#Real World Portland
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Ana was the most annoying one on real world Portland omfg
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The majority of censorship is self-censorship
I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA (Saturday night, with Adam Conover), Seattle (Monday, with Neal Stephenson), then Portland, Phoenix and more!
I know a lot of polymaths, but Ada Palmer takes the cake: brilliant science fiction writer, brilliant historian, brilliant librettist, brilliant singer, and then some:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/10/monopoly-begets-monopoly/#terra-ignota
Palmer is a friend and a colleague. In 2018, she, Adrian Johns and I collaborated on "Censorship, Information Control, & Information Revolutions from Printing Press to Internet," a series of grad seminars at the U Chicago History department (where Ada is a tenured prof, specializing in the Inquisition and Renaissance forbidden knowledge):
https://ifk.uchicago.edu/research/faculty-fellow-projects/censorship-information-control-information-revolutions-from-printing-press/
The project had its origins in a party game that Ada and I used to play at SF conventions: Ada would describe a way that the Inquisitions' censors attacked the printing press, and I'd find an extremely parallel maneuver from governments, the entertainment industry or other entities from the much more recent history of internet censorship battles.
With the seminars, we took it to the next level. Each 3h long session featured a roster of speakers from many disciplines, explaining everything from how encryption works to how white nationalists who were radicalized in Vietnam formed an armored-car robbery gang to finance modems and Apple ][+s to link up neo-Nazis across the USA.
We borrowed the structure of these sessions from science fiction conventions, home to a very specific kind of panel that doesn't always work, but when it does, it's fantastic. It was a natural choice: after all, Ada and I know each other through science fiction.
Even if you're not an sf person, you've probably heard of the Hugo Awards, the most prestigious awards in the field, voted on each year by attendees of the annual World Science Fiction Convention (Worldcon). And even if you're not an sf fan, you might have heard about a scandal involving the Hugo Awards, which were held last year in China, a first:
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/science-fiction-authors-excluded-hugo-awards-china-rcna139134
A little background: each year's Worldcon is run by a committee of volunteers. These volunteers put together bids to host the Worldcon, and canvass Worldcon attendees to vote in favor of their bid. For many years, a group of Chinese fans attempted to field a successful bid to host a Worldcon, and, eventually, they won.
At the time, there were many concerns: about traveling to a country with a poor human rights record and a reputation for censorship, and about the logistics of customary Worldcon attendees getting visas. During this debate, many international fans pointed to the poor human rights record in the USA (which has hosted the vast majority of Worldcons since their inception), and the absolute ghastly rigmarole the US government subjects many foreign visitors to when they seek visas to come to the US for conventions.
Whatever side of this debate you came down on, it couldn't be denied that the Chinese Worldcon rang a lot of alarm-bells. Communications were spotty, and then the con was unceremoniously rescheduled for months after the original scheduled date, without any good explanation. Rumors swirled of Chinese petty officials muscling their way into the con's administration.
But the real alarm bells started clanging after the Hugo Award ceremony. Normally, after the Hugos are given out, attendees are given paper handouts tallying the nominations and votes, and those numbers are also simultaneously published online. Technically, the Hugo committee has a grace period of some weeks before this data must be published, but at every Worldcon I've attended over the past 30+ years, I left the Hugos with a data-sheet in my hand.
Then, in early December, at the very last moment, the Hugo committee released its data – and all hell broke loose. Numerous, acclaimed works had been unilaterally "disqualified" from the ballot. Many of these were written by writers from the Chinese diaspora, but some works – like an episode of Neil Gaiman's Sandman – were seemingly unconnected to any national considerations.
Readers and writers erupted in outrage, demanding to know what had happened. The Hugo administrators – Americans and Canadians who'd volunteered in those roles for many years and were widely viewed as being members in good standing of the community – were either silent or responded with rude and insulting remarks. One thing they didn't do was explain themselves.
The absence of facts left a void that rumors and speculation rushed in to fill. Stories of Chinese official censorship swirled online, and along with them, a kind of I-told-you-so: China should never have been home to a Worldcon, the country's authoritarian national politics are fundamentally incompatible with a literary festival.
As the outrage mounted and the scandal breached from the confines of science fiction fans and writers to the wider world, more details kept emerging. A damning set of internal leaks revealed that it was those long-serving American and Canadian volunteers who decided to censor the ballot. They did so out of a vague sense that the Chinese state would visit some unspecified sanction on the con if politically unpalatable works appeared on the Hugo ballot. Incredibly, they even compiled clumsy dossiers on nominees, disqualifying one nominee out of a mistaken belief that he had once visited Tibet (it was actually Nepal).
There's no evidence that the Chinese state asked these people to do this. Likewise, it wasn't pressure from the Chinese state that caused them to throw out hundreds of ballots cast by Chinese fans, whom they believed were voting for a "slate" of works (it's not clear if this is the case, but slate voting is permitted under Hugo rules).
All this has raised many questions about the future of the Hugo Awards, and the status of the awards that were given in China. There's widespread concern that Chinese fans involved with the con may face state retaliation due to the negative press that these shenanigans stirred up.
But there's also a lot of questions about censorship, and the nature of both state and private censorship, and the relationship between the two. These are questions that Ada is extremely well-poised to answer; indeed, they're the subject of her book-in-progress, entitled Why We Censor: from the Inquisition to the Internet.
In a magisterial essay for Reactor, Palmer stakes out her central thesis: "The majority of censorship is self-censorship, but the majority of self-censorship is intentionally cultivated by an outside power":
https://reactormag.com/tools-for-thinking-about-censorship/
States – even very powerful states – that wish to censor lack the resources to accomplish totalizing censorship of the sort depicted in Nineteen Eighty-Four. They can't go from house to house, searching every nook and cranny for copies of forbidden literature. The only way to kill an idea is to stop people from expressing it in the first place. Convincing people to censor themselves is, "dollar for dollar and man-hour for man-hour, much cheaper and more impactful than anything else a censorious regime can do."
Ada invokes examples modern and ancient, including from her own area of specialty, the Inquisition and its treatment of Gailileo. The Inquistions didn't set out to silence Galileo. If that had been its objective, it could have just assassinated him. This was cheap, easy and reliable! Instead, the Inquisition persecuted Galileo, in a very high-profile manner, making him and his ideas far more famous.
But this isn't some early example of Inquisitorial Streisand Effect. The point of persecuting Galileo was to convince Descartes to self-censor, which he did. He took his manuscript back from the publisher and cut the sections the Inquisition was likely to find offensive. It wasn't just Descartes: "thousands of other major thinkers of the time wrote differently, spoke differently, chose different projects, and passed different ideas on to the next century because they self-censored after the Galileo trial."
This is direct self-censorship, where people are frightened into silencing themselves. But there's another form of censorship, which Ada calls "middlemen censorship." That's when someone other than the government censors a work because they fear what the government would do if they didn't. Think of Scholastic's cowardly decision to pull inclusive, LGBTQ books out of its book fair selections even though no one had ordered them to do so:
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/05/06/books/scholastic-book-racism-maggie-tokuda-hall.html
This is a form of censorship outsourcing, and it "multiplies the manpower of a censorship system by the number of individuals within its power." The censoring body doesn't need to hire people to search everyone's houses for offensive books – it can frighten editors, publishers, distributors, booksellers and librarians into suppressing the books in the first place.
This outsourcing blurs the line between state and private surveillance. Think about comics. After a series of high-profile Congressional hearings about the supposed danger of comics to impressionable young minds, the comics industry undertook a regime of self-censorship, through which the private Comics Code Authority would vet comings for "dangerous" content before allowing its seal of approval to appear on the comics' covers. Distributors and retailers refused to carry books without a CCA stamp, so publishers refused to publish books unless they could get a CCA stamp.
The CCA was unaccountable, capricious – and racist. By the 60s and 70s, it became clear that comic about Black characters were subjected to much tighter scrutiny than comics featuring white heroes. The CCA would reject "a drop of sweat on the forehead of a Black astronaut as 'too graphic' since it 'could be mistaken for blood.'" Every comic that got sent back by the CCA meant long, brutal reworkings by writers and illustrators to get them past the censors.
The US government never censored heroes like Black Panther, but the chain of events that created the CCA "middleman censors" made sure that Black Panther appeared in far fewer comics starring Marvel's most prominent Black character. An analysis of censorship that tries to draw a line between private and public censorship would say that the government played no role in Black Panther's banishment to obscurity – but without Congressional action, Black Panther would never have faced censorship.
This is why attempts to cleanly divide public and private censorship always break down. Many people will tell you that when Twitter or Facebook blocks content they disagree with, that's not censorship, since censorship is government action, and these are private actors. What they mean is that Twitter and Facebook censorship doesn't violate the First Amendment, but it's perfectly possible to infringe on free speech without violating the US Constitution. What's more, if the government fails to prevent monopolization of our speech forums – like social media – and also declines to offer its own public speech forums that are bound to respect the First Amendment, we can end up with government choices that produce an environment in which some ideas are suppressed wherever they might find an audience – all without violating the Constitution:
https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/
The great censorious regimes of the past – the USSR, the Inquisition – left behind vast troves of bureaucratic records, and these records are full of complaints about the censors' lack of resources. They didn't have the manpower, the office space, the money or the power to erase the ideas they were ordered to suppress. As Ada notes, "In the period that Spain’s Inquisition was wildly out of Rome’s control, the Roman Inquisition even printed manuals to guide its Inquisitors on how to bluff their way through pretending they were on top of what Spain was doing!"
Censors have always done – and still do – their work not by wielding power, but by projecting it. Even the most powerful state actors are not powerful enough to truly censor, in the sense of confiscating every work expressing an idea and punishing everyone who creates such a work. Instead, when they rely on self-censorship, both by individuals and by intermediaries. When censors act to block one work and not another, or when they punish one transgressor while another is free to speak, it's tempting to think that they are following some arcane ruleset that defines when enforcement is strict and when it's weak. But the truth is, they censor erratically because they are too weak to censor comprehensively.
Spectacular acts of censorship and punishment are a performance, "to change the way people act and think." Censors "seek out actions that can cause the maximum number of people to notice and feel their presence, with a minimum of expense and manpower."
The censor can only succeed by convincing us to do their work for them. That's why drawing a line between state censorship and private censorship is such a misleading exercise. Censorship is, and always has been, a public-private partnership.
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/2024/02/22/self-censorship/#hugos
#pluralistic#ada palmer#worldcon#hugos#china#science fiction#fanac#publishing#censorship#systems of information control during information revolutions#scholarship
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I think I've rambled about this a little bit before, but I really believe that if we were able to shift our standard burial practice to human composting and memorial tree planting, the impacts could be huge.
Imagine how much more people would care about trees if they were the grave markers of their loved ones (and unlike grave markers, actually grew from the remains of their family). Think of the legal protections people would place on ancestral forests. A lot of people would probably be more invested in learning about the biodiversity needed for a forest to thrive -- not like the bullshit "carbon offset" single species tree plantings used to alleviate consumer guilt.
Some people would probably be motivated to spend more time in and learning about forests. Others probably wouldn't really, but you'd better believe people would be up in arms if they heard that somebody wants to cut down grandpa's tree.
Something I've seen in recent years is that the increase in fires on the west coast has made the reality of climate change a lot more real for a lot of people here. Especially after the week in 2020 when Portland had the worst air quality in the world due to wildfire smoke, people could no longer think of it as something for future generations to deal with. It became clear that we were going to be living with this, effective immediately.
I'm not saying that having ancestral forests would suddenly stop forest fires, but it would be another thing to get more people invested in environmental protections and technology.
And yes, I am on some speculative fiction hippy shit, but dammit, ancestral forests would be cool. Don't you want to remember your loved ones by going and talking to a tree? Or a group of trees? Like yeah, they'd be less permanent than a stone monument, but once an ancestor's tree falls, it can become a nursery log for younger generations.
Don't you want to become part of the forest when you die??
*Disclaimer: idea presented primarily as an alternative to preserving corpses with toxic chemicals and burying them in expensive boxes as is common where I live, and not meant to replace all other cultural traditions related to death and burial. Please don't come at me for responding to the norms of my own culture, I am aware that other cultures exist.
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stealing kisses
inspiration credit ❤️
pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff.
synopsis ⋆ christmas at lockwood and co. gives anthony the perfect opportunity to make a move.
warnings ⋆ implied shorter reader, idk how to write kissing, very fast paced sorry, swearing. | wc: 0.5k
tags ⋆ @mitskiswift99 @novelizt @karensirkobabes @initialchains @eedwardss
♫ - bet u wanna by sabrina carpenter
the holidays somehow made 35 portland row even cozier than usual.
the living room decked out with christmas decorations, a few more scattered around the house.
it was a quiet night, you were reading in bed as snow fell, coating the streets in it, the perfect winter wonderland.
your peace was interrupted by a knock at your door, opening to reveal anthony lockwood, both arms raised above him, one leaning against the door frame, as the other held something above the both of you.
mistletoe.
“now, what’s going on here?” you joked, grinning up at him
“just came to say hi, no idea how that got here.” he nonchalantly adds, inching slightly closer.
you chuckled, staring up into his eyes.
ever since you met lockwood you had been drawn to him, whether it was his looks or his personality, they both made you have a crush on him.
it wasn’t until recently (with the help of lucy) that you realized he liked you too, but was denying himself from the feelings, so you didn’t act on it.
but clearly, he had realized and didn’t want to wait.
“should we… uhm.. follow it’s tradition?” he questioned, blushing.
“i don’t know..” you teased, walking closer, “what would the george and lucy think?”
he was looking at your lips now, refusing to look away, “i don’t think they would mind.” he spoke barely above a whisper.
you hummed in response, taking your turn to look at his lips.
and then the space between you two closed.
his lips are soft against yours, like the snow falling outside. you hadn’t realized how complete this simple kiss could make you, like the whole world disappeared and it was just you two left, and it was all you needed.
the mistletoe dropped to the ground, so he could bring both his hands to your waist. you brought one of yours to his cheek and the other squeezed his bicep.
his brows furrow as he tries to bring you closer, impossible as you were already both stuck together like a puzzle piece.
reluctantly you pull away, your lips feel cold without the warmth of his. you don’t open your eyes straight away, just taking in his presence and the moment.
he brings his hand up to trace your lips, opening your eyes you find him admiring you.
“i think i might need to kiss whoever created mistletoe.” he chuckled.
“just kiss me instead.” you responded, tilting your head.
“oh gladly.” he breathed, pulling you in for another kiss.
this one felt more heated, more desperate, like you were each others oxygen, like you needed it.
he brought both his hands back to your waist, clutching at your shirt, as you wrap your arms around his neck, one hand sliding up into his hair, playing with it causing him to grin into the kiss.
“fucking finally!” lucy yelled, you both break apart, snapping back to the real world. you see lucy standing excitedly at the top of the stairs with george, who had a disgusted expression.
“dinners ready, by the way, but clearly you both were already eating.” george mocked.
“gross george!” you groaned, hiding your face in lockwoods shoulder.
“oh yeah says you! hurry it up.” he retorts, stomping down the stairs, lucy giggling following close behind.
as you pull away from lockwoods shoulder, and begin to follow the other two, lockwood is quick to grab your hand and spin you back towards him.
he lands a peck on your lips, “needed one more.” he whispered.
#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood#lockwood x reader#lockwood and co#anthony lockwood imagine#anthony lockwood x you#anthony lockwood fluff#lockwood and co netflix#lockwood and co x reader#lockwood and co fic#lockwood netflix#sienna’s fics
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A couple Max doodles from my sketchbook to shamelessly plug my fic!
"Max always knew everything about what he was supposed to be. He was Max, the cynical rebel, the one-man hell-raiser, the bad kid who deserved every bad thing that came his way. Or well, that's what he thought until one summer at the world's worst summer camp with the world's nicest camp counselor took that idea and flipped it right on its head.
Now, he's learning that he might just deserve better than what he's got, which is how he finds himself on a bus ride from Los Angeles to Portland in search for help from a camp counselor, and maybe even a real home."
Go check it out if you like Dadvid content!
#camp camp#cc max#the smol angery floof#camp camp fanart#dadvid#fanfiction#cc love like you#if you read it I would be so so happy
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Gonna share about a Gay Black Paraplegic Comic Author/DJ now
The Brown Bomber is a sweetly innocent, gay superhero. Diva Flambé Touché? She’s the mysterious, wise lesbian who befriends him. Together, this duo has been saving the world since the 1970s and ’80s—the first of their kind when they busted out back then, into a comics landscape dominated by straight, white superheroes. And they owe their existence to local illustrator, activist, and real-life superhero Rupert Kinnard.
Some changemakers helm nonprofits or foundations; Kinnard is less likely to be found in the boardroom than in a living room, striking up a necessary conversation or connecting people. The sexagenarian paraplegic who DJs in his spare time has been living diversity and inclusion since long before they became buzzwords, shaping the state’s gay rights movement along the way.
@dirhwangdaseul @russianspacegeckosexparty @bigskydreaming
some more stuff on him including profiles, interviews and panels
youtube
youtube
youtube
youtube
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just a lil something I’m working on for Carmy (it is smut babes) bc apparently award season (and the bear SWEEPING) will continue to inspire me
a/n: this is just the beginning! no smut below the cut... YET. no for real, it's just the set up. trust.
It wasn’t until you were on the plane, en route to Carnation, WA and facing down almost an entire week without Carmy, that you realized that you and Carmy haven’t spent more than a night or two apart since you moved in together.
And it’s been almost a year now, since the two of you decided to cohabitate.
You’re not sure how it happened—how you and your boyfriend grew this attached at the hip—but you can only imagine that it has a whole lot to do with getting the restaurant to where it is now, your worlds weaving together so seamlessly that you barely noticed. It’s hard at first, because you miss him, but between Chef Bootcamp with the prestigious James Beard Association, and catching up with friends in Portland for an additional few days, you’re glad you stuck out your homesickness.
They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and if there’s anything you’re going to take away from your time apart, it’s that the proverbial ‘they’ were onto something—something you make clear as you squeeze Carmy extra hard when he picks you up at the airport.
“I missed you,” you gush, burying your face into his chest, his somehow still-pristinely crisp white t-shirt that smells faintly of the cigarette he smoked before he got in the car this morning.
God, he smells good.
He smells like home.
“I missed you, sweet girl,” he mumbled into your hair before placing a kiss on the top of your head. “So, so much.”
Carmy pulls back, just enough to get a good look at you. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he sees you before him, feels you in his arms, takes you in like he can’t believe that you’re standing in front of him.
“C’mon. Let’s get you home. I wanna hear all about your trip,” he encourages you as he loads your suitcase into the backseat of Richie’s car.
#the bear fx#the bear hulu#carmen 'carmy' berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto x you#carmy berzatto x reader#jeremy allen white#carmy x oc
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I want a Leverage/Stargate crossover in which Parker, Hardison, Eliot, and Sophie all know about Stargate and all think they are the only ones who know.
Eliot is easy. He worked for them. He's been off world and has seen aliens up close. He doesn't want that danger anywhere near his team and, if they knew aliens were real, they would seek them out.
Parker, pre-Leverage, was once going to steal from a goa'uld. She's hidden away and safe, but sees the goa'uld change hosts or similar. It is one of the few times she walked away without her score. She still stole something, just not what she had gone for. She also neatly accepted that mind controlling snake monsters are real and that made her much more accepting of the impossible and, weirdly, less afraid in general. Nothing beats a mind controlling snake monster.
Hardison hacked his way into the mountain base while setting up in Portland. He didn't go in deep; he was just looking for something cute and Santa related for Parker. Instead, he found a mission report some idiot had sent in via email. The report had video. Brutal video. He watched. Three times. And then bought himself a new computer solely to hack deeper and figure out if what he saw was real or fake. It was real. He was thrilled--space ships and aliens were real! He was terrified--space ships and aliens were real and not very friendly. He wanted no part of that.
Sophie conned her way into a dinner with military officials. It wasn't even for a job. She was just bored and wanted to test out her skills. (Part of her also wanted to get caught. Part of her post-Nate was a bit self-destructive). She found a man fuming and lent a listening ear. With a bit of alcohol and a lot of pretending to know more than he did, she learned about the Stargate program. She locked that knowledge up deep, ready to wield it if ever needed.
And then, one day in New Orleans, SGC comes knocking for Eliot. It is one of the times that Hardison is home with them. Eliot is cooking and Hardison and Parker are teasing him in the kitchen. Harry is out. Breanna is working to undo a virus Hardison created for her as a challenge.
Then, say, Cameron Mitchell walks in. Eliot glances over from where he's cooking at the stove and says, "No. Turn around. Walk away."
Hardison has gone still. He remembers Cameron's face from the reports he read and watched. "How do you know Eliot?" he asks.
"We used to work together."
Hardison turns to Eliot, eyes wide. "Eliot?"
"Better question," Eliot says, turning off the heat. "How do you know Mitchell here?"
"Someone has to keep an eye on what the government is doing," Hardison vamps, part of him still hoping to end this conversation without Parker learning about the spaceships and aliens.
"Dammit Hardison."
By this time, Parker has hopped off the counter and walked up to Cameron to get a better read on him. She also nicks his wallet and firearm. "Catch," she calls to Eliot as she tosses the firearm to him.
"Parker!" Eliot chastises as he snatches the gun. "Don't throw firearms."
She shrugs. "I knew you'd catch it."
This is the first time Cameron has looked wrongfooted this entire time. "What?"
"Cameron Mitchell," Parker reads from his ID. "Airforce."
Cameron swipes it back from her. Parker lets him. As she turns, she catches Breanna's eye and gestures to her ear.
Breanna pulls out of the code she was working on and starts looking for any foreign frequencies to find out who is talking to Mitchell.
Sophie, who has been watching quietly this entire time and noting Cameron's military standing, takes into account his actual division and the ways Eliot and Hardison are acting and clearly talking around something. She decides to make a gamble.
"Does this have anything to do with the Stargate program?"
Eliot, Hardison, and Cameron all freeze and look at her.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Cameron says, "But how do you know about the Stargate program."
Sophie offers him a beatific smile. "People do talk--" she pauses and gives him a searching look "--commander is it? Interesting that the commander himself came to talk." She turns to Eliot. "This might be important."
Cameron spins to Eliot. "Did you tell her?"
Eliot crosses his arms. "I've not said anything."
Parker raises her hand. "What's the Stargate Program?
Hardison is the first to speak up. "It is a secret program that deals with threats from space."
"Like aliens?" Breanna asks, continuing to hack into Cameron's comms. She's surprised by the layers of protection.
"Yes."
"Okay," Breanna mutters. "Cool. So aliens are real."
Parker raises her hand again.
"You don't need to raise your hand, Parker," Eliot mutters into his hand.
"Are any of these aliens mind controlling snake monsters who like Egyptian antiquities?"
Now every eye is on her.
"Yes," Cameron says, stretching the word out. "How?"
Parker just hops back up onto the counter. "I stole from one."
"Did she just say she stole from one?" A woman's voice plays from Breanna's corner.
"So I've hacked their comms," Breanna says.
Cameron nearly growls in frustration. This was not how this was supposed to go.
"Why don't you invite the rest of your team in?" Sophie says. "Eliot, will we have enough food?"
Eliot rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove. He turns the heat back on and gives his dish a stir. "I was making enough for leftovers. We'll be fine."
"Who are you people?" Cameron asks. "I mean, I've read your files, but--"
"Oh, how did you like those?" Hardison asks. "Beauties, aren't they?"
"You forged your records?" Cameron asks, his tone flat.
Sophie touches his elbow and guides him to a seat. "When you've taken over a small country, darling, paperwork is child's play."
Cameron looks at her, sees she isn't lying, and laughs. "Okay. Fine." He calls his team in. They'll have dinner. And then they'll discuss saving the world.
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The real reason the CRM fell so quickly.
Rick was imprisoned by force even kept on a leash at the beginning and did everything to escape. Later, he imprisoned himself by fear. He was afraid of the three pages of scrawl that Jadis wrote about his family and community. That is why Michonne tore it up and cried, this stupid piece of paper kept him away from her for years.
Listening to this lunatic Beale you could see Rick almost physically get sick. All these years he lost because a Beta b$tch has Daddy Issues. Later Rick tells Michonne he is just angry at the loss of time with his family.
In the end the CRM was just a bunch of B’s clinging to each other in hopes of survival by destroying those who may challenge them. The only part of the Echelon Briefing I think Jadis and Pearl heard was that they will be in elite company and safe.
People keep saying it is “rushed”. How? At this point can’t we tell a Beta B$tch a mile off? He killed Omaha, gassed Michonne and her friends, should they have waited for him to kill Portland… to make sure he is a bone fide Big Baddie? The opportunity presented itself… and that is who they are they “Make sh!t happen”. It could have been stretched out, Rick was disgusted and now he was the one begging Michonne that he wanted to just go home.
At the end of the day, there is no difference between Beale and the 3 scroungers Rick and Michonne saved in the woods who then turned on them. Beale just took an opportunity that presented itself and killed off another city to protect himself. Rick and Michonne are doing the same with this opportunity “Live by the sword of opportunity, die by the sword of opportunity” or something like that.
Michonne spent an entire episode breaking the mental chains the CRM had on Rick. Episode 6 was the payoff he had to return to the scene of the crime and see clearly, no hesistation. He saw his only friend Thorne was too far gone to be save and he saw that Beale was a lunatic. What he saw made him angry that he wasted so much of his life with these fools.
Michonne gave him Clarity.
This is the world Shane would have created… and it is ugly.
I like that they did not glorify yet another sociopath with fascist tendencies.
So not rushed, also the CRM still exist all Rick and Michonne did was cut out the cancerous part.
What I would like to see for the future: I always considered Rick in the model of Cincinnatus, the reluctant Roman leader. He was asked to became an absolute dictator and when order was restored he quit and went back to his farm.
If there is a season 2, I see Rick being begged to take over the CRM and lead the fight against the doomsday clock of humanity.
#the ones who live#the walking dead#rick grimes#michonne grimes#towl#twd towl#richonne#michonne#towl spoilers#twd spoilers
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October 2024 wlw entertainment rundown
TV
youtube
Lucky My Love, First episode drops October 28th on YouTube
youtube
Everything Now, Netflix, October 5
youtube
The Fall of the House of Usher, October 12, 2023
Movies
youtube
Tripped Up, October 20,
Books, Games, Music etc.
In A World Of Our Own: Chasing Dreams And Love
Sophia Miller, an openly lesbian supermodel, enjoys her solitary life in the bustling heart of New York City. But when her gay millionaire best friend, Chris Anderson, requests her to play his pretend girlfriend for a family gathering in Texas, she can't refuse. After all, Chris is on the brink of becoming the CEO of the billion-dollar Anderson Corp.
Enter Alissa Anderson, the Oxford and Cambridge-educated, closeted lesbian daughter of the conservative and formidable Henry Anderson. With the CEO position at Anderson Corp now up for grabs, Alissa finds herself in a fierce rivalry with her own brother. Ascending to the top of the family business and shattering traditional gender roles has always been her ultimate dream. However, her well-laid plans begin to unravel when she encounters her brother's "girlfriend" at a pivotal family gathering on their Texas ranch.
When Sophia and Alissa's worlds collide at the Anderson estate, everything is on the line: the coveted CEO position, concealed sexual identities, a sham relationship, and a burgeoning real one that threatens to bloom amidst the chaos.
“Sushi for Empress Setsuko” is a cozy and comedic point & click adventure game and yuri dating sim set in a fantastical Japan-inspired land. Follow Mizumi Nagashima as she travels around the Empire, seeing gorgeous views, catching delicious fish, and charming beautiful women.
RELEASE DATE:
3 Oct, 2023
Iris Kelly Doesn't Date
A fake relationship after a horrible one-night stand is anything but an act in this witty and heartfelt new romantic comedy by Ashley Herring Blake.
Everyone around Iris Kelly is in love. Her best friends are all coupled up, her siblings have partners that are perfect for them, and her parents are still blissfully married. And she’s happy for all of them, truly. Iris doesn’t want any of that—dating, love, romance. She’ll stick to her commitment-free hookups, thanks very much, except no one in her life will just let her be. Everyone wants to see her settled down, but she holds firmly to her no dating rule. There’s only one problem—Iris is a romance author facing an imminent deadline for her second book, and she’s completely out of ideas.
Perfectly happy to ignore her problems as per usual, Iris goes to a bar in Portland and meets a sexy stranger, Stefania, and a night of dancing and making out turns into the worst one-night stand Iris has had in her life. To get her mind off everything, Iris tries out for the lead role in a local play, a queer retelling of Much Ado About Nothing, but comes face-to-face with Stefania, whose real name turns out to be Stevie. Desperate to save face in front of her friends, Stevie asks Iris to play along as her girlfriend. Iris is shocked, but when she realizes the arrangement might provide her with some much-needed romantic content for her book, she agrees. As the two women play the part of a happy couple, lines start to blur, and they’re left wondering who will make the real first move....
Moonlight in Garland is a cozy open-ended life-sim video game that sees you making a new life in the bustling metropolis of Garland. Find an apartment and make it perfectly yours, befriend your neighbours, grow your urban garden, solve community problems and experience all the weirdly wonderful stuff that city living offers.
Of course, city life isn’t all farmers markets and fancy coffee. Will you step in to stop the heritage building from being torn down and preserve a piece of history? Look after the neighbourhood so more residents stick around? Figure out which jerk is stealing packages from the mail room? Be swept up in a whirlwind romance along the way?
#tripped up#rundown#tripped up movie#iris kelly doesn’t date#everything now#everything now Netflix#moonlight in garland#lesbian#gay#lgbt#lgbtq#wlw#bi#girls who like girls#lgbtqia#sapphic#tv#movies#video games#Sushi for Empress Setsuko#Youtube
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Harry’s Home
(PART I.)
Pairing: Roommate!Harry // Nameless 1st-Person Femme Protagonist
Word Count: ~ 12k words
‼️Mature/18+‼️
⚠️ Content Warnings: Adult Language, Lots of Flirting, Pining, Love/Hate Dynamic, References to Body Weight (“Chubby” Reader), Body Objectification (M & F), References to Masturbation (F), Mentions of Body-Type Biases, Alcohol Consumption (Legal & Responsible Drinking), References to Ovulation & Implications to Breeding
**ANY & ALL IMAGES USED ARE NOT MINE**
Likes, Comments, Reblogs, and Follows are 100% welcome 💕
Weeknights deserve more credit. For many of us, it’s the peaceful resolution to our day. It’s the time when we come home after being excused from our lectures or meetings, or when we clock-out at the end of our shifts. We’ll safely make it back to our comfort zones and our open time slot can be occupied with whatever we want. Those few free hours are sacred. They give adults a necessary recharge. Personally, I share my humble homestead with an egotistical, British businessman—Harry Styles.
Harry was employed as a marketing executive for a unisex fashion brand located in Portland, Oregon. ‘Vol. 6’ started out as a small business, and had recently made waves in the industry with its diverse designs and overall style inclusivity. The company’s roots were planted by a few local, starving artists who set up an online shop with the most modest of intentions. The amateurs were blindsided by how their ideas blew up in overwhelming popularity via the internet. It was like winning the lottery. They eventually accumulated so many orders that they needed to expand their operations—hiring an A-team of designers, tailors, and legal professionals(for copyright purposes, of course). International sweatshops and inhumane labor conditions were far from what Vol. 6 sought to create. And so they stayed in Portland—keeping their focus upon ensuring exceptional product quality, as well as enforcing flexible, comfortable, and progressive working environments for its employees. Although an underdog in the fashion scene, Vol. 6’s excellent reputation continued to soar without a hitch. It turns out that a cohesive process of structured business management and clever marketing can be achieved without sacrificing empathy, creativity, realness, or substance. The only disadvantage is the limited supply of merchandise whilst there’s a metastasizing demand. It’s not like this kind of business structure is rare. High-status designer brands have been known to keep their stock low—or at least that’s what they say—for their popular items to seem more valuable and special. As an operation that works against those capitalist games, Vol. 6 values employee and customer satisfaction over profit. The company’s active attention and true kindness are what separates them from the rest.
So, as I mentioned before, Harry is a part of Vol. 6’s marketing team. He often collaborates with the designing team when he’s working on new promotions or adverts. Creative cohesiveness is essential to successful marketing. Hence why Harry and Mitch became close friends as they had consistently developed ads together for a couple of years.
Some have referred to the boys as yin and yang. One of the two tended to present himself as intimidating and pretentious, whilst the other was comparatively quite mild and personable. It was a mystery how these men befriended one another instead of becoming enemies. Harry was the type that wanted to complete tasks his way, and his way only. In total contrast, Mitch liked spontaneity—preferring to ‘go with the flow’ rather than planning ahead. That method of living was despised by Harry. He was set in his ways. It didn’t make sense to him how his friend could act so unbothered by the world’s chaos. Maybe it was just his hot temper, or maybe it was the way his natural responses to conflict were either instigating a verbal quarrel or using bitter humor as a defense mechanism…but Harry just wasn’t a people person. Mitch had thankfully brought him out of his comfort zone a few times—reminding Harry of his university days when his mates had turned him into a womanizer. The results, however, differed from those times due to Harry developing a bleeding heart as he progressed through his twenties. He was open to new experiences and fun banter with strangers as long as Mitch accompanied him. And so they became somewhat of a package-deal. Well, at least that had been the case before Mitch started dating Sarah Jones.
Harry had nothing to dislike about Mitch’s girlfriend. They got along just fine. However, Mitch became less and less available to Harry outside of work…Which meant Harry wasn’t going out much, and that was his issue. Of course he was happy for his friend—Mitch was supportive of him when he was in a serious relationship a few years back. There was no reason for Harry to be bitter. I personally believe he was just lamenting; that he was struggling to accept the fact that life would no longer be the same as it was. He looked back to when he was working towards a degree and reminisced about how he felt more socially fulfilled from living with, and eventually befriending, complete strangers. Those college memories had been the stepping stones of Harry’s development into true adulthood. He had no intention to ever stop growing and improving as a man. Thus why Harry sought to make a big lifestyle change in order to work towards branching out on his own accord. No more was he to reside in a bachelor-pad apartment with a shitty landlord who had never fixed the rattling air-conditioner. He was going to move somewhere more permanent. A place where he could enter his thirties as successful, single, and not lonely. A housemate would solidify the latter.
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Having met him briefly a few times, Sarah recognized a few of Harry’s traits as noticeably familiar. She knew someone personally with identical mood swings, a goofy laugh, and an annoyingly specific taste regarding every little thing. The combination of resemblances felt bizarre to witness up close. She felt like Harry had been performing as some sort of parody—speaking in hyperboles and absolutes as a joke. But she soon realized she was wrong and that he was just like that. Reacting emotionally was actually his genuine response to any sort of change. Sure, she’d interacted with the moody type before. She’d also certainly met plenty of picky control-freaks. Only, the person Harry reminded her of was unique in that she was entertainingly campy, yet sincerely empathetic; and Harry was the same. That person who’d come to her mind was me. And as soon as Sarah heard the news that Harry was looking for a roommate, her ears perked up and she reached out to me immediately.
But I guess I should probably explain the origin story of Harry and me, together, in more detail…here, I’ll start over:
My introduction to Harry was when a friend of mine, Sarah, gave me the news that her boyfriend’s officemate, Harry, was looking to lease a new place. The house was located in a nice suburban area just outside of Portland. Seeing that the neighborhood had been on the upscale side, he wanted to find a roommate to split the pricey rent with. Me, working full time and desperately seeking a replacement for living with my parents, saw this as the golden opportunity to finally have true independence. My initial excitement almost deterred me from wondering whether this ‘Harry’ dude was decent, or reliable, or if he was just some complete prick. I’d never met the guy. I didn’t know a single thing about him besides his name, and yet I’d already begun to mentally pack my bags. I still should’ve had more reservations about it. But then again, I was already aware of how uncomfortable living with a complete stranger was—thanks to college life in the U.S., of course. Also, Sarah’s boyfriend, Mitch, was (and still is) a respectable guy and I was sure he’d only surround himself with people of the like…logically speaking. After all, he was my closest friend’s boyfriend. If Harry stepped on my toes even once, Mitch would endure a hurricane of wrath from my Sarah.
The added layer of safety provided by my best friend’s loyalty was comforting. But this was still a gigantic step for me as a young adult. I’d be actually moving out of my parents’ house entirely for the first time ever. You could say I was blissfully naive of what challenges and obstacles my future held. Apart from all my idealistic daydreaming, I couldn’t help seeking a clearer picture of who Harry actually was (literally and figuratively).
Sarah had given me a basic description:
“He’s a sweet guy. But he tends to act kind of… ambiguous at times? His vibes go back and forth, you know? Kind of unpredictable. Hot ‘n cold…” she trailed on.
Ok. That obviously required significant elaboration—of which she’d eventually come around to providing after I sang the classic Katy Perry lyrics she’d unintentionally referenced.
“…Yeah, yeah, yeah…” She dismissed me, my sing-songy tangent coming to a giggly close.
“…But I’m serious—Mitch has told me all about Harry’s passive narcissism and how much of a stubborn grump he can be…I don’t know, maybe it’s a British thing. A stereotype, I know; but he switches from sarcastic to compassionate on the flip of a dime…” Sarah rambled.
I squinted at her and shook my head in disbelief. This was starting to sound a little sketchy. A grumpy, moody, narcissist? Awesome.
“Psh, so he’s a crabby geriatric divorceé? Wonderful…It’s no wonder he’s got that old-timey name, to boot. The guy just needs a caretaker…also, why would Volume 6 hire an old dude to handle their marketing campaigns..?” I joked.
Sarah shook her head and laughed as if I’d just said something utterly ridiculous.
“HA! Oh, god…I’ll have to remember to tell Mitch all of what you just said.” Sarah wheezed, entertained by my very false assumptions of Harry.
I blinked at her, not understanding why she found what I said so funny.
“…You have it all wrong, babe. He moved here from the UK, like, 10 years ago I think? Mitch said he hopped around from LA to New York City, then from New York to…um, well…to here, in sweet ole Portlandia.” She concluded.
As a young woman in her early-twenties, I wasn’t very enthusiastic about this living arrangement coming to life.
The look on my face must have revealed my doubts because my friend chuckled, waving her hands around for emphasis, and quickly clearing the air for me.
“Wait, wait, hold on! Before you tune out—He’s in his late 20’s! Just realizing how weird that sounded…Yeesh, I’d never let you live with some stinky, old, Englishman, you dummy!”
Phew…That sounded much better. It wouldn’t be too different from living with my older brother, then. But that one word, ‘ambiguous’—it wouldn’t leave my mind. Adjectives like that just leave too much to the imagination…well, to mine, anyway. What was Harry being all ambiguous about? My overzealous curiosity pushed me to spiral, conjuring up whatever dirty secrets that would be instant deal-breakers for me…
Did he smoke inside? Did he hate cats? Dogs? Or worse, was he the leader of some creepy murder cult? And if so, would he reserve our living room for their weekly meetings?!
...Would I be spared as a sacrifice because of my not-so-virgin blood?
Was he a fratty douchebag who peaked in college and succumbed to alcoholism?
Was he the type who’d refuse to be my roommate once he saw that I wasn’t a size-00? Would he feel catfished and tell me I looked “bigger in person?” …Not like that sort of thing really mattered to me—I’d just heard that before from a few guys around his age who were surely expecting to be faced with some petite porcelain doll…
Anyway, I guess I just hoped he’d be direct enough to tell me…you know…anything worth mentioning before I’d officially become his roommate. For all I knew, he was probably just a snobby little brat with an annoying, pompous accent.
Amidst my internal ramblings, Sarah added that Harry was a perfectionist.
So, I was right—he was a brat.
I wanted to stay positive, though. Maybe he was just a neat freak, and that’s what Sarah was implying. I mean, that didn’t sound too intolerable, right? And if he was moody, maybe he’d just keep to himself most of the time. I was perfectly fine with that. I tended to keep to myself most of the time, too...though, I never thought of myself as that moody…
Whoever he was, I just crossed my fingers that he wouldn’t have any attitude similarities to Simon Cowell. Just imagining that possibility made my head hurt and my self-confidence plummet. Whatever. That was probably unlikely, right?
Nonetheless, I was desperate for answers. Sarah just shrugged at me and told me to look him up myself if I wanted to know more. And so, I went to work.
Who was Harry Styles? Aye, that was the question…sorry, I’ll continue:
Doing some basic Googling, it seemed that Harry was at least somewhat active on social media…enough that he wasn’t untraceable, at least. This was one of those (very)few times where I was legitimately grateful for the existence of online social platforms. I scrolled and scrolled, and clicked, and scrolled some more…for probably 3 solid hours. Daylight had actually run out by the time I’d realized how badly my corneas were stinging. I’d looked at myself in the black reflection of my phone and could see the popped blood vessels in the whites of my eyes. At least I found what I was searching for.
Luckily for me, his—albeit, ancient—Facebook page looked genuine and free of any red flags. To my dismay, I had to send a friend request and a follow request to his socials in order to actually have access to the profiles. Did that make it obvious that I was in the middle of e-stalking him? Quite likely, yes…But I’d let my excitement and curiosity overtake my sense of self-preservation that night. Tiptoeing around so I could naturally stumble across a morsel of information would’ve been agonizing. My main objective was more important to me than playing mind games with that stranger, Mister Harry Styles. I wanted so badly to free myself from the confines of my childhood home, regardless. Ugh! I was the only one in my friend group who still lived with their parents, and the lack of privacy only weighed heavier on me as time progressed. My dear friend, Sarah, kindly gifted me my long-awaited chance at freedom by sending Harry’s offer my way, and I wanted to run with it.
Yes, I may have been diving face-first into a serious commitment with a complete stranger. Sure, I’ve never lived with a man who wasn’t related to me. And, yeah, I was nervous that this guy was going to reject me because I was younger, eager, and…kinda on the chubby side, to be honest. I know, I know…
My size shouldn’t matter, I knew that, and I still know that. It never truly matters. I knew my situation wasn’t the same as meeting a lousy Tinder date or whatever, but I felt paranoid regardless. All sorts of men have burned me in the past with their shallowness, so I wasn’t about to hold onto a false guise of confidence just for my big break to disappoint me in the end. The age difference felt somewhat significant on top of that. I’d been made aware that Harry was a few years my senior, but it didn't bother me. I hoped it wouldn’t bother him, either…that, and everything else about me, of course…I just had to wait and see.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He accepted my friend/follow requests immediately, and I dove head-first into research (lowkey-stalker) mode. From awkward prom photos and blurry, live music performances, the innocence of his Facebook profile finally put my worries at ease. His most recent profile picture was of him, his mother, and his sister. The candid, selfie-style photo successfully pulled a smile out of me. It’s not a secret that there are wolves in sheep’s clothing out there. But my gut assured me he was safe—that he was a decent guy. The back and forth comments on those family photos were friendly enough for me to assume a close bond between the two siblings, especially. My cheeks started to ache from my incessant smiling and giggling. The pictures were just so cute, I had to message Sarah about it.
[Text Messages]
Me: stfu this guy is adorable 😫
Sarah: HA I’ll have Mitch let him know u think so 😏 ❤️
Me: Oh my god, fr pls don’t
Sarah: Too late 😉
Me: Alrighty 🙂 Brb…gonna go play in traffic 🤪
Sarah: Ur such a drama queen lol
Me: Yep, that’s me 😚
Sarah: xoxo 😘💋
** one week later **
Sarah told me Harry was a bit different than the way he seemed in those family photos. She said he had tattoos and that he was a total frat boy at heart. All shyness aside, “…his true colors shine their brightest when he’s riled up…I’ve seen it. Little crabby pants man-child.” It was safe to say that Sarah was explicitly giving me a warning for Harry’s hot temper. I looked past it at the time because–as a sensitive crybaby myself–I assumed he was just in-tune with his emotions. I saw nothing wrong with that. I actually found it to be quite refreshing. A handsome man who isn’t an emotionless narcissist or a bird-brained himbo? Sounded pretty exciting to me! I looked forward to possibly cohabitating with someone who had a solid connection to their empathetic side.
Also, basically everyone and their mom has a tattoo or a sleeve. Harry wasn’t different or special in that way to me at all. I completely shrugged it off. Who cared? Still curious as all hell, I scrolled around for a link to his Instagram. The link was right there on his Facebook profile.
Nice.
This is just too easy, I thought. I’ve got all this information on this man at my fucking fingertips.
Wow wow wow wow…
So, uh…Needless to say, Harry presented himself as a little less, um…well, I definitely wouldn’t have pegged him as a “mama’s-boy.” I mean, it wasn’t like he was unrecognizably different or anything. Sarah’s depiction of him, although vague, was right on the nose. All of this was meant for research purposes only. But it was objectively true that he was insanely gorgeous. It was just a fact. Pretending like Harry was average in attractiveness…I mean, why would I do that? Why would I lie to myself when the man was just an innocent sight for my sore eyes? That’s all he was…he was cute. Handsome. Adorable. It was as simple as that. I just don’t know why I couldn’t stop coming back to his Instagram time and time again. No matter how paranoid I’d been about accidentally liking a post from like…5 years ago…I still kept clicking on his profile for more.
He had a few videos of him working out—pull ups, bench presses, deadlifts—all of which featured a very sweaty, and very shirtless Harry.
He also had a few group shots with friends. Sometimes there would be a picture of him with his mom or his sister.
The latest posts revealed his plethora of tattoos to my unexpecting eyes. It was obvious that he knew he was attractive. He knew he wasn’t some average Joe. And I swear he had to have known I was looking. Surely he was looking at mine, too. But I was quite conservative and innocent on my instagram profile—similar to the way he looked on his Facebook. I had to admit, the general vibe of this virtual scrapbook was indeed leaning on the fratty side. Sarah was right. He also seemed aloof in some ways. It looked like he preferred small gatherings to larger ones. He didn’t post very often, and it was hardly ever him who’d be taking photos of himself. Someone else would capture Harry’s beauty.
The contrast between the two online profiles distracted the hell out of me. Specifically, I found myself gawking at him in his sweaty workout videos. His defined shoulder muscles quickly caught my attention, my gaze drifting across the defined blades until I ventured lower. The butterfly on his abdomen was both creepy and beautiful. It reminded me of the moth from Silence of the Lambs. Its wings glistened with a layer of moisture as he pulled himself up and down on the steel bar. Beads of sweat made his chestnut curls cling damply to his skin. I salivated watching this man strain and flex continuously; and I felt myself arch my back while I sat, pressing and grinding my clothed core against my mattress.
Jesus…What was happening to me?!
So, uh…the truth is…I thought Harry was really fucking hot. There was no point in lying about it. His hair just looked so soft and silky, and I wanted to run my fingers through it. I wanted to pull at it. I wanted to slide my soapy hands across the art on his body under a steaming hot shower. I wanted to kiss my way down until I was met with what I was 10000% convinced would stand a girthy, 7-inch masterpiece. Oddly specific, I know. But it was obvious he had a gorgeous dick to compliment the rest of him. He just had this vibe—this aura about him. It’s hard to explain. What was worse was how it seemed as if he knew he exuded that ‘big-dick energy,’ too.
So why 7 inches? Well, the dildo I’d been using for a while was about 6 inches—which was very nice, don’t get me wrong. But it just didn’t quite fill me…completely. And so I’d begun to fantasize about how Harry could stuff my holes instead. Fantasy Harry was a motherfucking dreamboat, let me tell ya. I couldn’t stop daydreaming about him—from carrying heavy boxes into the house and helping me unpack, to flat-out forcing me onto all fours, spanking my ass, and fucking me to tears. The fantasies only evolved over time, no matter how hard I tried to push those perverse thoughts away…but to be honest, I didn’t want to…
Nevermind his admittance of vanity, he still had a gentleness about him…hiding somewhere beyond those pale, teal eyes. Or maybe it was my overwhelming attraction to him that cast a rosy hue to how I perceived his character. I guess that was possible. However, I tended to have a good radar for these sorts of things—people, I mean. Harry made me feel excited, secure, comfortable, and very horny. I had no intentions of backing out from signing that lease, and I decided it was time to officially confirm that with him.
My addiction had only worsened from there. I’d begun to shamelessly use his posts as some sort of spank bank for my regular sessions of alone time. My body reacted quite positively to the change in routine. I couldn’t get too into it, though, as I hardly ever had the house to myself. That was one reason why I wanted out of there. Of course, I was still able to have my fun; I just needed to keep quiet. But fucking myself to Harry made staying quiet extremely difficult. It was like masturbating on Hard Mode. I was constantly hyper aware of how I handled my phone with my one free hand—so as to not double-tap. Then there were some photos of him where I’d pinch and zoom in closer, straining my eyes to see if I could make out the outline of his bulge. He wore black athletic shorts a lot of the time, so he was usually protected by the camouflage of the dark fabric. In one of his weight-lifting videos, though, he brought the bar up from the floor up to his knees, then slid it up just below his hips, and—oh my god. The metal pressed so closely to the tops of his thighs that he had his whole package propped up. His shorts tightened perfectly around him. It was so subtle, most people would probably miss it upon first glance. But I didn’t. I saw it. And now I can’t unsee it.
Oh…but he wouldn’t post him with a…or would he…?
Ugh, that cocky little smirk…Fucking asshole.
I hated him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Of course, I felt really dirty for thinking about my new roommate like that.
Oh, yeah…Sorry, uh, I forgot to mention: the two of us had e-signed the lease. I know, I know…but I needed to take the offer! How could I pass up the chance to 1.) move out of my parents’ house, and 2.) move in with a sexy, brooding, successful British man whom I could trust because he was a mutual friend AND…I honestly loved the house. It was old, but not broken or in shambles. The floors were amber hardwood, and the whole house was finished with matching carved, wooden railings and accent wall paneling. Having recently been remodeled, the kitchen was in excellent shape. Appliances were updated. The property was managed by an association which handled the lawn, utilities, and small, miscellaneous amenities. We had our own driveway, a connected two-car garage, and our mailbox was labeled with both of our last names.
The charming little cottage condo was now officially, and contractually, mine and Harry’s. I was ecstatic about it, honestly. We still hadn’t met in person yet, which I knew wasn't the smartest approach, but we’d at least chatted a bit over text and shared some friendly phone calls. His voice was insanely sexy, might I add. I knew he was from the UK, as per Sarah, and so of course I was expecting to be greeted with that accent. What I was not expecting was this slow, deep…rough…
Eek, sorry—um, I wasn’t expecting a voice like that to come out of the speaker, that’s all. Dare I say it, he actually sounded nervous to talk to me on that first call. He’d stutter his words whenever I posed a question, and I could practically hear his boyish smile through my phone. It also took forever for him to end our calls—our goodbyes resembling the never-ending midwestern kind that I was unfortunately very familiar with. They didn’t feel nearly as painful or awkward, though. Listening to his accented mumbles on the other line released a flutter of butterflies in my belly.
I later learned that Harry had performed his own research on me. The only difference was that he’d done most of it a week or so before we’d e-signed the lease together.
It was simple. At work, Mitch mentioned me in a conversation regarding the house Harry had his eye on. He was interested the moment my name was suggested, a gut-feeling making him latch onto me. Once he’d discovered my online profiles by searching through Mitch’s mutuals, his infatuation with me soared. He had a juvenile crush on me from the get-go.
Feeling 17 again, Harry would look for openings in their casual discussions so that he could bring me up. Mitch, being a good sport, spent day after day playing his role as the messenger between the 4 of us. He wished Sarah had just given Harry my phone number straight away instead. If she did, Mitch would’ve been able to eat his lunches in peace. Not only did Mitch lack the answers to those questions, but he’d also only interacted with me a handful of times. He struggled to provide Harry with even the barebones descriptions. How was he supposed to know whether I was a morning or a night person, or what my thermostat preference was, or which days I did my laundry, or how often I had guests over? My private social media accounts offered better information about me than that of the fleeting memories my best friend’s boyfriend stored in his brain.
Harry intended to use somewhat of a surreptitious approach to voicing his curiosity to Mitch. But his sly efforts were useless, as Mitch caught onto his scheme quite easily. There wasn’t anything indicating to me that he was interested in me in any way. Well, not until Sarah let it slip that Harry couldn’t keep my name out of his mouth whenever he spoke to Mitch. But I thought he was just curious…I mean, I was a random, younger woman whom he was going to be living with. It made sense to me that he wanted to know so much about me. I was just as curious.
Casual lunch conversations between the two men had begun to form a particular pattern of redirection. At first, Mitch thought Harry was simply just eager to send in his deposit before anyone else could. The rent cost was a steal for how nice the house was and for the lovely neighborhood it was in. However, he knew all this enthusiasm was directed towards me, in particular, when Harry’s eyes were perma-glued to his screen whilst scrolling through my photos. I didn’t really have that much to scroll through, but apparently Harry spent enough time staring at each individual picture that one may have assumed I had an endless gallery. He’d even taken the liberty of digging further and eventually found my LinkedIn page. I remember how the week before our first phone call, I’d gotten a notification from LinkedIn telling me that someone viewed my profile…I didn't even know why I kept the app on my phone since I was content with my current job. Nevertheless, Harry’s investigation wasn’t as covert as he’d hoped.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry was scrolling around on my LinkedIn profile in the Vol. 6 breakroom. Without thinking, he outwardly deduced to Mitch, “She must be the commitment type,” referring to my short, yet impressive résumé. He promptly followed up his inference by chiming,“She’s lookin’ for something’ serious then, hm?”
As soon as the words escaped his lips, Harry’s nonchalance disappeared.
Mitch stopped in his tracks as Harry decided to drag the comment out further.
“I-I mean, like, for a serious living arrangement, y’know?” Harry squeaked.
Mitch cringed in discomfort as the cracking of Harry’s voice pierced his eardrums. To the man’s dismay, his friend didn’t know how to shut his mouth.
“…Some people can be quite fickle ‘bout it, yeah? And what, she’s 24? Surely she’s been disappointed by dozens of pricks by now. Must be dying for someone she can actually rely on, dontcha think?”
Mitch pursed his lips and half-heartedly agreed, “Mhm, probably sick of the fear-of-commitment type.”
Harry nodded and pulled at his lip with his thumb and forefinger. He then continued to ramble on.
“Now tha’ I’m edging on 30…I dunno…’guess I’m just looking—” He paused to clear his throat and scratch his nose with his knuckle. He looked considerably anxious. “—looking forward to, uh, commitments, and all tha’.”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed towards his friend who kept fidgeting with his hands on top of the table and dodging all eye contact. He found Harry’s clumsiness entertaining. He wanted to see how long he could get him to chase his tail. Instigating, Mitch said,“Yeah…So, uh, did you find anything else interesting about her?”
Harry lifted his head up to meet with the other man’s suspecting stare.
“Huh? Well, y-yes, definitely! ‘Course I did. She, uh…well, she’s—”
“—She’s a pretty girl…yeah, H?” Mitch interrupted, cutting him off from his stuttering. Harry swallowed dryly in response. At that point, it seemed to him that Mitch had finally picked up on his crush.
“Uhm, yeah…yeah, I think she is. Quite lovely, now that y’mention it.” His eyes blinked down at the zoomed image of me in a bridesmaid’s dress displayed on his clutched phone screen. Mitch patted Harry’s shoulder, heartily laughing at the glassy-eyed brunette in front of him.
Except, Harry wasn’t laughing. The shells of his ears turned red hot and his knee bobbed awkwardly under the table, unintentionally knocking on the hard surface a few times.
“Ah! Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, holding his nervous knee down.
“Harry, it’s ok if you have a lil crush on her...” Mitch assured him. Harry gnawed on the inside of his lip as Mitch kept on. “…God, y’know, I haven’t seen you down this bad since…well, since Cam, I think...”
Harry gulped at the mention of the woman’s name…the woman who broke his heart several years earlier. His discomfort with the subject was apparent to his friend who then swiftly rephrased. “Shit…Sorry…I just mean, like, you’ve got heart-eyes for a girl you’ve never even met. You don’t know her. She doesn’t know you…”
Harry stayed silent.
“…Honestly, I’m surprised. ‘Used to you always going for the Barbie-type. It’s nice to see you’re, uh, broadening your horizons, hm?” He smirked and drew an exaggerated hourglass in the air with his hands.
Harry furrowed his eyebrows and got defensive at the suggestive implication. “Besides having dated all women, I’ve never had a type, Mitchell.” He scoffed. “And another thing—” Harry quipped, his pupils swallowing the soft green of his irises. Mitch, unintimidated, seemed quite amused by his friend’s sensitive temper.
“—You shouldn’t talk about her like tha’. Inn’ she close with Sarah?! That’s your girlfriend’s best friend. ‘S fucked up.”
Mitch nodded in agreement with a dismissing chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sarah’s known her for years, but I was just messing with you, man. Relax.”
The men were quiet for a few moments before Mitch sent a warning Harry’s way.“Don’t fuck around with her, ok? ‘less you’re looking to mop up the poor girl’s tears every day. You’re signing a 3-year lease, remember? Try not to think with the wrong head.”
Harry glared at Mitch.
Wha—mopping up tears?! That’s a bit dramatic…
Contrary to Mitch’s assumptions, Harry wasn’t planning to create an uncomfortable living space. That’s the last thing he wanted. Sure, he was attracted to me and felt little butterflies fluttering in his belly when he read my posts and my texts. So what?! That’s his business if he had a teeny tiny crush on his potential housemate. It felt like Mitch was deliberately egging him on, and that’s precisely how the conversation escalated.
“What—? What are you going on about?” His voice strained to release the words. Mitch was done beating around the bush—he realized how the aftermath of Harry’s pursuit of me could end with lots of crying on my part; and worst of all, a very angry Sarah Jones. He wanted to avoid that outcome as much as possible.
“H, you’re stalking her Facebook and shit—”
“—Oi! ’S not like tha’! I just wanna know who I’m asking to move in w’me!”
“Ok, well I’m pretty sure you don’t keep looking through all her photos because you wanna know how good she is about washing the dishes.”
“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about…” Harry huffed. “…’Sides, you know it takes me a bit to get comfortable with people. Not to mention, I've never had a bloody roommate befo’, either.”
He was telling the truth—omitting some personal details in the process, but that didn’t matter. Not to Harry, at least. He knew Mitch was terrible at keeping secrets and that Sarah would be in the know before he could even finish a confession. There was no way he was going to risk jeopardizing such a safe and pleasant option with sharing his feelings so soon.
“Okay…” Mitch trails off. The air in the room was still and it made him uneasy. Harry scratched the shadow of stubble adorning his jaw. His impulsive mouth thankfully filled the silence that was suffocating them previously. As grown men and friends, the boys seemed to act like stubborn adolescents when it came to women—specifically, when it came to Harry and women.
“Um…so, you said you’ve met her before, yeah?” Harry couldn’t let it go.
Mitch drank from his water bottle and gave Harry the thumb’s up with his free hand.
“Then uh, why don’t you tell me ‘bout her? Like…Wha’s she like in person…?” Mitch took a deep breath and screwed the cap back onto the bottle. He then rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his chin mockingly. It was like Mitch was searching for ways to further tease Harry about his crush. Harry chose to ignore it this time.
Despite lacking approval in Harry’s newfound love-interest, Mitch offered him his honest knowledge anyway.“Hmm…well, I first met her at Sarah’s birthday party a few years back…She was nice, just a little on the quiet side. Seemed like she was holding herself back in that way, you know?”
The sincerity of his recollection shocked Harry. He was expecting to be turned down or mocked once again—he was even planning in his head what to send me via DM to further get to know me, assuming Mitch would’ve ended the conversation by that point. Luckily, he was mistaken.
“I remember her, like, tearing up at a picture of Lexi’s daughter. I thought that was a bit dramatic—the crying, I mean—but, I guess she hadn’t seen Lexi and her baby in almost a year or something..? I dunno…”
Harry frowned, empathizing with my reaction. It broke his heart whenever he couldn’t see his godchildren for long stretches of time, too. Mitch then tapped his fingertips against the table, traveling deeper into his memory to provide more details for Harry.
“…I’d say she’s sensitive in general, though. Sar told me how she’s always the one crying at movies, crying’ in arguments…cries whenever she sees a cat video on TikTok. Kind of a hot-mess, if you ask me…”
Harry’s lips twitched into a smile imagining my expressive emotions.
“...OH!” Mitch clapped his hands and chuckled before proceeding.
“She’s got this laugh that’s, uh, it’s like low-key really loud. Like, sometimes it’ll be this crazy wheeze and then, right away, she’s as red as a fuckin’ tomato. Sarah thinks it’s hilarious and they’ll basically laugh at each other for an hour. But yeah, you can tell she gets all weird and embarrassed after she laughs, though—and she apologizes for everything, all the time. Always sayin’ sorry when she literally didn’t do anything. I swear, dude…Someone could knock her onto her ass and she’d be the one to apologize. Wait, I think she’s from somewhere in the Midwest—like the northern nicey-nice states, y’know, so maybe it’s that? I’m not sure.”
“That’s…kinda cute.” Harry mumbled, his cheeks turning rosy.
Mitch grinned. “Oh, you think so?” A pink hue then washed over Harry’s skin entirely and he bashfully ran his hand through his loose curls. “Yeah, she seems quite lovely—I mean…”Harry stumbled over his admiration, trying his best to sound cool and detached. He failed miserably.
“…I-I dunno…Jus’ forget it.” He then buried his face in his hands, shamefully admitting defeat.
Mitch rolled his eyes and chuckled at his lovelorn friend. He guessed Harry was only randomly feeling things for me because he’s lived in a bachelor’s paradise for too long. It was also a known fact that he’d only have short flings once every blue moon. Those flings have become fewer and farther between as of late. Romance and commitment weren’t really Harry’s forte.
It’s not that he didn’t want a partner, but that he viewed the whole relationship-building process to be strenuous and stressful. Life and work were already difficult enough to balance. And so, for the past few years, Harry let himself be completely occupied by his job at Vol. 6. The go-to excuse to his friends (and especially his mother) for not settling down yet was that he carried a heavy workload, and he didn’t want to be an absent partner because of it. He’d end those conversations with a snippy “‘S as simple as that” phrase.
Even so, Harry was praying to God in the privacy of his lonely bedroom that he’d have the chance to settle down soon. All his adult life, he’d aspired to meet ‘the one’ and for him to give that one all his love and all his babies—a hopeless, hungry romantic Harry was. Dreams like these passed through his subconscious more frequently the more he aged. The British businessman was famished, desperate for love and connection.
Dating around was disappointing and redundant, and one-night-stands made him feel gross. He wasn’t simply a dumb, horny teenager anymore, he wasn’t even much of a dumb hornball of a man in his early adult years. Nay. He always kept an underlying craving for passion and compatibility. Harry was going to enter his 30’s in less than a year and he desired more than lackluster, meaningless sex with boring strangers. He needed more than arm candy. He needed more than a weak flame. He longed for an all-encompassing wildfire to eat away at his flesh from the inside out. He wanted to feel someone’s presence consume him.
Recently, Harry’s dreaming intuition had been signaling to him that he wouldn’t have to wait much longer to finally find his person. He was so needy for someone to genuinely love, and he felt overwhelmingly drawn to me from the very start—to my smile, my innocence, and my bleeding heart that matched his own. My lucky arrival into his life had only increased his determination towards lifelong romantic and sexual fulfillment. He just knew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The time had come for us to meet in person. We’d gone out for drinks with Mitch and Sarah one weekend. It was a safe choice. This way, no one would feel uncomfortable, left out, or excluded. But in all honesty, it felt more like a double-date than a friendly gathering at a local bar.
I had been somewhat apprehensive about drinking around Harry knowing how I was a bit of a flirty(slutty) drunk. All it took was 1.5 cocktails for me to be a giggling, cock-hungry devil woman. Sarah knew this about me. She’d witnessed my nymphomania from the sidelines whenever we’d go out for a girls’ night. Yet, this knowledge did nothing to prevent her from ordering the 4 of us tequila shots before I’d even stepped into the establishment.
Of course, I was late—I’m late to everything. But that night, it was different. I was on the verge of a mental breakdown with hangers and loose clothes strewn across my bed and crumpled in clumps on the floor. Even my mother felt the need to knock on my door after one of my particularly loud outbursts of frustration—making sure I wasn’t actually in pain. I was fine. I just needed to look my absolute-fucking-best when I met my dream guy face-to-face for the first time! Was that such a crime to try and accomplish?!
My mom didn’t get it.
I’d finally slipped into a pair of high-waisted, dark wash jeans that made my ass look like a big, juicy peach, and a red, ruffled peplum-blouse that deliciously hugged my curves—my large breasts, especially. I topped it off with a tin cup choker and a pair of black, knee-high, heeled leather boots. My self-confidence switched from plummeting to soaring once I’d done a final mirror check on my way out the door.
I knew I had the ability to somewhat ‘make an entrance’ (in dim lighting, at least). However, as soon as Harry and I locked eyes, I saw his mouth hanging open as if I was an A-List celebrity approaching him. My stomach glittered with butterflies at witnessing the effects of my gorgeously buxom appearance. The high-pitched ring of Sarah’s playful wolf-whistle pulled me back to reality.
There he was. He was real. And he was even hotter than I thought he was. Yet, it was him whose features reacted to me with lusty enchantment.
His pupils were devouring me as we stood in a lull. My hand extended towards him for a cordial handshake. But as his large hand gripped mine, he pulled me into his chest for a hug—planting a soft kiss on my cheek. What was even more unexpected was how natural it felt to have his arms around me. The four of us then did a few rounds of shots that night. As a (heavy-weighted) lightweight, I was giggling like crazy after the first two throws. Harry laughed every time I did, and vice-versa, and so we’d run out of breath repetitively—basically falling to the floor on top of each other. We looked like a goofy, touchy couple out on a double date, but we were completely ignoring the other couple. Sarah found our loopy mingling to be quite entertaining, as did Mitch. They both had intimate knowledge the other didn’t. The night eventually wound down and the snoozy (actual)couple left for home via car service. I definitely wasn’t sober enough to drive, either. Thinking back, I suddenly remember sharing a private moment with Harry around that time. Nothing R-rated. Not even PG-13, really.
Our friends had already parted ways, leaving the two of us drunk and cozy at a corner-table in the back of the bar. He ordered us some ice water, of which I’d gratefully accepted. I was mid-gulp when I felt his fingers tuck a section of my hair behind my ear. In hindsight, that was a cheesy, 90’s romcom thing for him to do. However, it felt so gentle and sweet in the moment, I didn’t care. My eyes blinked up at him, my mouth occupied with chilled fluids, and he smiled dreamily down at me. Swallowing and setting my glass down, a soft giggle escaped my lips.
“You’re even prettier in person, y’know.” Harry drawled. More light laughter came out of me before I returned the compliment. “Mmm, you too, Mr. Styles.” His cheeks dimpled and he shook his head at me. “Tha’s cute, but I’m serious.”
I raised my eyebrows at his accusation. “So am I.” My arms folded over my chest in playful defiance. We sat there for a few beats, deeply drinking each other in as if the other person was the bartender’s last call. Harry broke the trance first. “Need t’get ya home, love.” His hand moved to cover mine on the tabletop. Out of instinct, my glassy eyes followed his touch. He was cold, clammy even, yet I could feel my skin flush red-hot in retaliation.
Harry seemed hardly intoxicated or loopy anymore. He had more to drink than me, for sure. However, I had to hold onto him for stability in order to exit the building. Leaving the bar that night gave me the same satisfaction as going home after an amazing first date. I hadn’t met a guy so instantly enamored by my presence since high school…back when I was a size 8! As a size 16 in my early twenties, I’d gotten used to men talking over me and looking right through me. There was no reason for them to treat me that way. I’d always been told that I’m the nicest person in the world—that I was beautiful and hilarious and passionate and brilliant. None of that mattered, though. I was either met with pure indifference or blatant, manipulative narcissism from the opposite sex. But Harry was the diamond in the rough. He treated me better than just decently. He made me feel like a person deserving of much more than the bare minimum—more than just mere kindness—worth love, attention, effort, adoration, and affection. I hadn’t felt that in a long time…if ever.
And don’t worry, neither of us drove home. Harry ordered an Uber for me and rode along so that he could make sure I got inside my parents’ house safely—escorting me to the door like a proper gentleman would. I’d only really experienced that kind of ‘chivalry’ once or twice before. Not that every guy I’ve dated was a complete asshole to me, but the bare minimum was certainly a chore for some…It was refreshing to be treated so delicately—by someone who hardly knew me, to boot.
That entire first impression…it was a solid confirmation for me.
I liked Harry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry and I have grown to be quite friendly with one another since we first met a little over a year ago. However, we sure as hell didn’t start out that way—yeah, the amazing time at the bar was a false first impression. Sure, Harry would still have his moments where he was genuinely caring and gentle. But for the most part, his demeanor changed into that of an antagonistic older brother. So, you could say the initial acquaintanceship was tense.
For starters, we had that 5 year age-gap; and so Harry used that as a pass to be an arrogant, cynical, pretentious know-it-all. It was like he always needed to be the one and only expert on everything. And I’m certain he’s always gotten off on every rare instance where I’ve shown to be naive. Yelling-matches would occur every so often for months as both of us are sensitive hot-heads. We ended that streak of arguing when Harry’s big mouth had inevitably put me in tears. I think it was around the 6-month mark (of living together) when it happened. What’s silly is how his comment didn’t even deserve my dramatics, really. I’d already been in a piss-poor mood that night, and I’m just a crybaby in general. So you betcha any joke about me and my body, no matter how innocent the intentions behind it, throws just enough of a punch to unleash the hysterics.
I was in our living room watching YouTube when Harry came home from work. The video on the TV had pulled a full-blown guffaw out of me a minute or so before the door opened—which felt like a wave of relief after a long, miserable day at my job. I typically would spend more of my time enclosed in my bedroom, but I guess I just felt like switching things up that day. Besides, Harry acted as if he owned the whole goddamn place. The house was 50% mine, too (per our rental agreement). I had every right to venture away from my compact sleeping quarters for the evening. There was still a high probability that Harry would be a grump about it.
Fucking whatever.
If I wanted to enjoy our shared entertainment room, then I was gonna fucking enjoy it! My confidence was torn out from underneath me the moment that prick made his entrance. The door swung open, and there he was—white-collared, spotless, and as smug as ever. He released a generous sigh, an attempt at drawing my attention, but I refused to acknowledge his homecoming. What? Did he want a freaking ‘welcome home, honey’ from me or something?! Being a part of Harry’s House’s Greeting Committee wasn’t in the fine print of our lease. Plus, the last time I kindly acknowledged him after work, he brutally mocked me.
[“Hi!!!” I exclaimed with a sweet smile.
He raised an eyebrow as he slipped his shoes off. “Uh, hello.”
I was in the middle of stowing the last of the groceries away. I’d been in a pretty good mood that afternoon. I don’t know why or what made me so excited for Harry to come home, but I just was. Typically, I wouldn’t be keen on asking him to talk about his day. But, again, I was just feeling good. I didn’t understand why that deserved such an adverse response from the man.
“How was your day?! Oh yeah, you had that big meeting, or whatever, right?”
“Mhmm.” He muttered, unbuttoning the wrist cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeves up to his shoulders.
I grinned brightly at him and opened the fridge. The way Harry looked with his stuffy work clothes always made me melt. He kept his tattoos well-hidden, but simply pulling his sleeves back would reveal the art…and that was something he’d do as soon as he got home. The action was so small and innocent, but witnessing it so closely—whilst simultaneously inhaling the faint notes of his expensive cologne—sent rushes of heat down to my core. He had no idea how hot he was when he did that…actually, he probably knew exactly how hot he was…little shit…
“So…Did your presentation go ok?”
“Uh, yeah, ‘went fine. It was fine...glad to be home, though.” Harry sighed, but I saw him fighting a smile once I’d turned around to face him.
“Oh? Just fine?” Judging by his subtle cheekiness, I had thought he had some news to tell me. It just seemed that way to me, at least. Or maybe that he was hiding something, or about to make a joke. My latter suspicion was quickly confirmed as true.
“I dunno…It went well, I guess…couldn’t wait to get home...” Why was he smirking at me?
I giggled and continued the banter.
“What are you being so modest about? I’m sure the reps at Gucci fell in love with the designs.”
Harry slipped onto one of the bar stools and watched me unpack the remainder of paper bags from behind the kitchen island. He leaned back against the seat’s backing with his arms folded and resting comfortably atop his abdomen. After making silent eye contact for a moment, I resorted to laughing lightheartedly and raising my eyebrows at the man.
“Eh?”
Harry just smirked.
I’d begun to fold up the empty paper bags. My cheeks were definitely blushed pink, reacting sheepishly to his stare. To conceal my submissive appearance, I reached up—pushing up onto my tiptoes—to stack the paper bags above the refrigerator. It didn’t matter that my back was facing him. I could still feel his eyes following my every move. Why did he have to intimidate me so much?
“Fine, be that way. Just so you know, I bought cookies for us, but now I'm not gonna share!”
“Oh really?” He hummed, leaning up to rest his forearms on the counter.
Scoffing, I stepped forward to face him from the other side of the island and grabbed onto the edge of the countertop. My upper half was angled towards him so that I could talk more directly to him.
“Really, really.” I purred, not realizing my voice would sound so erotic. Instead of backtracking, I just ran with it. Harry’s pupils expanded much like a feline’s when they’re hunting their prey.
But he just sat there smirking at me. My pleasant mood wasn’t to be ruined by his teasing. I wasn’t going to allow it. I could play, too, Styles.
“What kind of cookies did you get us, hm?” His low, British drawl sent chills down my back.
“Oreos.” I didn’t sink into that ‘subspace’ as they call it. Not yet.
Harry basically moaned a hum out in approval. I swallowed, still combating my natural instinct to surrender like a desperate little puppy. This was getting more difficult.
“You know those are my favorite, don’t you?”
I blinked. “Uh huh.”
“I bet you got’em just f’me…you weren’t gettin’ them for us...” He paused for a moment. “…were you, sweet girl?”
“I…maybe…” I squeaked, earning Harry’s immediate amusement.
“I’m gonna take a guess at something real quick, a‘right, doll?”
“Ok…” He was so close to me. I was just thankful I’d been chewing gum at the time…
“Are you ovulating right now? Is that why you’re being so doting and domestic?”
My face fell.
“Wha—Excuse me?!” I stepped back from the counter and put my hands on my hips. What kind of guessing game was that?! Who even asks that?!
In the most annoying way, Harry stood up from his stool and copied my stance. He was using far too much sass and flamboyance to be accurate, though. I did not look like that…
“Oh, don’t you give me that look, sweetheart.” Harry chuckled, walking over to me. He then reached his long index finger up to *boop* the tip of my nose. I huffed in response. The breaking point was nearing closer with every word he’d spoken. But submission was not an option.
I knew that he knew. He had to have known. He must have caught onto my shyness, saw how much he made me blush, sensed how bratty I’d become whenever he teased me. I was putty in his hands.
“Awe, You’re cute…” He mumbled under his breath. His hand rose to my shoulder and he twirled a lock of my hair around his finger.
I was furious. It was obvious he was just trying to rile me up. That’s all this was…reaction bait.
“Harry…—”
“—I’m just sayin’, one might think you were trying to sweet talk me into letting you milk me dry and put a baby in ya. I’m sure you’re just as fertile as you look, aren’t you, babe?” He grinned and drummed his rings back against the marble counter, now leaning back all cockily.
There it was again—that smug little smirk on his stupid, perfect, dimpled face. What did he mean by, “as fertile as I look?!” God, a woman can’t be mean or nice without a man having some bullshit to say about it. Whatever. I told myself at that moment that the next man who dared to comment on my missing smile would be a dead one.
I gave him a dirty look and hustled my ass up the stairs to my room. Thankfully, I was finished putting all the groceries away. There was no reason for me to stick around playing this silly game with Harry. As I was making my way up, he called out to me, “I may have a high sperm count, but I’m not quite ready to be a daddy, yet, love!”
“Shut up!” I groaned and slammed my door shut. I think I could still hear him snickering to himself downstairs. Such a dick. Also, how the hell did he know I was ovulating..?! Ugh!
Oh, and Harry wasn’t even finished with his jokes yet, because he’d leapt up the steps in long strides and knocked on my door…just 5 minutes later. I opened it, having then changed into a crop top and pajama shorts in the meantime. Not only was my round ass falling out of the shorts, but my heavy, unsupported tits were also threatening to peak out from the bottom hem of my shirt.
Typically, I wouldn’t want to be caught dead wearing that kind of getup in front of anyone. However, I thought I looked deliciously thick and absolutely, downright-fuckable that night. Of course I’d been aware of this, as well. And so I used my innate feminine sexuality to my advantage. As soon as I opened the door, Harry’s eyes (unsurprisingly) flickered back and forth between my chest and my face. How classy… I took the liberty of folding my arms together in front of me to feign some modesty.
Looking back on it now, I definitely watched a similar scene in porn...
He just stood there at my door, all of a sudden at a loss for words. I wish that silence would have lasted longer. It took only a few seconds before he was flashing me his signature dimpled smirk again. He then mirrored my body language and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” He teased, plucking at the hem of the shirt sleeve that hung loosely past my shoulder.
My back straightened up, an attempt at asserting a smidge of self-confidence amidst my pink cheeks and pounding pulse.
“What do you want, Harry?” I tried to act annoyed, but I think I sounded too timid…and to be honest, the idea of Harry filling me up with his cum had caused my panties to dampen significantly. They were surely leaking through my shorts, but fortunately my thighs were meaty enough to hide it.
“Hmm…No bra? Tha’s interesting…” I could tell he lowered his canter when he said that, but I still heard him.
“Gross, you pervert.” I spat, squeezing my arms closer against my chest.
“Ay, hold on, little miss sunshine. What’s with the bratty attitude, huh?”
“Shut up, mister big loads. Go impregnate a sock.” My expressive irritability only further inflated his ego.
“Hmm, I’ve gotta say, tha’s tempting, but…I wouldn’t wanna make you jealous.” I wanted to scream.
“Ugh! Get out of my room!” I pushed at the door, but Harry held it open with his hand—and there was no way I could win against him in that impossible match of strength.
“First of all, I’m not in your room.”
I closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing.
“Second,” he held his finger up. “Would you like f’me to order us some dinner?”
I huffed. “What I’d like is for you to leave.”
He shook his head and tsk’d in response. “Mm-mm, tha’s not what I asked.”
My teeth clenched at his audacious snark.
“I don’t care, Harry.”
His rings then tapped awkwardly against the smooth wood.
“Ah…” he sighed with his head bowed. “…Look, I’m sorry. I was just tryin’ to mess with you...I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed…”
Even though I couldn’t stand him, I’d begun to feel my heart soften at his puppy-eyed expression. Why did he have to be so irritating and so adorable at the same time?! Just choose one!
Hmph…whatever.
“…Well, I know you’re hungry…I’ll pay…?”
I sighed and chewed at my lip. I was starving…
His boyish apology was reluctantly accepted, but I made a point out of picking something expensive. He could afford it.
We ate and watched a movie on the couch together. To my surprise, there were no more stupid comments coming out of his mouth for the rest of the evening. Impressive. I noticed his eyes turned basically black. It wasnt like we had all the lights off; plus, it was August—the sun didn’t set completely until 9pm. I felt those pupils following me.
It was apparent that Harry found me attractive. That night he certainly did. Or maybe he was just high? Either way, after he’d pointed out my lack of undergarments, I decided to brush him off as simply horny. At least that was the best explanation I could come up with for all the sneaky eye-fucking. There was no way I could’ve convinced myself he was actually giving me that kind of attention consciously…
After we’d finished eating, he went out of his way to fetch me a blanket(our good one, no less) and then proceeded to drape it around my back and shoulders, tucking me in as if he’d done it a million times before. Look who’s the doting one now, Styles!
I also remember how he basically bolted for the bathroom and took a shower as the film wrapped up with the end credits…Ok, ok…so, I may have purposefully bent over in those shorts while cleaning up the coffee table…but surely he just had a long day and was desperate for a hot shower…Surely.]
It’s safe to say that I toned down the ‘domestic’ part of me from that point on. Even though Harry just likes to get my goat, I still wanted to make it more difficult for him to have a reason to tease me. The night when our door to the garage swung open, his voice echoed through the house with such vigor that it sent yucky chills down my spine. Oh, the irony...
“Well, shit—Mitch wasn’t kiddin’ ‘bout y’laugh being loud as’ell! ‘Could hear ya from the driveway!”
This man survived off of my agitation, I swear. I shifted in my seat to face him and my eyes narrowed at the sight of his stupid, cocky face. I’ve always felt embarrassed about my somewhat-loud, slightly obnoxious laugh—and the thought that it’s been a main point of discussion between Harry and Mitch (and who knows who else) stung even worse.
It’s fine. Don’t listen to him. Don’t react. Just…breathe…
“Hi, Harry.” My intonation was as unimpressed as I could make it sound. He of course snorted at my brattiness, slipping his shoes off and tossing his wallet and keys onto the kitchen counter before taking long-legged strides in my direction.
“Good evening, doll.”
I huffed and waved my hand half-assedly. Something that drove me mad was how he was fiercely antagonistic towards me, and he insisted upon giving me little pet names. I knew he was just teasing me. That’s why I made sure to always swallow my bashful giggles whenever he said them. My subby-ness was not to be easily accessible anymore.
“So, what’s this, hm? Grown tired of hiding from me all the time?” He casually gestured to me with his flat, open palm.
I exhaled through my nose in aggravation as he plopped abruptly down onto the couch—his arm propped up next to him and one leg resting on the opposite knee. His draping arm was stretched out towards me. I refused to take part in Harry’s game at that time, and so I returned his question with silence. But it didn’t even matter because he could tell I was holding my anger in.
“Oh, I get it. It’s some sort of opposite day or summat.”
He stretched his fingers closer to where my head was resting on the back of the couch. They wrapped themselves around a smooth lock of my hair and twirled it continuously. This man thought it was absolutely hilarious to get even the faintest reaction out of me. Harry was generally the ‘touchy’ type of person when he’s around those he’s comfortable with. It made me feel special whenever he went out of his way to be affectionate towards me because…well, I had a crush on him for a while. And so, at first, I naively understood those soft touches as hints for his deeper feelings. At least that’s how I perceived things privately. But the more time I’d spent living with him, the more I had to come to terms with the fact that he was out of my league, and that he probably only viewed me as a little sister. My mind convinced me that Harry just enjoyed taking advantage of my innate submissiveness. He would never be attracted to someone like me. In order to protect my heart from the shattering effects of rejection, I chose to play into the little sister dynamic and behave as though Harry Styles was just a stupid fucking boy, and nothing more.
My behavior shift from the bashful sweetheart to the indifferent recluse somehow drew him closer to me anyway. I was so fucking pissed. I was sick of his games! Most of all, I hated Harry Styles. I hated him, and I hated his wandering hands, and his cockiness, and his giant ego.
My hair is not a toy, and I am not a doll reserved for Harry’s cruel amusement. And yet I kept living with all these antics because I…
…Because I liked his attention…honestly, I loved his attention. I’ll admit it! There was no way he could ever find that out, though!
That night when he (once again) twisted a piece of my hair around his long fingers, I pretended it didn’t make my heart flutter. My face stayed emotionless. It had truly been an award-winning performance by yours truly. To an outsider, this scene would’ve looked as if Harry and I were a bickering couple. They’d probably assume I was just a crabby girlfriend punishing her partner with the silent treatment. To be honest, that’s what it felt like for a second before I caught myself leaning into his gentle contact. I smacked his hand away from my hair and he just smiled at me.
Ugh!
He smiled at me, and then he poked my cheek with his index finger. I swear to God, my skin was on fire.
“So what’s next on the opposite day schedule? ‘You gonna go for a run?” Harry snickered and let out an amused sigh. “That would be the shock of the century, wouldn’t it?!”
He kept laughing at his juvenile dig. I let out a weak scoff, unable to swallow my pride that time. The air in the room was stale. Harry faced the television screen and sunk further back into the cushions. I sat there in mopey silence.
So I live a sedentary lifestyle, so what? And yes, I’m overweight—I’ve been struggling with my body my entire life, so there’s no need for anyone to give me a reminder. Regardless of the obvious and regardless of Harry’s ‘opposite day’ joke, I wasn’t in the right mindset to just brush it off…not that night. Starting a fight wasn’t the route I wanted to take either. I was exhausted. A retreat into solitude felt like my best option.
But, God…why did he have to fucking say that?
My bottom lip quivered and I was unable to blink back the tears for a moment longer. Every last ounce of patience I had left was dried up at this point. My long hair shielded my face whilst I bowed and dabbed my dripping eyelashes with my sleeves. Noticing the lack of verbal retort from me, Harry turned his head back in my direction. His breath hitched in his throat and his sage irises washed over to stormy blue.
“Oh, shit…” he muttered.
I sniffled and got up from the couch, making a beeline for the privacy of my bedroom. He never meant to make me cry. It was obvious Harry was just poking fun at me, but words can still hurt regardless of the speaker’s intent. It was too late for him to consider that now. Harry quickly jumped in front of me. He leapt into action so fast that I was physically startled back against my bare heels.
“What the fuck, Harry? Move!” I whined frustratedly at the man as he stood there with similarly glossy eyes.
Then he reached out and held my shoulders in his strong hands. His thumbs did that rubbing thing that most people only do when comforting their loved ones. Back then, I wished so badly that the simple gesture hadn’t sent such soothing goosebumps down my arms. It was so infuriating how this man held that kind of power over me.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, love. Please don’t cry. I—”
I gritted my teeth at his pity.
“—why? Are my big, fat tears too loud?! Or are you worried I’m so huge that I’ll get stuck, and my arms and legs will burst out of the fucking house?!”
Harry’s brows furrowed at my imagery. “Uh, wait—are you trying to reference…Alice in Wonderland—”
“—ALSO! Last time I checked, YOU were the one who ate all the cookies last night—YOU and your RABBIT TEETH fucking decimated my Oreos! So why don’t you go for a fucking run!”
Harry seemed amused with that one. His stupid dimples popped out at me and I was fed up.
“Get out of my way!”
I pushed against his chest, but he stood firmly on the carpet in front of the stairs. I remember fighting my urge to stomp my feet like a toddler. He wasn’t letting me retreat. He wouldn’t get out of my fucking FACE!
“I know you want to yell at me, so do it.”
“No, I don’t want to yell at you! I want you to move so I can go to my room!”
“Cmon, love. Talk to me…Give me all y’got. I know you have it in ya.”
“MOVE!”
Then he laughed. Why? Because I actually stomped my fucking foot—just like how I’d previously forbade myself to. And I’m sure the performance was quite entertaining for him.
“Don’t you throw a tantrum on me, sweet girl. Use your words!”
“You’re such a fucking smartass.”
“Oi, don’t talk about my ass like that! I’ll have you know, it’s quite dumb!” He grinned.
Un-fucking-believable. I can’t believe that got me to crack a smile. Harry instantly mirrored my surrendering, his hands drifting down from my shoulders to my elbows. My arms were crossed over my chest, but he wiggled them loose.
“YES! There’s that pretty smile…”
I huffed and groaned, feeling like a total child.
“…Don’t you be teasing me for my teeth—Y’look like a bunny just like me, babe.”
I giggled and playfully shoved his chest. “I do not!”
“Uh-huh! You definitely do!”
My hand rose up to cover my mouth and Harry just laughed at me. Lowering himself closer to my height, he *booped* my nose which caused me to scrunch it up in response.
“Aww, you are just a lil’ bunny, aren’t you?”
I squirmed and whined, annoyed as all hell with his patronizing.
“Don’t you start stomping your feet again, sweet Bunny. You’re better than that!”
I couldn’t help myself from just letting my guard all the way down at that moment. Inhaling deeply, I circled my arms around Harry’s middle and buried my face against his chest.
“Sorry…I just want us to get along, H.” My small voice was muffled against his shirt.
Harry frowned and wrapped his arms around me, reciprocating my surrendering embrace. My ear was pressed against his chest. There was a strong beat beyond his hard surface–my head pulsed with each fierce thump. That was the closest we’d ever been to each other. One of his hands slid up to my hair and combed through it.
“I do, too…I’m sorry.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sharing a house was less expensive for both of us 20-somethings, and rent has thankfully stayed reasonable and affordable since we two moved in a couple of years ago. I’m happy in my living space with my roommate. It’s a platonic situation between me and Harry—regardless of what family and friends want to believe. And I doubt it will ever venture beyond friendship any time soon. It can’t. Things are perfect right now…exactly the way they are. I keep my little fantasies to myself within the privacy of my bedroom. Harry can never know.
I’ve been single for a while. It’s possible that my holes are the tightest they’ve ever been, and that it might feel like I’m losing my virginity again whenever I do get some dick. So what, sometimes I think about what would happen if I just accidentally sent a racy photo to Harry…
…Whether he’d keep it and pretend he never saw it (as a way to be gentlemanly)…if he’d be disgusted and laugh at my body…or if he’d turn feral like I hope he would, bursting through my bedroom door and finally taking all that I’ve unconsciously reserved for him…
Don’t fret, my pet — smut will come in part 2 😈
Writer’s Notes: Hi, everyone🥰 Phew…well, there she is! Part 1! Thought I’d celebrate my birthday today by posting my first H piece💕 I’ll start off by saying…I’m kind of an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to my writing…so I won’t be super speedy when posting updates on my work, as I really want to be certain that I’m posting exactly what I want you to read. I know that other content creators on here are excellent at keeping a quick, reliable posting schedule—and I will be trying my best to do the same(I hope to make it in the same ballpark as them, at least). However, please be patient with me💕🙏🏻 💕 I have devoted a lot of time, love, and creativity into my work just so that I can share it online with strangers for free. I greatly appreciate any and all support, suggestions, criticism, questions, etc., so please don’t hesitate to comment or send me messages/asks. (Anons are welcome!) I’ve been working on this piece for a while now and I’d really like to get your feedback on it. If you would like to be tagged in future updates/parts, please let me know!!!👏🏻💗👏🏻🩷👏🏻💖 👏🏻
xoxo ~ Regan 😘💕
@victoria-styles @harrystylessmuttyfics @therealhousewifeofharrystyles
#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry styles x you#ask me anything#asks open#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfic#harry styles x plus size reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles writing#harry styles blurb#harry styles fic#harrystylessmuttyfics#harry styles x y/n#harries#my writing#writing#harrys home#harry series#harry x reader#roommate!harry#harry#harrystyles#harry smut
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Hypothetical AI election disinformation risks vs real AI harms
I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT (Feb 27) in Portland at Powell's. Then, onto Phoenix (Changing Hands, Feb 29), Tucson (Mar 9-12), and more!
You can barely turn around these days without encountering a think-piece warning of the impending risk of AI disinformation in the coming elections. But a recent episode of This Machine Kills podcast reminds us that these are hypothetical risks, and there is no shortage of real AI harms:
https://soundcloud.com/thismachinekillspod/311-selling-pickaxes-for-the-ai-gold-rush
The algorithmic decision-making systems that increasingly run the back-ends to our lives are really, truly very bad at doing their jobs, and worse, these systems constitute a form of "empiricism-washing": if the computer says it's true, it must be true. There's no such thing as racist math, you SJW snowflake!
https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2019/02/aoc-algorithms-racist-bias.html
Nearly 1,000 British postmasters were wrongly convicted of fraud by Horizon, the faulty AI fraud-hunting system that Fujitsu provided to the Royal Mail. They had their lives ruined by this faulty AI, many went to prison, and at least four of the AI's victims killed themselves:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Post_Office_scandal
Tenants across America have seen their rents skyrocket thanks to Realpage's landlord price-fixing algorithm, which deployed the time-honored defense: "It's not a crime if we commit it with an app":
https://www.propublica.org/article/doj-backs-tenants-price-fixing-case-big-landlords-real-estate-tech
Housing, you'll recall, is pretty foundational in the human hierarchy of needs. Losing your home – or being forced to choose between paying rent or buying groceries or gas for your car or clothes for your kid – is a non-hypothetical, widespread, urgent problem that can be traced straight to AI.
Then there's predictive policing: cities across America and the world have bought systems that purport to tell the cops where to look for crime. Of course, these systems are trained on policing data from forces that are seeking to correct racial bias in their practices by using an algorithm to create "fairness." You feed this algorithm a data-set of where the police had detected crime in previous years, and it predicts where you'll find crime in the years to come.
But you only find crime where you look for it. If the cops only ever stop-and-frisk Black and brown kids, or pull over Black and brown drivers, then every knife, baggie or gun they find in someone's trunk or pockets will be found in a Black or brown person's trunk or pocket. A predictive policing algorithm will naively ingest this data and confidently assert that future crimes can be foiled by looking for more Black and brown people and searching them and pulling them over.
Obviously, this is bad for Black and brown people in low-income neighborhoods, whose baseline risk of an encounter with a cop turning violent or even lethal. But it's also bad for affluent people in affluent neighborhoods – because they are underpoliced as a result of these algorithmic biases. For example, domestic abuse that occurs in full detached single-family homes is systematically underrepresented in crime data, because the majority of domestic abuse calls originate with neighbors who can hear the abuse take place through a shared wall.
But the majority of algorithmic harms are inflicted on poor, racialized and/or working class people. Even if you escape a predictive policing algorithm, a facial recognition algorithm may wrongly accuse you of a crime, and even if you were far away from the site of the crime, the cops will still arrest you, because computers don't lie:
https://www.cbsnews.com/sacramento/news/texas-macys-sunglass-hut-facial-recognition-software-wrongful-arrest-sacramento-alibi/
Trying to get a low-waged service job? Be prepared for endless, nonsensical AI "personality tests" that make Scientology look like NASA:
https://futurism.com/mandatory-ai-hiring-tests
Service workers' schedules are at the mercy of shift-allocation algorithms that assign them hours that ensure that they fall just short of qualifying for health and other benefits. These algorithms push workers into "clopening" – where you close the store after midnight and then open it again the next morning before 5AM. And if you try to unionize, another algorithm – that spies on you and your fellow workers' social media activity – targets you for reprisals and your store for closure.
If you're driving an Amazon delivery van, algorithm watches your eyeballs and tells your boss that you're a bad driver if it doesn't like what it sees. If you're working in an Amazon warehouse, an algorithm decides if you've taken too many pee-breaks and automatically dings you:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/
If this disgusts you and you're hoping to use your ballot to elect lawmakers who will take up your cause, an algorithm stands in your way again. "AI" tools for purging voter rolls are especially harmful to racialized people – for example, they assume that two "Juan Gomez"es with a shared birthday in two different states must be the same person and remove one or both from the voter rolls:
https://www.cbsnews.com/news/eligible-voters-swept-up-conservative-activists-purge-voter-rolls/
Hoping to get a solid education, the sort that will keep you out of AI-supervised, precarious, low-waged work? Sorry, kiddo: the ed-tech system is riddled with algorithms. There's the grifty "remote invigilation" industry that watches you take tests via webcam and accuses you of cheating if your facial expressions fail its high-tech phrenology standards:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat
All of these are non-hypothetical, real risks from AI. The AI industry has proven itself incredibly adept at deflecting interest from real harms to hypothetical ones, like the "risk" that the spicy autocomplete will become conscious and take over the world in order to convert us all to paperclips:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space
Whenever you hear AI bosses talking about how seriously they're taking a hypothetical risk, that's the moment when you should check in on whether they're doing anything about all these longstanding, real risks. And even as AI bosses promise to fight hypothetical election disinformation, they continue to downplay or ignore the non-hypothetical, here-and-now harms of AI.
There's something unseemly – and even perverse – about worrying so much about AI and election disinformation. It plays into the narrative that kicked off in earnest in 2016, that the reason the electorate votes for manifestly unqualified candidates who run on a platform of bald-faced lies is that they are gullible and easily led astray.
But there's another explanation: the reason people accept conspiratorial accounts of how our institutions are run is because the institutions that are supposed to be defending us are corrupt and captured by actual conspiracies:
https://memex.craphound.com/2019/09/21/republic-of-lies-the-rise-of-conspiratorial-thinking-and-the-actual-conspiracies-that-fuel-it/
The party line on conspiratorial accounts is that these institutions are good, actually. Think of the rebuttal offered to anti-vaxxers who claimed that pharma giants were run by murderous sociopath billionaires who were in league with their regulators to kill us for a buck: "no, I think you'll find pharma companies are great and superbly regulated":
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine
Institutions are profoundly important to a high-tech society. No one is capable of assessing all the life-or-death choices we make every day, from whether to trust the firmware in your car's anti-lock brakes, the alloys used in the structural members of your home, or the food-safety standards for the meal you're about to eat. We must rely on well-regulated experts to make these calls for us, and when the institutions fail us, we are thrown into a state of epistemological chaos. We must make decisions about whether to trust these technological systems, but we can't make informed choices because the one thing we're sure of is that our institutions aren't trustworthy.
Ironically, the long list of AI harms that we live with every day are the most important contributor to disinformation campaigns. It's these harms that provide the evidence for belief in conspiratorial accounts of the world, because each one is proof that the system can't be trusted. The election disinformation discourse focuses on the lies told – and not why those lies are credible.
That's because the subtext of election disinformation concerns is usually that the electorate is credulous, fools waiting to be suckered in. By refusing to contemplate the institutional failures that sit upstream of conspiracism, we can smugly locate the blame with the peddlers of lies and assume the mantle of paternalistic protectors of the easily gulled electorate.
But the group of people who are demonstrably being tricked by AI is the people who buy the horrifically flawed AI-based algorithmic systems and put them into use despite their manifest failures.
As I've written many times, "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, but we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job"
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week
The most visible victims of AI disinformation are the people who are putting AI in charge of the life-chances of millions of the rest of us. Tackle that AI disinformation and its harms, and we'll make conspiratorial claims about our institutions being corrupt far less credible.
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/2024/02/27/ai-conspiracies/#epistemological-collapse
Image:
Cryteria (modified)
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
#pluralistic#ai#disinformation#algorithmic bias#elections#election disinformation#conspiratorialism#paternalism#this machine kills#Horizon#the rents too damned high#weaponized shelter#predictive policing#fr#facial recognition#labor#union busting#union avoidance#standardized testing#hiring#employment#remote invigilation
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April 24, 1987 - GAME 1
Hi here’s a Steddie Drabble from my latest sports discovery while deciphering basketball stats.
gen * wc 1,174 * established relationship
The 1986-87 Indiana Pacers season has been a doozy. Steve would never had guessed that the Pacers would make it to playoffs. Jack Ramsey, the long standing coach of the Portland Trail Blazers recently hired for the Pacers, leading the team into playoffs for the first time since ‘81.
And for the first time in four years, Steve has someone to watch the playoffs with.
When Eddie was still in the hospital, Steve and Wayne would meet in passing, alternating sitting by his side to keep him comfort and to keep him safe. The first two weeks, Eddie was in and out of consciousness, and “unable to protest when I put on the game,” Wayne half joked, nodding to the Cardinals-Cubs game on the television. Steve nodded, sitting down on the other side of Eddie as they watched the game in silence. A few innings in, Wayne scoffed. “You tellin’ me, this Rick Sutcliffe is worth a buck and a half?”
Steve couldn’t help but smirk. “The Cardinals are the ones paying almost 2 million for a short stop.”
“And a damn good one, too,” Wayne added. “Wayne.”
“Steve,” Steve added, properly introducing himself.
Wayne hummed, as if he was thinking something over. “I wondered if that was you. He doesn’t shut up about ya.”
“He’s … something special,” Steve said softly, and he was sure Wayne knew.
And when Steve and Eddie started to date, game nights with Wayne became more common. They started by watching the World Series (an unfortunate season for the Cubs, but at least Wayne’s Cardinals also failed to go into post season). Then into football season (a disappointing season from the Colts). Then a couple of hockey games when the Blackhawks were nationally televised, but the real excitement hit when the Indiana Pacers were playing.
Wayne and Steve were pretty excited when the Pacers made it to playoffs.
On game nights, one of the men would be in charge of grabbing supper, usually pizza or something from the diner on the edge of town. Wayne and Steve would settle in the living room as Eddie went to his bedroom, working on a new song or planning the next campaign. He enjoyed his alone time, allowing the creativity to flow and not worry about if he’s ignoring Steve. During halftimes, Steve would find his way into the bedroom, enjoying time with Eddie before the game picks up again.
Steve was setting up the living room and finding the channel for the first Pacers playoff game. Wayne and Eddie should be off of work and be home soon. Eddie was on supper duty tonight.
Gravel crunched under tires, signifying that one of the two had arrived. A loud slam of a car door confirmed that it was his boyfriend.
“Hey, baby —“ Steve started to greet Eddie.
“What do you mean a basket is called a field goal?” Eddie asked dramatically.
“I — what?” Steve asked a wrinkle to his brow.
“A field goal,” Eddie supplied. Steve watched as Eddie set up the three meals —three? — in the living room. Usually Eddie takes his into the bedroom before the game starts. “It’s fucking basketball. They’re called field goals?”
“I mean — yeah. Field goals,” Steve said, watching Eddie get settled into the couch, burgers and milkshakes spread out on the coffee table. “They’re the two or three pointer shots. If they score, it’s a field goal. They’re mainly called that … in stats.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, stuffing fries into his mouth. “I read up.”
“On … stats,” Steve said, sitting down on the couch, nearly on top of Eddie. “On basketball stats?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I wanted to know what’s going on in the playoffs.”
“You want to watch with us?” Steve asked.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, leaning into Steve. “You said this was a big deal, so I thought I’d join in.” He took a sip of his milkshake. “Is that … okay?”
“You, Eddie Munson, want to watch basketball with us?” Steve asked. He extended his hand, pressing the back of his palm against Eddie’s forehead. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Eddie laughed, swiping Steve’s hand away. “I asked Lucas if he could give me some pointers.”
“For the Pacers game,” Steve repeated.
“Yeah,” Eddie said with a slight huff. “He said to keep an eye on Chuck Person, said he wouldn’t be surprised if he won Rookie of the Year. He said the Pacers improved drastically with the coach change. That they went from, what, a record of 26-56 to 41-41? That’s fucking impressive. And it looks like a lot of that depended on Person averaging 18 points per game? I mean, he’s no Magic Johnson or Larry Bird or Michael Jordan, but that’s still fucking good, right? For his rookie season?”
Steve couldn’t help but stare, his mouth slightly agape. He had to be dreaming, right? This is his boyfriend rattling off facts and stats in front of him, right?
Eddie waved his hand in front of Steve’s face. “Stevie?”
Steve all but leaped into Eddie’s arms, crashing their lips together in a hard and clumsy kiss. Eddie, known jock despiser, learned sports statistics for him?
“If I knew this was the response I’d get,” Eddie mumbled into the kiss, “I would’ve told you Colts stats months ago.”
Steve groaned. “It wouldn’t have worked as well. Colts sucked ass this season.”
“I know something that sucks good —“
“Please, for the love of God,” Wayne groaned from the front door. The two nearly split, pulling off of each other but staying pressed against one another on the couch. “Not in front of the Pacers.”
“Eddie’s gonna watch with us tonight,” Steve beamed. Eddie took note of his smile, of the energy Steve gave for just Eddie being interested in watching sports with him. Maybe he could get enough cash together to buy three tickets for the next Cardinals-Cubs game.
“Wondered when he’d get his head out of his ass and join us,” Wayne laughed, sitting in the recliner, grabbing his dinner from the coffee table. “Who you got on the game, Eds?”
“Depends on if we can keep the ball away from Wilkins,” Eddie said around his fries. “Ending last season with an average of 30 points per game? Need to keep him away from the net.”
“Jesus,” Steve mumbled, taking a long look up and down Eddie. “Wayne, you might need to take a long smoke break during halftime.”
“Already planning on it,” Wayne sighed. “Turn on the game.”
#Steddie#Steve Harrington#Eddie Munson#Wayne Munson#stranger things#//myfic#I don’t think I can get into basketball but I was highly considering it for a moment
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Hi Seanan! I recently threw some more of your creatures into the my DnD5e-ish game I'm running- I homebrewed a Cait Sidhe race, and let my players rescue a colony of Aeslin Mice (redubbed "loremice," so I don't have to figure out what "Aeslin" means when my players ask.) The mice have so far named a God of Smokey Rescue, a God of Deceptive Size, and a God of Ominous Declaration. :)
I realize I could make up whatever rules I want for their specifics, since it's my game and I haven't gotten my players to read your work yet, so they wouldn't notice any inaccuracies. But I think it'd be cool to portray them as accurately as possible to the way you see them.
So! If you're willing, I have a couple questions!
1. Do you know what the rough ratio of Shadow Roads distance to not-Shadow-Roads distance is? I'm homebrewing a spell for the Cait Sidhe Shadow Roads thing, and I'd like to give my Cait Sidhe player some hard numbers to work with when they wanna push the limits of their range.
2. For the same player, can you share what the Shadow Roads look like to a Cait Sidhe? We can assume Tybalt isn't as blind as October is in there, but I can't remember her ever asking him precisely how he navigates.
3. I was gonna remove the Aeslin "God/Priestess" gender distinction for my loremice, because the women at my table would have questions and I wouldn't know how to justify it. I don't expect you'd mind much, but it feels mildly disrespectful to the source material anyway (like, what if I'm just using this as an excuse to remove it, because I dislike this Aeslin habit myself?). So I'm torn. Do you know an explanation I could give my players to make sure they don't mistake the mice as sexist?
3.5. I was also considering a compromise solution to this. I'm considering making all the player characters "Gods" to the mice initially, then having the mice switch to using "Priest(ess)" to refer to PCs who converse most directly with the mice, who make the most effort to force their way past the HAILs and be treated as equals. I'd have them act slightly more casual and less reverent to the Priests and Priestesses, make it easier for them to hold productive conversations with the mice than it is for Gods. I felt this could pay enough homage to your work to alleviate my baseless guilt, while beating the potential sexism allegations. And since I have you here on Tumblr, I wanted to get your input on it- is that uncomfortably far from your vision of Aeslin Worship?
If you can't answer any of these, either because they feel spoilery or because you haven't canonized answers to them in your own head, that's fine! I can figure it out. But you've found time for my Tumblr asks before, so I figure I may as well run it by you.
Maybe I'll add Cu Sidhe as a playable race next... if my players are mature enough to handle how I believe it's pronounced, haha.
This is all very neat, but I started my numbered list before I said that, and can't get out of it!
About 1:10.
The Shadow Roads are absolute blackness even to the Cait Sidhe. They're just a little warmer/it's possible to breathe there, if not comfortably. They navigate by feel, and generally "know" when it's time to exit to the "real world" again.
It's not disrespectful to the source material, honest. The mice who live with the Price family, whether Portland or Penton Hall, are still operating under a foundational commandment that Beth Evans didn't know she was giving, when she told them they couldn't set her above her husband, who they had already declared a god. So the mice aren't sexist, because they barely comprehend human sexual dimorphism: they're just following the orders they were given when they were first adopted by this particular liturgical tradition. A colony that hadn't received that commandment could pick any other set of titles. As a rule, you will have two: one for people who are worshiped but not listened to, and one the other way around.
That works!
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So here we go…
This is what I was trying to say, the enemy is here and what is happening or being shown in Israel whether it’s true or not is going to be coming to a city near you.
If you listened to President Trump’s speech today, he said there will be World War III, and it will be worse than just a tank rolling down the street.
War? Yes... Nuclear War? No
Do you understand the storyline yet? I have been warning everyone about this coming. If you don't think it will happen here in the United States, there is no help for you. I believe I have posted a list of approximately 17 cities that will get hammered and there will be others.
If my memory serves me correctly those cities are👇
Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Memphis, Houston, Chicago, Minneapolis, Detroit, Miami, Atlanta, Washington DC, New York, Philadelphia, Boston and Baltimore.
Other possible sites 👇
Dallas, New Orleans, Nashville, Charlotte NC, Cleveland, Milwaukee, Orlando , Tampa, Ft. Lauderdale, Phoenix and St. Louis.
If you live in these cities? Be prepared! Live by the Six P Rule... Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. 🤔
I'm sharing what I know that's all I'm doing. I'm not asking anyone to believe me, all I'm asking is that you be prepared. It's better to have what you need and not need it than to not have it and need it. 🤔
I have been saying it's going to get real ugly before it gets better.
🛡️ The Storm is Coming! ⚔️
#pay attention#educate yourselves#educate yourself#knowledge is power#reeducate yourself#reeducate yourselves#think for yourselves#think about it#think for yourself#do your homework#do some research#do your own research#ask yourself questions#question everything#war#riots#the storm
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youtube
"Nobody was a bigger colonizer than the Muslim army that swept out of the arabian desert and took over much of the world in a single century, and they didn't do it by asking."
"The palestinian people should know, your leaders and the useful idiots on college campuses who are their allies, are not doing you any favors by keeping alive "from the river to the sea" myth. I mean where do you think Israel is going? Spoiler alert, nowhere."
"Look at what Mexico used to own. All the way up to the top of California. But no Mexican is out there chanting “from the Rio Grande to Portland, Oregon.” Because they chose a different path. They got real and built a country that’s the world’s 14th biggest economy now. Because they knew the United States wasn’t going to give back Phoenix any more than Hamas will ever be in Tel Aviv."
#I'm sure this was posted before by people I follow but couldn't find it so whatever haha#ישראבלר#israel#Youtube
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