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bouncybongfairy · 8 months

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Hello! Could I request some dark smut with Lip? I can also be more specific if you'd like! No worries if you don't want to write it! Also I just found your blog and love your writing! 💕

Fucked Back Into Reality

Lip Gallagher x Fem Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Lip, hadn't talked to you in a couple of days. After having several conversations about this reoccuring problem, you decied to give him the cold shoulder. He reminds you why doing this is a riskey game.

Word Count: 2.0k+

TW: Rough Smut, Brat Kink, Masocism.

Ref Account: @kaionyx

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It’s a bitterly cold day in Chicago’s south side. The type of cold where everyone at school is more concerned about staying warm than fashion. You were walking to school, both your parents left for work before you woke up. The school was too close to home for bus services so walking was really the only option. After trying to get in touch with Lip for the past two days, you were now on strike from being nice to him. You weren’t ignorant, Lip had a lot going on at home which meant his undivided attention was rare. Sometimes you wished he would just shoot you a text like: hey super busy day, love you / shits been crazy, talk to you when i can. Having this conversation in the past, you weren’t going to bother having it again. It surprised you to see Lip sitting on the front steps of the school; early which he never was. You started walking up the steps, he stood up and flicked his cigarette bud into the snow.

“Hey,” he said, you just looked at him and kept walking to your locker.

“Oh come one, you’re ignoring me?” he asked, leaning up against the mental lockers as you emptied your things into the locker.

“Seems familiar doesn’t it,” you say, referencing him not reaching out for the past couple days.

“Yeah but mine was accidental not bratty,” he chuckled. Maybe it was because you haven't eaten or smoked that morning but that comment enraged you. Slamming your locker and walking toward first period, leaving him in the hall.

Just your luck to have chemistry as the first class of the day. The teacher took 20 minutes to calm the class down. Kids play fighting with each other or flirting in the back of the room. Groups of students in their cliques, not paying any mind to the instructions given. You felt bad for the teacher, I'm sure she thought an education career would help so many teens. Only to be placed in one of the most poorly funded schools in the state. You didn’t feel too bad though, it only meant less work for you. Lip liked the fact that you cared about your grades, that you had a plan after highschool. As stupid as Lip was acting, you also liked how smart he was. You complained about it alot but you liked how he didn’t fall for your little tricks and games. He doesn’t chase you, or let you push him over. Most guys were just so emotionally unintelligent, not to mention Lip was more mature when it came to sex. The last couple guys you were with didn’t even talk while you fucked. Didn’t know what foreplay was or understand a woman's body. Lip had a really good understanding of when to be gentle or rough. When he would whisper things in your ear it always felt so natural and smooth. There were times when your stomach would randomly flip when thinking about the nasty things he’d told or done to you. Maybe part of the reason you had some animosity towards Lip was because you had been sexually frustrated. For the past couple weeks you felt like you were practically throwing yourself at him and he wasn’t in the mood. Of course you respected that, you just missed him was all; maybe a specific part of him. At lunch he came up to you from behind and hugged you. Still feeling quite stubborn, you allowed it but acted like you didn’t care.

“You still mad?” he whispers into your ear which makes your skin break out with goosebumps. He slides his hands down from your waist to your hips.

“I know we haven’t talked but I’m here now, let’s ditch for the rest of the day,” he said, pressing his lips against your neck. As much as you wanted to give in and agree, you still wanted to make a point. Pushing his hands away, you grab your backpack and walk away without acknowledging him. If he wanted to brand you as a brat then you’d give him his money's worth.

It was the last period, and everyone was waiting for the bell to ring. Some kids just left when they were ready and the teacher didn’t care. He just sat there, staring with cold dead eyes at his computer. Daren was consistently trying his best to spark conversation with you, all he talked about was how he ran track but he was trying his best. The heaters were blasting inside the school because it was snowing. The classroom windows were wet with condensation which made you feel sticky. Becoming overstimulated you decide to leave early, excusing yourself and walking out. Daren followed you into the hallway,

“Hey I was wondering if you wanted to stay after school and watch me practice? Maybe I can take you out after, or something?” he asks.

“Oh sorry I can't. I actually have a ton of homework so, maybe next time?” you say walking away, happy that you’re avoiding the rush of people flooding out the front gates.

Normally Lip would walk you home but you didn’t see him. Your willpower that was fueling your grudge was weakening. Pulling your phone out of your pocket and seeing if he texted you; he didn’t. Looking back you were feeling silly about your actions because look where they led you. It was really cold, snow sticking to your hair and eyelashes. Once you finally got home, Lip was waiting on the porch which took you by surprise. You went to greet him, this is when you noticed he looked angry. He didn’t even say anything to you, even after opening the door and letting the both of you in.

“How’s Daren?” he asks, once you both get to your bedroom.

“What?” you asked confused.

“Well you talked to him all last period and even after you left,” he said, sitting on your bed and lighting a cig.

“Okay first of all, I only talk to him for like two seconds. He asked me to watch him practice and I said no,” you defend yourself.

“That’s two seconds more than you talked to me today,” he remarked.

“Lip that’s not even fair,” you say, which made him smirk and shake his head as he took a drag.

“Do you even hear yourself? ‘tHat’s nOt fAiR’ whining like a baby who didn’t get their way. Why were you so offended that I called you a brat even though you’re acting just like one,” he said.

“What are you trying to scare me?” you ask while laughing.

“Trying?” he asked rhetorically.

You rolled your eyes and started to change into comfortable clothes. While you were only in your bra and underwear, Lip came behind you and ripped the lace material of the panties. You gasp and go to turn around but he presses you against the closet door. Intertwining his hand into your hair, gripping it so tight strands of hair were being pulled out. His dick was extremely hard and feeling it pressed against your ass immediately excited you. Moving your head slightly so he can start kissing and biting your neck. His breathing was hard and with his chest pressed against your back, you could feel his heartbeat. As he marked your neck, whimpers and moans were escaping your mouth.

“Since you were feeling so brave today let’s hope you keep that energy,” he growled into your ear.

“You gonna try and teach me a lesson?” you asked with a patronizing tone.

He chuckled and led you to the bed by your hair. Your heart was racing, your sexlife was by no means bland however, this was the first time he was this rough. It felt like the two of you were breaking the rules or something. Like discovering new and daunting territories. He reached his hand down and started feeling you through the hole in your panties he made. He let out a moan once he felt how wet you were.

“You are such a fucking slut, good to know being put in your place is all it takes for you to soak your panties,” he said, letting go of your hair.

He sat up onto his knees, instead of fully stripping his clothes, he just pulled his dick out of his zipper. Rubbing the tip against your pussy. Your chest was pressed against the mattress but your ass was pressed against his shaft. You start to rock your hips back and forth against him but he starts spanking his hands against your ass. The pain was so bad it burned, you thought he’d stop after a couple times but he kept going. Wanting to show you were handling the smacks, you try your best to take them without complaint. He was unrelenting and you finally begin to squirm away, which seemed to humor him,

“The more you fight and squirm, the more I wanna fuck you,” he said, running his nails down your now bright red ass.

“Fuck just do it already then,” you whine, in response he spits at your face.

“Cum slut’s don’t speak unless spoken to,” he said, pushing himself into your twitching and leaking pussy.

The feeling was enough to make your eyes roll back. After weeks of Lip blue-balling you, the sensation of being filled by him was pure bliss. He was going at a painfully slow rate, pulling himself fully in and out of you after every thrust. As pleasurable as it was, you’d do anything to get him to speed up. Unable to rock your own hips, you kick your feet a little in protest. This made him laugh and slow down even further. He grabbed your wrists and pressed them against your lower back, taking full control of your body. You were dripping down both thighs and tears pooled in your eyes. You were at your limit with his teasing, tightly clenching around him. He pulled out and flipped you onto your back, feeling too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Tears had stained your cheeks and your hair was in complete disarray from being yanked and pulled. He crawled on top of you and started pushing his tip in and out. You were bucking your hips up, tears coming back as he teased relentlessly.

“You’re sensitive here? Perfect spot to abuse huh?” he asked sarcastically, using one hand to smack his cock against your pussy.

In your own little world, trying to cum with what little friction he was giving you. He finally stops and instead wraps his hands around your neck. Then starts pounding into you, slowly tightening his grip over time. You were feeling dizzy and foggy, letting out a moan every time his length fully pressed into you. He was grunting and groaning, a couple beads of sweat dropping onto the bed from how much he was exerting himself. The closer you got to your orgasm the tighter his grip on your throat became. Your face was bright red and a wheezing sound came out of your mouth with every inhale. He seemed to be hummored by this and started to mock you.

“Can’t breathe? Good,” he chuckled.

The mixture of degradation and the fast paced abuse on your cunt was enough to send you over the edge. Shockwaves of pure pleasure began to ripple throughout your body. Legs trembling and eyes rolling back. He was chasing his own climax, seeing and feeling you cum around his cock was enough for him. Rutting into you with no regard for you, as if you were nothing but a toy for him. Seeing how he turned you into such a slutty mess made him feel feral. It wasn’t until he was fully finished that he removed his hands from your neck. After a small coughing fit, you began to come too. Lip was already up, using his shirt to clean you up. Pulling your hair out of your face and into a messy bun. You were half dead, completely exhausted and worn down. He laid down next to you, rubbing your back and whispering affirmations into your ear. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to be as close to him as you could.

“I’m glad I could fuck the attitude out of you,” he said, as you fell asleep.

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ktaxandaccounting · 2 years

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Accounting & Bookkeeping Services In Chicago

KTax is recognized as a prominent Accounting firm in providing tax and accounting services to clients and entrepreneurs nationally and globally. We are in business for years and proactively offering more attention and opening opportunities for the revenue cycle. We provide Accounting, Bookkeeping services, taxation, and much more. For years we have blended knowledge, skills, and power of technology that help clients solve their most suppressed challenges and seize growth opportunities.

#Accounting & Bookkeeping Services In Chicago

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detroitlib · 1 month

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View of the Peoples Outfitting Company building. Automobiles in street. Printed on front: "People's Outfitting Company, 150 Michigan Avenue, Detroit 26, Michigan. 'It's easy to pay, the People's way,' is a tradition in 1 out of 5 Detroit homes." Printed on back: "People's invites you to open a family budget account. It's so convenient to shop at People's where all of your family purchases can be charged to one account. There is no extra charge for this service except in the case of a few electrical items. Genuine Curteich-Chicago 'C.T. Art-Colortone' post card (reg. U.S. Pat. Off.)"

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

#peoples outfitting company #peoples #people's #detroit #detroit history #curteich #buildings #architecture #vintage #vintage advertising #colortone #people's outfitting company #detroit public library

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 1 year

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U.S. President Joe Biden on Tuesday will honor Emmett Till, the Black teenager whose 1955 killing helped galvanize the Civil Rights movement, and his mother with a national monument across two states.

Till, 14 and visiting from Chicago, was beaten, shot and mutilated in Money, Mississippi, on Aug. 28, 1955, four days after a 21-year-old white woman accused him of whistling at her. His body was dumped in a river.

The violent killing put a spotlight on the U.S. civil rights cause after his mother, Mamie Till-Bradley, held an open-casket funeral and a photo of her son's badly disfigured body appeared in Black media.

The national monument designation across 5.7 acres (2.3 hectares) and three sites marks a forceful new effort by the President to memorialize the country's bloody racial history even as Republicans in some states push limits on how that past is taught.

"America is changing, America is making progress," said the Rev. Wheeler Parker Jr., 84, a cousin of Till's who was with the boy on the night he was abducted at gunpoint from the relatives' house they were staying at in Mississippi.

"I've seen a lot of changes over the years and I try to tell young people that they happen, but they happen very slow," Parker said on Monday in a telephone interview as he traveled from Chicago to Washington to attend the signing ceremony at the White House as one of approximately 60 guests.

Tuesday marks the 82nd anniversary of Till's birth in 1941. One of the monument sites is the Roberts Temple Church of God in Christ in Chicago, where Till's funeral took place.

The other selected sites are in Mississippi: Graball Landing, close to where Till's body is believed to be have been recovered; and Tallahatchie County Second District Courthouse, where two white men who later confessed to Till's killing were acquitted by an all-white jury.

Signs erected at Graball Landing since 2008 to commemorate Till's killing have been repeatedly defaced by gunfire.

Now that site and the others will be considered federal property, receiving about $180,000 a year in funding from the National Park Service. Any future vandalism would be investigated by federal law enforcement rather than local police, according to Patrick Weems, executive director of the Emmett Till Interpretive Center in Sumner, Mississippi.

Other such monuments include the Grand Canyon, Statue of Liberty and the laboratory of inventor Thomas Edison.

Biden, an 80-year-old Democrat, will likely need strong support from Black voters to secure a second term in the 2024 presidential election.

He screened a film recounting the lynching, "Till," at the White House in February. Last March, he signed into law a bipartisan bill named for Till that for the first time made lynching a federal hate crime.

A Republican field led by former President Donald Trump has made conservative views on race and other contentious issues of history a part of their platform, including banning books and fighting efforts to teach school children accounts of the country's past that they regard as ideologically inflected or unpatriotic.

"This is an amazing, teachable moment to talk about the importance of this story as an American story that everybody can share in now, particularly at a time when people are trying to rewrite history," said Christopher Benson, president of the non-profit organization the Emmett Till & Mamie Till-Mobley Institute in Summit, Illinois.

“We have a memorial now that is not erasable. It can't be banned and it can't be censored, and we think that's a very important thing.”

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months

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Twinkfrump Linkdump

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in CHICAGO (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Welcome to the seventeenth Pluralistic linkdump, a collection of all the miscellany that didn't make it into the week's newsletter, cunningly wrought together in a single edition that ranges from the first ISP to AI nonsense to labor organizing victories to the obituary of a brilliant scientist you should know a lot more about! Here's the other 16 dumps:

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

If you're reading this (and you are!), it was delivered to you by an internet service provider. Today, the ISP industry is calcified, controlled by a handful of telcos and cable companies. But the idea of an "ISP" didn't come out of a giant telecommunications firm – it was created, in living memory, by excellent nerds who are still around.

Depending on how you reckon, The Little Garden was either the first or the second ISP in America. It was named after a Palo Alto Chinese restaurant frequented by its founders. To get a sense of that founding, read these excellent recollections by Tom Jennings, whose contributions include the seminal zine Homocore, the seminal networking protocol Fidonet, and the seminal third-party PC ROM, whence came Dell, Gateway, Compaq, and every other "PC clone" company.

The first installment describes how an informal co-op to network a few friends turned into a business almost by accident, with thousands of dollars flowing in and out of Jennings' bank account:

https://www.sensitiveresearch.com/Archive/TLG/TLG.html

And it describes how that ISP set a standard for neutrality, boldly declaring that "TLGnet exercises no control whatsoever over the content of the information." They introduced an idea of radical transparency, documenting their router configurations and other technical details and making them available to the public. They hired unskilled punk and queer kids from their communities and trained them to operate the network equipment they'd invented, customized or improvised.

In part two, Jennings talks about the evolution of TLG's radical business-plan: to offer unrestricted service, encouraging their customers to resell that service to people in their communities, having no lock-in, unbundling extra services including installation charges – the whole anti-enshittification enchilada:

https://www.sensitiveresearch.com/Archive/TLG/

I love Jennings and his work. I even gave him a little cameo in Picks and Shovels, the third Martin Hench novel, which will be out next winter. He's as lyrical a writer about technology as you could ask for, and he's also a brilliant engineer and thinker.

The Little Garden's founders and early power-users have all fleshed out Jennings' account of the birth of ISPs. Writing on his blog, David "DSHR" Rosenthal rounds up other histories from the likes of EFF co-founder John Gilmore and Tim Pozar:

https://blog.dshr.org/2024/04/the-little-garden.html

Rosenthal describes some of the more exotic shenanigans TLG got up to in order to do end-runs around the Bell system's onerous policies, hacking in the purest sense of the word, for example, by daisy-chaining together modems in regions with free local calling and then making "permanent local calls," with the modems staying online 24/7.

Enshittification came to the ISP business early and hit it hard. The cartel that controls your access to the internet today is a billion light-years away from the principled technologists who invented the industry with an ethos of care, access and fairness. Today's ISPs are bitterly opposed to Net Neutrality, the straightforward proposition that if you request some data, your ISP should send it to you as quickly and reliably as it can.

Instead, ISPs want to offer "slow-lanes" where they will relegate the whole internet, except for those companies that bribe the ISP to be delivered at normal speed. ISPs have a laughably transparent way of describing this: they say that they're allowing services to pay for "fast lanes" with priority access. This is the same as the giant grocery store that charges you extra unless you surrender your privacy with a "loyalty card" – and then says that they're offering a "discount" for loyal customers, rather than charging a premium to customers who don't want to be spied on.

The American business lobby loves this arrangement, and hates Net Neutrality. Having monopolized every sector of our economy, they are extremely fond of "winner take all" dynamics, and that's what a non-neutral ISP delivers: the biggest services with the deepest pockets get the most reliable delivery, which means that smaller services don't just have to be better than the big guys, they also have to be able to outbid them for "priority carriage."

If everything you get from your ISP is slow and janky, except for the dominant services, then the dominant services can skimp on quality and pocket the difference. That's the goal of every monopolist – not just to be too big to fail, but also too big to care.

Under the Trump administration, FCC chair Ajit Pai dismantled the Net Neutrality rule, colluding with American big business to rig the process. They accepted millions of obviously fake anti-Net Neutrality comments (one million identical comments from @pornhub.com addresses, comments from dead people, comments from sitting US Senators who support Net Neutrality) and declared open season on American internet users:

https://ag.ny.gov/press-release/2021/attorney-general-james-issues-report-detailing-millions-fake-comments-revealing

Now, Biden's FCC is set to reinstate Net Neutrality – but with a "compromise" that will make mobile internet (which nearly all of use sometimes, and the poorest of us are reliant on) a swamp of anticompetitive practices:

https://cyberlaw.stanford.edu/blog/2024/04/harmful-5g-fast-lanes-are-coming-fcc-needs-stop-them

Under the proposed rule, mobile carriers will be able to put traffic to and from apps in the slow lane, and then extort bribes from preferred apps for normal speed and delivery. They'll rely on parts of the 5G standard to pull off this trick.

The ISP cartel and the FCC insist that this is fine because web traffic won't be degraded, but of course, every service is hellbent on pushing you into using apps instead of the web. That's because the web is an open platform, which means you can install ad- and privacy-blockers. More than half of web users have installed a blocker, making it the largest boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But reverse-engineering and modding an app is a legal minefield. Just removing the encryption from an app can trigger criminal penalties under Section 1201 of the DMCA, carrying a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine. An app is just a web-page skinned in enough IP that it's a felony to mod it.

Apps are enshittification's vanguard, and the fact that the FCC has found a way to make them even worse is perversely impressive. They're voting on this on April 25, and they have until April 24 to fix this. They should. They really should:

https://docs.fcc.gov/public/attachments/DOC-401676A1.pdf

In a just world, cheating ripoff ISPs would the top tech policy story. The operational practices of ISPs effect every single one us. We literally can't talk about tech policy without ISPs in the middle. But Net Neutrality is an also-ran in tech policy discourse, while AI – ugh ugh ugh – is the thing none of us can shut up about.

This, despite the fact that the most consequential AI applications sum up to serving as a kind of moral crumple-zone for shitty business practices. The point of AI isn't to replace customer service and other low-paid workers who have taken to demanding higher wages and better conditions – it's to fire those workers and replace them with chatbots that can't do their jobs. An AI salesdroid can't sell your boss a bot that can replace you, but they don't need to. They only have to convince your boss that the bot can do your job, even if it can't.

SF writer Karl Schroeder is one of the rare sf practitioners who grapples seriously with the future, a "strategic foresight" guy who somehow skirts the bullshit that is the field's hallmark:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/07/the-gernsback-continuum/#wheres-my-jetpack

Writing on his blog, Schroeder describes the AI debates roiling the Association of Professional Futurists, and how it's sucking him into being an unwilling participant in the AI hype cycle:

https://kschroeder.substack.com/p/dragged-into-the-ai-hype-cycle

Schroeder's piece is a thoughtful meditation on the relationship of SF's thought-experiments and parables about AI to the promises of AI hucksters, who promise that a) "general artificial intelligence" is just around the corner and that b) it will be worth trillions of dollars.

Schroeder – like other sf writers including Ted Chiang and Charlie Stross (and me) – comes to the conclusion that AI panic isn't about AI, it's about power. The artificial life-form devouring the planet and murdering our species is the limited liability corporation, and its substrate isn't silicon, it's us, human bodies:

What’s lying underneath all our anxieties about AGI is an anxiety that has nothing to do with Artificial Intelligence. Instead, it’s a manifestation of our growing awareness that our world is being stolen from under us. Last year’s estimate put the amount of wealth currently being transferred from the people who made it to an idle billionaire class at $5.2 trillion. Artificial General Intelligence whose environment is the server farms and sweatshops of this class is frightening only because of its capacity to accelerate this greatest of all heists.

After all, the business-case for AI is so very thin that the industry can only survive on a torrent of hype and nonsense – like claims that Amazon's "Grab and Go" stores used "AI" to monitor shoppers and automatically bill them for their purchases. In reality, the stores used thousands of low-paid Indian workers to monitor cameras and manually charge your card. This happens so often that Indian technologists joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

Isn't it funny how all the really promising AI applications are in domains that most of us aren't qualified to assess? Like the claim that Google's AI was producing millions of novel materials that will shortly revolutionize all forms of production, from construction to electronics to medical implants:

https://deepmind.google/discover/blog/millions-of-new-materials-discovered-with-deep-learning/

That's what Google's press-release claimed, anyway. But when two groups of experts actually pulled a representative sample of these "new materials" from the Deep Mind database, they found that none of these materials qualified as "credible, useful and novel":

https://pubs.acs.org/doi/10.1021/acs.chemmater.4c00643

Writing about the researchers' findings for 404 Media, Jason Koebler cites Berkeley researchers who concluded that "no new materials have been discovered":

https://www.404media.co/google-says-it-discovered-millions-of-new-materials-with-ai-human-researchers/

The researchers say that AI data-mining for new materials is promising, but falls well short of Google's claim to be so transformative that it constitutes the "equivalent to nearly 800 years’ worth of knowledge" and "an order-of-magnitude expansion in stable materials known to humanity."

AI hype keeps the bubble inflating, and for so long as it keeps blowing up, all those investors who've sunk their money into AI can tell themselves that they're rich. This is the essence of "a bezzle": "The magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

Among the best debezzlers of AI are the Princeton Center for Information Technology Policy's Arvind Narayanan and Sayash Kapoor, who edit the "AI Snake Oil" blog. Now, they've sold a book with the same title:

https://www.aisnakeoil.com/p/ai-snake-oil-is-now-available-to

Obviously, books move a lot more slowly than blogs, and so Narayanan and Kapoor say their book will focus on the timeless elements of identifying and understanding AI snake oil:

In the book, we explain the crucial differences between types of AI, why people, companies, and governments are falling for AI snake oil, why AI can’t fix social media, and why we should be far more worried about what people will do with AI than about anything AI will do on its own. While generative AI is what drives press, predictive AI used in criminal justice, finance, healthcare, and other domains remains far more consequential in people’s lives. We discuss in depth how predictive AI can go wrong. We also warn of the dangers of a world where AI continues to be controlled by largely unaccountable big tech companies.

The book's out in September and it's up for pre-order now:

https://bookshop.org/p/books/ai-snake-oil-what-artificial-intelligence-can-do-what-it-can-t-and-how-to-tell-the-difference-arvind-narayanan/21324674

One of the weirder and worst side-effects of the AI hype bubble is that it has revived the belief that it's somehow possible for giant platforms to monitor all their users' speech and remove "harmful" speech. We've tried this for years, and when humans do it, it always ends with disfavored groups being censored, while dedicated trolls, harassers and monsters evade punishment:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/como-is-infosec/

AI hype has led policy-makers to believe that we can deputize online services to spy on all their customers and block the bad ones without falling into this trap. Canada is on the verge of adopting Bill C-63, a "harmful content" regulation modeled on examples from the UK and Australia.

Writing on his blog, Canadian lawyer/activist/journalist Dimitri Lascaris describes the dire speech implications for C-63:

https://dimitrilascaris.org/2024/04/08/trudeaus-online-harms-bill-threatens-free-speech/

It's an excellent legal breakdown of the bill's provisions, but also a excellent analysis of how those provisions are likely to play out in the lives of Canadians, especially those advocating against genocide and taking other positions the that oppose the agenda of the government of the day.

Even if you like the Trudeau government and its policies, these powers will accrue to every Canadian government, including the presumptive (and inevitably, totally unhinged) near-future Conservative majority government of Pierre Poilievre.

It's been ten years since Martin Gilens and Benjamin I Page published their paper that concluded that governments make policies that are popular among elites, no matter how unpopular they are among the public:

https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/perspectives-on-politics/article/testing-theories-of-american-politics-elites-interest-groups-and-average-citizens/62327F513959D0A304D4893B382B992B

Now, this is obviously depressing, but when you see it in action, it's kind of wild. The Biden administration has declared war on junk fees, from "resort fees" charged by hotels to the dozens of line-items added to your plane ticket, rental car, or even your rent check. In response, Republican politicians are climbing to their rear haunches and, using their actual human mouths, defending junk fees:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-04-12-republicans-objectively-pro-junk-fee/

Congressional Republicans are hell-bent on destroying the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau's $8 cap on credit-card late-fees. Trump's presumptive running-mate Tim Scott is making this a campaign plank: "Vote for me and I will protect your credit-card company's right to screw you on fees!" He boasts about the lobbyists who asked him to take this position: champions of the public interest from the Consumer Bankers Association to the US Chamber of Commerce.

Banks stand to lose $10b/year from this rule (which means Americans stand to gain $10b/year from this rule). What's more, Scott's attempt to kill the rule is doomed to fail – there's just no procedural way it will fly. As David Dayen writes, "Not only does this vote put Republicans on the spot over junk fees, it’s a doomed vote, completely initiated by their own possible VP nominee."

This is an hilarious own-goal, one that only brings attention to a largely ignored – but extremely good – aspect of the Biden administration. As Adam Green of Bold Progressives told Dayen, "What’s been missing is opponents smoking themselves out and raising the volume of this fight so the public knows who is on their side."

The CFPB is a major bright spot in the Biden administration's record. They're doing all kind of innovative things, like making it easy for you to figure out which bank will give you the best deal and then letting you transfer your account and all its associated data, records and payments with a single click:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

And now, CFPB chair Rohit Chopra has given a speech laying out the agency's plan to outlaw data-brokers:

https://www.consumerfinance.gov/about-us/newsroom/prepared-remarks-of-cfpb-director-rohit-chopra-at-the-white-house-on-data-protection-and-national-security/

Yes, this is some good news! There is, in fact, good news in the world, bright spots amidst all the misery and terror. One of those bright spots? Labor.

Unions are back, baby. Not only do the vast majority of Americans favor unions, not only are new shops being unionized at rates not seen in generations, but also the largest unions are undergoing revolutions, with control being wrestled away from corrupt union bosses and given to the rank-and-file.

Many of us have heard about the high-profile victories to take back the UAW and Teamsters, but I hadn't heard about the internal struggles at the United Food and Commercial Workers, not until I read Hamilton Nolan's gripping account for In These Times:

https://inthesetimes.com/article/revolt-aisle-5-ufcw-grocery-workers-union

Nolan profiles Faye Guenther, president of UFCW Local 3000 and her successful and effective fight to bring a militant spirit back to the union, which represents a million grocery workers. Nolan describes the fight as "every bit as dramatic as any episode of Game of Thrones," and he's not wrong. This is an inspiring tale of working people taking power away from scumbag monopoly bosses and sellout fatcat leaders – and, in so doing, creating a institution that gets better wages, better working conditions, and a better economy, by helping to block giant grocery mergers like Kroger/Albertsons.

I like to end these linkdumps on an up note, so it feels weird to be closing out with an obituary, but I'd argue that any celebration of the long life and many accomplishments of my friend and mentor Anne Innis Dagg is an "up note."

I last wrote about Anne in 2020, on the release of a documentary about her work, "The Woman Who Loved Giraffes":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/#annedagg

As you might have guessed from the title of that doc, Anne was a biologist. She was the first woman scientist to do field-work on giraffes, and that work was so brilliant and fascinating that it kicked off the modern field of giraffology, which remains a woman-dominated specialty thanks to her tireless mentoring and support for the scientists that followed her.

Anne was also the world's most fearsome slayer of junk-science "evolutionary psychology," in which "scientists" invent unfalsifiable just-so stories that prove that some odious human characteristic is actually "natural" because it can be found somewhere in the animal kingdom (i.e., "Darling, please, it's not my fault that I'm fucking my grad students, it's the bonobos!").

Anne wrote a classic – and sadly out of print – book about this that I absolutely adore, not least for having one of the best titles I've ever encountered: "Love of Shopping" Is Not a Gene:

https://memex.craphound.com/2009/11/04/love-of-shopping-is-not-a-gene-exposing-junk-science-and-ideology-in-darwinian-psychology/

Anne was my advisor at the University of Waterloo, an institution that denied her tenure for fifty years, despite a brilliant academic career that rivaled that of her storied father, Harold Innis ("the thinking person's Marshall McLuhan"). The fact that Waterloo never recognized Anne is doubly shameful when you consider that she was awarded the Order of Canada:

https://nationalpost.com/news/canada/queen-of-giraffes-among-new-order-of-canada-recipients-with-global-influence

Anne lived a brilliant live, struggling through adversity, never compromising on her principles, inspiring a vast number of students and colleagues. She lived to ninety one, and died earlier this month. Her ashes will be spread "on the breeding grounds of her beloved giraffes" in South Africa this summer:

https://obituaries.therecord.com/obituary/anne-innis-dagg-1089534658

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/2024/04/13/goulash/#material-misstatement

Image: Valeva1010 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hungarian_Goulash_Recipe.png

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

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lumosandnoxwriting · 7 months

Text

say my name and everything just stops || George Weasley

Title: say my name and everything just stops Pairing: George x Reader Summary: George didn’t expect being fake engaged to the love of his life whose heart he broke would be this easy. But as they put their plan into action, he’s surprised at how seamlessly she fits into his life. It feels as if no time has passed as they settle into a routine, and it feels like she was always meant to be there by his side. It’s hard to keep a grasp on the original goal, when all he can think about is how much he’s already dreading having to say goodbye. But as a new scheme starts to come together in his head, there may be a way for George to get everything that he wants. Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, a scene takes place at a bar and one mention of a hangover! A/N: part 2 of hockey!george is here! I did a bit of restructuring to this part and the next, but I’m very happy with the way the story is coming together! As always feedback is welcome! <3

“Thank you again for doing this,” George says for what feels like the millionth time today. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. Y/N has upended her entire life for him, and he still has no idea why she agreed to this whole charade.

After spending a few days in Washington to figure out some of the logistics of Y/N moving, which included George getting on his knees to beg Fred to take over her lessons at the rink, they’re finally back in Chicago. Thankfully Y/N’s actual job in marketing is remote, and George already arranged to have a desk and whatever else she may need delivered sometime this week.

He had his assistant stock the apartment with all of the things Y/N used to love, including her favorite snacks and several fuzzy blankets, and he signed the contract for Y/N’s car service this morning before they got on the plane. George has even already added her to his Amex account, and the black card with her name on it should be here any day now.

George has money to spend, and there’s no one else he’d rather spoil than Y/N.

”You really can stop saying that,” Y/N reminds him as she follows him through the front door. “It was cute at first, but now it’s just kind of annoying.”

”Sorry, I know. You’ve had to sacrifice way more than me for this stupid arrangement and I feel bad that I’ve basically uprooted your life. I don’t deserve any of the shit you’re doing for me and I just wanna make sure you know how much I appreciate it.”

”George, it’s really okay. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to be here.”

In all honesty, Y/N feels a little guilty over how accommodating George has been. She’s not really here to help him out, but to figure out whether her life has become the plot of a book and she’s about to get her second chance at love or if she’s about to break her own heart. Either way, she’s not here out of the goodness of her heart, and George’s kindness is undeserved.

“Right, okay,” George gives Y/N a grin, before motioning for her to follow him. “I had my assistant clear some of my stuff out of the dresser and closet so there should be plenty of room for your things,” he explains as he leads Y/N down the hall towards his bedroom. “This space is ours now, and I want you to feel like it is too.”

As soon as they step through the door Y/N is hit with the scent of him and it nearly knocks her on her ass. Because George still uses the same cologne he did in high school, and it reminds her of home. She used to steal the bottle when he went away for games, covering her bed in it so it would feel like he was there with her at night. Now she’ll be surrounded by that scent 24/7 and she’s not sure her heart is ready for that.

George drags the suitcase he’d been rolling into his closet disappearing for a second before he pops back out. “I only have a one bedroom, I uh, never really thought about having to share my space with someone,” he admits sheepishly. “But you can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, George, I’m not taking your bed. The season’s about to start, you need to be well rested and there’s no way sleeping on a couch for weeks will be sufficient.” She gives him an appraising look, taking in his broad frame. George has always been big, but time has done him well and his build has really filled out.

“Besides, I don’t think there’s a couch in this world big enough to fit all of you,” she continues, and Y/N can feel the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “You stay in your bed, I can sleep on the couch.”

”Absolutely not,” George insists, taking a step closer to her. “You’re my guest, and I’m not going to have you sleeping on the couch.”

Y/N bites her lip, already regretting what she’s about to suggest. “Well then if you’re not going to let me sleep on the couch and I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch, we’ll just have to share the bed.”

Her suggestion takes George by surprise, and his jaw clenches to keep it from dropping. He was already questioning whether he’d be able to survive sharing space with Y/N, but sharing a bed? His cock is rock hard at just the thought of smelling her shampoo on his pillow.

“Are you sure?” He manages to stutter out, running a hand through his hair.

“I mean it’s big enough,” she responds, gesturing towards the bed. It’s got to be King sized, with a thick black comforter that’s sure to reek of George that Y/N wants to wrap herself up in. “We’ll probably barely even touch.”

“As long as you’re fine with it, I am too,” George agrees. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

”It’ll be fine George,” Y/N lies, giving him a grin that she hopes is genuine.

Fake engaged to and sharing a bed with the man she loves that broke her heart? Yeah everything is definitely not fine.

After a torturous first night together, Y/N thanks the heavens that George is up and out early for the first day of training camp the next morning. Because despite all of her reassurances yesterday, sharing a bed with George Weasley is the worst idea she ever had.

Despite the size of the bed, George is massive, and as soon as he laid down next to her she could feel the heat radiating off of his body. It doesn’t help that she was completely enveloped in his scent, and her pussy was throbbing with need from the moment she crawled under the blanket. It took her hours to fall asleep, her body rigid as George tossed and turned as well. It wasn’t until his breathing evened out that Y/N finally managed to close her eyes and relax.

Only for her to wake up a few hours later to George’s arm wrapping around her waist before he pulled her into his chest. Turns out all these years later he’s still a cuddler. Being back in his embrace was too intoxicating to deny, and Y/N laid awake for over an hour, just letting George hold her as his breath ghosted across her neck. It felt achingly familiar, and she didn’t want to give it up.

But she knew things would be awkward if George woke up to find her in his arms, so after getting her fill Y/N wiggled her way out of his hold. She stuffed a pillow into his chest for good measure, needing to keep his arms occupied so she didn’t find herself caught in his embrace again. Y/N doubts she would have had the willpower to pull away a second time.

Y/N is up and out of bed the second her alarm goes off, electing not to stay buried under the covers while she scrolls social media like she usually does. Just the smell of George has her wet and if she lays there for another moment Y/N knows she’ll have her hand down her pants, touching herself as she buries her nose in George’s pillow like a weirdo.

She wanders out to the kitchen, taking advantage of being alone so she can snoop around. Last night George had assured her that this is her space now too and she’s welcome to anything, but it felt weird going through his things with him around. Apart from finding where he keeps his dishes and a cursory look in the fridge for a drink Y/N didn’t do too much exploring.

So when she opens George’s pantry, she’s surprised to find it filled with all of the things she loves. A brand new box of her favorite cereal sits right next to the granola George puts in his yogurt in the morning, and her favorite chips and cookies are mixed in with the kinds that George prefers. It all feels so natural, and Y/N slams the door shut as she struggles to catch her breath.

Because fuck, this is the life she always imagined having with George, and none of it is real. This is the life Y/N has always wanted, and yet it’s still not really hers - something she has to remember. There’s a very real possibility that once George makes Captain they will go their separate ways for the last time, and she has to be prepared for that.

Deciding to avoid the pantry for now, Y/N wanders to the fridge and pulls out the things to make an omelet. She’s just starting to whisk the eggs and deciding whether she should work from the kitchen island or the couch when the doorbell rings. George hadn’t mentioned anyone stopping by, and Y/N remains cautious as she goes to open the door. Some part of her fears that some crazed fan or ex-lover of George’s will be waiting on the other side, but a sigh of relief leaves her body when she checks the peephole and it’s just a few delivery people.

No more Criminal Minds for her.

“Hi Mrs. Weasley,” one of the men greets when Y/N opens the door, and she’s too shocked to correct him. Her knees shake as she steps aside to let them in, her mind still focused on how good it felt to be called by George’s last name. “We’ve got the things your husband ordered, it shouldn’t take too long for us to set it all up.”

“Okay,” Y/N says hesitantly as the men start to bring a few boxes into the apartment. She’s a little unsure about letting these people in since George didn’t say anything about a delivery, but Y/N knows the security here is intense and they wouldn’t have been let into the building if there was something weird going on. “You know where everything is going?”

The first man nods, giving her a smile. “Yes, your husband was very clear when he placed the order a few days ago. We’ll be in and out so quickly you’ll barely even know we were here.”

Y/N nods, gesturing towards the kitchen as the men head towards the dining room. “Alright, well, if you need anything I’ll be in there.”

She shoots off a quick text to George as she walks, knowing she’s unlikely to get a response. But it makes her feel better that at least someone will know other people came into the apartment in the event that this really is an elaborate ruse to kidnap her.

Y/N: hey! Hope hockey stuff is good - just wanna let you know the delivery people are here setting up whatever you ordered

When a response doesn’t come through Y/N tucks her phone back into her pocket and refocuses her attention on breakfast. She’s just plating up her omelet and toast when the man from before appears in the kitchen.

“We’re all done here if you just want to take a look to make sure everything looks good before you confirm delivery.”

“Uh, sure,” Y/N agrees, following him into the other room.

When George gave her a tour last night the dining room had virtually nothing in it. There was some artwork on the walls, a small table with a few chairs with a fake plant tucked in the corner and a lamp in the other. Which made total sense to Y/N, since George lives alone and has an island with barstools for him to eat at, he hasn’t really needed a fully functioning dining space.

Which is why her jaw practically drops when the man leads her into the dining room. The small table is gone, and in its place is a gorgeous wooden desk with the softest looking chair Y/N has ever seen behind it. There’s two large bookcases against the back wall, and there’s a plush carpet covering the floor. Tears prick the corner of her eyes, and Y/N runs a hand along the glossy desk just to make sure it’s real.

“Does everything look okay?”

Y/N spins around to face the man who she forgot was even there. Swallowing the emotion crawling up her throat, she gives a curt nod. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”

The man gives her a smile and thrusts out a clipboard. “I just need a signature and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

She signs without even looking, her attention back on the office George created for her. After their breakup Y/N couldn’t fathom when her sweet, loving boyfriend turned into the heartless person that dumped her so carelessly. It’s just starting to hit her that maybe the George she knew wasn’t really gone after all, just hidden behind a facade.

Once the door shuts behind the delivery crew Y/N makes her way behind the desk, sinking back into the plush chair. Her apartment back home isn’t big enough for her to have a dedicated office space and she often works from her kitchen table or couch, and Y/N had been totally fine with doing the same at George’s. So the fact that he’s gone and made Y/N her own space in his apartment has her heart pounding in her chest.

She fires off another text to George.

Y/N: the delivery people just left and holy shit, George. You really didn’t need to do this for me. I love it, thank you.

They must be on a break, because a few minutes later as Y/N is opening her laptop to start working George responds.

George: ah shit, sorry, i totally forgot to mention the delivery last night.

George: we can go out and get different artwork or decorations or whatever. I meant what i said last night, this is our space now and i want you to feel at home

George: and i know i didnt need to, i wanted to :)

She’s already starting to fall back in love with George Weasley, and Y/N is not sure she’ll be able to stop.

Things get easier to navigate as the week goes on.

That first night when George got home from training camp it had been awkward, neither of them really sure how to navigate this interesting relationship. On one hand, they’re technically engaged and it should be expected for them to act somewhat like a couple while at home. But on the other hand, they haven’t been around each other in years and it kind of felt like two strangers living under the same roof.

But they slowly started to get into a routine. George is always up first, and before he leaves for camp he puts on a fresh pot of coffee so it’s still warm and fresh by the time Y/N gets up too. They usually text throughout the day whenever George has the chance, discussing what to do for dinner or to just share something about their day. George gets home at 4 everyday, and Y/N has a protein shake waiting for him on the counter while she finishes up with work. Then they cook dinner together, moving around the kitchen effortlessly while they talk about their days.

Dinner is always eaten in the living room while they watch something on TV. George cleans up the kitchen while Y/N empties his hockey bag, throwing his sweaty gear into the washing machine before repacking his bag with fresh athletic gear and a clean practice jersey. They get ready for bed together, standing at the his and hers sinks in the bathroom as they brush their teeth. George is usually the first to fall asleep, and Y/N will read or scroll on her phone until she too goes to bed, and then they wake up in the morning to do it all over again.

George didn’t think they’d fall into a routine so easily, but he’s been pleasantly surprised so far. He finds that every night after a long day of camp he’s looking forward to seeing Y/N at home, and the little texts they exchange during his breaks have become his favorite part of the day. Even falling asleep next to her has become second nature, and George will never get tired of the fact that his bed has started to smell like the both of them.

He figured it would be an adjustment, having someone else and their stuff in a space that has always been just his. But George loves seeing the touches of herself that Y/N has started to leave around the apartment. It’s always a thrill when he enters the closet and her clothes are hanging up next to his. He loves the rumpled blanket she always leaves on the couch, and the sight of her coffee mug in the sink next to his in the afternoon always makes him happy.

They’re living the life George always wanted, and he’s already dreading the day it comes to an end. But the inevitable heartbreak is worth it to see the way Y/N lights up when he gets home in the afternoon.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, Weasel,” Thomas, the Rebel’s goalie, states as he slides into the seat across from George.

They’re on break for lunch, and George was taking advantage of the opportunity to text Y/N back.

“Yeah, you’ve been a lot more smiley, Weasel,” Adam, a defenseman, adds as he sits next to George.

“What? Is it a fucking crime to be happy?” George asks with an eyeroll.

Before he has a chance to even react Thomas is reaching over and snatching George’s phone out of his hand. “No it’s not a crime,” he starts, scrolling through the texts on George’s phone. “But I’m sure it has something to do with Y/N and why she’s asking you what you want for dinner tonight.”

“Fuck you,” George grumbles as he grabs his phone back, and he can feel the flush on his cheeks. He knows that the whole point of Y/N being his fake fiance is so he can show everyone how responsible he is, and in order to do that people have to know about her. But a part of George was hoping to keep Y/N to himself for just a little bit longer.

“Weasel’s got a girlfriend!” Adam exclaims, ruffling George’s hair. “You’ve been holding out on us George, when the fuck did that happen? Who is she? Where’d you meet?”

“Yeah, give us all the details George, you owe it to us,” Thomas adds.

“You two are worse than a couple of school girls for christ sake.” George takes a sip of his water, needing a second to compose himself. “It happened during the off season. I went back home for a bit, you know, to see the family and everything. Y/N and I dated before I was in the league and we reconnected. We didn’t want to be apart when I had to come back for the season so she moved in with me.”

“Holy fuck, look how red his cheeks are,” Thomas teases. “Our little Weasel’s in love.”

“Little lover boy,” Adam joins in, ruffling George’s hair again. “Fucking finally, Jenny has been dying for you to get a girlfriend, she said her and Olivia need a new drinking buddy.”

“Hell yeah, bring Y/N to team drinks tonight,” Thomas suggests with a grin. “You can’t keep her from us forever, and Olivia will castrate me if she finds out you have a girlfriend and I didn’t try to get you to bring her out.”

George huffs, thinking it over. They have a day off tomorrow, and he was kind of looking forward to doing nothing but hanging out on the couch with Y/N. But introducing her to the team and their partners is probably the most natural way for him being in a relationship to get back to Coach, and that’s the whole reason Y/N is here in the first place.

“Alright fine,” he relents, causing the other men to cheer. “But you fuckers are on a short leash, you hear me? Say any weird shit and we’re gone.”

“We’ll be on our best behavior,” Adam promises, placing a hand on his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Are you sure I look okay?” Y/N asks again, pausing just outside the entrance to the bar.

It physically pains George to look her over, because the pair of jeans clinging to Y/N are so tight they look like they’ve been painted on and it’s taking all of his willpower and thoughts of his grandmother naked to keep him from popping a boner. The fabric showcases every single curve on her, and all he wants to do is plant one hand on her ass while the other grips the back of her neck as he kisses her senseless.

But he can’t do that, so he settles for grabbing her hands to stop the way she tugs at the hem of her shirt. It’s just barely too short, letting a sliver of skin peek between the top of her jeans and the bottom of the shirt, and Y/N has been tugging on it constantly. As if another few inches of fabric will suddenly unravel and cover her completely.

“For the millionth time, you look incredible, baby,” George reassures her, taking too much pride in the way her cheeks flush. “You have nothing to be nervous about, Y/N. This is just a casual hang out with my friends.”

“I know, I know. You’re right,” Y/N agrees. George intertwines their fingers, squeezing her hands and it sends butterflies fluttering through her tummy. “I just want your friends to like me, and I don’t want to fuck up this whole fake fiancé thing.”

George can feel the cool band of Y/N’s engagement ring pressing into his skin, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t send a thrill through his body. He thought it would be strange, seeing the ring on her finger knowing that he’s the one who put it there. But every time he gets a glimpse of the diamond it feels like it has always been there, a feeling which George has carefully boxed up and stuffed to the back of his mind.

“You have nothing to worry about,” George soothes, releasing one of Y/N’s hands so he can pull her behind as he pushes through the door to the bar. “All I told the guy’s is that you and I dated when we were younger and reconnected when I went home during the off season. Technically none of that is a lie.”

Y/N nods in agreement as George drags her into Maynards. Except for the rowdy crowd in the corner that is very clearly George’s teammates, it’s practically empty and she feels some of her nerves drift away. Pretending in front of people George knows is one thing, but having to put that facade up in front of fans with phones is a whole nother story. On the drive over George had explained that Maynards was the team’s go to spot because it’s close to the arena, but is so dingy and outdated that not too many people come in. The boy’s like the anonymity that Maynards provides, and it’s often the place they go when they just want to hang out for the night and spend some time together.

Y/N feels honored to be let into that special club.

It’s one of the guy’s girlfriends that notices them first, and the rest of Y/N’s nerves float away at the look of pure joy that crosses the stranger’s face.

“Holy fuck, Thomas wasn’t lying!” The girl shouts excitedly, causing the few people standing with them to turn and look their way. She abandons her boyfriend, bounding over with her arms stretched out for a hug.

Except much to Y/N’s surprise she walks right past George, wrapping her arms around Y/N instead. “I’m Olivia, it’s so nice to meet you.”

Y/N returns Olivia’s hug with the arm that isn’t attached to the hand George is still holding on to, returning the tight squeeze. “It’s nice to finally meet you, George has told me so much about you.”

Which isn’t a total lie, from the time George got home until they reached the bar he’d given her a brief run down on everyone she’d be meeting tonight. He’d spent the most time talking about Thomas, Adam and their girlfriends, since they are who he’s closest with on the team and who he spends the most time with off the ice.

“Well he’s told us absolutely nothing about you, so we’ve got a ton of catching up to do.” Olivia releases Y/N from her embrace, grabbing her hand instead. Except as she starts to drag her away, George keeps his own grip on Y/N tight, catching her in the middle.

“Y/N is my date, Olivia, you just can’t steal her,” George huffs, pouting at them.

Olivia rolls her eyes, clearly used to George’s antics. “Sharing is caring, Georgie,” she mocks, tugging on Y/N so George has no choice but to release her hand. “You’ll get her back, I promise.”

Before she disappears into the crowd with Olivia, Y/N shoots George a reassuring smile over her shoulder, a silent signal not to worry about her.

If only she knew that George’s reluctance to let her go has nothing to do with worry, but his overwhelming need to feel her hand in his.

“So what was Weasel like back in high school? Was he always such a little shit?” Thomas asks with a grin.

They’ve been at the bar for a few hours, and despite her initial nerves, Y/N is actually having fun. Olivia had dragged her over to where Jenny, Adam’s girlfriend, and some of the other player’s partners were huddled together and it was as if they were old friends. After a few margaritas and getting to know each other the guys had wandered over. George had immediately wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing Y/N in close so her back was pressed to his front. That’s where she stayed as his friends asked her what felt like a million questions about George.

“Weasel?” she responds, wrinkling her nose. Y/N tilts her head back so she can look up at George. “That’s what they call you? I’m ashamed, it’s not very creative. Woody was way better.”

George’s cheeks immediately flush at the reminder of his old nickname, causing Thomas and Adam to whoop in laughter. “You’re a little menace, you know that?” he murmurs in her ear, squeezing her waist.

“Woody? Now that’s a story I want to hear,” Adam says, his eyes lit with excitement.

Y/N goes to tell the story, but before she can even utter a word George claps his free hand over her mouth, muffling her words. “No, nope. I will not let you hooligans rope my fiancé into your shenanigans.”

Everyone around them goes silent. When Olivia had referred to Y/N as George’s girlfriend earlier she didn’t correct her, figuring there was a reason why he hadn’t told his friends about the engagement. So she went right along with it, keeping her left hand tucked into her pocket as much as possible.

“I’m sorry, did you say fiancé?” Jenny asks, her voice loud enough to draw looks from those around them.

“Um. Surprise?” George responds sheepishly, dropping the hand he has over Y/N’s mouth to grab her left hand instead. He lifts it up to show everyone the ring, and even in the dim light of the bar the diamond shines.

“Oh my god! Congratulations!” Olivia shouts as Jenny giggles, and the girls take Y/N’s hand from George so they can examine the ring more closely.

“Damn, Weasel. You’ve broken the hearts of female hockey fans all over the country,” Adam teases, clapping George on the shoulder. “No wonder you’ve been in such a fantastic mood lately. Congrats.”

Thomas winks at George. “Yeah, congratulations or whatever, but let’s get back to the conversation.” His eyes sheen with mischief and George lets out a groan. “Why the fuck did they call you Woody?”

The girls dissolve into a fit of giggles as Y/N looks up at George for approval. But when he gives her a pleading look all Y/N does is wink before she refocuses her attention back on the group and launches into the story.

“Well you see, it all started back when we were in high school, and George was away with the junior team for the first time.”

George tunes out the rest of the story, not needing to listen as Y/N recounts the story of how he got caught jerking off in his hotel room the night before his first game in the junior league. Instead he focuses on the bright smile on her face, and how the people he cares about most react to her. He can already tell that Jenny and Olivia have accepted Y/N as one of their own, and he knows she has Adam and Thomas’ stamp of approval too.

Y/N fits into their group flawlessly and it makes his chest feel warm. George tightens his grip on her waist, and he never wants to let her go.

They spend a large part of the next day on the couch. Y/N is too hungover to move and George wants to be wherever she is. With each of their heads at one end of the couch their legs are intertwined in the middle, both of them content to just watch movies and eat snacks all day. It isn’t until the sun is starting to get lower in the sky that George finally speaks.

“We should go out somewhere for dinner tonight.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow as she raises her eyes to meet his. “You suddenly get bit by the going out bug?” she teases.

George chuckles. “No, I’d much rather lay around all day with you. But if we want people to believe we’re engaged we should probably be seen out and about together.”

At least that’s the excuse he’s come up with. In reality last night he started to come to the realization that he doesn’t want this engagement to be fake. Y/N had fallen asleep as soon as they crawled in bed but George had laid awake watching her closely as he reflected on the night and the last several years.

Because being at that bar with Y/N is the happiest he’d been in a long time, and when he really thought about it, the last time he remembers being truly happy was before he ended things with Y/N. Even the day he was drafted and his first game in the NHL didn’t come close to being his happiest memory, because she wasn’t there with him.

So George made a decision last night. Fuck being named Captain, his one and only goal is to make Y/N fall in love with him again. That way he can marry her for real, and he never has to think about what life will be like without her by his side. He’d stayed awake for hours formulating a plan, and this is just step one.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Y/N agrees. “But nowhere fancy, okay? I still feel like shit. You weren’t kidding, Olivia and Jenny go hard.”

George agrees to her stipulation, and he finds himself returning the grin on Y/N’s face. Operation Get Y/N to fall in love is officially a go.

“Remember that time at Rosie’s when Fred made you laugh so hard milkshake came out of your nose?”

George attempts to laugh at the memory, choking on the sip of milkshake he’s just taken. “Oh god, don’t remind me,” he spits out once his coughing calms down. “I smelled vanilla for weeks after that.”

Y/N giggles at the grimace on George’s face as she settles back into the booth. To comply with her request not to go anywhere fancy, they’re at a dingy dinner a few blocks from the apartment that George swore has the best milkshakes in all of Chicago. And as Y/N takes a sip of hers, she can’t help but agree.

“That was also the first time we held hands,” Y/N reminds him, blush coating her cheeks. They were twelve and George had been so embarrassed that Y/N had reached out to squeeze his hand and he never let go. Two weeks later they went on their first date, and a week after that they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

“I was so nervous that I threw up when I got home,” George admits with a grin. “I told Fred it was because I could still feel milkshake dripping out of my nose, but really it was because the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen had held my hand.”

He lays his arm across the table, palm up in invitation. Without a moment of hesitation Y/N places her hand in George’s and a shiver runs up her spine when he grasps her fingers. George brushes his fingers over her knuckles, and they sit in silence as George looks at their intertwined hands and she looks at him.

“What happened, George?” Y/N asks suddenly, her voice shaky. “I thought things were going so well and then suddenly they weren’t.”

“I was scared,” he admits after a few moments of silence, still refusing to meet her gaze. “I always knew the NHL was my future, but getting that call, that Chicago was going to offer me a rookie contract, scared the shit out of me. I still had two years until they were going to call me up, and so much could have happened. They could have decided to drop me, or I could have had a career ending injury. And I had no Plan B. Hockey came first, my grades were barely passable and I had no passion for anything else. Without the NHL I would be nothing, and I couldn’t burden you like that. I figured letting you go so you could find someone worthy of your love was better than dragging you down with me.”

“George,” Y/N whispers, at a loss for what to say. Her heart aches in her chest, because George may have been the one to break them, but Y/N didn’t fight hard enough to save them. She knew something was wrong with George, and that he hadn’t suddenly become a heartless asshole after nearly ten years together. Y/N wishes she had stayed that day, refused to leave until George talked to her about what was really going on.

Maybe if she had the engagement ring on her finger would be real, and it would have saved them both years of pain and longing.

Before she can say anything else the waitress is back with their food, and they pull apart as she places the plates down in front of them. She’s gone in another instant, and even though everything smells and looks amazing, Y/N has suddenly lost her appetite.

The next morning there are pictures of them all over social media, with several different sports sites publishing articles about how hockey’s hottest bachelor is officially off the market. Y/N hadn’t even noticed people taking their photo, but she’s glad that they all seem to have been taken before things got awkward. In each photo they’re both smiling, and there’s even a few where you can clearly see a blush outlined on George’s cheeks.

They actually look in love, and it makes Y/N feel sick.

Things were weird between them the rest of the night and George was up and out of the house to head to camp before Y/N was awake. Her only shred of hope has been the fact that George had still left a fresh pot of coffee for her. Maybe this whole thing isn’t over before it really even got started.

Because Y/N has decided it’s time to stop playing the long game and merely hoping that this whole thing ends with her and George together for real. Y/N is going to get George Weasley to fall in love with her again even if it kills her. After his confession yesterday, Y/N knows now more than ever that George is the man she is supposed to end up with, and she is not going to give him up again without a fight.

Will she ever forget how he had hurt her that day? Of course not.

But what matters is that she’s forgiven him, and she’s ready to show George that what they have now can be real.

She barely focuses on work all day, formulating a plan and figuring out her next steps. By the time George gets home that afternoon, his usual protein shake is waiting and Y/N is ready. Operation get George Weasley to fall in love with her is a go.

Y/N decides to make her move that night when they’re in bed. The awkwardness between them had started to fade as they fell into their evening routine, and by the time they were eating dinner on the couch together they were laughing and joking around again. While they hadn’t talked about what George said at the diner, it seemed they had come to a silent agreement to leave the past in the past and to keep moving forward.

With only one week of training camp left before preseason starts, the focus of camp has shifted from running drills to starting to run plays, so when Y/N crawls into bed that night George is still awake, sitting up against the headboard as he reviews his book of plays.

She mirrors his position, keeping only a few inches of space between them as she starts to read her romance novel. Y/N keeps glancing at George out of the corner of her eye, not really paying attention to the words on the page. After a few minutes she gives up, huffing as she shuts her book before angling her body to face George.

“I’ve been thinking,” she trails off, waiting for George to give her his full attention.

“That can’t be good,” he jests, placing his playbook on the nightstand before he turns to face her as well. “What’s been going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face. “Well I saw all the pictures of us people were posting this morning, and I was thinking about that family skate thing and the team dinner you were talking about and how if we’re going to be out and around people, there’s probably certain things they are going to expect from us.”

“Like?” George asks, urging her to continue.

“Like PDA things,” she explains, swallowing the nerves threatening to creep up her throat. “Holding hands, touching, cuddling. Kissing.”

“Oh,” George murmurs, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So I was thinking maybe we should practice. Doing all of that stuff. That way when we’re in front of people it doesn’t look weird or awkward. It looks like something we do all the time.” When George doesn’t say anything Y/N feels her stomach drop, and embarrassment flushes her cheeks. “Nevermind, forget I said anything,” she dismisses, kicking herself for even bringing it up.

But before she can turn her back to George and pretend to sleep he grabs her wrist, using his grip to pull Y/N even closer. “Sorry, I was just processing. You’re right. No one will believe we’re engaged if we look like two chickens pecking at each other when we try to kiss or if you flinch every time I touch your ass.”

Without giving her a chance to respond George grips the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her into a kiss as his other arm wraps around her waist. There’s no hesitation as they kiss for the first time in years, and Y/N feels fireworks as George’s mouth melds against hers.

George breaks their kiss for a moment, muttering a quiet fuck before he’s kissing her again with more force. Angling her head back, George deepens the kiss and Y/N moans as he nips at her bottom lip. She shivers as his tongue soothes the sharp pain before letting him lick into her mouth.

Next thing she knows George is pulling her closer, dragging her so she’s straddling his lap. Her own hands grip his shoulders as George massages the back of her neck, his other hand wandering down to cup her ass. He drags her even closer, and they both let out a gasp as his hard cock presses between her thighs, nestled just where she needs him most.

As Y/N rocks against him, moaning as his cock nudges her throbbing clit, the reality that they are about to cross a line that they will never be able to come back from hits them both. In the blink of an eye Y/N is back on her side of the bed, hair tousled from George’s grip and her breathing heavy. She spares a glance at George, happy to find that he looks just as affected.

“So I think that was enough practice, yeah?” George doesn’t even wait for Y/N’s response before he’s up and out of bed, one hand trying to cover the tent in his sweatpants as he rushes into the bathroom. A second after the door closes Y/N hears the shower turn on, and she can’t help but slip a hand under her sleep shorts.

Phase one complete.

They haven’t kissed again since that first night early in the week, but much to both of their delight, physical touch starts to become a regular part of their relationship. When they’re out in public George doesn’t hesitate to grab Y/N’s hand, and he often keeps a hand on her lower back to guide her. Now when George gets home he seeks her out, sometimes content to rub her shoulders as she works, sometimes so desperate to feel her close that he hauls her from the chair into a hug. While they cook dinner together they’re constantly brushing against one another, and Y/N is practically in George’s lap while they eat.

The space they try to keep in bed at night has been completely erased, with George refusing to fall asleep until Y/N is wrapped in his arms. Her plan is working even better than she could have imagined and she can’t wait to show off their new found closeness tonight at the Rebel’s family skate.

Training camp is officially over, and every year to celebrate the team hosts a family skate night. The guys get to bring their wives or girlfriends and their kids, and everyone just gets to have fun together on the ice before the craziness of the season starts to take over. Preseason starts next week, and after the first game at home on Tuesday, the team will be gone for the better part of the next three weeks. Which makes tonight at open skate and tomorrow’s team dinner Y/N’s last chances to really get close to George before they are apart again.

“When do you think is the last time we skated together?” George asks as he steps out onto the ice, holding his hands out so he can help Y/N enter the rink.

In years past George never really cared for family skates considering the fact that he never really had anyone to bring with him, but he’s been looking forward to this all week. Not only did he and Y/N meet on the ice, but ice skating was their first date, making this the perfect next step in his plan to get her to fall in love with him again.

Y/N thinks about it as she grabs George’s hands and joins him. “Probably a family skate back when you were in the juniors. You used to have to bribe me with kisses to get on the ice.”

George keeps Y/N’s hands in his, starting to slowly skate backwards, pulling her along. “Mmm, that reminds me.” He pulls her in closer, leaning down and kissing her briefly. “Thank you for skating with me.”

She knows it’s for show, but it makes her heart rate pick up anyway. “You’re welcome. But I think I deserve one more kiss for being so brave.”

“Y/N, you can have as many kisses as you want,” George murmurs as he leans down before pressing their lips together again.

Their kiss is much longer this time, and Y/N is just about to open her mouth for George’s tongue when someone skates by, stopping sharply to spray them with ice.

“Adam, fuck you,” George growls as they pull apart, glaring at the other man as he skates away.

Y/N laughs, pushing George away to put some distance between them. There are children present after all. “You look so cute when you’re mad.”

“Only when I’m mad?” George pouts playfully, bringing his attention back to her.

“Nah, you’re cute all the time,” she reassures him, momentarily releasing one of his hands so she can boop him on the nose. The smile that graces his lips takes her breath away, and Y/N tilts her chin, silently requesting another kiss.

George immediately obliges, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss. It’s over far too quickly for Y/N’s liking, but George keeps her close as they continue to skate around the rink. It’s nice, just being there with him, and Y/N lets her gaze wander around as they move.

It’s funny, watching these guys who are so big and broad glide around with their kids. The ones who are too young to skate are just being held in their dad’s arms, bundled up in little snowsuits. There’s a few toddlers too, wearing little skates and a tiny version of their dad’s jersey as they’re guided along the ice. Some of the kids are even old enough to hold sticks, and they’re skating around passing pucks with their fathers before taking turns shooting on the goal.

It hits Y/N then, that if this all works out that could be her and George next year. A tiny baby in his big broad arms, wearing a jersey that says Daddy across the back with George’s number underneath it. A few of the wives have custom jerseys as well, with Mrs. Last name embroidered on the back and their husband’s number underneath. She’s sure that George would insist on her having one too.

Y/N’s attention refocuses on George as they slow and they come to a stop in front of the home bench, where George’s coach is tightening up his daughter’s skates. George wraps his arms around Y/N’s waist, pulling her back into his chest.

“Coach,” he greets when the other man turns and acknowledges them. “I just wanted to introduce you to my fiancé, Y/N.”

“Daniel Morris.” His voice is gruff, and Y/N takes the hand he offers, giving it a brief shake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman who’s lit a fire under this ogre’s ass,” he teases with a grin. “Weasley has been playing his best these past few weeks, and we have you to thank.”

“Oh well, I don’t know about that,” Y/N brushes off, hoping the pink tint on her cheeks can be blamed on the cold. “But thank you. It’s nice to meet the guy George is always bitching about.”

Morris lets out a loud laugh, grabbing the attention of almost every single player out on the ice. “I like her George, you better keep this one around.”

“Oh trust me, Coach,” George starts with a grin, flicking his gaze down to Y/N. “I intend to.”

And that’s the truth.

“God I’m so sore,” Y/N moans as she crawls into bed that night, flopping down onto the pillows. “I don’t know how you do that every day. I barely did anything and my body aches like I just climbed Mount Everest.”

George shakes his head as he chuckles and he rubs a comforting hand down Y/N’s back. “Years and years of conditioning, baby. Where did you think all these muscles came from?” He flexes, causing Y/N to laugh.

“I do love your hockey butt,” she teases, giving George a wink.

“And I love your regular butt,” he responds, playfully giving it a slap. “C’mere, let me make you feel better.”

George maneuvers her so they’re cuddled close, one of Y/N’s legs slung over his hips with her chest pressed against his own. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, and a shiver wracks through his body when she kisses the sensitive skin there. George starts to rub circles into the tight muscles of her back, his fingers applying just enough pressure to work the kinks out without hurting her.

“Feel good?” he asks after a few moments, and Y/N lets out a moan of appreciation. “Good,” he murmurs as his hand starts to trail down her back. He pauses for a moment on the curve of her ass, digging his fingers in for a moment before continuing down to the thigh he has slung over his hips. George repeats the same motions as he did on her back, working out the muscles of her thighs.

George threads his free hand through the hair on the back of Y/N’s head and he slowly starts to scratch at her scalp. The gentleness of George’s simple intimacy brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N shuts her eyes to keep them from escaping. It’s easy to pretend when they’re like this, that this is just a normal night and they’re just a normal couple taking care of each other before they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

As Y/N starts to slowly fall asleep she sends out every piece of good karma she has out into the universe, wishing that her plan to make George fall in love with her works. Because she’s already head over heels in love with this man, and if he breaks her heart again she’ll never be the same.

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fan fiction #george weasley au #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter au #gw #golden

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beardedmrbean · 1 month

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The gunman who nearly killed former President Trump at a rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, last month used encrypted messaging accounts on multiple platforms based in Belgium, New Zealand and Germany, according to a House representative appointed to a congressional task force investigating the assassination attempt.

Rep. Mike Waltz, R-Fla., a retired Green Beret appointed to the 13-member House bipartisan task force investigating the attempted assassination of Trump, told reporters about the accounts while at the Trump Hotel Chicago Wednesday.

One reporter asked Waltz what he and other members of the task force had learned during the investigation and about the encrypted messages on the shooter's cellphone.

"We still haven’t learned a lot. We haven’t learned that much about those overseas accounts," he said, referring to accounts held by would-be assassin Thomas Matthew Crooks. "We do know that they were in, if I get this correctly, Belgium, New Zealand and Germany.

"Why does a 19-year-old kid who is a health care aide need encrypted platforms not even based in the United States, but based abroad, where most terrorist organizations know it is harder for our law enforcement to get into? That’s a question I’ve had since day one."

The representative then turned his attention to the FBI and Secret Service, bashing them for not saying a thing until they complete their investigations months from now.

"They need to be releasing information as they come across it, because this wasn’t an isolated incident," Waltz said. "The threats are continually Iran’s threats."

Waltz then cited an alleged plot that was foiled regarding a Pakistani national who paid off hitmen to kill Trump and other U.S. officials.

The New York Post reported that the FBI is scheduled to brief members of the task force on Wednesday, which Waltz said he hopes will provide insight into the "ridiculously flawed" security detail at the Trump campaign in Butler on July 13, 2024.

Both the FBI and Secret Service are conducting their own investigations into the assassination attempt, as is the Department of Homeland Security Office of Inspector General.

On the evening of the rally, Crooks opened fire on the main stage, grazing Trump’s ear with a bullet. Crooks also killed rally attendee Corey Comperatore, 50, and wounded 57-year-old David Dutch and 54-year-old James Copenhaver.

#nunyas news

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swampbrick · 10 months

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Y’all have waited so patiently for me to get my shit together and format this post, and for that, I thank y’all endlessly (for not calling me out on my avoidant personality and procrastination xoxo)

Without further ado, I give you…

Swamp’s GhostSoap Recs

PART TWO

(electric boogaloo)

My qualifications to make this post are that I’m neurodivergent and have read over half the damn archive at this point.

If you see your fic featured here and don't want it included in a rec post, just shoot me a dm! Will remove any from the list without question or complaint at the author's request.

Notes: I tried to sort some of them out into some broader categories for easier perusal, however, some fics might touch more than one of these topics. I went with whichever category was the MOST relevant in regard to the fic's content. Fics in italics are under 10K words. Stuff involving religious guilt and heavy religious undertones are marked in orange. Some fics are privated by the author- in that case the link might not work for you if you’re on mobile, so just look it up by author and title once you’re logged into your AO3 account. Happy reading!

Random Fics I Enjoyed and Can't Sort Into Broad Categories

The Wedding Lt. by SomnolentPavana

Like Watching Paint Dry by Grangers_apprentice

Mission Briefs by BleedingTypewriter

Don't be Scared by the Starting Gun by Suliana

Afraid (of Changing) by EmpressCirque

HALO by Cryypticchaotic

Tough Love by The_neurodivergent_nerd

Smooth Sailing on Choppy Water by coderaven

Poison Apple by surveycorpsjean

Punch Drunk by Drolly

Tesco's Finest by Vanemis

If You Don't Stop, I'll End up Believing You by Hochseeperle

Assorted AUs

like the dust (that hides the glow) by ArcadeGhostAdventurer [soulmates]

In My Time of Need by WhisperedWords12 [omegaverse]

lotus flower by exavibus [tattoo artist x florist]

Damaged Goods by Red_Clegane [lawyer x prostitute]

Safety Hazard by Red_Clegane [president's son x secret service]

On Leave

No Reqiuem by ice_hot_13

set your teeth against my throat (give me something pretty to wear beneath my blood-stained clothes) by aetherealmoss

let these hills absolve me by flowersferns (THE SHEERP FARMING FIC SOBBING CRYING)

solemn prayer, poppy in my hair by congee4lunch

A Scottish Bastard's Smile by SnarlingGherkin

The Fairtytale of Manchester by MildLimerence

Injury and/or Discharge

all that's said in the low light by headlocket (my favorite fic of all time actually if you haven't seen my 9000 other posts saying so)

My frozen heart (would melt just for you) by Red_Clegane

Clue by Wispscribbles

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles

Vicissitude by crows_and_curses

Yours Sincerely by LeoDoesGames

i'm a fire and i'll keep your brittle heart warm by marviless

Affirmative, Sir by Wixiany

To Drive a Man to Madness by Crypticchaotic

This Is (Mostly) P0rn

After Dark by Sylencia (THE BDSM CLUB FIC WOOF WOOF)

If I ever saw you try to be a saint (I'd be appalled) by Xalethar

Chicago Whiskey by Serpentwyne

Make Me Bad by Serpentwyne

gimme just a little bit (more) by applepieces [09!ghostsoap]

Promise Ring by LXVERSOFFENSE

Want It All by TuxedoHummingbird

A Fool's Gambit by MildLimerence

tame me by MikaelLo

the human condition by bilbhoebangins

All the Sins You Never Had the Courage to Commit by mothbeast

The Worthy Vessel by MildLimerence

Hotline by MildLimerence

Bonus Fic!

Here's a Gaz Centric, Poly141 fic that has ghostsoap in it but does not focus on it heavily enough to go in one of the other categories. This is Kyle's time to shine.

Hand Around My Heart by Grangers_apprentice

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acowardinmordor · 9 months

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Contractual Obligation

The plan went perfectly, is the thing. TMZ got the scoop, Tiktok had hundreds of reaction videos in the first few hours. They were trending on Twitter. Which was good. Steve would get his pay day, Eddie would get past the rumors and back to the good press, back to the path towards platinum records. According to the plan, Eddie would even have new ideas and inspiration for his next album.

It was only five months. Long enough for the gossips to pick it up, long enough to be a big deal, not long enough that anyone would expect Eddie to be too broken up about it.

Steve torched all his social media accounts a few hours after TMZ posted the story. He had to. The handful of messages and notifications he saw while deleting it all made his stomach flip. Once it calmed down a bit, he might make anonymous accounts again, if only so he could follow the kids and see the weird pictures of Robin's travels. Not with his own face though. Part of the agreement. Steve Harrington wasn't going to exist online as himself for a minimum of three years. That would keep anyone noticing that he got paid. It would also keep Steve from being torn apart by Eddie's fans.

It wasn't like he had to worry about money for a while. That was why he signed the contract with the PR firm. They needed to erase the memory of his slut era - capped off with photos of Eddie in a decadent orgy - show that Eddie Munson was capable of a committed relationship, and then get him single again. His sales were better when he was single, and being seen on celebrity dates was great for PR. They needed someone to play a part to make the change.

Steve's dad hadn't cut him off or thrown him out for being queer, or for how he got GNC when the mood struck. No, Richard Harrington was a proud liberal supporter, and didn't give a damn about any of that. But Steve flunked out of his degree in business at Richard's alma mater, and that was unforgivable.

So he was working days at an amazon warehouse, and overnight at a 24 hour diner in Chicago, because he needed money to keep his crappy studio. The PR team found him at the diner. Steve accepted the job and the contract without knowing who the hell Eddie Munson was. It was that much money. Steve really should have thought through the final phase of the contract before he signed. But it was almost a quarter million dollars for just under five months of work. "Work". Five months of dating a guy who permanently altered Steve's brain chemistry with his first smile.

Steve knew this was his fault. How he felt was his own fault. He wanted the money so he took the job, and he agreed to the terms. He went in with open eyes. Eddie didn't know Steve wasn't a genuine relationship. A real moment of serendipity that put them in the same place. Didn't know there was an end date inked and signed before they ever met. Steve agreed to this stupid fucking job because his parents cut him off and he wasn't used to having to budget for food and use coupons and hunt for deals to get phone service.

He may have flunked out in his junior year, but he was a business major. Steve read the contract and knew there was no getting around the financial penalty if he broke the terms. Seven fold repayment. How biblical of them.

He wasn't stupid. Eddie had the cash to cover the contract breach. And the inevitable court case over it. But Steve was stupid, and when he signed, he'd thought it wouldn't matter to either of them. Then Steve realized it mattered to him, but thought Eddie would be fine. He was a rockstar. Surrounded by friends. Endlessly laughing and happy. Eddie would get over Steve quick. It was just a couple months with some broke college drop out.

Then he saw Eddie's face three days ago when the rockstar found his boyfriend in bed with two models.

So yeah, Eddie had the cash, and maybe if Steve had told him from the start, he would have spent it, but now? Eddie didn't have a poker face. He walked into the scene set up by the PR team - Steve in bed with two peppy blonde models after standing Eddie up on a date - and Steve knew there was no way Eddie would cover anything. The truth could have helped early. Now that it was done? Telling Eddie the truth would only hurt him more.

All the stories were on Eddie's side. The firm made sure of that. Photos were already being 'found' by the gossip sites. Steve had been 'cheating' for weeks. Really had fucked both women that night to satisfy contractual obligation and to make sure Steve knew there was no fixing it. Steve had his fifteen minutes of fame, and the thing he'd be known for forever, was the guy who cheated on Eddie Munson.

His phone pinged with a message from one of the only two numbers saved to it. The way his chest soared and sank in the moment before his brain caught up was awful. Hope and fear, neither of which made sense.

Steve had deleted all of his socials. The PR firm had taken his old phone and disconnected the number. Now he had a brand new samsung, with one contact for the PR agent, and one for Robin. One was a threat, the other was a lifeline.

Robin's message was a calendar with her locations for the next month, and a link to AirFrance. It was a good idea. She was absolutely furious with him, and had been since he told her about the contract a month ago. She was still his best friend. Eddie was famous, but mostly an American celebrity. Steve could be a no one easier in Europe.

His phone, the one he handed over, had hundreds of contacts and thousands of messages and conversations across apps. Hundreds of photos of him and Eddie. Messages and voicemails and stupid jokes and memes.

This one had the default background, the default apps, and a single conversation in the messages. Robin was going to scream at him when she saw him, but she'd give him a hug first.

That was a better choice than sitting in the dark in his new apartment, which was too big, and too nice for crappy stuff they'd moved from his studio. He tapped the link she sent, and started looking for the first available flight.

#steve harrington angst #steddie angst #my writing #as ever guys #I did not write this with any intent #just responding to a fic that ended happily #and my brain going 'ok but what if'#this idea is agony to me #that Steve completed the contract like he was supposed to #it is technically a success #this was the expected outcome #and it hurts like hell

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pepper-needs-help · 1 year

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Hi everypony

so okay I've been like Gone for three years lol (sorry to the few people i accidentally ghosted)

long story short my stalker found me and i had to delete my personal tumblr account and my paypal 🙃 but i remade my paypay and i can like provide proof of harassment if needed (tbh he probably has notifications turned on for this account if he knows it and i'll have to skedaddle again but i'm desperate lmao)

hello, i am a bisexual, autistic, mentally ill nonbinary (black+asian) poc living in chicago. i still don't have a job, and am in desperate need of help.

but anyways i'm like rly sick lmao and i probably maybe need dentures but that's gonna be on the back burner while i try to go to the doctor. i have insurance but i can't afford the copay and medications they'll probably have to prescribe me. tbh i was gonna like just not go to the doctor but my friends r getting worried so maybe that means i should also be worried???

also like we literally can't afford to get groceries unless we afterpay (4-payments plan service thing) uber eats and instacart e-cards to order groceries. also rent has increased since 2020 and my bank accounts and credit cards r in the neggy

anything helps and thanks for reading!

WAYS TO DONATE UNDER THE BREAK

c@sh@pp: $Pepperm1ntTears

v€nm0: @Peppermint_Tears

p@yp@l: https://www.paypal.me/CryingPeppermints

PS if u donate to my partner directly bc of the linked post on the word dentures (very clever) just remember he works full-time so if u get a tarot reading from him give him time please!!!!

PPS oh and also pls don't recommend reddit i cannot try reddit bc of a lack of karma and also the two day reddit blackout to protest fhfbfjf

#black lives matter #donations #mutual aid #signal boost #please help #lgbt pride #nonbinary

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hotchners-wifey · 7 months

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Save Her

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader, Platonic!BAU x Reader, Morgan!Sister Reader

Summary: Y/N has a past she's never told anyone about, she was involved in some heavy things when she lived in England with her Aunt and Uncle. Things she thought were murdered along with her best friend, things she thought went missing with her boyfriend. Things that followed her to Quantico, Virginia. Previous Chapter~ Next Chapter Chapter Warnings: digging into the lives of the deceased,

________________________________________ The jet took off and we sat down around the laptop to talk to Penny, "Alright, I ran background checks on our two victims. From what I found their lives were fairly different, Judy Harris worked in accounting for Chicago Public Schools and Bobby Arin was a mechanic at a local auto shop." Penny explained. "Did you check recent purchases on Judy's credit cards to see if she paid for car services?" Derek asks. "That's the thing, when I went to check their recent purchases there was none." I looked up from the files, "What do you mean there were none?" I asked confused, "Exactly what I said, both accounts stop making purchases right around the same time three months ago." She leaned out of frame and came back with a mug in her hands, "Alright Garcia, keep searching for anything that could help." She nods and leaves the call. Hotch turns himself to look at all of us, "Y/L/N and Prentiss I want you to go to the crime scene and try to find anything left behind by our Unsub or by the victims, Rossi and Morgan go to the morgue and talk to the coroner. JJ and Spence try and get in contact with their families and see if they know why they stopped making purchases to their cards. I will head to the station, talk to the chief and set up for us." We nodded and separated for the remainder of the flight. I walked over to the couch and grabbed my blanket that I stash under the seat and sit down. Spence walks over to me and sits on the other side of the couch I pulled my legs onto the couch and laid them across his lap and spread the blanket over both of us. I shuffled around to get comfortable and closed my eyes, drifting off to sleep. Ignoring the looks JJ and Emily sent our way. ________________________________________ 5 Years Ago ________________________________________

Rossi decided he wanted to host a party for the team, I had never gone out with the team because I didn't like to party but this was the only exception because only the team would be there. I pulled up to Rossi's house and to say my jaw dropped would be an understatement. I thought my apartment was grand but it was nothing in comparison to David Rossi's mansion like house. I parked next to the other cars in the drive-way and walked towards the front door. I knocked and the door opened revealing a very happy Penelope, "Y/N?! Guys Y/N's here!" I smile at her excitement and she stands aside to let me in. "Wow I never thought I'd see the day my little sister would leave her home and come to a party." Derek jokes from his seat at the table, "Shut up Derek, you know that I hate going to big outings and seeing as it's only the team here I don't see it as a big outing." I responded with a smile. He smirks and turns back to his card game he was playing. I set my coat on the coat rack and walk further into the house, I spot Spencer sitting on the far side of the living room reading a book and I walk over to him. "Whatcha reading Spence?" He looks up and gives me a small smile, "The Fault In Our Stars, I remember you telling me it's your favorite book and I wanted to check it out." I smiled, "When did you start reading it?" He looked back down at the book and smiled a little, "Yesterday evening." I stared at him wide eyed, "And you're already on the last few pages?" He nodded, "I guess no one told you boy genius over there can read like 10,000 words a minute." Rossi pitched in from his kitchen, "It's actually 20,000 words per minute but who's counting." Spence said with a smirk, I kneeled down next to him and poked his face, "You're so lifelike." Derek burst out laughing. Spence swatted my hand away and I sat on the couch next to him while we waited for Rossi to finish cooking. I could used to nights like these. ________________________________________ Taglist~ @sebastiansstanswhore, @itsleilabxtch

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #derek morgan #emily prentiss #spencer reid #david rossi #jenifer jareau #criminal minds fanfiction #fem reader #spencer reid x reader #penelope garcia

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ktaxandaccounting · 2 years

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#Accounting & Bookkeeping Services Chicago

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totallyshattered · 2 years

Text

5-Star Ride

Alison's plane touched down, and she was so relieved to finally be home!

She trudged off the plane, still in the button-down blouse, pencil skirt and heels she'd been wearing in Chicago. In the rush to get out of her hotel room that morning, Alison had forgotten to pack her duffel bag with a change of clothes for the flight. She hadn't realized the mistake until after she checked her suitcase. and the uncomfortable clothes just added to her weariness.

The whole trip had been exhausting. Well, less of a trip, more of a tour. Alison hadn't been home in almost 3 months. She worked as an aide and layout designer to an advertising executive, Mr. Alexander Tennyson, and they'd been doing a cross country campaign for a new pharmaceutical product line.

She’d been transferred under Mr. Tennyson specifically for the campaign and had spent nearly every waking moment of the previous six months with him. He was a tall, Oxford-educated man of African descent with impeccable taste and skill at their business. His deep voice, chiseled features, well-pressed suits, and almost imperial manner had enamored Alison the entire time.

Alison had been at his beck and call, working on the project itself, running errands, getting food, and doing everything Mr. Tennyson and the firm had needed. She’d gotten PAID, but 12-hour days had been the norm, they were in a new city every few days, and then there had been that little incident where she'd gotten drunk and fucked Mr. Tennyson two weeks before the end of the tour.

She shivered, thinking about it. It had been incredible. She'd fantasized about him since she was transferred under him, and when they'd finally hooked up, he was so manly and masterful, he took complete control of the night, and she had let him do things she'd never have dreamed.

But, in the cold light of day, she'd been mortified that she'd given in to her lusts and had rejected him far too harshly the next morning when Mr. Tennyson had tried to broach the subject. The hurt in his eyes haunted her, and the cold deadness that followed had made her cry in her lonely hotel room more than once since.

He hadn't mentioned it again, and he'd remained completely professional, but it was obvious that he was still upset and just going through the motions with her. Alison felt she didn't owe him anything, but she knew she'd handled it wrong and was ignoring all of her feelings from the last half-year.

Deep in her own thoughts, she wandered listlessly to baggage pickup, grabbed her suitcase, and headed to the exit while her regrets and snippets of their passionate night spiraled through her brain.

Not that it mattered anymore, she sighed to herself. He’d probably transfer her away soon now that the job was done.

As she neared the exit, Alison pulled out her phone to set up a ride-share home. She changed accounts to select the corporate account, so she didn't have to go through the pain in the ass of expensing it but was only half paying attention as she swiped through the options.

When she hit submit, her phone buzzed, and the app made a sound she hadn't heard before. She frowned and checked the status. It looked normal, scanning for rides, so she shrugged it off.

She exited the airport and was immediately hit by an icy blast that her light overcoat could not compensate for. Alison shrieked and ducked back into the relative shelter the building offered.

Alison asked one of the porters if she could sit inside and wait, but was told, no, all ride-share clients had to sit in the loading zone. She tried to give him the sad kitty face, but no go.

Finally, she trudged out, found a seat in the ride share waiting area, and hugged her arms around herself, shivering.

Then she waited.

And waited.

Aaaaaannnnd waited until, at some point, she dozed off on the bench despite the brisk wind.

Alison dreamed about Mr. Tennyson. Dreamed about begging forgiveness, dreamed about submitting to him again, and dreamed about servicing his every desire.

Sometime later, she was wrenched from her dreamers sleep by a firm shake.

"Hello, young lass, are you waiting for a ride?" Asked a nondescript, middle-aged man in a bomber jacket and newsboy cap. His voice had a slight brogue that she couldn’t identify in her bewildered state.

Alison shook her head, "...ride? Oh, yes! I'm sorry, I was waiting, and I must have dozed off!"

She tried to stand on shaky legs when the driver scolded her, "Sit down, you daft girl. Stay there and let me do my job."

If she were more awake, she probably would have snapped back, but tired as she was, she obeyed his order.

The driver loaded her bags into a surprisingly nice town car and then opened the door, beckoning her inside. Alison was still a bit shaky when she stood, but she made it into the car before collapsing on the seat.

Oooo, she thought, it was so warm in the car, and the seats were even heated!

Now, wrapped in warmth, her sluggishness returned tenfold, and she smiled slightly as the driver got in and began the trip. He called himself Shane and told her he'd get her to her proper destination.

Shane did the normal driver shtick, asking her questions about herself, her trip, her job, etc. Allison answered the questions far less guarded than she would normally because she felt so warm, so drowsy, that she didn’t think to hold back. She only just managed to stop herself from describing her night with Mr. Tennyson.

Shane wasn't fooled, though. He zeroed in on her sudden silence, “Did something happen between you, and your boss?"

Allison flushed, "Um, that's not really your business, Shane."

"Sir," he corrected sharply.

The directness startled Allison, "Wait, what?"

"You should address men properly when they are leading you," he elaborated condescendingly. "I am leading you to your proper destination, you should address me with respect. You call Mr. Tennyson 'sir' when he directs you, don't you?"

Alison's bleary mind tried to latch onto a coherent response, but all that came out was, "Yes, sir."

"Good girl," he responded smugly.

Alison flushed.

"Now, tell me what happened?"

The story flowed out of Alison. Every detail.

Drinking a few too many cocktails at the client mixer.

Shamelessly making out with Mr. Tennyson after the client called it a night.

Grinding on his bulge on the dance floor.

Being ordered to come to his hotel room and practically creaming herself.

Actually cumming when he'd pulled her head down to suck his huge cock from the passenger seat of the rental.

His hidden fingers buried in her cunt from behind while she desperately tried not to make a sound during the seemingly endless elevator ride to his suite.

Being stripped and servicing him on her knees in the entryway of the room.

Giving and getting licked, sucked, and fucked on every surface in the room and in every position Mr. Tennyson twisted her pliable body into.

Feeling his bare rod fill her unprotected pussy with potent cum at least four times before they’d passed out.

Waking up to being taken and filled again during the night, and then falling asleep with his cock in her mouth when he ordered her to clean it with her mouth.

And finally, the shame, the panic she’d felt the next day, and her subsequent mistreatment of her boss.

Alison was mortified, beyond embarrassed, and almost impossibly turned on as she finished the story.

Shane, smirking, but saying nothing, offered her a drink that looked like a flavored sparkling water.

After that whole train wreck, a drink sounded good to her though she wished it was something stronger. Shouldn’t she be home by now?

The liquid inside was a bright neon pink color, the kind she'd loved as a teen, but had tried to distance herself from as an adult. At that moment, the nostalgic feeling of pink was a comfort instead of an embarrassment.

Alison hesitantly took the bottle, but before she could open it, Shane reached back and grabbed her wrist firmly, but without pain.

"What do you say, girl?" He growled.

Despite her exhaustion, adrenaline spiked through her. Her mind searched for the answer while her eyes were locked with his harsh gaze. Finally, she sputtered out, “Thank you! Uh, sir. Thank you, sir!”

He smiled at her, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Better, but that’s twice. You’d better not forget yourself again on this ride.”

Rattled, Alison finally got the bottle opened and sipped the saccharine liquid, and to her surprise, the drink even tasted pink. She giggled and took another sip, trying to keep her dignity, but just ended up gulping it down, little rivulets of pink escaping her lips dripping on her black coat.

Alison finished the bottle in one long draught and felt a different kind of warmth pour through her. Goosebumps raced down her body as if she was being caressed with slender fingers. She gasped for air at the feeling and then began giggling again.

"Have another," Shane ordered her. Part of Alison tried to rebel against being commanded, but the Pink told her to be a good girl and have another.

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir,” said the Pink Ali.

Alison opened the second bottle and began to gulp the oversweet elixir down. The feelings intensified, and she felt the heat surge through her.

It was so hot, and it felt so good, but at the same time, she was so tired, all she could do was moan, giggle, and drift.

Shane’s voice cut through the haze, “Doesn’t it feel good when you do what you’re told?”

“Uh, um, what?” Mumbled Alison. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think.

“I told you to take a drink, you did it, and then you felt good, right you stupid girl?” Asked Shane.

“Yes… but, the drink,” Alison tried to respond. She felt so strange. Were her clothes tighter? Did her tits always bulge out from her shirt like that?

“No,” he cut her off. “You already felt good when you obeyed, didn’t you?”

“…yes”

“And then when you obeyed again, and took another drink, and it felt even better, correct?”

“Yes…”

“So,” the sneering Shane concluded, “It feels good when you obey.”

“Yes.”

“Good girl, good girl.”

Pink Ali beamed. Yes, she was a good girl, she obeyed.

“It’s proper for a stupid lass like you to obey men.”

“No, not… not stupid,” Alison responded.

“Yes, you are stupid,” Shane confirmed, smirking. “You don’t respect men properly, you don’t have any manners and need instructions like a child, and you tell all of your personal business to perfect strangers. Only stupid girls do that.”

“Yes, yes I’m so stupid,” agreed Ali as Alison subsided again.

“You are a stupid girl. Stupid girls obey and respect men. You should always obey and respect men.”

“Yesss…,” Ali was getting stronger. Her skirt felt tight, her panties wedged between her big ass cheeks.

“It feels good to obey, and stupid girls need to obey men. Men like Mr. Tennyson,” continued Shane.

At the mention of Mr. Tennyson, Ali moaned, “Ohh, yessss…”

“It feels good to obey Mr. Tennyson. You always have to obey him like a servant, don’t you?”

Alison clawed her way back, “No… not always… not a servant… just a job…”

“Stupid girl!” Scolded Shane. Alison winced, tried to hold on. “It is your job to do whatever Mr. Tennyson says to do so he can do his work, yes?”

“Uh, uh, yes,” stammered Alison losing her grip.

“If you have to do whatever he tells you all the time, it means you always obey him, and obedience feels good.”

“Yessss,” Ali agreed, she started rubbing her plumping thighs. They were so smooth. Her nails were so cute and pink.

“You obey everything Mr. Tennyson says, obeying him feels good. Servants always obey, it’s their job. You are his servant.”

“I… I am… servant,” Ali wheezed, feeling so good.

“Good girl,” Shane rewarded Ali. Ali beamed, and her fingers slipped into her thong to rub her pussy.

Shane continued, “You are Mr. Tennyson’s servant. You love to obey him. It feels good. It makes your stupid girl cunt drip.”

“YES” Ali gushed, figuratively and literally.

“You take care of all his needs. Whatever he needs, you obey, right?”

Alison made a desperate surge. “No, not… not everything he needs… Not... everything…” She was getting weaker and weaker. It felt so good to let Ali talk. It was easier. Felt so good. Why was she trying so hard?

“Yes, everything,” Shane reinforced. “Remember when you took care of his needs as a man. When he told you to follow, you followed. When he told you to suck, you sucked. When he told you to fuck, you fucked. When he told you to cum, you came.”

“Oh yes! Yes!” Ali groaned happily. She began stroking her other fingers across her cock sucking lips. They felt so good, they felt so much bigger, so much more sensitive, like she had another clit on her lips.

“Heehee, pussy mouth,” Ali giggled.

Shane rolled his eyes and continued, “So, obeying Mr. Tennyson doesn’t just feel good. It makes your pussy wet. Stupid girls like you get wet when they obey strong men like Mr. Tennyson.”

“I… I… “ Alison tried to deny it.

“You obey Mr. Tennyson. Obeying him makes your pussy wet. You are wet for Mr. Tennyson. Say it!”

“I get wet from Mr. Tennyson!” cried Ali, exultantly. Her fingers were buried in her pussy now. She pinched the nipple of one of her massive tits that had finally burst free of her blouse.

“If you obey Mr. Tennyson, and obeying makes you wet, and you do anything for him including taking care of his manly needs, you aren’t just a servant, you’re a slave.”

“Noooooo…,” wailed Alison weakly. There wasn’t much left of her.

“You are a stupid girl who only obeys him. Your only value is serving him and servicing him. You help him do his work. You drain his cock. It’s all you’re good for,” Shane grinned at her in his review mirror, enjoying her transformation. “You are his slave.”

“Yes! Yes, Ali is Mr. Tennyson’s slave!” Ali squealed happily. She wanted to cum so bad. She wanted to cum on Mr. Tennyson’s cock.

“Slaves don’t call their owners by their names,” Shane told her. “What do they call him?”

“Mmmmaasstteeerrrrr!!!” Ali exulted. It seemed Alison was gone.

“Good slave,” said Shane, his job done. “Now, don’t cum until your Master tells you. He would be very angry.”

Ali gasped, “Oh no, I’ll be a good girl, I won’t cum until Master says so!” It was so hard, she was so warm, so wet, so horny, she wanted to cummmm. But she had to obey!

Ali continued to edge, the rest of the world forgotten. She vaguely heard Shane talking, but not to her.

“Yes sir, it’s done. I’ll be there in a few minutes. You should bring a blanket. Mmhm. Mmhm. Yes, Mr. Tennyson, I expect payment on delivery”

Ali heard him say Master’s name! She was going to Master! Shane was so nice to take her to Master!

The car finally pulled up to a gated, modest sized, but elegant house with a well-manicured lawn. The electric gate opened, and Shane pulled in.

All 6’4” of Mr. Alexander Tennyson waited at the bottom of the steps, a blanket slung over his arm.

Shane stopped, got out, and opened the passenger door. The smell of sugar and arousal flowed out. Tennyson smirked at the vision inside. A caricature of his assistant sat, head back, eyes closed, fingers pumping in her cunt, awaiting her new life.

“Come here, Alison,” he ordered.

Ali’s eyes fluttered open, and she set her eyes on Master. She cried out for him and leapt from the car. She embraced him and burst into tears.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” the tiny remaining shred of Alison sobbed out. “I love you, Master. I always wanted to be yours!”

Tennyson’s face softened. He bent down, wrapped her in the blanket, and lifted her, holding her close to his chest. He whispered to her, “I know, Alison. I forgive you. I love you, too. Now you’re mine forever.”

Ali fell asleep in his arms as Master carried her into her new home.

----------

Shane picked up all the luggage he had stowed in the car and took it into the house and feeling very smug at another job well done.

The Full-Service package was expensive, but he guaranteed satisfaction.

Shane checked his phone, making sure the wire transfer had gone through. He confirmed it, closed the door, and got back into his car.

Just as he was about to drive off, he felt a buzz at his elbow. It was the bimbo’s phone, still open, and sitting on the completed screen for the ride-share app. She’d never even noticed the destination change or the Full-Service package request. Stupid girl.

He picked up the phone, smiled evilly, and rated the trip 5-stars. Shane always took them where they needed to go.

#mind conditioning #hypnotic sex #breast expansion #ass expansion #bimboization #unprotected sex #snowbunny #My Alli

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writerpussyindulgence · 26 days

Text

A Fool Out of Time: A Deep Space Nine Story. Chapter 1

Author’s Note: okay, so I was initially going to wait and post this on my AO3 account, but then I said “Fuck it” and decided to put at least a few bits on here first. This is a silly little self indulgent AU that I wanted to write simply because I’ve been rewatching DS9 from the start, and also to work on my writing skills. It takes place around season 2 (don’t ask me which episodes, I haven’t decided yet). If you like this, please consider following this blog and reblogging this chapter. I appreciate it and I hope you enjoy this ❤️

Warnings: none

Chapter One: The Girl in the Ice

It had been a relatively mellow day on Deep Space Nine. There were no threats towards the station, no bizarre visitors, nothing particularly notable. This allowed the crew to take their time and relax. There had been a few ships that had flown in to drop off their contents, mostly supplies for the station and mutual aid for the rebuilding of Bajor. The only exception was a junk freighter that was importing goods and services from Earth to other Federation planets, as a way of sharing Human culture with other aliens. Commander Sisko was in his office, filling out a daily log, when his combadge buzzed.

“Odo to Sisko” the gruff voice called.

“Go ahead” Sisko replied

“There’s something you need to come and see. One of the merchant ships at docking bay 3 brought in something that…well, you just need to see it to believe it.”

“I’m on my way. Sisko out” the commander said, and he walked out of his office towards docking bay 3. When he arrived, he saw Odo, Chief O’Brien and Dr Bashir surrounding a large metal pod with a small, glass window at the top front. The captain of the freighter, a human man about mid 40’s stood over to the side, arms folded.

“What have we got here?” Sisko said as he approached. He took a look at the inside of the pod, and was taken aback by what he saw. Inside there was a person covered with a light dusting of frost, stuck in a cryogenic sleep.

“Captain McGill here claims that he found it in an abandoned warehouse in an Earth city called Chicago.” Odo said skeptically as he gestured to the man standing to the side

“Well it’s true!” McGill interrupted indignantly. “What are you implying? That I kidnapped somebody and stuck them in a cryo tube? I’m a merchant, not a kidnapper”

“He’s telling the truth, sir” Miles remarked as he ran a tricorder along the metal exterior. “According to the readings, this tube is from the 21st century. Around 2023 it looks like.”

“And yet you still took it for your own?” Sisko asked McGill, a hint of distrust in his voice.

“I didn’t know it had a person in there!” McGill protested. “There was a lot more ice on that window, I couldn’t see through it. I was going to take it to an outpost and have it looked at! Honest!”

“Outpost? Why not just take it to Starfleet on Earth? We have a base in Northside Chicago.” Sisko queried.

“I didn’t have the time.” McGill spluttered. “I had an important rendezvous with a customer on Rigel VII.” He quickly pulled out a pad and handed it over to Odo. It was a proof of purchase from said important customer, and an itinerary of planned stops, which indeed included Outpost 12. Sisko and Odo carefully looked over everything. Finally, with a shared look, they handed the pad back to McGill.

“Everything looks like it’s in order, but we will be keeping an eye on you, Captain McGill. In the meantime, we will take this tube into our custody.” Odo stated gruffly. McGill nodded aggressively

“Well that’s all very fine, but I believe I deserve some kind of compensation for this inconvenience? Or at least something in return since I am a merchant?” He remarked with a smarmy attitude.

“Your compensation is that we don’t place you in a holding cell for further investigation” Sisko stated firmly. “Now, if there’s nothing else that we need to know, you’re free to go about your business.”

McGill huffed resentfully, then pivoted and stomped away to his ship. At that, the three men and 5 other security officers turned the cryo-tube onto a large moving cart on its side, and pushed it into one of the large observation rooms on the station.

Lieutenant Dax, and Major Kira were already there waiting for them.

“Commander, we got a call from one of the security officers to meet you here. What’s going on?” Kira asked.

“It looks like we’re about to find out.” Sisko replied.

With the help of several officers, the tube was finally pried open, and the person was set on the examination table. The crew gathered around to take a good look. It was a young woman, about early 20’s and plus sized with dark red, shoulder length hair, pale skin and freckles all over her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were closed and her teeth clenched as her face reflected frustration. Her fists were raised as if she was pounding against the inside of the tube. She wore ripped jeans, black Doc Martens, a baggy red short sleeve shirt and a leather jacket. At her feet in the tube there was a knapsack made of carpet carrying goodness knows what

“How long will it take to thaw her out and regain consciousness?” Sisko asked, turning towards Jadzia.

“Well if we keep the temperature at a level where she won’t get hypothermia, about 2 hours minimum. As for waking her up, there’s no telling” she responded

“I’ll look after her.” Julian said “She’ll need to be inoculated when she wakes up, and most importantly she’s going to need someone to calm her down. This century and station is going to be a vicious culture shock for her. It may send her into a panic”

“Do whatever you need to” Sisko insisted. Julian and Jadzia had themselves and the woman beamed to the infirmary, where they got to work on the thawing process and the other necessary procedures

About 5 hours later, Julian was adding some data input to the files he had open on the woman and the information he had been able to find from old archives of the 21st century and the 2020’s. Suddenly from behind him, he heard the rustling of movement and a low groan. His ears perked up and turned around. The woman was starting to slowly move. Her foot twitched as she tried to move up her arm to stretch. She gasped in pain as her muscles ached after being stuck in place for so long.

Julian stood over her with a gentle hand on her shoulder and a tricorder in the other as her dark brown eyes fluttered open. She squinted up in confusion at the doctor above her and groaned in protest at the bright lights obstructing her vision

“Computer, dim the lights by 30%” Julian called out. The lights dimmed, putting less strain on her sight “It’s okay, you’re alright now.” He said, gently squeezing her shoulder. The woman turned her head to try and get a look at her surroundings.

“Where am I?” She croaked.

“You’re in an infirmary.” Julian replied gently “I’ll answer more of your questions soon if you could answer some of mine, if you please”. The girl nodded weakly. “Good. Now tell me first, what was the last thing you remember?”

The girl looked at him and then back up at the ceiling in contemplation.

“I…I was in an abandoned building, on the West Side. I was running from…from somebody. I needed to hide, they wouldn’t leave me alone. I was in a cellar full of these…these big tubes. Tubes with…frozen people inside of them. I got scared and…I got stuck in one. I kept banging on the door trying to get out and then…And then…it got cold and dark” she trailed off, then fear filled her face as she looked back at Julian. “Am I dead?”

He chuckled and took her hand in his, gently rubbing her knuckles with his thumb.

“No, you’re very much alive. Do you think you can answer a few more questions for me?” She nodded again. “Good. Now who is the current president?” He asked

“…Biden. Unless….was I out for long? Like months? A year?”

“….No. Now finally, can you tell me your name and your pronouns?” Julian asked again

“My name’s Harper D’Amata. She/her.” said she, starting to look at him with increasing suspicion. “Where am I really? This doesn’t look like Northwestern” she tried to sit up but winced in pain again, because of her sore muscles. Julian made her lie back again.

“Well then, Harper. My name is Dr Julian Bashir, he/him. And I have no other way I can tell you this, but I suppose I’ll need to just rip the bandage off. That tube you were stuck in was a cryogenics case. You’ve been in a frozen slumber for about 348 years.”

Julian could only stand there as he watched the color drain from Harper’s face. A look of confusion, terror and denial washed over her.

“What!? No no no, it's not true.” She sputtered out, tears threatening to spill over.

"It's true," Julian said softly, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions evident in the room. “and I’m very sorry. I can’t possibly imagine what you’re feeling right now”

“You’re damn right you don’t!” Harper cut him off, her voice cracking from fear, rage, and the lack of usage. “You’re lying! Where am I really?? Did you break in to that room and kidnap me?” As she spoke, she struggled to sit up despite her body’s aches and pains. Julian firmly put a hand back on her shoulder and tried to push her back down

“I assure you that I’m not a liar nor a kidnapper” Julian said firmly. Harper shook her head repeatedly and shoved him away. She threw herself off of the biobed, frantically grabbed her knapsack off of one of the chairs and sprinted out of the infirmary. Julian tapped his combadge.

“Bashir to security. Patient 12 has escaped the infirmary. Track her down, but please don’t scare or stun her!”

As soon as she was as far enough away from the infirmary, Harper stopped to catch her breath. She looked down the long, dark halls of the station. Everything looked the same, she couldn’t tell which way was which. Her heart racing, she continued running forward, her muscles throbbing in pain. She turned left and ran out onto the Promenade, and stopped short, taking in the bizarre new environment around her.

Humans. Aliens. All together walking around the wide area, conversing with one another, buying food and articles from vendors, sitting down. All around her there was a cacophony of unfamiliar sights and sounds. Harper felt as if her heart was going to burst out of her chest, her breathing labored. Eyes darting this way and that, she desperately searched around her for something that looked like an exit, but she couldn’t see one.

Before she could even take another step, a shout echoed across the Promenade.

“You, in the red! Stop right there!” She glanced up and saw Odo on the top level, pointing directly at her. She recoiled in fright at the sight of his smooth, undefined face and ran in the opposite direction. Weaving her way between individuals as carefully as she could, she pushed her way through the crowd. She didn't dare look back, but she could feel the presence of pursuit gaining on her. She ran faster, no longer caring who or what she bumped into.

Suddenly there was a loud *zing!* sound and she felt something excruciatingly sharp and agonizing hit her right between her shoulder blades. She shrieked in pain, and fell onto the floor, face first and unconscious.

Odo and two Starfleet officers walked up to her and stared down at her motionless body. The changeling had fired a phaser and stunned her. Julian came running up, and looked down at her in worry

“I told you not to stun her!” Julian exclaimed in exasperation.

“I had no choice.” Odo said. “She resisted my order.”

Julian sighed and crouched down, scanning her with a tricorder again. She was alright, but she was showing severe muscle trauma both from the blast and from running. He had them both beamed back to the infirmary, and had two nurses help lift her back onto the biobed

Julian immediately set about treating her injuries, administering a hypospray to ease the muscle trauma, and another to wake her up. Harper opened her eyes, and flinched when she recognized him. Julian put both hands on her shoulders firmly, but with the most care he could muster

“It’s alright.” He said. “I know you’re scared and upset. I really do. But I give you my word as a Starfleet medical officer that no one has kidnapped you. You were brought to this space station through a series of very unfortunate events.”

Harper blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to fight back tears again. It was no use as they began to fall down the side of her face. Julian softened his voice.

“Just focus on breathing, okay?” he asked. Harper nodded and took a deep, shaky breath, now starting to cry. Julian signaled for one of the nurses to replicates some tissues. He handed one to her and she dabbed at her eyes. “You’re going to be alright. You’re safe here, Harper. We’re going to take care of you.”

“But…but my life…my life back on Earth,” Harper stammered out through the sobs. “My friends. My family. My parents. All…all dead. And the worst part…the worst part is that it’s all my fault!”

Julian helped her sit up on the biobed, and he sat next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in comfort.

“It’s not your fault.” Julian consoled

“Yes it is!” Harper wailed. “You don’t understand. I got into a really awful fight with my parents. I had said some things I didn’t have any business saying. I mean…I guess I did because they never were the greatest people. But still! And then I stormed out! And now I can’t even apologize to them”

Her head fell into her hands as the sobs wrecked through her body. Julian wrapped both arms around her and held her close in a tender embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Harper,” Julian whispered, his voice filled with empathy. “I promise you that none of this is your fault. I understand that this whole situation is overwhelming and terrifying, but I give you my word that everything is going to be alright.”

They sat there for several minutes in silence, save for Harper crying. Eventually Julian got up again to replicate her a glass of cold water. She looked over her shoulder at the device in confusion

“What is that?” She asked.

“It’s a replicator. We have thousands of them all over the station.” Julian replied with a smile. “We primarily use them for nourishment, but they can make anything out of reused matter”

“Anything?” Harper inquired again, an idea dawning on her.

“Yes, anything”

With that, Harper shakily sat up and walked over to the machine.

“Uh…hi computer. I’d like one cup of black coffee” she stated

“Please specify temperature.” the computer said

“Uh…hot?” Harper said, perplexed. The replicator beeped in response, and a porcelain white mug of coffee appeared in a shimmer of light and particles. She picked up the mug with both hands and splashed the scalding liquid onto her face with no hesitation. She screamed and jumped back, dropping the mug to the floor and she clutched her face. Julian lept up and ran to her, dermal regenerator ready for any burns she received

“What did you do that for??” Julian demanded, panic in his eyes. Harper dabbed the coffee from her face with the end of her shirt and blinked her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I had to do something to make sure I wasn’t having a bad dream” she groaned. Julian ran the regenerator over her face, the burn marks fading away twice as fast than they were forming.

“Well I assumed that a simple pinch would suffice.” He scoffed.

“This is too bizarre for a pinch to wake me up. What the hell even is this place? Where did all those aliens come from? How far away from Earth are we? What happened while I was asleep? Was Earth destroyed?”

Harper kept babbling out questions, until Julian held up his hand.

“I can only answer so many questions at a time. But I’d be more than happy to do so, while you let me finish examining you.”

Harper nodded and sat back down on the biobed as Julian told her about how the United Federation of Planets was created, what Deep Space Nine was, the work they did on there and about the wormhole. She hung on every word he spoke with intense curiosity. Finally he finished his exam.

“Well, you seem to be in perfectly good health, but I will try to see if I can get you a counselor for your emotions and for processing everything…if we even have one here” he stated with a cheerful smile.

“But what about my medications?” Harper asked.

“That will be no problem.” Julian replied. “I found your prescription list in your wallet when security was going through your bag, and I can easily get the molecular pattern so we can start replicating them for you. Now if there’s nothing else you need me to look at, I’d be more than happy to give you a tour of the station. My shift is done for the day.”

“Wait wait, that’s it?” Harper asked incredulously. “You’re like…not going to tell me off about my body or give me a diet?” Julian cocked his head in confusion at her.

“Well no, not really. Aside from your cholesterol level being a tad high, but it’s nothing severe. Why? Would you like me to recommend a diet? Do you have certain allergies?” He inquired, concern in his voice.

“No no, it’s just…” Harper paused and looked down at her twiddling thumbs. “It’s just my weight is always the first thing that all my doctor’s I’ve seen over the years bring up. They always point out how high my BMI is and that I need to control what I eat. They’ve always blamed every cold and problem I’ve had on me being fat”

Julian looked at her, feeling incredibly sorry for her. He had read in medical history books about how cruel the medical industrial complex of the 20th and 21st century was, especially towards disabled and fat people. About how diet culture was less of a means to wellness and more of a fashionable trend to starve yourself, drink dangerous beverages that promised “instant weight loss” and new drugs constantly being marketed that offered instantaneous results, but ultimately left the users with intestinal cancer. He tilted her head up with his finger to have her look at him, and gave her a warm smile.

“You don’t need to worry about that. The Body Mass Index was abolished back in 2077. I promise you that you’re a very healthy and beautiful woman the way you are.”

Harper’s heart fluttered. Both at his kind words, and his handsome, boyish face. She smiled back at him, gratefully.

“Thank you so much. I think I will take that tour, please.”

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