#Chicago Content Writing Company

[writingperfect]

From Keywords to Content: Mastering SEO Writing in 2024

Mastering SEO writing has become a much-needed element for businesses and those seeking to grow their online presence in a changing digital landscape. In line with the evolution of search algorithms, demand for outstanding and SEO-friendly content has correspondingly risen. This is an in-depth look into SEO writing, covering services available within Chicago and throughout Illinois, matched with some valuable tips on how one could generate high SERP ranking content in 2024.

Understanding SEO Writing

On the other hand, SEO writing entails developing content specifically to rank very well in search engines. This requires quality writing, intelligent keyword implementation, and an understanding of various search engines' algorithms. The idea is to develop something that will be informative and interesting to read but with relevant keywords that are search targets by your target audience.

The Importance of SEO Writing

Increased Visibility: High-ranking content is more likely to be seen by potential customers.

Credibility and Trust: Quality content that ranks well can establish your brand as an authority in your field.

Better User Experience: Well-optimized content provides valuable information and is easier to read and navigate.

SEO Writing Services in Chicago

Well, Chicago is a potent business place with its varied industries, and it has also emerged as a leading hub of high-quality SEO writing services eventually catering to the needs of companies or any other individual in Chicago.

Benefits of SEO Writing Services in Chicago

Local Expertise: Writers who understand the local market and can create relevant content.

Customized Strategies: Services that tailor SEO strategies to your unique business goals.

High-Quality Content: Professional writers who ensure your content is engaging and well-optimized.

SEO Content Writing Services in Illinois

Writing Perfect offers an all-around set of SEO content writing services cutting across several industries and various sizes of businesses to make visibility possible for a company on the internet and drive organic traffic.

Key Features of SEO Content Writing Services in Illinois

Comprehensive Research: In-depth keyword research to identify the most relevant and high-traffic keywords for your content.

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SEO Article Writing Service in USA

Across the USA, SEO article writing services are becoming increasingly important for businesses aiming to improve their digital footprint. These services focus on creating high-quality articles that are optimized for search engines and provide valuable information to readers.

Advantages of SEO Article Writing Service in USA

Expert Writers: Access to writers with expertise in SEO and various industries.

High-Quality Articles: Content that is informative, engaging, and optimized for relevant keywords.

SEO Best Practices: Adherence to the latest SEO guidelines and techniques to ensure optimal performance.

SEO Blog Writing Service in Chicago

Blogs are a powerful tool for driving traffic and engaging with your audience. An effective SEO blog writing service in Chicago can help you maintain a consistent and high-quality blog that ranks well on search engines.

Benefits of SEO Blog Writing Services

Consistent Posting: Regularly updated content to keep your audience engaged and improve your search rankings.

Targeted Keywords: Blog posts optimized for specific keywords relevant to your business.

Engaging Content: High-quality writing that resonates with your audience and encourages interaction.

SEO Friendly Content Writing Services in Chicago

Creating SEO-friendly content involves more than just inserting keywords into your text. It requires a strategic approach to writing that ensures your content is valuable, readable, and optimized for search engines.

Features of SEO Friendly Content Writing Services in Chicago

User-Focused Writing: Content that prioritizes the reader’s experience while incorporating SEO best practices.

Keyword Integration: Seamless integration of keywords to avoid keyword stuffing and ensure natural flow.

Technical SEO: Attention to technical details like meta descriptions, alt text, and internal linking to enhance SEO performance.

SEO Based Content Writing in Illinois

Illinois is home to numerous SEO writing companies that specialize in creating content designed to rank well on search engines. These companies offer a range of services to help businesses improve their online visibility and drive more traffic to their websites.

Key Services Offered by SEO Writing Companies in Illinois

Keyword Research: Identifying the best keywords to target for maximum impact.

Content Creation: Writing high-quality content that is optimized for those keywords.

Performance Analysis: Regularly monitoring and analyzing content performance to make data-driven adjustments.

SEO Copywriting Agency in USA

An SEO copywriting agency in the USA can provide comprehensive services that go beyond content writing. These agencies offer strategic planning, content creation, and ongoing optimization to ensure your content consistently performs well.

Advantages of Hiring an SEO Copywriting Agency

Expertise: Access to a team of professionals with extensive experience in SEO and copywriting.

Comprehensive Services: From keyword research to content creation and performance monitoring, agencies provide end-to-end solutions.

Scalability: Ability to scale services according to your business needs, ensuring consistent growth.

SEO Copywriting Service in Chicago

Chicago-based businesses can benefit significantly from local SEO copywriting services. These services combine the art of persuasive writing with the science of SEO to create content that not only ranks well but also converts visitors into customers.

Benefits of SEO Copywriting Services in Chicago

Localized Content: Content that resonates with the local audience and reflects local trends and interests.

Conversion Focus: Writing that aims to convert readers into customers while maintaining SEO best practices.

Performance Optimization: Continuous optimization based on performance data to improve results over time.

SEO Writing Company in Illinois

An SEO writing company in Illinois offers specialized services to help businesses improve their online presence through high-quality, optimized content. These companies employ skilled writers and SEO experts who work together to create content that ranks well and drives traffic.

Features of a Good SEO Writing Company

Skilled Writers: Professional writers who understand SEO and can create engaging, optimized content.

Comprehensive Services: A range of services including keyword research, content creation, and performance analysis.

Proven Results: A track record of success in improving clients’ search engine rankings and online visibility.

Content Writing Services SEO

Combining content writing with SEO expertise, content writing services SEO provide a holistic approach to content creation. These services ensure that every piece of content is crafted with SEO in mind, from keyword research to final edits.

Benefits of Content Writing Services SEO

SEO Integration: Seamless integration of SEO best practices into the content creation process.

High-Quality Content: Engaging and informative content that provides value to readers.

Improved Rankings: Content designed to rank well on search engines, driving more organic traffic to your site.

Conclusion

Write like a professional, ensuring the proper compilation, keyword strategy, and knowledge of the works of search engine algorithms in 2024. From SEO writing services in Chicago to SEO content writing services in Illinois, independent professional services are at one's disposal to give businesses and people a better online presence.

With a USA SEO article writing service, one has a greater chance of improving one's search engine rankings, increasing traffic to the website, and achieving further digital marketing goals. Be it a small business from Chicago or even a large corporation from Illinois, putting resources into professional SEO writing services is going to be one strategic move that will grant a series of long-term benefits to the said company.

[landorris4]

── ☆ quadrant house

☆ Maybe Lando Norris was more than a friend, and maybe it was time for you to learn that.

warnings: friends with benefits words count: 2635

POV Maya

It was the third time that week that my parents had pestered me about moving in with my cousin. I made videos for YouTube and that's why the neighbors sometimes complained about the noise and stuff, after all, we lived in an apartment in Chicago.

After so much insistence on this idea, I finally accepted. Living with him will be fun, after all he lives with a bunch of other people, and I think I know all of them. I sent a message to Max asking if I could come over on Monday and he said he would prepare everything.

The only condition he gave me was that I help with the expenses, and I accepted, after all I made money from the internet and spending time there would generate much more content for my channel. And it would be great to see my best friend, Lando, again.

Right now, I was checking my bags. I'm only taking my clothes, accessories, shoes and some souvenirs, decorations I buy there. Today is Sunday and I have a flight at 7 pm, so I'm going to take a nap before my flight. It will be a seven hour and forty minute flight, I even had time to sleep, but I can't relax on planes alone.

[...]

I just got off the plane and my cousin sent me the address, I'm going to take an Uber because they forgot to clean the house and are only doing it now. It had to be Quadrant.

Anyway, I did everything I had to do at the airport and called an Uber. I would even describe what I did, but it's a lot of bureaucracy. I started filming on the plane and now I was filming some scenes in the Uber as well. Of course, I didn't say anything, I just recorded it and I'll tell you later. I'm really embarrassed to talk to the camera around people.

As soon as I arrived in front of the mansion, I thanked and paid the driver, took my bags out of the car and immediately placed them in front of the door, I sent a message to Max and in 2 minutes he was opening the door for me.

── I thought they were going to let me live in the garden ─ I acted dramatic and he laughed. I think drama runs in the family.

── I missed you, Maya! ─ he said hugging me and messing up my hair, which made me look at him angrily.

── Max! I spent the whole way from the airport fixing my hair and you mess it up when I get here? I just don't kill you now because I'm so tired ─ I said and he just laughed, picked up my bags and took them to the living room.

── Ria, Niram and Aarav went to the market to do their monthly shopping. Lando is sorting out some sponsorship stuff, Steve is still sleeping. Oh, and your room won't be ready until tomorrow, so you'll be sleeping with someone. I'd say sleep in my room, but P is arriving today too ─ he said and I nodded.

── I'm going to stay in Lando's room, I'm going to put him to sleep on the floor ─ I said, picking up my bags and Max laughed, I've always been very attached to Lando, ever since I met him.

Max picked up the remaining bags and took them to Norris's room. I followed him since I didn't know this house yet. It was huge, I would definitely get lost here.

── You can sleep if you want, we'll wake you up for lunch ─ he kissed my forehead and left the room, closing the door.

I looked at the clock and saw that it was 10 o'clock, so I decided to take a shower. As soon as I was done, I put on some comfortable clothes and went back to my room. I saw that Lando had a bulletin board and I went over there, writing that I should finish my vlog later. I would definitely forget.

I grabbed my camera and put it on the nightstand. Soon someone knocked on the door and I said they could come in. As soon as the person opened the door, I saw that it was Pietra and smiled. I went up to her and hugged her. It had been a long time since I had seen her, and I really enjoyed her company.

── Did you miss me? ─ she mocks and I laugh, releasing her from the hug.

── Not at all ─ I replied and she laughed.

── I just came to give you a hug and let you go to sleep. The boys don't know yet, so when Lando comes in and sees that there's someone sleeping in his bed, he'll find it strange ─ she said a few more things and then left the room, finally leaving me alone.

I lay down on the bed and was thankful that Lando had a soft bed. I grabbed my camera and said I was going to sleep, I sent a message asking Max to record Lando's reaction when he arrived and saw that I was here and he agreed.

And then, after a few minutes of trying, I managed to fall asleep.

[...]

── NO WAY! ─ I heard a scream and immediately woke up, looking at the door and seeing a disbelieving Lando, and a laughing Max with a camera right behind him.

I smiled at Norris who came running, threw himself on top of me and hugged me. I missed his hugs, they were so warm. Lando and I have known each other since before I moved to the United States, I met him at one of Max's kart races and we ended up becoming best friends, that was about 9 years ago. Sometimes we would hook up, just for fun, but it never affected our friendship.

── Wow Ma, I missed you so much! ─ he exclaimed without letting go of me.

── I felt it too, Lan! ─ he smiled at the nickname and hugged me tighter, falling down next to me and laying me on his chest.

── I'm going now because I feel like being left out ─ Max said, leaving the room and closing the door, which made us laugh.

── What are you doing here, Yara? ─ he called me and I frowned. I hated that nickname.

My name is actually Mayara, and Lando is the only one who calls me Yara. Throughout my life, he was the only one who dared to create a nickname. When he realized that I didn't like the nickname, he started using it just to annoy me.

── Don't call me Yara, Norris ─ I said and he laughed. ─ And I came to live here!

── I missed annoying you, and I'm glad you're going to live here now. I missed you so much! ─ He surprised me with a kiss and I smiled, shyly.

── I'm sleepy, so if you're going to stay here, don't make any noise, thanks ─ I said, turning to the other side and curling up on the bed. The truth is that even after years of intimacy with Lando, I still felt blushing with every minimally romantic action, and at this moment, I'm sure I'm blushing.

── I'm going to help the boys with lunch. I'll come and get you later. ─ He got up, walked around the bed and stopped in front of me. He held my face and gave me a kiss. And how I missed those kisses. In the end, he smiled and left the room, leaving a completely happy Maya lying on the bed.

[...]

We had lunch, and when it was 2 pm, I put on a bikini and went to the pool area. I was listening to music on my headphones when I heard my name being called. There was no one calling me, just Niram making fun of Lando for not wiping the smile off his face since I arrived.

I sat back down on the lounge chair and the boys decided to stay in the pool. After a while, I remembered that I needed to record more scenes for the vlog so I went in and got my camera.

I started going through the takes I recorded and ended up realizing that Max had set the camera to record Lando's reaction, and then left it on the nightstand, but didn't stop recording, which ended up recording the kiss Norris gave me. I laughed in despair, after all, Ria is the one who edits my videos, and I couldn't cut this before sending it to her because my laptop doesn't support editing applications. And to make matters worse, my computer was an ocean away.

I couldn't erase the take, because it was too funny from that angle, but I had to find a way to convince Ria not to tell anyone.

It's not like it's a huge secret that Lando and I kiss at parties. But homely affection like the one in the video, those are secret. To our friends we only kiss when we're drunk, to my cousin we're just friends who have never touched each other's lips, but between him and me there's a mutual agreement of free will to kiss and make out in private.

Speaking of him, the arms that surrounded me were definitely his, his unmistakable scent invaded my senses, followed by a caress on my waist, a body pressed against mine and a head in the curve of my neck.

── Are you okay, Yara? You didn't go back to the pool ─ Lando murmurs, giving small kisses on my shoulder.

── Yes, I just remembered that I need to record a few more scenes and I came to get my camera. It turns out that I asked Max to record his reaction and he forgot to tell me that this camera was also on, so he recorded our kiss ─ I explain and he smiles.

── It's not like it's a secret ─ he says, moving away and smiling mischievously.

── It's not a secret, but it's not public knowledge. Ria will see it and will ask me a lot of questions, let's pray that she doesn't tell anyone ─ I explain, turning to face him.

── Everyone knew for me ─ Lando lets go.

What do you mean? He's the first one to say he doesn't want anything serious when he's with other girls. It doesn't make sense for him to say that.

── Lando, with all due respect, why are you saying this? I can't even count on my fingers how many girls you turned down in the last year, claiming you didn't want to be with anyone and were focused on your career. I remember well every time you called me drunk to tell me you couldn't have a serious relationship.

── Yes, because none of them were you! ─ the boy says and leaves the room, leaving me confused.

What does he mean by that?

(...)

There are few things I don't know how to deal with well. Among them are injustices and adult tantrums, both of which always irritate me. And dealing with Lando Norris today was being impossible, because it was unfair that he made me confused and his childish tantrum of running away from me all day would have to stop at some point.

That moment came at bedtime. He tried to take as long as he could to come to bed, but he found me awake, sitting on the bed waiting for him. Sighing in defeat, Lando went into the bathroom and changed his clothes so he could sleep, and sat down next to me, both of us watching the television that was off.

── So... Aren't you going to explain it to me? ─ I begin.

── There's nothing to explain, Yara. It's obvious that I'm in love with you, if you didn't notice before it's because you didn't want to. I never made a point of hiding that I would do anything for you.

── You never made a point of talking either, did you? ─ He remains silent. ─ Lando, I'm sorry, but it's hard to read your signals when you're with me for a week and then show up at a club with some girl the next week ─ I'm honest.

I don't hold any grudges or resentment over it, but I admit that yes, sometimes it hurt to wake up to pictures of you with a woman hanging around your neck.

── You never wanted anything serious, Yara, you always made it clear that our lives didn't fit together because I'm always traveling and you live on another continent. I had no choice but to make the most of my time with you and then try to forget the desire to return to your arms ─ Lando vents. I can see his back tense and his gaze get lost between the sheets. ─ But now it's a different story. I thought we could finally have that love story from your favorite books. I thought you would finally notice me the way I notice you. Like when I realized you hold your breath every time something bothers you in one of our conversations about privileges. Or when I realized you hate eating plain or excessive cheese but love four-cheese pizza. Or when I realized you wake up with back pain if you sleep on your right side, so I switched sides in bed...

Watching Lando vulnerable was comforting. Knowing that he felt this way around me and knowing that we can have a future made me deeply happy. Even better was realizing that he had been noticing me all along. He saw me. And I won't deny it, until yesterday I thought I loved Lando just as a friend. But today, after all his speech, I realized that it was never just that. It was never just kisses and hugs, it was never just sleepless nights, it was never just mornings with a hangover. It was never just friendship. Lando was by my side every step I took over the last few years and I hoped he would continue to be there for the next few years too.

Charlie Brown Jr.¹ once said: "They say it's impossible to find love without losing your mind; But for those with strong minds, the impossible is just a matter of opinion; And even madmen know that." And he was right. Love is blind and madness accompanies it, just like the fable by Jean de La Fontaine says. It's unlikely that you'll love someone without having a hint of madness in the mix. After all, only madmen are capable of loving someone so much without losing their self-love. And I loved Lando Norris. I loved him so much!

Loving Lando Norris was a lazy Sunday morning, between kisses, sheets, affection and love on a cold but sunny morning. After all, that was the definition of love for me. I won't know how to explain it, but that was it. And Lando was all that and much more.

Unable to hold it in any longer, I grabbed his hand to get his attention and settled myself on his lap, beginning a slow, passionate kiss that lasted until both of our lungs were begging for oxygen. When our mouths parted, I pressed our foreheads together briefly before snuggling into his shoulder in a warm embrace.

── Thank you. For paying attention, for understanding my side, for giving me satisfaction even when you shouldn't, for loving me. Thank you for being you and choosing me to love you ─ I whispered.

── I'm the one who should thank you here, love. Thank you for loving me, even if I'll never be half the man you deserve to have.

── You are more than I need, Lan.

And maybe, in the end, only the crazy ones really knew. And, God, how happy I was to be one of the crazy ones.

¹Charlie Brown Jr. was a Brazilian rock band formed in 1992 in the city of Santos, by Chorão, Champignon, Marcão Britto, Thiago Castanho and Renato Pelado.

[astermath]

sweet like you🍓pt. 2

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: carmen helps you out with perfecting your pastries to present them to your boss. you spend time getting to know each other in the place he knows best; the kitchen. things take a slight turn when you get back to your apartment.

word count: 3.1K

PART 1

notes: I really enjoy writing carmen tbh, I guess writing him is my way to giving his character some peace outside of his usually extremely stressful life. this got suuuper long im so sorry sdfgshj i got kinda carried away.  let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content!

warnings: mentions of suicide/death, addiction, use of alcohol, cursing

Carmen hated nights.

At least during the day, he was forced to do things, be productive, talk to people, keep his mind occupied. But at night, it was just him. Alone with his thoughts. The only thing keeping him company his cynical mind and deranged dreams.

That night was no different.

Carmen woke up in a cold sweat, hand clutching at his chest as he sat up. He nearly gasped for air, and upon noticing how shaky he was, got up to splash his face with cold water. That didn’t help much either, so he went to his balcony (if one could even call it that), and lit a cigarette. The sun was already coming up, and he knew he wasn’t getting much sleep again feeling like this.

He sighed, smoke emitting from his nose as he pulled out his phone. You’d replied already, even given a time. Reading your words made him feel slightly more at ease, slightly more... Real. A reminder of his obligations to the people around him, but also, and he’d never admit this, something to look forward to.

[carmen]: absolutely, see you then

Your next shift went by smoothly, as per usual. The French themed café you worked at had become such a big part of your life, not that you minded, you were in love with it. And as much as she’d deny it, you could tell the owner had taken a liking to you. You heard from the barista that most waitresses would get fired within a month or so, but you’d stuck around for three now. 

“She said you have a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’... I think you remind her of her younger self.” Your colleague said while pouring out a cup of coffee. 

“Right,” you took a tray and readied another order. “You sure you didn’t imagine that? I don’t remember Odette ever saying something nice to me before.”

“Not to your face, no.” She grinned, putting the cup on your tray. “I’m sure you’ll get her to put some of your stuff on the menu, she just has to warm up to it.”

“Yeah, just,” you grabbed the tray, balancing it with ease. “Give me a few decades to work her through that.” You both chuckled as you walked off to continue your work.

Carmen stood across the street, looking through the window of the café. Shit, he was way too early, and that wasn’t even usually like him. He’d left the Beef over to Sydney while he was gone, telling her he had something important to take care of. And although that wasn’t entirely untrue, he wasn’t sure she’d agree if she found out he was hanging out at some café.

He slipped into the place rather sneakily, deciding that if he was gonna have to wait, he might as well do it in there. It had been a while since he’d been inside, usually just to get a quick coffee or something, and he’d never paid much attention to the décor before. He was kind of impressed, despite being smack dab in the middle of Chicago, the café had a true Parisian feel too it. Sure, he’d never been to Paris, but he could imagine this was pretty close.

He sat down at a booth near a window and stared outside. He felt a bit uneasy just... waiting. There were so many things he still had to do, so many debts to pay off, things to consider, to change--

“Carmen? Is that you?” 

Your voice snapped him out his train of thoughts, it almost felt like a ray of sunshine breaking through a dark cloud. He turned and saw you holding a menu, dressed in a cute dress and an apron. 

“Yeah, I uh... Got here a bit too early, my bad.” He gave an apologetic, halfhearted smile. 

“It’s no worries,” you handed him the menu. “You can just enjoy a coffee or something while you wait! What would you like?” You pulled out a notepad and a pen.

“Oh, uh... Christ...” His eyes squinted as he scanned the laminated menu. “Am I goin’ crazy or is this all in French?”

“Nope,” You chuckled. “It is. When I told you the menu hadn’t changed, I meant really, nothing has changed.”

“Fuck, alright, uhm... Just a regular coffee then.” He handed the menu back. “Please.”

“Comin’ right up!” You chirped, and he watched you make your merry way back into the kitchen. He could’ve sworn you damn near floated by how excited you seemed. He didn’t really understand it. You worked a waitress job where you weren’t allowed to change anything, you had to work early on Saturdays to help your family out and he could have guessed you probably still had time to maintain a healthy social life. It almost annoyed him how well balanced you seemed.

But someone as cute as you couldn’t possibly annoy him. 

He received his coffee not long after, thanking you and admiring the porcelain for a moment. The more he noticed about this place, the more... Uneasy he felt. He didn’t realize why, and he kept mulling it over until long after he’d finished his drink.

Ah.

Because the Beef looked like a garbage dump compared to this.

And he owned that garbage dump.

He hated himself a little for comparing the two, they weren’t comparable at all besides both serving food and drinks, but the fact that you were only two blocks away didn’t help. And he was about to be helping you too, his competition.

The crew would kill him if they knew where he was at.

You worked on closing up, cleaning a few last cups and arranging them neatly before walking back to Carmen’s table. “Hope you enjoyed your coffee my good sir, but I must request you to join me in the kitchen, for I have prepared a mighty array of desserts for thou.” You grinned.

“Alright, alright, I get it.” He got up, ready to follow. “Don’t I gotta pay for that coffee?”

“S’on the house. Come on, we’ve got pastries to try!”

The kitchen closely resembled the rest of the establishment, although much more homely. It was small, doable, but just a little cramped. 

You pulled out two stools for the two of you to sit on, before going to the fridge and taking out a tray. “Alright, so...” You put it down on the counter. “Here we’ve got classic cheesecake with a cinnamon cookie crust,” you pointed at each dessert, “a cream strawberry tart, and last but not least,” your fingers fluttered in a ‘jazz hands’ way, “tiramisu topped with fresh strawberries.”

Carmen scanned the tray before him. The presentation was immaculate, but he found that often with these types of desserts the looks were better than the taste. He hoped that wasn’t the case.

You sat across him, more nervous than you initially expected to be, as he tried each of the desserts. He had some notes about each one, as expected, you were just an amateur cook, but you could tell his eyes lit up a little when he tried the tiramisu. 

“Mm,” He hummed, putting his spoon back in for another bite. “Shit, that’s fire chef...”

“Chef?” You raised an eyebrow. No one had ever called you that before.

“Sorry,” He swallowed, “Freudian slip, my bad.”

You chuckled. “No, no, I don’t mind... The tiramisu is a family recipe, actually. My nana used to make it all the time.” A nostalgic smile graced your face. 

“Those are usually the best.” He thinks back at the food him and Mikey used to make when they were younger, and somehow, it makes the tiramisu taste even better. “So, anything else you wanna add?”

“Oh!” You were a little caught off guard by his question. “Uhm, well... Now that you mention it, I’d love to add macarons, to play into the French theme of the café. I’ve just never been able to get them right, and trust me, I’ve tried.”

Carmen puts away the empty glass cup. “Do you want me to teach you?”

“Huh?” You were sure you misunderstood at first, but the look he gave you was telling you he was at least expecting an answer. “Uh... Sure, yeah! I’d love to! I think we still have all the ingredients here from my last attempt too.”

“Great.” He got up, clasping his hands together. “Let’s get to bakin’, chef.”

The two of you stood next to each other at the counter. His jacket was off, now replaced with a baby pink frilly apron, supposedly the only one you had. You’d been relatively quiet, mostly focusing on taking his advice and following instructions. But as he was sifting almond powder, and you were beating egg whites, he had this strange urge to fill the silence. It was weird, usually he preferred working quietly, but it was almost strange to hear you not talking when you were there.

“So... You’re not from Chicago, are you?” He kept his eyes on the sifter.

You grinned, still whisking away. “What gave it away?”

“You smile a lot,” he took the bowl from you and held it upside down to check the consistency of the egg whites, “and I haven’t seen you light a single cigarette.” He put the bowl back and started weighing off some sugar. “So either you’re not from here, or I want whatever drugs you’re taking.”

You chuckled at his remark, finding his self deprecating humor quite amusing. “No, you’re right. I grew up on my parents’ farm, though it’s not too far from here, I never really came close to the city. Moved here about three months ago, so I haven’t explored much.” You took the sugar from him and gradually started adding it to the egg whites. “What about you? Born and raised?”

“What gave it away?” He joked back. “Born, raised, moved away for culinary school, worked in New York, now I’m back.” He sighed. Being back in Chicago was... Strange. Because after not having seen his brother for literal years, he was now constantly confronted with everything that reminded him of Mikey. Including his business.

“Interesting.” You started working together the mixture, sneaking glances at his face every now and then to gage his reaction. “So... What brought you back?”

A longer silence followed your question, and you could tell his hands even stopped moving for a moment. Suddenly he seemed tense, and you worried if your question had struck a cord. 

He swallowed, eyes fixated on the ingredients before him. “My brother.”

“Oh! Well, I’m sure he’s happy to see you back.” You offered a kind smile.

“Yeah, I uh... I’m not sure he would be.” He glanced at you, eyes quickly darting back to the vanilla extract he was measuring out, uncomfortable with eye contact when he talked about Mikey. “He died.” His eyebrow twitched slightly. “Suicide.”

You stop whisking for a moment to look at him, and you can tell his face had reddened. You feel awful for pressing him on such a sensitive subject, but you had no idea.

The two of you continue to prepare the batter in complete silence for a good minute. Both of you feel bad. Him, for dumping this information on you, and you, for even asking about it.

“I’m sorry,” you speak up, filling up a piping bag with batter, “I had no idea.”

“S’okay,” He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous tic, almost. “I’ve been trying to talk more about it. Especially since I kinda run his business now.”

“Well, if it counts for anything,” You give him another sweet smile, and this time, it does actually make him feel a little better. Silently, he wished they could put the feeling your smiles gave in pills, so he could take those instead. “I think he’d be proud of you.”

He doesn’t reply. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know if he agrees. He doesn’t know what Mikey would think, and from what he’s heard from Richie, he’s not even sure if he would recognize the person his brother had become through his addiction. But the possibility is there, and you reminding him of it was enough. For now, at least.

He noticed you struggling with the piping bag and got behind you, hands sneaking over yours to help you hold it correctly. “There we go.”

Carmen doesn’t seem to notice how close he is to you. Or how warm your face had gotten. Or how the way he smelled was distracting you from listening to what he was saying. Cigarettes, coffee and sandalwood... A strange, but not unappealing mix of scents. 

You turn your head just a slight bit and catch a glimpse of his blue eyes. They were so bright, piercing almost, but they held such a profound sadness behind them. You wondered what else they held, what other stories he struggled to talk about.

Carmen noticed you weren’t watching what you were doing and looked up, accidentally meeting your eyes now. And then he realized how close he was, cheeks growing flushed like a teenage boy as he let go of your hands and took a step back, clearing his throat. “Shit, uh... My bad.”

You chuckled nervously. “It’s fine, I appreciate the help.” You leaned down to preheat the oven.

“Yeah… Anytime.”

A while after, the two of you were presented with perfect, pink tinted macarons. You smile proudly, hands on your hips as you admire the final product in front of you. “Man, we really nailed those, huh?”

Carmen smiles, a little sleepily. It was starting to get dark outside and he hadn’t even had dinner yet, but he felt bad about having to interrupt your baking session. Usually when he was in the kitchen he was focused, collected, he was making a product that he had to be proud of. But he’d been open to you, he’d laughed, he almost felt… Relaxed. Maybe that’s why he was feeling sleepy.

That, or the insane lack of sleep was catching up to him once more.

You looked outside and noticed that the sun was going down. “Shit, how long have we been here?” You checked the time on your phone. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I had no idea it already got this late... Uh, if you want I’ll drive you home?”

“Yeah, that would be--” His sentence got cut off by the sound of his stomach growling loudly. The two of you stayed quiet for a moment as Carmen put a hand over his abdomen, clearing his throat, a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I uh... I haven’t eaten anything today besides those desserts earlier.”

Now you really felt guilty. Not only had you kept him at the café for way longer than you should have, but you were nearly making the poor guy starve. “Tell ya what,” You handed him his jacket and took off your apron. “How ‘bout you come back to my apartment and I’ll make us both dinner. I’m no expert chef like you, but I can cook a mean pasta!”

He hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t been to someone else’s apartment in so long, let alone someone he was interested in. But he supposed it was better than being alone in his apartment again, probably heating up a shitty frozen meal because he was too tired to cook.

Your apartment was nice. Well, nicer than his at least, although that probably didn’t mean much. For only having lived there for three months, he could tell you’d really added your own touch to the place.

“Welcome to mi casa!” You playfully bowed, allowing him to enter and closing the door behind you two. You tossed your keys onto the counter and took off your coat, ready to get to cooking. “You can settle on the couch, put something on, I got Netflix if you want. I’ll have dinner made in just a sec!”

Carmen moved with caution. This was... Unknown territory. He knew you were probably just being friendly, but this was a pretty big step for him. He had his boundaries, his walls firmly set, and you were jumping over them like it was nothing. It was just... Easier with you, somehow. To open up, to talk.

Not long after he’d chosen something to watch, you arrived with two deep plates of pesto pasta with mozzarella and diced tomatoes. “There we go, I always make this when I don’t feel like cooking.” You handed him a plate and a fork, before settling down next to him. Your couch wasn’t that big, so your shoulders were touching the entire time.

The two of you were watching a cooking competition, something you didn’t realize would revitalize Carmen so much. Not because he liked it so much, but because he was so focused on the mistakes the contestants were making, and felt the need to point every single one of them out to you. Your two plates stood empty on the coffee table, along with a bottle of red wine and two, very empty glasses. 

“Now, see this,” he pointed at the TV, “can’t believe they’re even allowed to air this, this is a disgrace to cooking. The fuckin’ idiot hasn’t touched a single spice this entire episode!”

The both of you were both kind of tipsy, and you were leaning against him now, smiling to yourself as you tried to withhold laughter from every serious comment he made.

“And now--” He looked at you and realized you were hanging on for dear life not to break out in giggles. “What’s so funny?” He asked with a grin.

“N-Nothing, nothing!” You chuckled, leaning away from him so he wouldn’t see your expression.

“Ah, so now we’re shy!” He poked your side, the wine doing wonders for his confidence. “Come on, let’s hear those laughs then!” He continued poking you, and you couldn’t take it anymore, the ticklish sensation making you squirm. You grabbed his arm and pulled it away from your abdomen, making him fall forward onto the couch. He caught himself, hand resting on the armrest, now leaning over you.

You looked up at him, and god, maybe it was the alcohol speaking, but you swore he’d never looked hotter. Leaned over you, curls framing his face, strong arms surrounding you. His gorgeous blue eyes staring down into yours, tension growing between the two of you.

So you couldn’t help yourself.

You leaned up, capturing his lips in yours, a hand coming up to rest on the back of his head to pull him in further.

He froze, eyes only fluttering shut after a few seconds, melting into the kiss as his hand came down to rest on your waist. His mind ran blank, nothing plaguing his mind anymore, all besides one thought;

“Damn. She tastes even sweeter than those strawberries.”

tag list <3

@beebslebobs @thatone-brightstar   @spr3id   @deadandstill  

[mostlysignssomeportents]

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

[miley1442111]

hii would love smth with sydney adamu x reader if ur still taking requests!! like literally anything just need more syd content haha

omg thank u for requesting sydney, there's like nowhere near enough stuff for her? like guys... she's amazing. anyways, I hope you enjoy, it's kind of short, so sorry about that :)

no-show

a/n: lowkey spoilers for season 2, episode 3- sundae, also I didn't really think of male! or fem! reader while writing so just imagine what you want :)

summary: sydney asks if you want to join her and carmen on some food tasting, how could you say no?

pairing: sydneyadamu x reader

warnings: general fluff, talk of parents dying, brief mention of lupus, brief mention of cancer, mention of crushes.

She was pretty. But… she was also technically your new boss. You, a new person on the waitstaff at The Bear, had been hired a month ago. For the past 4 days, you had been building the tables and chairs along with your new co-workers, they’re fine, all pretty normal people- nothing to write home about. But Sydney, your boss, she was amazing. She had been the one to orient you in the restaurant. She showed you where everything is and how everything works, but you were sure you’d forgotten all of it. You were too busy watching her.. You pushed those thoughts out of your head, for now, you just had to keep your head down, get to opening night. All anyone is focusing on is opening night. So, you keep working and finish the last table, when you notice Sydney standing and talking with Carmen. Carmen Berzatto was strange, in your opinion. He barely talked to her, yet she was his ‘business partner’? He refused to even send her a text when he basically told you all to start taking down walls more than a week ago, and she was rightfully upset. He walks away from her with a nod and you get up from under the table. She comes up behind you as you stretch your aching back. 

“Do you want to come with us? We’re just- our pallets are fucked and-” she starts to explain.

“Yes,” you say, probably too eagerly. 

“O-ok. Cool,” she smiles. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

You smile and follow her to the lockers. “So, where do you plan on going?”

“Just some places around, I know some people, Carm knows some people,” she shrugs and the nickname she has for him irks you slightly. There can’t be anything going on between them, right? 

“Will we wait for him?” You ask, pulling your jacket on.

“He’ll catch up,” she decides, leading out the back door and into the cold Chicago air. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A train ride, a short 10 minute walk, and a conversation with a waiter later, you sit across from Sydney, conversation flowing freely. You feel… comfortable with her. She’s awkward in an endearing way, kind in a way that's foreign to you, and so deeply interesting that you feel like you could talk to her forever. The food arrives, and it’s the best thing you’ve tasted in a while. Considering you’ve been living off of the same meal for the past three days (meal prepping is the only way you eat), this is like actual gold dust. Clearly your reaction doesn’t stay in your head, your eyes closing in satisfaction.

“Good right?” Sydney grins from across the table. 

All you can do is nod. And internally kick yourself for being so embarrassing. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Carmen has been long forgotten. He was supposed to show, he didn’t, boo hoo. You don’t care. Sydney doesn’t care. Your day with Sydney has been nothing short of perfect. Good food, good company, and now, good ideas- on Sydney’s part, you were basically just here for the food and her. 

“So, what’s your favourite food?” Sydney asks, just on the walk back to The Bear. 

“Can I be honest?” You chuckle, a warm feeling within you shielding you from the cold. 

“Of course!” 

“When I was a kid, my mom made these nachos with like-just random cheeses on them, and then we’d dip them in this spicy sauce until our tongues would go numb,” you recounted fondly. “I forgot to ask for the recipe before she died.” Sydney’s face falls, and you can’t help but feel that you’ve ruined the moment, the day too, maybe. “S-sorry, I didn’t- it just slipped out-”

“It’s ok. My mom died too,” she explains slowly. “Lupus.”

“Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” she smiles softly as you both stop just outside the restaurant. 

“I was like 10, it happened a while ago-”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

“I’m sorry too,” you smile, the sound of blood rushing filling your ears. You want to kiss her. You want to kiss her so bad. So, you do.

You reach and hand out and cup her cheek, pulling her in to kiss you. She gasps at the sudden contact, but kisses back all the same. She tastes like the mint the last restaurant gave you both. Her arms wrap around your neck, a smile on her lips against yours. You pull away, opening your eyes. 

She looks beautiful, a smile on her perfect lips. The lips you just kissed. 

“Thank you for today,” you smile. 

“Thank you.” 

“For what?” you chuckle.

She rolls her eyes and kisses you again.

Wow. What a good day. 

[thefanficmonster]

hii would love anything with sydney adamu x reader if ur still taking requests!! or even just headcanons honestly just need more syd content on here

Hi hun! Oh I'm always delighted to write for Syd, I'm obsessed with her 🙈 Hope you enjoy the fic darling 💌

Pairing: Sydney Adamu x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Bear S2, Swearing

Genre: FLUFF

Summary: When Sydney's left to do menu research duty on her own, she comes to realize a few things.

Her calls are going straight to voicemail, it's half an hour past their agreed upon time to meet up and she's frankly fucking tired. She's used to doing things on her own, knowing not to expect much from other people. But still she's astounded by how shitty this is. It's not like they have all the time in the world - quite the opposite actually. Every second counts. And Carmy just wasted 1800 seconds of precious time Syd could've used for menu research.

She's given up hope and is now waiting for the train to the first restaurant on her list, puffs of smoke escaping her mouth as she periodically sighs in continuous disappointment she can't suppress no matter how hard she tries. The momentary tranquility she finds from the chaos of the restaurant is time she cherishes, until it's interrupted by her ringing phone.

She's not even surprised to see it's not Carmy who's calling. She is, however, surprised to feel a wide smile stretch across her face when she sees your name on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, hi." She hears the exhaustion in your voice, the yelling in the background explains the reasoning behind it. "I know you and Carmy are probably eating some wonderful food right now but I really need to talk to someone sane or I'll commit a crime."

A laugh rattles Sydney's chest, a genuine, wholehearted laugh, "Nah I'm actually bored out of my mind waiting for the train. Alone. I'm more than happy to keep you sane for a sec."

"Wait, alone? Why are you- Richie for fuck's sake put the hammer down!!! - Sorry about that. Why are you alone?" Syd hears the click of a lighter on your end, signaling you're out for a brief smoke to prevent the aforementioned potential crime. Possibly a murder. Possibly of Richie.

"Because Carmy has dropped off the face of the Earth." She sighs, stepping onto the train that's finally arrived, rescuing her from the Chicago cold.

"That's unlike him. I'd be concerned if - Fak, honey, you're gonna wreck the fucking pipe! - You know what, never mind that. I'm sure he's fine. You wanna....not be alone maybe? I wanna be anywhere but here right now."

Syd could use some alone time, or at least that's what she was telling herself before you called. Now, she couldn't imagine spending her afternoon any better than visiting different restaurants and doing menu research in your company. "I'd love that. I'll be at The Montgomery."

"Cool, cool. It's a date."

Sydney playfully rolls her eyes as she hangs up the phone, the dory smile refusing to leave her face.

The two of you have been essential for each other's survival and sanity ever since this whole restaurant fiasco started. Her with her brutal realism and you with your unconditional optimism, it's safe to say you balance each other quite nicely, bringing you close and forming a strong bond between you.

Somewhere along the way, flirting started being sprinkled throughout your interactions, mostly from your end. But it's not like it's one sided. You both have fun toying with the potential of there being something more. Just as a joke, of course.

But in every joke there's a half-truth. One half from her and one half from you forms the whole truth - that you're both idiots that should stop hiding behind teasing and sarcasm and just say what you're feeling.

There hasn't really been much time for that though, not among the dust, mold and other substances currently littering the restaurant-in-the-making. You're a little too busy knocking down walls to build bridges.

You make it to The Montgomery half an hour later only to find Syd nose-dived into a notepad, jotting down impressions and ideas. You're not nearly as well-versed into the culinary world as she is but you're still more than willing to endure her long rants about each menu item and how it can be made better and incorporated in their own.

She's been sending you ideas, even cooking a couple of them for you to try these past few days. You don't have the heart to tell her you have the palette of a broke college student - you're not crazy to turn down free and fancy food. But it's not like Syd doesn't know that though. She does it more as an expression of what she cannot say with words. As her very own love language, curated just for you.

"Is this seat taken?" You smile down at her, motioning to the chair across from her.

She looks up, her whole face lighting up when she sees you. "I'm sorry, it's reserved."

Chuckling, you sit down, shrugging off your jacket, "Well, they clearly don't deserve it if they have you waiting here all on your lonesome."

You receive a playful eye roll in response. You get that a lot from her. And you find it adorable.

Syd pushes one of the plates towards you, handing you the second fork, "Try this, it has potential."

With some analysis of the layout of plates and bowls on the table, you quickly gather that what she's offering you is a concoction of two different dishes. You can't pick out what the individual dishes might consist of so this collaboration of the two is a complete mystery to you.

But if Syd says there is potential, you'll be damned if you don't believe her.

You pick around the plate, getting a little something of everything on your fork. The flavor is so full and different, almost overpowering. However, you can clearly see that potential Sydney was talking about.

"Thoughts?" She prompts you, waiting for your rating.

You tilt your head to the side, furrowing your brows, trying your hardest to gauge what ingredients have been used. Unfortunately, to no avail. There's no denying that it's good though. "It's something." You eventually say, causing Syd to scoff and shake her head, "However..." This grabs her attention and her gaze is back on you instantly, "...it's too overpowering. Heavy, even. If we serve this we'll need to plate it with some lemon slices or something to freshen up the flavor. Lighten it up, you know?" Seeing the grin on her face, you find yourself getting a little flustered, unsure if you just made an absolute dumbass of yourself. "Did that make any sense?"

"My thoughts exactly." She laughs, reaching to switch out the plate in front of you for a different one, "Oh and also, I pulled some strings and booked us a kitchen to test some stuff out tonight."

Your brows perk up, the corner of your lips pulling up in a smirk, "Us?"

"Mhm..." She hums in response, avoiding your gaze briefly as she grows slight flustered. Look how the turn tables. "I mean, if you're free, of course."

"I'm always free for you." You contain any flirtier remark from escaping your mouth. Because this is sincere. This is nothing short of the whole truth. You're always free for her. Even if you aren't, you're willing to drop everything for her.

And little do you know, she feels the exact same.

Syd nods, finally meeting your eyes again, "Cool. It's a date."

Fucking dorks

[seliasvault]

because i apparently now have the writing itch thanks to the increase in free time, here's a classic book trop drabble with a sprinkle of fifty shades of grey cause i just rewatched that movie, very unorginal but i eat this trop up everytime time. might just continue this

if you have any ideas or asks, leave a request!

meet cute

ceo!ghost x reader

ceo!ghost: who met you one day when you were in a hurry.

Moving to a new city isn’t easy, and job hunting certainly isn’t either, so finally landing an interview at a respectable company was a blessing.

What wasn't ideal was being late to said interview, a chain of events led to you leaving the house merely 20 minutes before you had to be there.

Rushing to get coffee you join the line while going over the details of your resume and talking points. You put in your order, wait, and pick up. Your nose still buried in your phone you don't notice as you open the door to leave the man walking in.

Of course to add to your luck you crash chest-first into him, spilling the contents of your drink onto his white button-up and suit. With the difference in temperature and liquid staining your shirt you're pulled out of the shock and filled with a high amount of embarrassment and guilt.

"oh my god! I'm so sorry, I-" You move the cup, upright so it can stop spilling onto both you and the man you've so graciously made sticky. Simon who, very much did not expect to be covered in coffee before work, makes a noise of acknowledgment.

"I-let me pay for the dry cleaning, that suit must cost a lot and-" You pause quickly thinking of ways you can remedy the situation. "let me buy you a coffee, a coffee and pastry, they have really good Danishs." You say a little nervously, hoping he takes you up on the offer.

The man responds his voice deep with an accent uncommon to find in Chicago.

"s'alright, no need for that." he clears his throat, he can't say this hasn't happened before, but he will say it was the first time he met someone so apologetic.

"no really, let me buy you something and here" You get out your wallet, pulling out two 20s, yes you were short on money but no you were not just going to hand this man a 20 to cover what looked to be a very expensive suit. Extending a hand you open your palm, waiting for him to accept it.

"Trust me I don't need your money sweetheart " his tone is flat, unimpressed.

"maybe you don't but it would make me feel infinitely better, so take it and let me get you a coffee." You try and make your voice sound firm and commanding, but it doesn't quite come out that way.

You're stubborn, a good trait to have but he didn't need your money, he could very much buy 1000 of these suits and still never see a dent in his wallet. He was running late and needed to cut this short.

"just the coffee," he grumbled out, heading inside.

You followed suit, glancing at the time, you had 10 minutes, following through with your word you bought him the coffee, after he begrudgingly gave you his order. And as promised a cherry cheese Danish to accompany it. Glancing at your phone to peek at the time, you cut the interaction short.

"I'm really sorry again."

"s'alright watch where you're going next time." "will do." You give him a small smile, walking out and half running to your car.

[beardedmrbean]

GRAFTON, Mass. (AP) — When two octogenarian buddies named Nick discovered that ChatGPT might be stealing and repurposing a lifetime of their work, they tapped a son-in-law to sue the companies behind the artificial intelligence chatbot.

Veteran journalists Nicholas Gage, 84, and Nicholas Basbanes, 81, who live near each other in the same Massachusetts town, each devoted decades to reporting, writing and book authorship.

Gage poured his tragic family story and search for the truth about his mother's death into a bestselling memoir that led John Malkovich to play him in the 1985 film “Eleni.” Basbanes transitioned his skills as a daily newspaper reporter into writing widely-read books about literary culture.

Basbanes was the first of the duo to try fiddling with AI chatbots, finding them impressive but prone to falsehoods and lack of attribution. The friends commiserated and filed their lawsuit earlier this year, seeking to represent a class of writers whose copyrighted work they allege “has been systematically pilfered by” OpenAI and its business partner Microsoft.

“It's highway robbery,” Gage said in an interview in his office next to the 18th-century farmhouse where he lives in central Massachusetts.

“It is,” added Basbanes, as the two men perused Gage's book-filled shelves. “We worked too hard on these tomes.”

Now their lawsuit is subsumed into a broader case seeking class-action status led by household names like John Grisham, Jodi Picoult and “Game of Thrones” novelist George R. R. Martin; and proceeding under the same New York federal judge who’s hearing similar copyright claims from media outlets such as The New York Times, Chicago Tribune and Mother Jones.

What links all the cases is the claim that OpenAI — with help from Microsoft's money and computing power — ingested huge troves of human writings to “train” AI chatbots to produce human-like passages of text, without getting permission or compensating the people who wrote the original works.

“If they can get it for nothing, why pay for it?” Gage said. “But it’s grossly unfair and very harmful to the written word.”

OpenAI and Microsoft didn’t return requests for comment this week but have been fighting the allegations in court and in public. So have other AI companies confronting legal challenges not just from writers but visual artists, music labels and other creators who allege that generative AI profits have been built on misappropriation.

The chief executive of Microsoft’s AI division, Mustafa Suleyman, defended AI industry practices at last month’s Aspen Ideas Festival, voicing the theory that training AI systems on content that’s already on the open internet is protected by the “fair use” doctrine of U.S. copyright laws.

“The social contract of that content since the ’90s has been that it is fair use,” Suleyman said. “Anyone can copy it, recreate with it, reproduce with it. That has been freeware, if you like.”

Suleyman said it was more of a “gray area” in situations where some news organizations and others explicitly said they didn’t want tech companies “scraping” content off their websites. “I think that’s going to work its way through the courts,” he said.

The cases are still in the discovery stage and scheduled to drag into 2025. In the meantime, some who believe their professions are threatened by AI business practices have tried to secure private deals to get technology companies to pay a fee to license their archives. Others are fighting back.

“Somebody had to go out and interview real people in the real world and conduct real research by poring over documents and then synthesizing those documents and coming up with a way to render them in clear and simple prose,” said Frank Pine, executive editor of MediaNews Group, publisher of dozens of newspapers including the Denver Post, Orange County Register and St. Paul Pioneer Press. Several of the chain’s newspapers sued OpenAI in April.

“All of that is real work, and it’s work that AI cannot do," Pine said. "An AI app is never going to leave the office and go downtown where there’s a fire and cover that fire.”

Deemed too similar to lawsuits filed late last year, the Massachusetts duo's January complaint has been folded into a consolidated case brought by other nonfiction writers as well as fiction writers represented by the Authors Guild. That means Gage and Basbanes won't likely be witnesses in any upcoming trial in Manhattan's federal court. But in the twilight of their careers, they thought it important to take a stand for the future of their craft.

Gage fled Greece as a 9-year-old, haunted by his mother's 1948 killing by firing squad during the country's civil war. He joined his father in Worcester, Massachusetts, not far from where he lives today. And with a teacher's nudge, he pursued writing and built a reputation as a determined investigative reporter digging into organized crime and political corruption for The New York Times and other newspapers.

Basbanes, as a Greek American journalist, had heard of and admired the elder “hotshot reporter” when he got a surprise telephone call at his desk at Worcester's Evening Gazette in the early 1970s. The voice asked for Mr. Basbanes, using the Greek way of pronouncing the name.

“You were like a talent scout,” Basbanes said. “We established a friendship. I mean, I’ve known him longer than I know my wife, and we’ve been married 49 years.”

Basbanes hasn’t mined his own story like Gage has, but he says it can sometimes take days to craft a great paragraph and confirm all of the facts in it. It took him years of research and travel to archives and auction houses to write his 1995 book “A Gentle Madness” about the art of book collection from ancient Egypt through modern times.

“I love that ‘A Gentle Madness’ is in 1,400 libraries or so,” Basbanes said. “This is what a writer strives for -- to be read. But you also write to earn, to put food on the table, to support your family, to make a living. And as long as that’s your intellectual property, you deserve to be compensated fairly for your efforts.”

Gage took a great professional risk when he quit his job at the Times and went into $160,000 debt to find out who was responsible for his mother's death.

“I tracked down everyone who was in the village when my mother was killed," he said. “And they had been scattered all over Eastern Europe. So it cost a lot of money and a lot of time. I had no assurance that I would get that money back. But when you commit yourself to something as important as my mother’s story was, the risks are tremendous, the effort is tremendous.”

In other words, ChatGPT couldn't do that. But what worries Gage is that ChatGPT could make it harder for others to do that.

“Publications are going to die. Newspapers are going to die. Young people with talent are not going to go into writing,” Gage said. “I'm 84 years old. I don’t know if this is going to be settled while I’m still around. But it’s important that a solution be found.”

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 7. Not Goodbye

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 << Previous Episode || Ep 7 || Next Episode >>

Chapter Summary: Evie realizes that her time is running out. To do what? She doesn’t know. But she has one last night to find out. That is until— Well. It’s too late now. Tito flies home and wonders if that will be the worst mistake of his life.

A/N: You can refer to cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Warning: this contains mature to explicit content (basically soft pore corn) involving dry humping on a public staircase outside of a club. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 5.4k // 44.5k

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

Not Goodbye

Evie — April 20

The team has rented out the entire rooftop area of the Joy District for their end-of-season celebration. Everyone’s here: players, staff, management. Friends and family were invited to join after the private dinner. 

By the time Evie and her friends arrive, it’s packed, chaotic, loud, and sweaty in the only way a group of hockey players could be. Even little Connor Bedard's having a good time despite his bright yellow ‘Do Not Serve’ wristband that he’s being ceaselessly chirped for.

Tito comes bounding over as soon as they're through the rope partition.

“Hey!” he says, giving a quick hug to Evie’s friends before picking her up and spinning her around.

“Um, hi?” she giggles.

“Hi, chouchou,” Tito murmurs privately in her ear, “I’m happy you’re here.”

He sets her down and tucks her firmly under his arm as they follow her friends to the bar. Leanne throws her a look over her shoulders, but luckily, despite her being pretty tipsy and loose-lipped already, she doesn’t say anything. Evie shrugs.

For a while, they just mingle, enjoying the company while slowly sipping on their drinks. Evie hasn’t had much to drink tonight. In her spaghetti strap mini-dress, Evie's colder than she expected to be; the only source of heat is Tito’s solid body against her side. They’re talking to Jason when Evie sidles in closer to him, prompting him to pull her in tighter. 

The drag of his calloused hand over her arm sends a shiver down her spine that she couldn't suppress.

Tito stops mid-sentence and tips his head close to her ear. “You cold, Evie?” His brows are furrowed with concern.

Her eyes dart to Jason before jumping back to him. “Uh… yeah. Just a little. I’ll be okay, though.”

He doesn’t seem satisfied; he takes off his jacket and helps her into it. Jason watches on, a knowing and bemused expression on his face before he nods to Tito. “Why don’t you guys head inside for a bit? Warm up on the dancefloor or something.”

Evie and Tito both shrug simultaneously.

“Sure,” Evie says after a beat of hesitation.

Evie doesn’t see the wink Jason sends to Tito or the warning glare Tito sends back because her eyes are caught on Kelsey, Leanne, and Alandra huddled together across the room, staring at them conspiratorially with suspicious grins on their faces. They all laugh when she shows them her middle finger.

Evie turns back to Tito, though, when he places his hands on her waist to steer her out of the event area and into the crowded interior of the club. When they eventually make it deep enough onto the dancefloor that they're relatively hidden from any prying eyes, he spins her around.

They sway awkwardly for a moment as they adjust to the different atmosphere. The pulsing bass and rhythmic writhing of bodies feel different without the blur of alcohol in her veins.

Just staring into Tito’s soft eyes, standing a foot apart, makes her breath catch in her throat. The thought that in under twelve hours, he’ll be stepping on a plane back to Montreal makes all of her breath leave her body. Her heart clenches in her chest so hard she feels herself stumble forward to close the distance.

His hands immediately fly to her face, wiping away the tears she didn’t know has fallen.

“Hey… Hey, whoa,” Tito says, “Evie… Mon chou, what’s wrong?” 

When his expression crumples as he scans her face, she knows that he's thinking about tomorrow, too. He bites his lip hard, and she can see the thoughts flying through his head.

She rests her hands on his wrists and nudges them free of her face. She gives the palms of each hand a gentle kiss before placing them back down on her waist with a gentle squeeze. She shakes her head and holds his gaze, trying to communicate the depth of her feelings without having to say a word.

She threads her arms around his neck and pulls him closer so that they're pressed forehead-to-forehead, nose-to-nose. They breathe in each other’s air as they start swaying to the music, letting this moment fill in the spaces in their minds that the overwhelming sense of loss takes up.

Inevitably— it could be a minute or an hour later— their lips meet in the middle. Neither of them knows who really closes the gap, but it doesn’t matter.

The kiss starts gentle and reverent, full of everything they're both feeling, but it only takes a second for it to become desperate and punishing. They're being jostled by the people around them on the dance floor, but it barely even registers as they press into each other so tightly they’re almost fused together. The loud bass of the music covers their frenetic and guttural sounds as they allow themselves to explore.

Evie doesn’t notice them moving across the dancefloor until she feels a brick wall bump up against her back. She opens her eyes and drops her head back against the cool surface, hoping it will slow the flames lapping at her skin.

Their eyes meet for a second, Tito sending her a lewd smile before he drops his head to her neck, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin, his big, solid body pressing her against the wall. Her hands slip from the nape of his neck to expose more of herself, his jacket sliding off her shoulders.

Her fingers drag along the front of his soft white t-shirt until they find the hem. When she rucks up his shirt to get a flat palm onto his bare skin, the sound of his groan in her ear and the feeling of the searing hot skin under her palms makes her mind go hazy with desire.

Suddenly, his soft lips leave her body, as does the pressure along her front. She keens as he rubs his forehead against her bare shoulder. She slides her hand out from under his shirt and tugs at his hair in confusion. He shakes his head and murmurs something into her skin that she can’t hear, his hands rubbing at her sides.

“Tito—” she starts to say before she cuts herself off with an abrupt gasp; her movement makes his hands brush against her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress.

That's what finally prompts him to lean back, his wide pupils locking onto hers. “Are you not wearing a bra?”

“No?” she says, confused, “I didn’t want the straps to show, so I— what?”

He knocks his head gently on the wall next to her and lets out a strangled “Fuck.”

“Solou— What?” she says again, still confused as he pulls away from her body. She misses his warmth immediately, just staring at him as he quietly pulls his jacket back onto her shoulders.

“Come on,” he grunts; with a firm grip on her waist, he leads her down the first hallway he sees. 

Her feet carry her, her heart thundering in anticipation as they walk around the corner just past the bathrooms. With no one around, she can hear them both breathing hard. Her eyes adjust to the dim lighting: just a faint purple glow from the hallway on the one side and moonlight shining through the window of the exit door on the other.

He stops after a few further paces and pushes her roughly against the wall, his arms coming to bracket her in. Through her thin silk dress, she can feel every movement of his body as he presses in close.

Evie had always noticed the broad spread of his body when he changed in front of her; she couldn’t help but let her eyes linger. Hell, she would even notice it in a winter coat. That doesn’t stop the sudden, blistering wave of need that rolls through her body when she realizes how much his body engulfs hers.

In this unlit hallway, she can only see the flutter of his thick eyelashes. He leans in impossibly closer, pausing only a millimeter away, so close she can feel his lips move when he says, “Tell me what you want, mon chou.” 

She swallows thickly and arches into him. The possibilities fly through her mind— what doesn’t she want— choking her and making her unable to speak. So she responds the only way she's able: by closing the remaining distance with a bruising kiss.

She hears his hands scrape against the wall beside her like he’s clenching his fists as they lick into each other’s mouths hungrily. She takes advantage of their position by pushing her hands up his shirt again; this time, she's able to feel all the way up his chest, palms brushing over his nipples, provoking a swallowed moan. 

She smirks against his mouth before dragging her nails down his defined chest roughly.

She hears a sharp intake of breath before his lips leave hers, sliding to her ear. “Dangerous game to play, mon chou,” he growls before nipping her earlobe, causing her to jump. 

Unwilling to concede so early, Evie hums back, “Hmm… I don’t know, what would I win?” Her hands, still under his shirt, tweak his nipples lightly.

This time, she gets a deep, wicked chuckle against her neck in response. Tito’s hips pin her in place before reaching under his shirt and grabbing her hands. With no effort from him and, truthfully, no resistance from her, he pins her arms on either side of her head. 

“Maybe we should find out,” he hums before he bites her lower lip, pulling back so that it makes a wet sound when he releases it. He runs his tongue gently over it to soothe the dull sting. She swallows down a moan.

His hands tighten on her wrists. “No, no, mon chou. I wanna hear your moans. Was too loud in there.”

Every single thought she has ever had disappears so fast it makes her dizzy. Their mouths move in tandem, a captivating rhythm that has her rolling her hips into him, seeking more. Immediately understanding, Tito slots his thigh between her legs and applies delicious pressure, relieving the ache there, a wanton moan escaping her lips.

“Good,” he pants.

As their legs become entwined, rocking into each other, chasing friction— she becomes glaringly aware of his hard length straining against the tight black jeans he’s wearing. Her hands jerk against Tito’s unrelenting grasp, desperate to reach down and feel him heavy and hot in her grip.

He's pressing wet, hot kisses to her neck, still grinding languidly against each other when her attention is brutally dragged away from the coiling tension in her body.

Down the hall, she hears a familiar voice slur, “I think the bathroom's this way.”

Tito freezes as the footsteps draw closer.

“Leanne— God fucking dammit— Leanne! You walked past the toilet already. Come on.” Kelsey’s voice cannot have been more than 5 feet away from the corner.

They both hold their breath.

After a torturous second, the footsteps start walking back, away from the corner.

They both let out a shaking sigh. Tito releases her hands from the wall, smiling softly at her as he smoothes down his jacket. He takes a couple steps back, and for a moment, she's scared he’s going to suggest they go back to the party.

Instead, he offers his hand, “Come on, let’s go outside,” nodding at the exit door.

It punches through her hazy, sex-drunk mind that he’s giving her the choice in this moment to turn back. Her chest constricts so tightly it hurts; she’s left gasping for breath. On the flushed expanse of her skin, there’s a single cold point of contact: the pendants of his necklace sitting right above her heart. She’s grateful for the poor lighting when she feels her eyes well up with fondness. 

Fuck, they shouldn’t— she shouldn’t be doing this.

She draws in a slow, steadying breath and just holds it, hoping it takes the overwhelming emotion down with it.

She has one night. One last night. And she’s going to make the most of it. Even if it feels a little wrong, and a little like a lie of omission, and a little like taking advantage of him. She doesn’t want to ask what this means for them. She doesn’t want to talk at all right now. She just wants to feel. 

And what she feels is her body thrumming like a spring, coiled too tight: the soreness in her lips, the heat of her skin, the dampness in her shorts. She feels the lingering sensations in all the places he has touched, and she just wants.

The air she was holding rushes out of her. Inside her, the spring releases, and the dam breaks; it crashes into her so forcefully she stumbles. 

She just fucking wants.

When she grabs his outstretched hand, she pulls him back in without hesitation.  She backs him towards the door with every kiss she presses to his lips. When she feels him bump into it, she pushes him roughly through.

There’s a moment when they just look at each other, breathing heavily. 

When she slams their bodies together again, her skin feels like it’s burning up, heat spreading from every single point of contact between their two bodies. Evie's sure nothing has ever felt so molten hot as she does right now, pressing him against the railing of the back staircase.

Tito’s jacket slides down again, exposing a vast expanse of skin to the evening air. She doesn’t even notice the chill when he runs his tongue along her collarbone. 

She wants to get closer.

She wants more.

She needs more.

As if reading her mind, his hands slide down her back, coming to rest under her ass. With a pointed tug, she jumps into his solid arms. She feels a little wild thinking about the ease with which he carries her weight. She doesn’t even open her eyes when Tito moves them to the stairs, their lips never parting as he sits down and positions her in his lap. Her knees touch the cold, smooth steel, pulling a gasp from her lips.

Tito pauses, gaze suddenly soft, “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

She gazes at him meaningfully, letting his jacket fall to the platform behind her, and she readjusts herself to be even closer. From this angle, she can feel him through his jeans, pressing against her.

“There are so many things I’d let you do to me, but right now, I just need to come.” She purposefully grinds down.

The heat roars through her body as she gets to watch Tito close his eyes and drop his head back against the cool metal, swearing. Her gaze rakes over him as he bites his lip and swallows thickly before taking a deep breath.

When he opens his eyes again, the tender concern has shifted to heated arousal; his eyes trail meaningfully down her body as he brushes her hair over her shoulders and grazes over her necklace. His touch against her skin is so light, it’s maddening. His finger trails down the line of her body, in the valley of her breasts, and over the smooth silk covering her belly before infuriatingly skipping over where she wants him most. 

An uncontrolled whimper escapes her lips. Tito smirks as he grips her thighs, his hands sliding reverently up her thighs, savoring the smooth skin, until his fingers run along the seam of her shorts.

He shifts, closing the distance. Evie doesn’t need to be told to tilt her head to give him better access as he begins to mouth at her neck.

“What are these?” he mumbles between kisses, his fingers snapping the hem of the shorts a little.

“Modesty shorts,” she manages to say through the haze in her mind.

He snorts, pausing at her neck. “Modesty shorts?” he asks incredulously.

“Yeah. This dress is really short. You want everyone here to see my ass?”

He grunts, sliding his hand up her thigh before palming her ass in his hands. He continues his attack on her neck and chest and uses his grip on her cheeks to grind her into him. They simultaneously gasp at the sensation. She buries a hand in his hair, giving it a sharp tug to bring his lips back to hers. She uses the other to grip his toned shoulder for balance as they settle into a lazy rhythm. 

For a long time, they just hold each other as they grind, lips clashing and tongues sliding messily. His blunt fingernails dig into the meat of her ass, and she clings tightly to him as if they’re both afraid the other would disappear if they let go.

Eventually, though, the unrelenting friction becomes too maddening, and they both start seeking their highs. As their minds become too unfocused to kiss, they just pant into their shared air, breathy moans falling freely from their lips. 

Tito’s hands slide from her ass to grip her hips, the bruising pressure of his fingers giving them more leverage. Evie uses her grip on his hair to nudge his mouth further south. He leaves a trail of saliva down to the neckline of her dress, suckling and biting at her neck, collarbone, and chest. 

One of his hands leaves her hip, his touch traveling under her dress to finally palm her breast, kneading as his calloused thumb rubs roughly over her pebbled nipple. She gasps as her head falls back, the sensations bordering on overwhelming. His head comes to rest against her chest, savoring the fullness of one breast while he rolls the other nipple between his fingers.

Against her chest, he murmurs against her skin, “Fuck. Fuck. Evie— Fuck.” His hand returns to hold her hip in place as he grinds up towards her in an increasingly frantic rhythm. One hand slides over her thigh to provide more targeted pressure with his thumb. 

He barely has time to work on her clit before she feels her gut clench and her muscles seize, moans of his name pouring from her freely. Through the shockwaves, her hazy mind hears the guttural groans Tito makes against her chest right before he stills beneath her, adding a warmth to the mess between them.

They stay entangled for a while, catching their breaths. Tito peppers light kisses on her collarbone as she runs her hands through his hair, trying fruitlessly to smooth it back down, his curls staying fluffy and wild. 

The absurdity of the moment hits her then, and she feels a fit of giggles take over her. Beneath her, she can hear him laughing, too, chest rumbling as he wraps his arms around her tightly in a hug.

After a moment, the dampness between the two of them starts to feel a little too gross, and the cold air starts to give her a chill. She taps Tito on the shoulder and smiles at his beaming face when he leans back.

“I can’t believe you just made me come in my pants like a fucking teenager. I don’t think I’ve done that in like ten years,” he laughs, shaking his head in awe. He adjusts her necklace reverently.

She laughs and stands up, her knees feeling raw and sore from the cold, metal stairs— they’re smooth, so probably only bruises tomorrow. Not that she cares. She holds her hand out to help him stand up.

“Come on, let’s go home,” she says softly.

He smiles. “Yes, please. Home sounds perfect.”

Evie looks up at him through her eyelashes when she bends down to pick up his jacket. She holds his gaze when she drags a finger through the wet mess that covers the front of his pants. Smirking, she sucks the finger in her mouth, licking it clean before releasing it with a pop.

His eyes squeeze shut, and he groans loudly. He reaches down and pulls her up. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she hears him mumble as he helps into the jacket, “you’re going to be the fucking death of me.” 

Tito holds the door open for her, and she giggles as she steps back inside, pulling out her phone from his jacket pocket to order the Lyft.

That’s when she sees it, stopping her dead in the dim hallway as she feels her stomach drop to the floor.

15 missed calls. 

At least 30 text messages from Kelsey. Each increasingly more panicked than the last.

There’s only a slight relief that the last message came in just a minute ago.

Her ears are ringing and she only realizes Tito is speaking when he shakes her gently by the shoulders. When she looks up, his eyes are wide with concern and panic.

“—okay? Evie? What’s wrong?” 

She shows him her phone quickly, watching his face drop. She immediately calls Kelsey as soon as she has her phone back.

“Kels— What’s wrong? I’m so sorry, I didn’t— Is everything okay?”

“It’s Lee. Something’s wrong. I don’t— Are you sober enough to drive?”

“Yeah, where are you?”

“Out front.”

“Okay, I’ll be two minutes.”

She hangs up, and runs back out the door they just came through.

“Evie,” she hears Tito chasing after her, “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she yells over her shoulder, “Something— Lee— I don’t know.”

She’s flying down the stairs as fast as she can, sprinting to the front of the building as soon as her feet touch the asphalt. She sees a small group gathered in front of the club. The bile rises up in the back of her throat; she swallows it down. There’s no time for that.

She shrugs off the jacket and pushes it at Tito, looking at his crotch meaningfully as they approach the group.

“What happened?” she yells as soon as she’s close enough.

Jason Dickinson turns first, a limp Leanne in his arms. She then sees Nick Foligno comforting a crying Kelsey. Alandra's peeking out from behind them, her eyes wide as she looks at them approaching.

“What the fuck happened?” Evie asks again as she approaches the group. 

Kelsey sobs, “I don’t know. I told her not to close the door.”

“What?” she hears Tito say behind her. Jason and Alandra exchange a look.

Alandra finally speaks up. “We don’t really know what happened, but she passed out cold in the bathroom. And she threw up. We got her out, but she still hasn’t come to. They aren’t being fucking helpful at all, and the ambulance apparently is too busy for a drunk girl, so it’s going to take them over an hour.” She throws a dirty look over her shoulder at the club and scowls.

Nick jumps in. “Look, John— Reese lives a couple blocks away, and he’s got a car. Bedsy was the only one sober enough to drive. So he went to get it. It’s going to be quicker to just drive her to the ER. Bedsy can probably drive if needed, but he’s just a kid. It would be better if you—”

“Yeah, yeah. I can do it,” Evie jumps in immediately, nodding.

“Are you sure?” Nick says, leveling her with a serious look.

“Yeah— Yes. I only had, like, one drink, and that was ages ago. I can drive.”

Nick nods, and there's a sigh of relief in the group as Connor pulls into the curb. 

Tito leans in close to her. “Here, give me the keys. I can drive. You sit with them in the back.”

She stares at him as people move around them, placing Leanne next to a still-crying Kelsey in the black seat.

He leans in and says gently, “You know I’m not drunk. You know. So, give me the keys, chouchou. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers. Tito takes the keys and walks around the back of the car to the driver's seat, talking with Nick about something.

Alandra catches her elbow as she moves to step into the car. “Here,” she presses something soft into her hand, “Take this.”

Evie looks at her, confused. Alandra flicks her eyes down to her chest before squeezing her elbow again.

Evie looks down and sees the litany of hickeys that trail down her chest.

Oh.

She pulls on the hoodie.

Tito — April 21

Tito didn't sleep a single second, the evening playing over and over in his head. He stared at the empty bed and couldn’t bring himself to even get in it without Evie there. So he just took a shower and packed the last of his belongings.

He buries his face in his hands when he finally sits down. He hopes that maybe if he sits there long enough, his brain will supply something positive. Anything.

Every time he feels his traitorous mind wandering, every time a faint wave of desire licks at his consciousness, his stomach twists. If he could’ve just controlled himself, they wouldn’t have been on that staircase when her friends needed her.

With his eyes closed, he can still see the way she looked at him outside the ER as she told him to go home. Evie didn’t need to say a word. He could see the pain and regret on her face so clearly that it was burned onto his retina. It doesn’t really matter why that look was on her face. It was still his fault.

God, fuck. What has he done?

He knew she had been struggling with her mood recently. He knew because she had said that just the night before as she lay on the couch while he picked up his stuff from around her apartment. She didn’t say what was getting her down, but that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that he knew she was sad.

He also knew that she had no interest in being romantically attached to anyone. That she still wanted more time to process the end of her last relationship. Just because he had gotten attached doesn’t mean she has. It was unfair of him to conceal how he felt and still do what he did.

And fuck, she’s his best friend. He had told her as much. Which made the look seared into his memory all the more painful, knowing that even if things had gone differently, she probably would still regret it by now. Probably even more so.

What, the fuck, has he done?

He wanted her warm body pressed against his. He wanted her lips on his. He wanted to hear all the sounds she would make. God, he wanted so much more than what he got on those stairs. If he’s honest, he still does. 

The guilt curls heavily in his stomach.

She needed someone to be there for her. And he just wanted her in his bed— well, their— her bed. He justified it in the moment because it would’ve been one night. One inconsequential night for her— it’s not like she wouldn’t just hook up with someone else if she wanted to. He wanted just this one night for himself. 

He thinks he’s going to be sick. 

He’s contemplating just making himself throw up when he hears a key in the lock. He stands up so fast that he almost knocks over his half-drunk cup of tea.

“Hey,” he says softly as she walks into the room. She looks rumpled and tired, but she seems okay. His eyes catch on the 16, instead of 91, on the shoulder of her hoodie, and he forces himself to rip his eyes away. “How is she?”

Evie smiles at him so softly, “She’s okay. They discharged her a little while ago, so Kels and I took her home. Kelsey’s staying with her now ‘cause they know you’re leaving this morning.”

As she talks, she closes the distance between them and wraps him in a hug, tucking her head under his chin. He squeezes her tight to his aching chest; he thinks it might be less painful to just break his arm again. 

“She’s going to be okay, right?” he mumbles into her hair.

“Yeah, yeah. We think she just drank too much on an empty stomach. She’s probably going to have to lay off the alcohol for a bit.”

They lean into each other and just stand there, embracing for some time. Tito tries to breathe in as much of her perfume as he can, committing it to memory.

Eventually, Evie takes a small step back and turns to survey her apartment; there’s a sharp intake of breath when her eyes land on his suitcases by the door.

“You’re all ready for your flight?” her voice strained as she looks away from him.

“Yeah,” he replies shakily.

“Damn, this really is it then,” her voice is so quiet he can barely hear her.

“Evie— Chou— No, don’t say it like that,” his voice breaking at the end. He can’t help but step in behind her and wrap his arm tightly around her waist.

She clears her throat. “I know, I know. It’s not goodbye. We will still— It just won’t be the same when you’re not here,” her wobbly voice breaking.

He spins her back around and holds her face gingerly so that he can make eye contact. “Hey— We will still talk every day. I’ll text you so much it’s going to be so annoying.”

She lets out a small hiccup, and he pulls her into his chest again firmly. He holds her, rocking slightly, as she cries. He presses gentle kisses to her temple and whispers assurances against her hair.

When the notification pings that his driver's on their way, they're still standing there, gently rocking.

“Hey, chouchou. I’m so sorry, but my Lyft's going to be here in like five minutes,” he says as gently as he can.

She steps back and lets out a wet gasp. “Oh my god, your shirt! Oh no.”

He looks down at the makeup and tear stains on his shoulder and shrugs, “I’ll survive. I’ve got at least twenty other shirts that look basically the same.”

He pulls the shirt over his head and decides to just slip on the hoodie he had planned to wear on the plane anyway. When his head pokes through the top, he sees that she’s staring. Ah, she probably noticed the crescent of bruises on his shoulder in the shape of her fingertips. He swallows the bile down quickly and hopes she’s not too upset.

Her eyes are so wide when she opens her mouth to say, “Look last night—”

He cuts her off, his heart thundering in his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. Mon chou, you don’t need to—”

“But— I just want to— I’m sorry—”

“Chou, you really don’t have to—” His chest feels so tight he thinks he’s going to stop breathing any moment now.

“That it happened—”

“Evie, don’t.” His voice comes out louder than he intended. He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. “Please.”

“Oh, okay.” She looked taken aback, expression pinched in pain.

His phone rings at that moment, and he pulls it out to see his driver pulling up to the building soon.

“Goddammit. Look, the driver's here. We will talk all the time, okay?”

“Okay,” she nods.

He squeezes her arm as he gathers up the last of his things.

“Solours, you forgot your hoodie,” she points at the kitchen stool from next to the doorway.

“I’m pretty sure that hoodie's yours now,” he chuckles before walking over to her and tapping the 16 on her chest, “Make sure you give this back to Jason, though.”

She laughs wetly, rolling her eyes, “I will.”

They hug in the doorway of her apartment for a long moment as he drops a lingering kiss on her temple, taking one last inhale of her scent.

When they part, he sends her a small smile. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiles back, nodding.

He only looks back at her, waiting in the doorway three times as he waits for the elevator.

Tito holds it together until he’s in his window seat on the plane. As he watches Chicago grow smaller beneath him, he cries silently into the edge of his hoodie the entire flight. He wonders if he just made the biggest mistake of his life.

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[lboogie1906]

Lena Waithe (born May 17, 1984) is an actress, producer, and screenwriter. She is the creator of The Chi (2018–present) Boomerang (2019–20) and Twenties (2020–2021). She wrote and produced Queen & Slim (2019) and is the executive producer of Them (2021–present).

She gained recognition for her role in Master of None (2015–present) and became the first African-American woman to win the Primetime Emmy Award for Outstanding Writing for a Comedy Series in 2017 for writing the show’s “Thanksgiving” episode. She has appeared in Ready Player One and Westworld. She received a nomination for Best Play at the 76th Tony Awards, for her production work on Ain’t No Mo’.

She was named one of Time magazine’s 100 Most Influential People of 2018 and was included on Fast Company’s Queer 50 list in 2021 and 2022.

She was born and raised in Chicago. Her father, Lawrence David Waithe, died when she was fifteen. Though acting was not originally among her ambitions, she knew from the age of seven that she wanted to be a television writer and received strong family support for her writing from her mother and grandmother. She graduated from Evanston Township High School and earned a BA in Cinema and Television Arts from Columbia College Chicago.

She married Alana Mayo (2019-2021) a content executive. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[saintzoey]

SUCKERPUNCH — by zoey holtz

genre. contemporary romance, lgbt+ pov. third person (cassidy) status. plotting/writing content notes. mentioned domestic violence (not between main pairing). summary.

After millionaire Veronica buys fighter Cassidy's debt to the mafia, the two women are drawn into a plot to fake an engagement. But can they overcome their differences in time to make their walk down the aisle real?

Cassidy Cross has been fighting for as long as she can remember. Fighting for prestige, for money, for her life. Taken in by the mafia as a child, she owes them everything, and repays it with her skills in the ring. Every fight is a step towards freedom, and every win means more money in the bank. She'll soon have enough to leave Chicago behind forever, and live her life on her terms.

Enter Veronica Hudson. A woman in a man's world, she's clawed her way up the corporate ladder until she's the one in charge. When her connections with the mob lead her to watch an underground fight, she's captivated by the graceful and deadly woman in the ring.

So she buys off her debt. Now the beautiful Cassidy owes her everything - and hates her for it.

When Veronica's grandfather catches the two of them arguing, he assumes they're lovers, hiding their relationship. So when he announces their engagement in a press release, they have no choice but to go along with it - if Veronica wants to inherit his billions, anyway.

As the wedding day approaches, Cassidy discovers there's more to her fake fiance than she ever thought. But can she ever really be equals with the woman who owns her?

characters.

— cassidy cross with her family deep into debt with the mafia after her father's many business mistakes, seventeen-year-old amateur fighter Cassidy steps up to protect her younger siblings. so she agrees to fight for the Mancini family. now five years later, she's one of their best. she never expects her loyalty to the family to be repaid by getting sold off to a millionaire - but that's just what happens.

— veronica hudson though she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, Veronica's life has not been an easy one. but she's escaped now, leaving her controlling parents long behind. she's made a fortuine of her own, now, and is CEO of a company she started herself. but when her estranged grandfather contacts her, offering to make her his sole heir, she's drawn back into her family's web. she'll do anything to keep the family fortune out of the hands of her parents - even fake an engagement.

[t0mcruize123]

March 5th

Fifth March 5th🎀🫶

This is the last part to this story and I’m genuinely going to miss writing it, it’s been kinda fun😭 this part is massively inspired by the movie vanilla sky so u may wanna watch the movie first to understand this better💪hope you all enjoyed it but most of all @mqverick who this was originally written for🫶 HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUVVVV THIS IS ALL FOR U

Fifth March 5th:

“All of this, everything is your creation.”

David stared at the pink and peach clouds surrounding him, still trying to process everything that had been said, “When did the lucid dream start?”

A tall man dressed in a slick white suit claimed to be Edmund Ventura from Life extension - a company dedicated to placing people into Lucid dreams until their bodies were revived. David had initially laughed at the idea, convinced this was all a figment of his imagination after she’d drove away the previous night, but he couldn’t wake up.

“Do you remember the first March 6th? When you ran to the plane in slo motion?” Edmund looked at him from across the building, “When she left, you went back to your apartment and that was the moment that you chose for the splice.”

His eyes widened, “Splice?”

“The end of your real life and the beginning of your lucid dream. After that day, nothing was real in the traditional sense. Your lucid dream was monitored by life extension.”

David pinched the bridge of his nose in confusion and rubbed his hands down his face. So Edmund was telling him that 5 years ago when he kissed her on the plane was his last real memory? Everything else had been a dream?

“Precisely,” Edmund read his mind with a disturbing smile, “You barely knew her in your real life but in your lucid dream she was your saviour.”

David thought back to each year spent with her, how comfortable and content he’d felt within her arms and how nothing else had ever seemed to bother him. Had he really been dreaming the entire time? What had happened to cause him to even sign up with life extension?

“What happened to my real life? What did you erase?” He stepped forward eagerly, no longer convinced it was fake yet still unnerved, “Tell me everything.”

He drew in a slow breath, “after the plane took off, you went back to your apartment alone and never saw her again. You didn’t meet up next March 5th because you were both too busy, too worried the other had forgotten, and we’re trying to move on with your seperate lives. You got ownership of the company, you had great friends but you were still lonely,” his voice was filled with sympathy and David flinched, “You craved the comfort youd felt only with her, but had no idea how to reach her. Instead, You found life extension on the internet and signed a contract.”

In David’s real life, he’d been alone? Surely that couldn’t be true, he had tons of friends right? Had she really impacted him that much?

“It wasn’t danny who died in that car wreck two years later, David, it was you,” David’s head snapped up at the mention of his friend, “you gave yourself to us and you’re now in a suspended in a dream state.”

“Danny didn’t die?” He smiled in relief though there was nothing to be happy about.

Edmund shook his head, “Your friend Brian Shelby organised a three day memorial, and she flew from Chicago and never recovered.”

David found the thought oddly comforting. Even though they’d only known each other a day, she’d cared enough to fly back.

“It was she who somehow knew you best and she never forgot that one night at your party where true love seemed to blossom.”

And now she was gone…David shook his head fiercely and looked at the bright skies, “I don’t want to dream any longer.”

Edmund smiled slightly as I took form behind David. I knew I wasn’t real - I was just a figment in David’s dream and yet my thoughts, my emotions, my memories…everything still felt so real.

“You’re here,” David spun to face me, his features instantly relaxing as he took me in. I smiled as my hands came up to touch his face. I wasn’t angry at him anymore for falling in love with Violet. Right now on this rooftop, there was just me and him.

“There was a glitch in your lucid dream David,” Edmund confessed in the distance, “You were supposed to end up with her with the perfect happily ever after, but the glitch caused you to form a relationship with Violet. That was never supposed to happen.”

My lips tugged up as I moved closer to David, “Me and you were destined, I always knew it.”

There was a glint of mischief in his eye as he brought his lips close to mine. The feel of his mouth was familiar and I welcomed the soft press of his tongue. He was everything I needed and more - it was the kind of kiss I could’ve stayed in for the rest of my life, but we both knew it couldn’t last.

David needed to wake up.

“Look at us,” he pulled back and ran a hand through my hair, “Frozen and dead, and I love you.”

My heart would always hammer at those words, “It’s a problem.”

“I lost you when I left you on that plane,” his smile saddened for a moment and I kissed the corner of his mouth, “And when I got in the car wreck. I’m sorry.”

A sob clung to my throat as David interlaced our hands together, “Do you remember what you told me once?”

My lips parted in anticipation and he smiled, “Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around.”

A tear rolled down my cheek but I didn’t bother wiping it away. Planting one last kiss to his lips, I closed my eyes and took a step back.

My hand reached out, “Come find me.”

“My life won’t be complete until I do,” the corner of his lip tugged up though his eyes glistened in the sunlight, “I’ll see you in another life when we are both cats.”

I grinned and David took a step back towards the edge of the building. My pulse raced but I knew he had to take the leap of faith; David was going to be okay. We were going to be fine.

Part of me worried when he woke up the real me wouldn’t love him as much as the dream me. But Edmund had said true love had blossomed at his party all those years ago, we had something special.

David hovered on the edge of the building, his pants echoing in the air as his hands clamped into fists at his sides. He was always terrified of heights but I knew he could do this. If anyone could do this, it was him.

As if David could read my mind, he inhaled sharply and fell forwards from the rooftop. The wind instantly smacked his face as he flew towards the floor, a strange feeling of peace unfurling in his stomach.

“It’s time,” Edward looked at me with a small smile as I slowly faded away. The world itself seemed to fade into the colour white, taking everything and everyone in its path. I looked at the edge David had stood on only moments before and smiled, knowing we’d be together in another life soon.

“Relax David….Open your eyes”

David blinked at me in bewilderment as though he was confused about where he was or who he was. With wide eyes and a slack jaw, he stared at me in confusion and I repeated the question.

“You promise?” I looked into his eyes and tried my best to ignore all the people on the plane watching us through their windows.

“Promise what?”

I almost laughed in disbelief, “To meet up with me next year…March 5th?”

He shook his head slowly as if coming to a sudden realisation, “I’m not coming next year.”

I shifted back in confusion and he added, “Because I’m coming with you right now.”

My brow creased, “What?”

“This is going to sound insane but I know that if I let you get on this plane alone, both of us are going to end up upset and alone, with broken promises,” he touched my shoulder, “And I’m tired of holding back and making excuses. You make me happy, and I know we’ve only properly known each other for what? A whole day? But I know you. I know you better than everybody else and I’m not going to let the one person I’ve ever truly loved slip through my fingers. I’m coming with you.”

I don’t think I could’ve replied if I tried. Everything we’d planned and talked about had just vanished and yet I was happy to see it disappear. I liked this new David. This David who didn’t care about challenges and thought with his heart, not his head; this David who I knew I was going to have so many fun adventures with. I could already see it.

“You want to fly to Chicago with me?” I confirmed with a small smile and he nodded, “You’re going to need a jacket.”

He flashed a familiar grin, “Trust me, I know.”

It felt surreal as we clambered on the plane together, hand in hand, with no luggage and no real plans and yet…no worries. Being with David always seemed to cool me down and I knew that as long as I was with him I was going to be okay. Maybe it was insane; I mean I hardly knew the guy and yet I felt as though we’d lived a thousand lifetimes together.

David went back to buy a ticket to the plane and we managed to swap places with other passengers so that we were seated together. They gave us small smiles and knowing glances and I couldn’t help but wipe the cheesy grin off my face. I wasn’t going to sit and wait 364 days to start living my life.

I looked at David at my side and squeezed his hand tightly, pressing my lips against his. We’d only kissed a few times and yet i felt as though I’d felt him a thousand times, held him and loved him thousands more. This was what it felt like to love. I wasn’t going to hold myself back anymore, I was going to seize the chances I had.

I was going to start living today, and that included David Aames at my side.

Who would’ve thought?

The end🫶

[dan6085]

Tucker Max is an American author, public speaker, and entrepreneur who gained notoriety in the early 2000s for his controversial writing style and content. He is best known for his bestselling book *I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell*, which chronicles his debaucherous lifestyle and has often been described as offensive, misogynistic, and unapologetically crude. Max's work, largely categorized under the genre of "fratire," has sparked both significant popularity and widespread criticism.

### Early Life and Background

- **Born**: September 27, 1975, Atlanta, Georgia, U.S.

- **Education**: Max attended the University of Chicago, where he studied law but was expelled. He later completed his law degree at Duke University School of Law.

Max originally aspired to be a screenwriter but transitioned to blogging, where he found a platform for his stories about alcohol, sex, and the chaotic consequences of his actions. His blog's popularity eventually led to the publication of his book.

### Career and Major Works

- **I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell (2006)**: This book is Max's most famous work, a collection of anecdotes centered on his partying lifestyle. The book became a New York Times bestseller and sold over a million copies. It was adapted into a movie of the same name in 2009, which was poorly received by critics.

- **Assholes Finish First (2010)**: Another book by Max, continuing in the same vein as his first, focusing on his wild behavior and lifestyle.

- **Hilarity Ensues (2012)**: The third book in Max's trilogy, detailing his later years of debauchery before his self-proclaimed "retirement" from that lifestyle.

### Controversies

Tucker Max has been a polarizing figure due to the nature of his writing and public persona. His work and statements have led to numerous controversies:

1. **Accusations of Misogyny**: Max's writing has often been criticized for promoting a misogynistic view of women. His tales frequently involve objectifying women, leading many to view his work as contributing to harmful gender stereotypes. Feminist groups have targeted him for promoting a culture of toxic masculinity.

2. **Public Protests**: Due to the content of his books and the way he portrayed women, Max faced protests at several of his book signings and speaking events. His movie adaptation was also protested by feminist groups.

3. **Movie Adaptation**: The film adaptation of *I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell* was met with scathing reviews and bombed at the box office. Critics panned it for its offensive content and lack of substance. Max defended the film, but it failed to achieve the same success as his books.

4. **Twitter Controversy**: Max's presence on social media has also sparked backlash. He has made several offensive tweets over the years, leading to widespread criticism. For instance, he once tweeted, "Rosa Parks is overrated. Look at her." This and similar statements have led to accusations of racism and insensitivity.

5. **Failed TV Projects**: Max attempted to transition his brand into television, but these efforts did not succeed. Networks were hesitant to associate with his controversial persona, and none of his proposed shows made it to air.

6. **Public Apology and Shift in Image**: In recent years, Max has publicly apologized for his past behavior and the content of his writing. He has stated that he regrets much of what he wrote and how he acted, claiming to have matured and moved on from his previous lifestyle. He has also transitioned to a career in the startup world, founding a company called Book in a Box (now called Scribe Media), which helps people write and publish their own books.

### Later Career and Impact

Max's impact on popular culture is undeniable, as he was a central figure in the early 2000s wave of "fratire" literature. Despite the controversies, his work resonated with a specific demographic, and he successfully capitalized on the early blogging and social media landscape.

His transition into entrepreneurship has been more subdued, focusing on helping others tell their stories rather than promoting his own controversial narratives. His shift away from his previous persona has been met with mixed reactions, with some applauding his growth and others remaining critical of his past.

### Conclusion

Tucker Max's legacy is a complicated one. He achieved significant fame and financial success through his controversial writing, which both entertained and outraged millions. While he has since distanced himself from his earlier work, the controversies surrounding his persona have left a lasting mark on his career. Max's story is one of transformation, for better or worse, from a notorious party boy to a more reflective entrepreneur.

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Ensuring Plagiarism-Free Content in Different Contexts: Academic, Professional, Creative

Plagiarism, the act of presenting someone else's work or ideas as your own without proper attribution, is a serious ethical and legal issue that can have significant consequences in academic, professional, and creative settings. Whether you're writing an academic paper, crafting professional content, or creating original artwork, it's essential to uphold principles of integrity and originality. In this article, we'll explore strategies for ensuring plagiarism-free content in different contexts.

1. Academic Context

In academic writing, maintaining academic integrity is paramount. Here are some strategies to ensure plagiarism-free content: Cite Your Sources: Whenever you use someone else's ideas, words, or data, cite the source properly using the appropriate citation style (e.g., APA, MLA, Chicago). This includes direct quotes, paraphrases, and even ideas that are not common knowledge. Use Plagiarism Detection Tools: Utilize plagiarism detection tools such as Turnitin or Grammarly to scan your work for potential plagiarism and ensure that you have properly cited all sources. Understand Paraphrasing: When paraphrasing information from sources, ensure that you rephrase the content in your own words and provide proper attribution to the original source.

2. Professional Context

In professional writing, maintaining originality is essential for building credibility and trust with your audience. Here's how to ensure plagiarism-free content in a professional setting: Create Original Content: Focus on generating original ideas and content that provide value to your audience. Avoid directly copying content from other sources, and instead, strive to offer unique insights and perspectives. Attribute Ideas Appropriately: If you reference or build upon someone else's work or ideas, give credit where credit is due. This demonstrates professionalism and respect for intellectual property rights. Check Company Policies: Familiarize yourself with your company's policies on plagiarism and intellectual property to ensure compliance with internal guidelines and legal requirements.

3. Creative Context

In creative endeavors such as writing, art, or music, originality is highly prized. Here are some tips for maintaining originality in creative work: Find Your Unique Voice: Develop your own unique style, voice, and perspective that sets your work apart from others. Embrace your creativity and authenticity to produce original and compelling content. Respect Copyright Laws: Familiarize yourself with copyright laws and intellectual property rights to ensure that you're not infringing on the rights of others. Obtain permission or licenses for any copyrighted material you incorporate into your creative work. Avoid Plagiarizing Your Own Work: Even if you're the original creator, be mindful of recycling or repurposing your own content without adding significant new value or insights. Aim to continually innovate and push the boundaries of your creativity.

Conclusion

Ensuring plagiarism-free content across different contexts requires a combination of ethical principles, practical strategies, and awareness of legal considerations. Whether you're writing an academic paper, creating professional content, or engaging in creative endeavors, upholding principles of originality and integrity is essential for building credibility, fostering trust, and contributing to the advancement of knowledge and creativity in your field. By following the strategies outlined above, you can maintain originality and ethical standards in your work while avoiding the pitfalls of plagiarism.

[mozwebmedia]

Moz Web Media Profile and Reviews on AmbitionBox

Moz Web Media is a digital marketing agency based in Chicago, IL. They provide specialized digital marketing services to help companies get more clients and boost their online presence.

Moz Web Media specializes in SEO, PPC, Social Media Marketing and other digital marketing services that can help you grow your business. They are experts at writing content for blogs, websites, social media sites and even email newsletters. They can help you create the best content possible for your website or social media profiles.

Read Moz Web Media Reviews to know more about us.

[aikos-filibuster]

Big Data VS The Little Guys

or "Will decentralised networks become a bigger, more mainstream part of the Internet, thus emphasising crowdsourced content and information?"

Earlier this year, I became an admin for a Discord server, so I was expected to engage with its members. One person in the server stood out, he explained to me that he runs an online marketing firm in Chicago, then he said he wanted to show me something. He told me to search up a Wikipedia article, telling me to look at the image file at the top on the article. I looked at the user who uploaded that image file and I was surprised to find that it was he that created and uploaded that image onto Wikipedia, and it made sense because of his online marketing background. No one asked him to devote his time and effort to do that, but maybe out of a sense of innate duty or maybe he had time to spare, he decided to create that image which is now associated entirely with that topic. The Internet is a what it says on the tin, an interconnected network. Who could have guessed? The Internet consists of a functionally infinite number of points weaved together with hyperlinks and cross-references, forged from the combined effort of countless users who add on to the vast body of work that is the online experience. But who is responsible for it being like the way it is? It might seem contradictory to the title of this blog entry, but I want to suggest that the Internet in its modern recognisable form is the way it is today because of the success of decentralised networks in the past and present, which had always depended on crowdsourced content and information.

A Decentralised Interconnected Network?

In the advent of what really became the Internet occurred between the late 90s and early 2000s where we can observe the phenomenon of textboards where people would have discussions with other users, and blogs where users would write about any subject under the digital sun. This early unregulated “laissez-faire” approach to the growth of the Internet meant that individual communities and their users would be the ones churning out content with no fear of a central regulatory authority like we see today that could impose rules that today seem part and parcel of the Internet but would retrospectively seem almost draconian in nature. This was especially true after the Dot-Com Bubble burst in the early 2000s when created a massive evolutionary bottle neck in terms of the countless tech companies going bankrupt, where 52% of all internet-centred firms when bust when the stock market crashed. Imagine if today, half of the entire Internet just disappeared. The Dot-Com crash put many people off investing in anything related to the internet for many years and would only pick back up in the later 2000s with the rise of firms like Alphabet Incorporated, Amazon Incorporated, and Facebook Incorporated, now of course Meta Platforms Incorporated. In those dark years after the stock market crashed, it was up to the users online to fill in the vacuum that was left with a sort of Mad Max style approach where it was up for grabs due to the lack of any attempt to monopolise or centralise the web by corporations or governments. In the new algorithmic medium that is the Internet, collective intelligence and combined creative energy emerges bottom-up from the multitude of actual human knowledge, in this case, the Internet is built in a way that naturally facilitates decentralised networks growing and being an integral part of the Internet.

To conclude, the question of whether decentralised networks could a bigger force  and become a more mainstream part of the Internet is really a sort of nonquestion as decentralised networks is practically the backbone of the Internet. Going back to the story I told in the beginning, he was just someone with an idea and the means to put his thoughts into a reality. The Internet is a summation of the concept of the wisdom of the crowds, and the idea of crowdsourced content and information created by the users themselves is inherent to the spirit of the Internet. This interestingly enough makes the decentralised networks on the Internet ideally the closest things we can get to perfect democracies where it is the users who are in charge of the content they produce, who is allowed into their circles, and how they wish to present themselves to the greater ecosystem.

References