

Joel groaned and desperately reached out to grab a tissue from the box next to the sink, right in time to catch his thick ropes of come. His hips gently thrusted forward as he came down from his high, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut.

He opened his eyes as his breathing returned to normal, glancing around the room to steady himself. He looked down, grateful he didn’t make a mess on his dress pants. He cleaned himself up, flushed the tissue down the toilet, tucked himself back into his pants and went to wash his hands.

He cupped some water from the sink and rinsed his face. Drying himself with the towel, he looked up at the mirror and saw a dirty, old man, who had just jerked off to the thoughts of a much younger employee. The shame was setting in now.

I hope you enjoyed it, you dirty fuck. She would never give you the real thing.

Joel dried his hands, and left the bathroom, feeling guilty, but couldn’t deny he had a much clearer head.

He didn’t see you for at least a full week. That whole week, he felt like himself again. He could see clearly; his thoughts weren’t all jumbled up and he was back to barking orders to his teams on jobsites.

He just needed to jerk off. That’s all it was. No big deal.

Early one morning before most of the employees started their work day, he made his way down to Heather’s office on the 6th floor. She had left him a voicemail saying that the company was being audited, and she needed to speak with him right away. This would require a lot of work from her department, and she needed him to approve the overtime, especially since he scared off your pretty little boyfriend, the department remained shorthanded. He walked off the elevator with his hands shoved in his pockets, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It was quickly becoming his new look, just in case he ran into you.

He turned the corner towards Heather’s office but stopped short when he heard you laughing. He peered around a corner and saw you with some co-workers in the break room.

He was frozen to the ground, taking in your beautiful smile and laugh as you tried not to spill the coffee in your hand. You were wearing a knee-length flowy black skirt, with a V-neck light purple blouse. When you bent over to laugh again, he saw a glimpse of your tits bouncing under your shirt. He held his breath for a moment, trying to will himself forward, when you suddenly looked over and met his gaze.

Your friends didn’t notice him standing there, and you didn’t say anything. You just ran your eyes up and down his body, pausing on his exposed forearms. You gave him a shy smile and a little wave. Before he realized it, he was slowly lifting his hand up in return.

He was fucked.

Chapter Four

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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septembriseur · 5 months

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The other day I was talking to a friend who's a Muslim activist, and I made the connection between Amitav Ghosh's analysis of the climate crisis and my feelings about the genocide in Gaza and, more broadly, to the enforcement and regulation of inequality in our current moment. Ghosh refers to the way that we are living in the climate crisis as "the great derangement." There is a kind of collective madness, he argues, in the fact that we all know that climate change is happening and why it is happening and that every day we contribute to it happening, and yet at the same time climate change appears almost nowhere in our culture. We don't talk about it. We don't engage with it. Engaging it with would mean acknowledging that the premises on which our society is built are false and unsustainable. And the genocide in Gaza functions in a similar way: we know that it is happening and yet we don't talk about it or engage with it because it exposes the falseness and unsustainability of the premises of our society (premises that in this case include human rights).

I think that a lot of the things that Ghosh says illuminate how these two derangements are actually the same derangement, the derangement of what people in the environmental humanities have started calling the plantationocene. This has to do with a world ecology that sustains a hegemonic elite (and Eurocentric) modernity through the breakdown and (re)circulation of everything that is deemed to belong to the non- or subhuman. The world of the plantationocene is one that has always been defined by the ability of hegemonic power to treat both ("sub")human and nonhuman populations as interchangeable resources that can be deployed whenever and wherever they are most profitable to hegemonic powers: vide the relocation of African slaves and South Asian laborers, the disastrous ecological reshapings of colonized territories to better produce an elite European modernity.

To challenge what is happening in Gaza requires a challenge to several key principles of this world: that hegemonic elite modernity (which Israel has always formed a part of, as one can easily see by glancing at attempts to define the "Global North") has the right to regulate populations as it sees fit; that this regulation of populations is right because the sub-/nonhuman does not possess an unquantifiable wholeness that can be damaged or destroyed through civil destruction and forced relocation (i.e. it makes no difference to resettle indigenous peoples of the Americas or to transport South Asian laborers to islands halfway around the world, because their interchangeability means that nothing important is lost in the process— no more than transporting a plant to a different continent entails a loss or damage to the plant or botanical world); that the sub-/nonhuman exists as a resource to fuel, produce, and sustain hegemonic elite modernity, and can be simply wiped out if it becomes inconvenient or counterproductive to that modernity.

If you start to pursue these ideas, you realize that the genocide in Gaza is enmeshed in the "border crisis" and "refugee crisis" in Europe and the U.S.; you realize that all of these are enmeshed in your ability to walk into a superstore and purchase cheap consumer goods produced and assembled under inhuman conditions; it is enmeshed in everything you touch. And it becomes so overwhelming that you simply do not know how to think about it, because the suffering and the culpability for the suffering become so vast.

But we cannot let ourselves perpetuate this derangement. We have to look straight at the fact that it is absolutely insane that Gaza is no longer even the top headline on news sites. It is absolutely insane that Americans and Europeans (and even some Israelis!) can walk around and go through their days and not think about it at all. It is absolutely insane that we know what is happening and don't act. And I think that a lot of what Ghosh writes in The Great Derangement about the nature of contemporary politics explains why we don't act— but we have to live in the dissonance and tension of how absolutely insane it is that we don't act. We can't let the derangement trap us inside of it.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 month

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Async mugwump linkdump

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in ANAHEIM at WONDERCON: YA Fantasy, Room 207, 10 a.m.; Signing, 11 a.m.; Teaching Writing, 2 p.m., Room 213CD.

For 20+ years, I've processed all the information that came over my transom by blogging – mulling on why something I saw in the world caught my attention and trying to summarize it for strangers. This turns out to be a very powerful way to do a lot of different kinds of mental work:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

With Pluralistic, the solo blog I founded 4 years ago, I've moved into longer, more synthetic essays that try to connect the things that caught my attention today with all those things I've written about for the past two decades. That's also proven very fruitful:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

But this move to longer works has a downside: sometimes I'll arrive at the week's end and have a list of things that caught my attention without there being any obvious way to connect them, and when that happens, I devote a Saturday edition to a linkdump. There's been 15 of these so far:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Welcome, then, to the 16th Pluralistic linkdump, and a warning, this one starts with an obituary.

Ross Anderson was one of the heroes of the cryptographic revolution, a brilliant scientist and communicator, a fantastic activist, and a scorching curmudgeon. Ross died this week. He was 67, and had chronic heart issues as well as long covid:

https://www.lightbluetouchpaper.org/2024/03/29/rip-ross-anderson/

There's so much that's been written about Ross and his legacy already, and there's doubtless more to come, but I've picked out two pieces to point you to. The first is from Danny O'Brien, who was also the guy who talked me down off the ledge the first time Ross flamed me on a public mailing list, leaving me bleeding and furious:

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=39868983

As Danny says, Ross was "the model of a politically and socially involved computer scientist," a man whose blazing intellect, fierce moral center and relentless curiosity inspired a generation of technologists to think about politics, and a generation of political activists to think about technology. Few of Ross's eulogizers (thus far) have mentioned how Ross's passion came out as fury, and – as someone who counted Ross as a friend and inspiration – I think this is a serious omission. It's hard to imagine Ross doing all that he did without understanding the anger that – along with his ethics – fueled his passion.

(Compare with @neil-gaiman's classic essay on the anger of Terry Pratchett:)

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/sep/24/terry-pratchett-angry-not-jolly-neil-gaiman

The other obit that I want to point you to comes from Bill Buchanan, one of Ross's closest collaborators. Buchanan's memorial for Ross does a superb job of rounding up Ross's technical contributions to the field of security engineering:

https://medium.com/asecuritysite-when-bob-met-alice/ross-anderson-rip-59233c75fadf

Buchanan embeds videos for some of Ross's best speeches, links to his key papers (including the classic "Programming Satan's Computer," on "programming a computer which gives answers that are subtly and maliciously wrong at the most inconvenient moment possible), reminiscences of Great Moments In Ross Anderson, and terrific, lay-friendly breakdowns of some of Ross's key mathematical work.

As an unreasonable, angry person, I take great inspiration from people who channel their unreasonable anger to socially beneficial conduct – like whistleblowers. After Baltimore's Francis Scott Key Bridge was totaled by the 95,000-ton cargo ship MV *Dali(, a vast cohort of instant experts in structural engineering, sea freight and shipbuilding has taken to the internet with a slurry of takes on the Meaning Of the Bridge.

Some of these are very stupid indeed, like the idea that somehow "DEI" caused the collision. But you don't have to be an expert in maritime issues or civil engineering to understand the importance of this report from The Lever about shipping giant Maersk's culture of retaliation against whistleblowers:

https://www.levernews.com/feds-recently-hit-cargo-giant-in-baltimore-disaster-for-silencing-whistleblowers/

Maersk is the company that chartered the MV Dali; Maersk is also a key player in the cartel that controls the world's shipping. Maersk was just sanctioned by the Labor Department for retaliating against a whistleblower who complained of unsafe conditions on the ships that Maersk chartered:

https://www.dol.gov/sites/dolgov/files/OPA/news%20releases/Maersk-Sec%20Findings%20-FINAL%20071423_Redacted.pdf

Maersk's policy required employees to bring concerns to their supervisors before alerting the Coast Guard or others. This is not how that stuff is supposed to work. OSHA called this policy “repugnant” and a “reprehensible and an egregious violation of the rights of employees,” which “chills them from contacting the [Coast Guard] or other authorities without contacting the company first.”

The whistleblower – chief mate on the Safmarine Mafadi – complained of "unrepaired leaks, unpermitted alcohol consumption onboard, inoperable lifeboats, faulty emergency fire suppression equipment, and other issues." We don't know (yet) what happened on the Dali, but it's obvious that a company that retaliates against whistleblowers, rather than heeding their warnings, is prioritizing covering its ass, not operating safely.

Which brings me (inevitably) to Boeing, and to poor John "Swampy" Barnett, the Boeing whistleblower who took his own life earlier this month. Barnett's suicide has stirred up similar low-yield online chatter focused on whether Boeing assassinated Barnett, a question that categorically cannot be answered through the method of arguing with internet strangers.

But there is a lot to say about Barnett: in particular, there's the substance of his whistleblowing, the specifics of his complaints about Boeing. For that, we can turn to the always-fantastic Maureen Tkacik, whose American Prospect piece "Suicide Mission" is definitive:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-03-28-suicide-mission-boeing/

Tkacik does a great job of painting a picture of Swampy as a member of the tribe of unreasonable and angry people who refuse to sideline principle in order to get along. More importantly, Tkacik shows us what made Swampy so angry: a company that was hell-bent on lobotimizing itself by forcing out any technical expert who might point out inconvenient truths about the safety risks of high-profit strategies.

As Tkacik writes, Boeing once thought about "knowledge" in terms of expertise that could be brought to bear on the unimaginably complex task of making reliable, airworthy jets. But under the "value-engineering" financialized culture that arose after the McDonnell-Douglas merger, the company viewed knowledge as "intellectual property, trade secrets, and data." In other words, the point of knowledge was rent-extraction, not safety.

At the root of this transformation was the Jack Welch protege Jim "Prince Jim" McNerney, the former 3M CEO who took the helm at Boeing. McNerney was openly contemptuous of the company's senior engineers, branding them "phenomenally talented assholes" and rewarding managers who found ways to force them out of the company. It was McNerney who decided to produce the 787 "Dreamliner" in non-union shops, far from Seattle and its phenomenally talented assholes. Instead of these engineers, McNerney turned to Boeing suppliers to do the major engineering work on the 787 – despite the fact that many of these suppliers "lacked engineering departments."

The 787 was, infamously, a $80b-over-budget boondoggle, haunted by technical failures. Swampy was part of the "cleanup crew" that tried to salvage the 787, and witnessed first-hand how the company purged all the engineers who managed to ship the 787 despite McNerney and his "value engineers" and retaliated against workers who tried to unionize the South Carolina facility.

In particular, it was safety inspector who came in for the most savage punishment. When the FAA decided to let Boeing mark its own homework – hiring in-house safety inspectors to replace government inspectors – they pretended to believe that these Boeing-payrolled inspectors would be able to operate independently of Boeing's leadership. The inspectors tried to operate this way (not least because they were criminally liable for oversights that occurred on their watch) and McNerney's Boeing came down on them like a ton of aviation-grade aluminum.

To further neuter these inspectors, Boeing management ordered the inspectors to outsource their work to the mechanics they were supposed to be supervising – that is, the FAA outsourced safety checks to Boeing inspectors, and the inspectors outsourced those checks to the mechanics themselves. Tkacik: "Swampy believed relying on mechanics to self-inspect their work was not only insane but illegal under the Federal Aviation Administration charter."

Swampy kept careful records of every way in which this system produced unsafe aircraft and an unsafe workplace – including the day he discovered that someone had removed 400+ defective parts from the rejects box and installed them in aircraft in order to meet deadlines. Swampy's reports were key to establishing that the company's much-trumpeted "improvements" in safety reports were down to a culture of "bullying" – not any improvement in safety itself.

When Boeing went to war against Swampy, they barely bothered to pretend that they were playing by the rules. He was told one day that he was four-weeks into a 60-day "corrective action" that no one had told him about. The "corrective action" paperwork had a blank for Swampy's comments. He wrote, "Leadership wants nothing in email so they maintain plausible deniability. It is obvious leadership is just looking for items to criticize me on so I stop identifying issues. I will conform!"

Shortly thereafter, he was forced out altogether. Managers who tried to bring him on their teams were told that no one was allowed to hire John Barnett. His name appeared on a secret internal memo entitled "Quality Managers to Fire." Meanwhile, the value of Boeing shares had tripled.

After Boeing's 737 Maxes started falling out of the sky, Swampy's painstaking documentation of the flaws in the 787's production took on a new urgency. A program of random inspections of 787s found major defects in all of them ("Boeing Looked for Flaws in Its Dreamliner and Couldn’t Stop Finding Them" –WSJ). An Aviation Week diagram of problem spots with the 787 marked red arrows over "every single section, from the tip of the nose to the horizontal stabilizers":

https://aviationweek.com/air-transport/new-boeing-787-fix-details-reveal-extent-gap-check-challenge

Boeing's war on "brilliance" did its work: after everyone who understood how to make a safe aircraft was forced out of the company, financialized CEOs were able to cut corners on safety, triple the share-price, scoop up billions in government subsidies and bailouts, all without those pesky "phenomenally talented assholes" pointing out that they were going get (lots of) people killed.

Tkacik closes by saying that Swampy's former work colleagues refuse to believe he killed himself. A former executive told her "I don’t think one can be cynical enough when it comes to these guys…It’s a top-secret military contractor, remember; there are spies everywhere." I confess that I don't know what to make of that, but I'll say this: if Boeing killed Swampy, that's just one of hundreds of murders they committed. Whether or not Swampy's death was their fault, the deaths of everyone who went down on the 737 Maxes that crashed is on their hands.

That's what "profits before people" means, after all: sacrificing human lives to make yourself richer. It's the foundational tenet of the conservative movement, though that impulse is often checked by other factors, like human decency. It's only when sociopaths get a sustained run at leadership that you see what they really want.

Which brings me to the UK, which has been governed by the Conservative Party for 14 years. The Tories are tipped to get destroyed in the next election, and a long article in the New Yorker by Sam Knight catalogs the many ways in which Tory rule has devastated the UK:

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/04/01/what-have-fourteen-years-of-conservative-rule-done-to-britain

The thing is, after 14 years, it's impossible for the Tories to blame anyone else for the state of the UK. With strong Parliamentary majorities, Conservatives were able to govern as they pleased – the only compromises they made were between their own internal factions. The ideological commitment to making the rich richer, privatizing everything, subordinating governance to market forces – that's all them.

It's all them: the worst period for wage growth since the Napoleonic Wars, on them. The catastrophic traffic, housing, jobs market, and precarity, on them. Plummeting health, on them. The austerity, on them. The withering of the country's courts and prisons and police, its wilderness, its programs for young people and pensioners, its public health, its diplomatic corps, its road maintenance – on them.

A country where the police can't afford to prosecute burglaries – on them (4% of burglaries are prosecuted). The 2.5 year delay between a rape arrest and its trial? On them. Mass closures of schools that are literally crumbling? On them.

43% of the countries courts have closed. On them. Cuts to prison funding, coupled with longer sentences? On them.

And of course, Brexit – on them. Every part of it. The referendum. The referendum question. The failure to negotiate a deal with the EU. All on them. The collapse in British living standards, all on them. The fact that the 20% richest households in the UK have been untouched by all this? Also on them. But you might not notice it in London, where people earn an average of 400% more than people in Nottingham.

The only growth sector outside of London are the Citizens Advice Bureaux, whose client rosters are growing even as their funding is cut. Where the CAB once primarily catered to people who couldn't make ends meet due to disability, unemployment and other reliable predictors of economic distress, today, CAB advisors are seeing homeowners, people working two jobs. Desperation is "like a black hole, dragging more and more people in,"

More Conservative growth: Tories presided over a doubling in the rate of NHS antidepressant prescriptions, and a 20% rise in long-term health conditions. No wonder Tory Britain had the world's worst pandemic outcomes for a wealthy nation – that's on them, too.

Knight's article closes with a Tory MP who believes that "the key thing for the Conservatives now is to be more conservative…Toryism must have its day again."

We can't count on oligarchs to rescue us from oligarchy – not even when oligarchy's failures push society to the breaking point. There's always a rationalization explaining why we just had to lean harder into oligarchy.

You hear echoes of this in the pro-monopoly choir, whose squeals of outrage at the rise of a new anti-monopoly movement grow louder even as monopolism's failures grow clearer. One of the more tangible expressions of monopoly's failures is the Ticketmaster/Livenation octopus, which controls the entire live music industry – key venues, promotions, and ticketing. Ticketmaster fucks over music fans, but it also cheats famous musicians, the kinds of people with big microphones, so we know a lot about how bad it is:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/20/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-will-eventually-stop/

Of course, the fact that Swifties hate Ticketmaster lets the pro-monopolists dismiss critics as foolish young girls, not Very Serious People Who Understand Economics and thus can see that Ticketmaster's monopoly is Good, Actually.

Last week, Congressman Bill Pascrell dumped a ton of litigation documents related to Ticketmaster's sleaze, and Matt Stoller broke them down:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/explosive-new-documents-unearthed

The docs reveal how Ticketmaster's system of (formerly) secret kickbacks let it choke out any competitor, so that it could charge fans more and pay artists less. The mechanics of the scam are beautifully laid out in Stoller's post – as is the many ways in which it violated both the law and Ticketmaster's numerous consent decrees arising from its previous lawbreaking.

This kind of scam breakdown is essential. It's easy to think that we, as mere normies, can't hope to understand the machinations of the corporations that prey on us. But once you pierce the veil of performative complexity, what's left behind is a set of crude tricks and transparent ruses.

Here's one of those transparent ruses: Discord's terms of service require Discord users to actively opt out of its "binding arbitration" system. Binding arbitration is when you sign a contract saying you can't sue the company no matter how much it harms you – instead, you promise to have your disputes heard by an "arbitrator" (a fake judge paid by the company that screwed you). Unsurprisingly, these fake judges are awfully tolerant of their employers' crimes.

Discord says that once you click through its garbage legalese novella, you have just a few days to opt out of this binding arbitration clause – if you happen to miss that fine print, you have "consented" to giving up your legal rights.

But every time Discord changes its ToS, the clock for opting out starts ticking again, and Discord has just changed (that is, worsened) its ToS again:

https://discord.com/terms

That means that if you send an email right now to [email protected] with "I am confirming that as of the date of this email, I am choosing to opt out of binding arbitration to settle disputes with Discord" in the body, you can escape this consent theater:

https://mamot.fr/@[email protected]/112175832989845038

Consent theater is a particularly galling corporate ruse – the idea that we chose to allow them to abuse us. Consent theater gets more outrageous by the day. Take Soofa, who operate streetside digital kiosks that identify you by grabbing your phone's unique wifi and Bluetooth identifiers:

https://gizmodo.com/digital-kiosks-snatch-your-phones-data-when-you-walk-by-1851368948

Soofa sells this data to advertisers – claiming that by walking down a public street, you "consented" to being tracked and sold.

The only reason this flies is that the US hasn't passed a federal consumer privacy law since 1988's Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video-store clerks from telling people which VHS cassettes you took home. Congress keeps on failing to pass a privacy law, despite garbage companies like Soofa.

But that hasn't stopped the administrative agencies from acting to defend your privacy! The FTC just dropped its latest Privacy and Data Security Update, a greatest hits list of the actions the Commission took while Congress failed:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/2024.03.21-PrivacyandDataSecurityUpdate-508.pdf

One of the best things about the current administration is the number of extremely competent regulators who know exactly how much power they have and aren't afraid to use it to help the American people:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

The new FTC report, which details how the Commission's existing powers let it go after the commercial surveillance industry from smart doorbells to review fraud, from kids' programming to medical data, from lax security to data-breaches, is a bright spot in an otherwise grim week.

One more bright spot, then, before I wind up this linkdump. All week, I've been humming a half-remembered lyric, "come on baby/you're a link in this chain/put your hands together/and get free of the pain." For the life of me, I couldn't place it.

Last night, I searched for it (using Kagi, the post-Google search engine I've been paying for for the past month, and which I'm loving) and discovered that I had somehow completely forgotten a whole-ass band that I once loved: Toronto's Bourbon Tabernacle Choir, whom I saw live on many occasions.

The mystery lyric came from "Death is the Great Awakener," a fucking banger of a post-gospel track that I've been listening to on nonstop repeat as I wrote this. It's a hell of a tune and I'm intensely grateful to have it back in my life:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6RUb63Tx3w

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/30/dewey-502/#rip-ross-anderson

Image: Waffleboy https://www.flickr.com/photos/waffleboy/28198395465/

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

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