#What is Penn in that world

[the-zapped-part-timer]

Why did he call him "kid" of all things?

[reasonsforhope]

"The first modern attempt at transferring a uterus from one human to another occurred at the turn of the millennium. But surgeons had to remove the organ, which had become necrotic, 99 days later. The first successful transplant was performed in 2011 — but even then, the recipient wasn’t immediately able to get pregnant and deliver a baby. It took three more years for the first person in the world with a transplanted uterus to give birth. 

More than 70 such babies have been born globally in the decade since. “It’s a complete new world,” said Giuliano Testa, chief of abdominal transplant at Baylor University Medical Center.

Almost a third of those babies — 22 and counting — have been born in Dallas at Baylor. On Thursday, Testa and his team published a major cohort study in JAMA analyzing the results from the program’s first 20 patients. All women were of reproductive age and had no uterus (most having been born without one), but had at least one functioning ovary. Most of the uteri came from living donors, but two came from deceased donors.

Fourteen women had successful transplants, all of whom were able to have at least one baby.  

“That success rate is extraordinary, and I want that to get out there,” said Liza Johannesson, the medical director of uterus transplants at Baylor, who works with Testa and co-authored the study. “We want this to be an option for all women out there that need it.”

Six patients had transplant failures, all within two weeks of the procedure. Part of the problem may have been a learning curve: The study initially included only 10 patients, and five of the six with failed transplants were in that first group. These were “technical” failures, Testa said, involving aspects of the surgery such as how surgeons connected the organ’s blood vessels, what material was used for sutures, and selecting a uterus that would work well in a transplant. 

The team saw only one transplant fail in the second group of 10 people, the researchers said. All 20 transplants took place between September 2016 and August 2019.

Only one other cohort study has previously been published on uterus transplants, in 2022. A Swedish team, which included Johannesson before she moved to Baylor, performed seven successful transplants out of nine attempts. Six women, including the first transplant recipient to ever deliver a baby back in 2014, gave birth.

“It’s hard to extract data from that, because they were the first ones that did it,” Johannesson said. “This is the first time we can actually see the safety and efficacy of this procedure properly.”

So far, the signs are good: High success rates for transplants and live births, safe and healthy children so far, and early signs that immunosuppressants — typically given to transplant recipients so their bodies don’t reject the new organ — may not cause long-term harm, the researchers said. (The uterine transplants are removed after recipients no longer need them to deliver children.) And the Baylor team has figured out how to identify the right uterus for transfer: It should be from a donor who has had a baby before, is premenopausal, and, of course, who matches the blood type of the recipient, Testa said...

“They’ve really embraced the idea of practicing improvement as you go along, to understand how to make this safer or more effective. And that’s reflected in the results,” said Jessica Walter, an assistant professor of reproductive endocrinology and infertility at Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine, who co-authored an editorial on the research in JAMA...

Walter was a skeptic herself when she first learned about uterine transplants. The procedure seemed invasive and complicated. But she did her fellowship training at Penn Medicine, home to one of just four programs in the U.S. doing uterine transplants. 

“The firsts — the first time the patient received a transplant, the first time she got her period after the transplant, the positive pregnancy test,” Walter said. “Immersing myself in the science, the patients, the practitioners, and researchers — it really changed my opinion that this is science, and this is an innovation like anything else.” ...

Many transgender women are hopeful that uterine transplants might someday be available for them, but it’s likely a far-off possibility. Scientists need to rewind and do animal studies on how a uterus might fare in a different “hormonal milieu” before doing any clinical trials of the procedure with trans people, Wagner said.

Among cisgender women, more long-term research is still needed on the donors, recipients, and the children they have, experts said.

“We want other centers to start up,” Johannesson said. “Our main goal is to publish all of our data, as much as we can.”"

-via Stat, August 16, 2024

[certainwizardguy]

Ch 5, double feature tonight.

Nobody’s Fool (Chapter #5)

Chapter 5! Penn sings and then has a crisis over breakfast. How relatable.

Previous: Chapter #4

Next: Chapter #6

CW: Adult language, dehumanization, references to abuse

Reblogs > Likes. Thank you!

________________________________________

NOBODY’S FOOL

Chapter #5: Quarter-Sized Crisis

[Eveline’s POV]

Wow. I wiped my tears away, as I held this musical miracle in my hands. He’d stopped crying, long enough to heave a big sigh, which, coming from his tiny frame came across as quite funny. In an instant, we were all laughing hysterically, instead of crying. “Well, fuck. I’m glad we got high and watched Alvin and the Chipmunks, eh, Riley?” Staring down at the little man in my cupped palms, Riley replied, “Uh, yeah, fuck yeah, dude…” I placed the little man back on the table, letting him stand on his own two feet.

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly unsure where to go from here. “Hey little guy…” Dani purred. “Up for another one?” She grabbed the hat off of his head, playfully, putting it on her finger instead. He lunged for it, as though a simple jump could get it back for him. Everyone smiled.

“Okay…. Why not? Maybe I just had beginner’s luck!” He was so fucking cute! Dani went on to show him the melody and bridge for one of their new songs off the most recent album. The one they were touring with. He picked it up in less than five minutes.

I sat back, watching them play this time. Loving the music and camaraderie that was flowing between us, but most especially fawning over the world’s tiniest guitarist. He played like a fucking expert, peering up at his fellow giant band mates over the shock of his messy hair. He made little faces, played little riffs in the music, he was jamming like any seasoned musician.

Keep reading

[jjkbambi]

boy next door luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! (((smut)))) your roommate luigi wants to help you get over your breakup.

warnings: long fic so we’re starting off with fluff, smutty and rough, blowjob, head pushing and hair-pulling and choking on it bc y/n is #real, p in this v fr, Tie, jealous-ish?, (is in the kitchen public?), he’s very talkative, daddy and his good girl <333

^^ unedited and im a procrastinator

you still haven’t gotten luigi the secret santa gift. with the end of december closing in, all the other $25-and-under gifts sit neatly wrapped beside the tabletop tree. by friendsmas standards, you’re embarrassingly late.

but it was hard!!! he spent most of his time tucked away in his room, the door always cracked just enough to remind you he wasn’t entirely gone. you’d catch glimpses of him hunched over his desk, surrounded by books and papers scrawled with notes you couldn’t begin to understand. he never started conversations, only speaking up to correct you or drop some fact that left you feeling both impressed and annoyed.

it was so desperate you tried the campus bookstore, staring helplessly at the rows of penn merch to no avail. he already seemed to own everything—hoodies, mugs, even a pennant on his door. a gift card felt impersonal, but anything else felt like a gamble.

“good morning,” you hum, stepping into his room. luigi’s snaps his head up, standing shirtless by his closet, scrambling to pull on a sweater. for someone who barely left the house, the sight of his six-pack catches you completely off guard.

“what do you want?” he asks, voice gruff.

you lean against his wall. “do you prefer american or chinese food?”

he huffs out a laugh before leaning onto his blackwood desk. “what, are you taking me out on a date?”

“no, no, no, your secret santa asked me to ask you.” you lie. “they also asked if you wear a size medium or large.”

“don’t worry, i can’t make it to movie night,” he says casually. your lips immediately drop into a frown. it was the annual tradition in the house—a night where all five roommates came together to watch a terrible holiday movie and exchange department store gifts. he couldn’t miss it. “i’ve got a mandatory frat event,” he adds with a shrug. “apparently, it’s not optional this time. i’m surprised your boyfriend didn’t tell you about it.”

you feel yourself dull at the mention of him. “we’re on a break.”

luigi raises an eyebrow. “a break, huh? didn’t see that one coming.” his tone is neutral, but there’s a flicker of something underneath. “what made it happen?”

you shrug, avoiding the conversation.

luigi’s expression softens, his gaze shifting to something a little more concerned. he takes a small step closer, his voice quieter now. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you weren’t, and it was overtly obvious. luigi stands over you, his tall frame leaning closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. “i thought i heard you say you were done with all that fraternity nonsense,” you say, remembering the times he complained to your roommates about the tumultuous nights and endless responsibilities waiting for him at the phi kappa psi house. it’s strange to picture your boyfriend in that world now.

“you’re nosy,” he says.

“you specifically told my boyfriend it was a huge waste of money.”

“ex-boyfriend.”

“we’re on a break!” you emphasize, eyes narrowing. “plus, it sounds like you’re just trying to get out of secret santa.”

luigi leans in slightly, his voice lowering, teasing. “and it sounds like you’re getting me a gift card.”

you can’t help but laugh, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something that felt just a little too comfortable. “alright fine,” you say, accepting defeat. “secret’s out. what is it you want?”

he pauses, studying you for a moment, the faintest smirk curling at his lips. “what do i want?” he murmurs, his voice low, as if weighing the question. hesteps a bit closer, just enough to make the space between you feel charged. “i don’t know, what are you willing to give me?”

you flush under his gaze, unsure of what to make of this moment. you have a boyfriend—yet you’re ninety percent sure luigi is flirting with you, and about a hundred percent sure you’re liking it.

the warmth in your chest is both unsettling and familiar, a confusing mix of guilt and something else you can’t quite place. you try to shake it off, but the way he looks at you lingers in your thoughts, pulling at you in ways you didn’t expect.

he seems entertained by your befuddlement, his eyes lingering on yours in a way that makes you second-guess yourself. he looks away, breaking the moment with a soft chuckle, then turns to leave.

“i’ll see you,” he says, but it’s not casual. it’s something else, something that makes you wonder if he’s looking forward to seeing you again as much as you are him.

you bring yourself back to reality, forcing your mind to settle. you can’t flirt with him. it would upset the house dynamic, intrude on your peaceful living space—you cannot let that happen. you shouldn’t. you were on a break from your boyfriend, a small pause in something that still felt important. and soon enough, you’d be back together, just like you always were.

as much as his presence lingers in your thoughts, you remind yourself of the needed boundaries, the reasons why things can’t get blurred.

still, as you continue baking cookies, dodging glitter explosions, and downing soju bottles, his absence nags at you, a quiet reminder that you’re trying not to want something that might never be.

“you’re still awake.” luigi’s voice cuts through the quiet kitchen, startling you so much that you nearly drop the piece of ribbon you’re holding. you whirl around, clutching your chest, only to find him much closer than you’d expected—close enough that you have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he says as you try to shake off the way your pulse seems to have kicked off into overdrive. “you’re not tired?”

“not yet.” you shake your head. “the party didn’t exhaust you?”

“it did.” he says, exhaling. “figured i’d check if i’m eating american or chinese tomorrow before i hit the hay.”

you pretend like you’re offended. “i’d never get you something so thoughtless.”

you grab a gray glittery gift bag and toss it his way. his teasing falters for a second, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “a tie?”

“yeah, you’re always dressed fancy, going fancy places…” you say, brushing the glitter off your hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious. was it the wrong choice? did fancypants mcgee only wear silk imported from asia? “you don’t like it?”

“no,” he says quickly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. “it’s sweet.”

you glance at him, unsure what to say, and his smirk softens into something else, something warmer. he steps closer, the space between you narrowing just enough to make your breath catch.

“guess i’ll have to step up my game,” he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “didn’t realize you were paying attention.”

you blink, caught off guard, scrambling to come up with something, but before you can, he leans back, breaking the tension with a chuckle. “looks like you could use some help.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i want to,” he replies, tossing the ribbon into the trash before grabbing the broom from the corner. “besides, i can’t have you using this tie to guilt-trip me later.”

“it’s weird having you be so nice to me,” you blurt out the words before you can realize the reprussions. his dark brown eyes glance up at you, eyebrows pinched together.

the regret is immediate. “i just mean we’ve never really talked before.”

luigi looks at you, his expression shifting slightly. “was that my choice or yours?”

you blink, caught off guard. you’d always assumed it was mutual. “well, that’s not really the point,” you say, trying to brush it off. “we’re friends now, right?”

his dark eyes shift away from yours for a moment, but only to return with even more intensity, holding you in place, freezing you in the moment. your heart stutters in your chest. “i was never interested in being your friend.”

“oh.” the word feels hollow as it leaves your mouth, and you instantly feel your face go pale. you scramble for something to say, anything to make the moment feel less heavy, but the silence hangs between you, thick and unrelenting.

“that’s not what i meant—“

“it’s fine of course, you don’t have to—”

“no.”

he shakes his head and runs up to you, closing the moment of confusion with an abrupt force—his mouth is on yours, tongue slipping past your lips and sliding into you.

whether it was the warmth of the kiss, his big hands groping your body, or the fact that this was just all so irredeemably wrong—you didn’t know—but the rush you got from being with him left you dizzy and dazed and desperate.

luigi laughs into your kiss. “you’re so fuckin’ eager.”

you should be reasonable. you shouldn’t be doing this, this is a mistake. “sorry, i—”

“no, don’t be sorry,” he says, smiling into another sloppy kiss. it felt so tender, so loving, when he takes you into your arms. reason flies out the window. “i want you, too.”

“luigi,” you whimper into his lips, not recognizing the desperation in your voice.

“i’ll give it to you baby, don’t worry,” he hums.

your fingers rush to unbutton your top, half-way done before luigi realizes what you’re doing and he grabs you. “keep your clothes on. i don’t need you naked to make you cum.”

he’s so strong and forward and unlike anything you’ve ever had before. in one swift motion, he turns you over, pressed against the kitchen counter as he slides his warm hand down your silk shorts and cradles your tit with the other.

“you put these on for me, didn’t you?” he tugs your lace panties, pressing them against your hot cunt. your back arches at the sensation and you feel his cock hard underneath his jeans.

“luigi.” you whimper, barely breathing.

“admit it,” he says, in between licking and kissing and biting the nape of your neck, sure to leave marks. “you wore these for me, didn’t you? wanted me to take your mind off that fuckin’ asshole, hm? wanted me to take care of you?”

you swell underneath him, shaking. he grinds his straining cock against your plump ass as he works your pussy, groaning into your neck.

“oh, baby, is that too much for you already?” luigi’s breath is hot against your neck, hands busy rubbing your clit and pinching your delicate nipple.

you felt like you couldn’t breathe. the expression on luigi’s face is smug. “you haven’t even had my cock yet, look at you.”

he brings his wet fingers up to your lips, then shoves them into your mouth without permission. you can’t help but shudder underneath his wicked touch. “yeah.” he laughs. “squirm like that, slut.”

“lu,” you pant. “i want it.”

“no, not yet,” he says, rubbing his hard big cock against your clothed ass. “see how hard i am for you? see how worked up you got me?”

“yes,” you whimper, fingers still in your mouth.

“get on your knees,” luigi grunts. “show me how much you need it.”

you needed it more than anything. dropping down to your knees, you notice a spot on his jeans wet with precum. he’s straining for you. you try to get as much of your mouth on him as you can as soon as his bottoms are off, desperate to show him how good you are.

“you’re so pretty like this,” luigi murmurs as you try to fill your mouth with his entirety. seeing that you’re struggling, he puts his hand on the back of your head and guides you down onto it. “such a good girl.”

he rocks hip forward deep into your warmth, using your face. “choke on it.” he orders. and you do. your eyes tear up at the feeling of his length touching the back of your throat. “god, you’re so fuckin’ filthy.”

before you can breathe, luigi pulls himself out of your mouth and barks out another order, “put your hands up against the wall.”

you do as you’re told. your core aches like it misses his touch. pulling your shorts down, he groans at the sight of your wetness, driving his big cock inside of you.

“slipped in so easy with your spit all over me,” he whispers in your ear. god, he’s driving you fucking crazy. the pleasure is almost overwhelming as he leans down, forces your chin back to bring your lips together, a sloppy, loving kiss.

“i knew you were gonna be like this,” he purrs into you, sucking and biting.

“like what?”

“like a fuckin’ slut.” luigi grumbles. he grabs something off the counter, and you don’t know what’s happening until you feel the silk material fasten around your wrists. the tie.

“luigi.” you gasp.

“i’ve been waiting to get my fuckin’ hands on you.”

you shiver at the confession. “really?”

he groans as he watches your ass ripple against his hips—at how easy and soft and weak you were at his mercy. he melts at the sight of you, using your binded wrists to buck deeper into you. you moan and whimper and scream on the force—he’s so harsh, so mean, so good—you’ve never even dreamt of a pleasure like this.

“listen to you.” he buries himself so deep inside you that you could feel his balls pressed against your ass. “you’re fuckin’ loud when you’re getting treated right, aren’t you?”

“please, daddy,” you whine, completely out of your mind.

luigi groans, pushing your head into the kitchen counter. “god, i didn’t think you were gonna call me that,” he rumbles, rocking his cock hard into your frothing core, rubbing against your clit and sending sparks of pleasure swirling through your body.

he pulls your hair back again, causing you to shriek. “didn’t call him that, did you?” he says it like a statement, leaving no room for correction. “god, i used to jerk myself off listening to you moan. wondering if you were riding him or bent over your fuckin’ mattress.“

“luigi.” you cry.

“always knew i could treat you better,” he growls. “always wanted to bend you over in front of everyone and make you beg for it.”

“i would’ve let you,” you mewl out, helpless.

“yeah?”

“you’re s’good.”

his thrusts come faster, more frantic. “better than him?”

“yes!”

you’re so close and so needy. your mind glows white as he fucks into you. squirming underneath him, the friction of your frantic movements growing hotter as the both of you chase your high. “good girl,” he praises, kissing all over your neck and back. “cream all over daddy’s cock, baby.”

“luigi,” you moan as your orgasm gushes beneath him, shivering as you feel his cock quiver, his load shooting deep into your cunt. he grunts with his final thrust, whimpering your name.

he kisses your shoulder as he pulls out of you. “so good,” he pants, just as helpless and shaken as you were. he unties the present you’d given him and pulls you in for another kiss.

“luigi,” you sigh against his lips.

“pretty girl,” he whispers back, running his hot wet kisses across your lips, your cheeks, your neck. “let me take you out tomorrow, yeah? a proper date. i’ll wear my tie ‘nd everything.”

you laugh—a mix of disbelief and something else—something lighter. before you can say anything, he’s leaning in again, kissing you softly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“it was a good gift, right?” you hum.

“yeah,” he agrees, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. “versatile.”

MASTERLIST send requests and leave feedback :3

[hometoursandotherstuff]

When you thought you found a big brick castle house for cheap, but it turns out to be so much more. This 1895 home in Bedford, Pennsylvania has 5bds, 1.5ba (it says that, but there're actually toilets galore & potential bedrooms) for just $274,900 and a sale is pending.

Living room has a corner fireplace, and an unfortunate suspended ceiling & neon lighting that should come down.

Lovely room with a corner fireplace and a big window seat.

Kitchen's so weird they only show a corner of it.

What in the world happened in the pantry?

There must've been offices in here.

Tiny room, but the floor is new.

Going up to look at the bedrooms and bath.

Not bad.

One of the bedrooms. Wonder what's under the indoor/outdoor carpet and new drop ceilings.

Looks like this basement room is being redone.

Large laundry room.

Well, look here, a rather large jail, too? This home just keeps on giving.

This is nice.

Are those clothes on the shelf?

I said there were toilets galore.

Looks like someone dismantled some of the cells.

Some cells have cool original artwork.

I'm going to say that this is a crematory oven. In the door.

And, out the chute?

There's mad parking back here. If someone has the money to fix it up, it could be incredible.

[upennmanuscripts]

Palimpsest Discovered in Recently Acquired Roll

Roll before and after multispectral imaging. The poem is visible under the stain in the middle of the photo.

Exciting new discoveries are always possible in the world of manuscript studies, but even we were unprepared for what emerged from Penn’s latest acquisition. Recently, the Library purchased a fragment of a Genealogy of Christ roll—an important addition to our collection. “But upon close examination,” explains SIMS Curator of Digital Humanities Dot Porter, “it became clear that the parchment had been reused; an earlier text was erased, and new text was written over. It’s a palimpsest.”

Enter Multispectral Imaging, conducted by Dr. Helen Davies, assistant professor of the digital humanities in the English department and co-director of the Center for the Digital Humanities at the University of Colorado Colorado Springs.

Helen Davies imaging the roll

Dr. Davies described the process: “I imaged the roll using multispectral imaging, and as the data was processed, words began to emerge.” 

And not just any words. 

Amey Hutchens, University of Pennsylvania Libraries Manuscripts Cataloger, has confirmed that the undertext is an entirely unknown poem, strikingly similar in style and theme to the works of the enigmatic classical lyricist Ricardus Astleaus.

“Could this be a lost work of the poet himself?” Schoenberg Curator of Manuscripts Nicholas Herman voices the question we’re all asking. “The implications are staggering.”

We welcome input from the scholarly community, who can read a transcription of the poem “Tete Numquam Relinquam” here.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

With Great Power Came No Responsibility

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in NYC TONIGHT (26 Feb) with JOHN HODGMAN and at PENN STATE TOMORROW (Feb 27). More tour dates here. Mail-order signed copies from LA's Diesel Books.

Last night, I traveled to Toronto to deliver the annual Ursula Franklin Lecture at the University of Toronto's Innis College:

The lecture was called "With Great Power Came No Responsibility: How Enshittification Conquered the 21st Century and How We Can Overthrow It." It's the latest major speech in my series of talks on the subject, which started with last year's McLuhan Lecture in Berlin:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

And continued with a summer Defcon keynote:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/17/hack-the-planet/#how-about-a-nice-game-of-chess

This speech specifically addresses the unique opportunities for disenshittification created by Trump's rapid unscheduled midair disassembly of the international free trade system. The US used trade deals to force nearly every country in the world to adopt the IP laws that make enshittification possible, and maybe even inevitable. As Trump burns these trade deals to the ground, the rest of the world has an unprecedented opportunity to retaliate against American bullying by getting rid of these laws and producing the tools, devices and services that can protect every tech user (including Americans) from being ripped off by US Big Tech companies.

I'm so grateful for the chance to give this talk. I was hosted for the day by the Centre for Culture and Technology, which was founded by Marshall McLuhan, and is housed in the coach house he used for his office. The talk itself took place in Innis College, named for Harold Innis, who is definitely the thinking person's Marshall McLuhan. What's more, I was mentored by Innis's daughter, Anne Innis Dagg, a radical, brilliant feminist biologist who pretty much invented the field of giraffology:

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

But with all respect due to Anne and her dad, Ursula Franklin is the thinking person's Harold Innis. A brilliant scientist, activist and communicator who dedicated her life to the idea that the most important fact about a technology wasn't what it did, but who it did it for and who it did it to. Getting to work out of McLuhan's office to present a talk in Innis's theater that was named after Franklin? Swoon!

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ursula_Franklin

Here's the text of the talk, lightly edited:

I know tonight’s talk is supposed to be about decaying tech platforms, but I want to start by talking about nurses.

A January 2025 report from Groundwork Collective documents how increasingly nurses in the USA are hired through gig apps – "Uber for nurses” – so nurses never know from one day to the next whether they're going to work, or how much they'll get paid.

There's something high-tech going on here with those nurses' wages. These nursing apps – a cartel of three companies, Shiftkey, Shiftmed and Carerev – can play all kinds of games with labor pricing.

Before Shiftkey offers a nurse a shift, it purchases that worker's credit history from a data-broker. Specifically, it pays to find out how much credit-card debt the nurse is carrying, and whether it is overdue.

The more desperate the nurse's financial straits are, the lower the wage on offer. Because the more desperate you are, the less you'll accept to come and do the gruntwork of caring for the sick, the elderly, and the dying.

Now, there are lots of things going on here, and they're all terrible. What's more, they are emblematic of “enshittification,” the word I coined to describe the decay of online platforms.

When I first started writing about this, I focused on the external symptology of enshittification, a three stage process:

First, the platform is good to its end users, while finding a way to lock them in.

Like Google, which minimized ads and maximized spending on engineering for search results, even as they bought their way to dominance, bribing every service or product with a search box to make it a Google search box.

So no matter what browser you used, what mobile OS you used, what carrier you had, you would always be searching on Google by default. This got so batshit that by the early 2020s, Google was spending enough money to buy a whole-ass Twitter, every year or two, just to make sure that no one ever tried a search engine that wasn't Google.

That's stage one: be good to end users, lock in end users.

Stage two is when the platform starts to abuse end users to tempt in and enrich business customers. For Google, that’s advertisers and web publishers. An ever-larger fraction of a Google results page is given over to ads, which are marked with ever-subtler, ever smaller, ever grayer labels. Google uses its commercial surveillance data to target ads to us.

So that's stage two: things get worse for end users and get better for business customers.

But those business customers also get locked into the platform, dependent on those customers. Once businesses are getting as little as 10% of their revenue from Google, leaving Google becomes an existential risk. We talk a lot about Google's "monopoly" power, which is derived from its dominance as a seller. But Google is also a monopsony, a powerful buyer.

So now you have Google acting as a monopolist to its users (stage one), and a monoposonist for its business customers (stage two) and here comes stage three: where Google claws back all the value in the platform, save a homeopathic residue calculated to keep end users locked in, and business customers locked to those end users.

Google becomes enshittified.

In 2019, Google had a turning point. Search had grown as much as it possibly could. More than 90% of us used Google for search, and we searched for everything. Any thought or idle question that crossed our minds, we typed into Google.

How could Google grow? There were no more users left to switch to Google. We weren't going to search for more things. What could Google do?

Well, thanks to internal memos published during last year's monopoly trial against Google, we know what they did. They made search worse. They reduced the system's accuracy it so you had to search twice or more to get to the answer, thus doubling the number of queries, and doubling the number of ads.

Meanwhile, Google entered into a secret, illegal collusive arrangement with Facebook, codenamed Jedi Blue, to rig the ad market, fixing prices so advertisers paid more and publishers got less.

And that's how we get to the enshittified Google of today, where every query serves back a blob of AI slop, over five paid results tagged with the word AD in 8-point, 10% grey on white type, which is, in turn, over ten spammy links from SEO shovelware sites filled with more AI slop.

And yet, we still keep using Google, because we're locked into it. That's enshittification, from the outside. A company that's good to end users, while locking them in. Then it makes things worse for end users, to make things better for business customers, while locking them in. Then it takes all the value for itself and turns into a giant pile of shit.

Enshittification, a tragedy in three acts.

I started off focused on the outward signs of enshittification, but I think it's time we start thinking about what's going in inside the companies to make enshittification possible.

What is the technical mechanism for enshittification? I call it twiddling. Digital businesses have infinite flexibility, bequeathed to them by the marvellously flexible digital computers they run on. That means that firms can twiddle the knobs that control the fundamental aspects of their business. Every time you interact with a firm, everything is different: prices, costs, search rankings, recommendations.

Which takes me back to our nurses. This scam, where you look up the nurse's debt load and titer down the wage you offer based on it in realtime? That's twiddling. It's something you can only do with a computer. The bosses who are doing this aren't more evil than bosses of yore, they just have better tools.

Note that these aren't even tech bosses. These are health-care bosses, who happen to have tech.

Digitalization – weaving networked computers through a firm or a sector – enables this kind of twiddling that allows firms to shift value around, from end users to business customers, from business customers back to end users, and eventually, inevitably, to themselves.

And digitalization is coming to every sector – like nursing. Which means enshittification is coming to every sector – like nursing.

The legal scholar Veena Dubal coined a term to describe the twiddling that suppresses the wages of debt-burdened nurses. It's called "Algorithmic Wage Discrimination," and it follows the gig economy.

The gig economy is a major locus of enshittification, and it’s the largest tear in the membrane separating the virtual world from the real world. Gig work, where your shitty boss is a shitty app, and you aren't even allowed to call yourself an employee.

Uber invented this trick. Drivers who are picky about the jobs the app puts in front of them start to get higher wage offers. But if they yield to temptation and take some of those higher-waged option, then the wage starts to go down again, in random intervals, by small increments, designed to be below the threshold for human perception. Not so much boiling the frog as poaching it, until the Uber driver has gone into debt to buy a new car, and given up the side hustles that let them be picky about the rides they accepted. Then their wage goes down, and down, and down.

Twiddling is a crude trick done quickly. Any task that's simple but time consuming is a prime candidate for automation, and this kind of wage-theft would be unbearably tedious, labor-intensive and expensive to perform manually. No 19th century warehouse full of guys with green eyeshades slaving over ledgers could do this. You need digitalization.

Twiddling nurses' hourly wages is a perfect example of the role digitization pays in enshittification. Because this kind of thing isn't just bad for nurses – it's bad for patients, too. Do we really think that paying nurses based on how desperate they are, at a rate calculated to increase that desperation, and thus decrease the wage they are likely to work for, is going to result in nurses delivering the best care?

Do you want to your catheter inserted by a nurse on food stamps, who drove an Uber until midnight the night before, and skipped breakfast this morning in order to make rent?

This is why it’s so foolish to say "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." “If you’re not paying for the product” ascribes a mystical power to advertising-driven services: the power to bypass our critical faculties by surveilling us, and data-mining the resulting dossiers to locate our mental bind-spots, and weaponize them to get us to buy anything an advertiser is selling.

In this formulation, we are complicit in our own exploitation. By choosing to use "free" services, we invite our own exploitation by surveillance capitalists who have perfected a mind-control ray powered by the surveillance data we're voluntarily handing over by choosing ad-driven services.

The moral is that if we only went back to paying for things, instead of unrealistically demanding that everything be free, we would restore capitalism to its functional, non-surveillant state, and companies would start treating us better, because we'd be the customers, not the products.

That's why the surveillance capitalism hypothesis elevates companies like Apple as virtuous alternatives. Because Apple charges us money, rather than attention, it can focus on giving us better service, rather than exploiting us.

There's a superficially plausible logic to this. After all, in 2022, Apple updated its iOS operating system, which runs on iPhones and other mobile devices, introducing a tick box that allowed you to opt out of third-party surveillance, most notably Facebook’s.

96% of Apple customers ticked that box. The other 4% were, presumably drunk, or Facebook employees, or Facebook employees who were drunk. Which makes sense, because if I worked for Facebook, I'd be drunk all the time.

So on the face of it, it seems like Apple isn't treating its customers like "the product." But simultaneously with this privacy measure, Apple was secretly turning on its own surveillance system for iPhone owners, which would spy on them in exactly the way Facebook had, for exactly the same purpose: to target ads to you based on the places you'd been, the things you'd searched for, the communications you'd had, the links you'd clicked.

Apple didn't ask its customers for permission to spy on them. It didn't let opt out of this spying. It didn’t even tell them about it, and when it was caught, Apple lied about it.

It goes without saying that the $1000 Apple distraction rectangle in your pocket is something you paid for. The fact that you've paid for it doesn't stop Apple from treating you as the product. Apple treats its business customers – app vendors – like the product, screwing them out of 30 cents on every dollar they bring in, with mandatory payment processing fees that are 1,000% higher than the already extortionate industry norm.

Apple treats its end users – people who shell out a grand for a phone – like the product, spying on them to help target ads to them.

Apple treats everyone like the product.

This is what's going on with our gig-app nurses: the nurses are the product. The patients are the product. The hospitals are the product. In enshittification, "the product" is anyone who can be productized.

Fair and dignified treatment is not something you get as a customer loyalty perk, in exchange for parting with your money, rather than your attention. How do you get fair and dignified treatment? Well, I'm gonna get to that, but let's stay with our nurses for a while first.

The nurses are the product, and they're being twiddled, because they've been conscripted into the tech industry, via the digitalization of their own industry.

It's tempting to blame digitalization for this. But tech companies were not born enshittified. They spent years – decades – making pleasing products. If you're old enough to remember the launch of Google, you'll recall that, at the outset, Google was magic.

You could Ask Jeeves questions for a million years, you could load up Altavista with ten trillion boolean search operators meant to screen out low-grade results, and never come up with answers as crisp, as useful, as helpful, as the ones you'd get from a few vaguely descriptive words in a Google search-bar.

There's a reason we all switched to Google. Why so many of us bought iPhones. Why we joined our friends on Facebook. All of these services were born digital. They could have enshittified at any time. But they didn't – until they did. And they did it all at once.

If you were a nurse, and every patient that staggered into the ER had the same dreadful symptoms, you'd call the public health department and report a suspected outbreak of a new and dangerous epidemic.

Ursula Franklin held that technology's outcomes were not preordained. They are the result of deliberate choices. I like that very much, it's a very science fictional way of thinking about technology. Good science fiction isn't merely about what the technology does, but who it does it for, and who it does it to.

Those social factors are far more important than the mere technical specifications of a gadget. They're the difference between a system that warns you when you're about to drift out of your lane, and a system that tells your insurer that you nearly drifted out of your lane, so they can add $10 to your monthly premium.

They’re the difference between a spell checker that lets you know you've made a typo, and bossware that lets your manager use the number of typos you made this quarter so he can deny your bonus.

They’re the difference between an app that remembers where you parked your car, and an app that uses the location of your car as a criteria for including you in a reverse warrant for the identities of everyone in the vicinity of an anti-government protest.

I believe that enshittification is caused by changes not to technology, but to the policy environment. These are changes to the rules of the game, undertaken in living memory, by named parties, who were warned at the time about the likely outcomes of their actions, who are today very rich and respected, and face no consequences or accountability for their role in ushering in the enshittocene. They venture out into polite society without ever once wondering if someone is sizing them up for a pitchfork.

In other words: I think we created a crimogenic environment, a perfect breeding pool for the most pathogenic practices in our society, that have therefore multiplied, dominating decision-making in our firms and states, leading to a vast enshittening of everything.

And I think there's good news there, because if enshittification isn't the result a new kind of evil person, or the great forces of history bearing down on the moment to turn everything to shit, but rather the result of specific policy choices, then we can reverse those policies, make better ones and emerge from the enshittocene, consigning the enshitternet to the scrapheap of history, a mere transitional state between the old, good internet, and a new, good internet.

I'm not going to talk about AI today, because oh my god is AI a boring, overhyped subject. But I will use a metaphor about AI, about the limited liability company, which is a kind of immortal, artificial colony organism in which human beings serve as a kind of gut flora. My colleague Charlie Stross calls corporations "slow AI.”

So you've got these slow AIs whose guts are teeming with people, and the AI's imperative, the paperclip it wants to maximize, is profit. To maximize profits, you charge as much as you can, you pay your workers and suppliers as little as you can, you spend as little as possible on safety and quality.

Every dollar you don't spend on suppliers, workers, quality or safety is a dollar that can go to executives and shareholders. So there's a simple model of the corporation that could maximize its profits by charging infinity dollars, while paying nothing to its workers or suppliers, and ignoring quality and safety.

But that corporation wouldn't make any money, for the obvious reasons that none of us would buy what it was selling, and no one would work for it or supply it with goods. These constraints act as disciplining forces that tamp down the AI's impulse to charge infinity and pay nothing.

In tech, we have four of these constraints, anti-enshittificatory sources of discipline that make products and services better, pay workers more, and keep executives’ and shareholders' wealth from growing at the expense of customers, suppliers and labor.

The first of these constraints is markets. All other things being equal, a business that charges more and delivers less will lose customers to firms that are more generous about sharing value with workers, customers and suppliers.

This is the bedrock of capitalist theory, and it's the ideological basis for competition law, what our American cousins call "antitrust law."

The first antitrust law was 1890's Sherman Act, whose sponsor, Senator John Sherman, stumped for it from the senate floor, saying:

If we will not endure a King as a political power we should not endure a King over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life. If we would not submit to an emperor we should not submit to an autocrat of trade with power to prevent competition and to fix the price of any commodity. 

Senator Sherman was reflecting the outrage of the anitmonopolist movement of the day, when proprietors of monopolistic firms assumed the role of dictators, with the power to decide who would work, who would starve, what could be sold, and what it cost.

Lacking competitors, they were too big to fail, too big to jail, and too big to care. As Lily Tomlin used to put it in her spoof AT&T ads on SNL: "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company.”

So what happened to the disciplining force of competition? We killed it. Starting 40-some years ago, the Reagaonomic views of the Chicago School economists transformed antitrust. They threw out John Sherman's idea that we need to keep companies competitive to prevent the emergence of "autocrats of trade,"and installed the idea that monopolies are efficient.

In other words, if Google has a 90% search market share, which it does, then we must infer that Google is the best search engine ever, and the best search engine possible. The only reason a better search engine hasn't stepped in is that Google is so skilled, so efficient, that there is no conceivable way to improve upon it.

We can tell that Google is the best because it has a monopoly, and we can tell that the monopoly is good because Google is the best.

So 40 years ago, the US – and its major trading partners – adopted an explicitly pro-monopoly competition policy.

Now, you'll be glad to hear that this isn't what happened to Canada. The US Trade Rep didn't come here and force us to neuter our competition laws. But don't get smug! The reason that didn't happen is that it didn't have to. Because Canada had no competition law to speak of, and never has.

In its entire history, the Competition Bureau has challenged three mergers, and it has halted precisely zero mergers, which is how we've ended up with a country that is beholden to the most mediocre plutocrats imaginable like the Irvings, the Westons, the Stronachs, the McCains and the Rogerses.

The only reason these chinless wonders were able to conquer this country Is that the Americans had been crushing their monopolists before they could conquer the US and move on to us. But 40 years ago, the rest of the world adopted the Chicago School's pro-monopoly "consumer welfare standard,” and we got…monopolies.

Monopolies in pharma, beer, glass bottles, vitamin C, athletic shoes, microchips, cars, mattresses, eyeglasses, and, of course, professional wrestling.

Remember: these are specific policies adopted in living memory, by named individuals, who were warned, and got rich, and never faced consequences. The economists who conceived of these policies are still around today, polishing their fake Nobel prizes, teaching at elite schools, making millions consulting for blue-chip firms.

When we confront them with the wreckage their policies created, they protest their innocence, maintaining – with a straight face – that there's no way to affirmatively connect pro-monopoly policies with the rise of monopolies.

It's like we used to put down rat poison and we didn't have a rat problem. Then these guys made us stop, and now rats are chewing our faces off, and they're making wide innocent eyes, saying, "How can you be sure that our anti-rat-poison policies are connected to global rat conquest? Maybe this is simply the Time of the Rat! Maybe sunspots caused rats to become more fecund than at any time in history! And if they bought the rat poison factories and shut them all down, well, so what of it? Shutting down rat poison factories after you've decided to stop putting down rat poison is an economically rational, Pareto-optimal decision."

Markets don't discipline tech companies because they don't compete with rivals, they buy them. That's a quote, from Mark Zuckerberg: “It is better to buy than to compete.”

Which is why Mark Zuckerberg bought Instagram for a billion dollars, even though it only had 12 employees and 25m users. As he wrote in a spectacularly ill-advised middle-of-the-night email to his CFO, he had to buy Instagram, because Facebook users were leaving Facebook for Instagram. By buying Instagram, Zuck ensured that anyone who left Facebook – the platform – would still be a prisoner of Facebook – the company.

Despite the fact that Zuckerberg put this confession in writing, the Obama administration let him go ahead with the merger, because every government, of every political stripe, for 40 years, adopted the posture that monopolies were efficient.

Now, think about our twiddled, immiserated nurses. Hospitals are among the most consolidated sectors in the US. First, we deregulated pharma mergers, and the pharma companies gobbled each other up at the rate of naughts, and they jacked up the price of drugs. So hospitals also merged to monopoly, a defensive maneuver that let a single hospital chain corner the majority of a region or city and say to the pharma companies, "either you make your products cheaper, or you can't sell them to any of our hospitals."

Of course, once this mission was accomplished, the hospitals started screwing the insurers, who staged their own incestuous orgy, buying and merging until most Americans have just three or two insurance options. This let the insurers fight back against the hospitals, but left patients and health care workers defenseless against the consolidated power of hospitals, pharma companies, pharmacy benefit managers, group purchasing organizations, and other health industry cartels, duopolies and monopolies.

Which is why nurses end up signing on to work for hospitals that use these ghastly apps. Remember, there's just three of these apps, replacing dozens of staffing agencies that once competed for nurses' labor.

Meanwhile, on the patient side, competition has never exercised discipline. No one ever shopped around for a cheaper ambulance or a better ER while they were having a heart attack. The price that people are willing to pay to not die is “everything they have.”

So you have this sector that has no business being a commercial enterprise in the first place, losing what little discipline they faced from competition, paving the way for enshittification.

But I said there are four forces that discipline companies. The second one of these forces is regulation, discipline imposed by states.

It’s a mistake to see market discipline and state discipline as two isolated realms. They are intimately connected. Because competition is a necessary condition for effective regulation.

Let me put this in terms that even the most ideological libertarians can understand. Say you think there should be precisely one regulation that governments should enforce: honoring contracts. For the government to serve as referee in that game, it must have the power to compel the players to honor their contracts. Which means that the smallest government you can have is determined by the largest corporation you're willing to permit.

So even if you're the kind of Musk-addled libertarian who can no longer open your copy of Atlas Shrugged because the pages are all stuck together, who pines for markets for human kidneys, and demands the right to sell yourself into slavery, you should still want a robust antitrust regime, so that these contracts can be enforced.

When a sector cartelizes, when it collapses into oligarchy, when the internet turns into "five giant websites, each filled with screenshots of the other four," then it captures its regulators.

After all, a sector with 100 competing companies is a rabble, at each others' throats. They can't agree on anything, especially how they're going to lobby.

While a sector of five companies – or four – or three – or two – or one – is a cartel, a racket, a conspiracy in waiting. A sector that has been boiled down to a mere handful of firms can agree on a common lobbying position.

What's more, they are so insulated from "wasteful competition" that they are aslosh in cash that they can mobilize to make their regulatory preferences into regulations. In other words, they can capture their regulators.

“Regulatory capture" may sound abstract and complicated, so let me put it in concrete terms. In the UK, the antitrust regulator is called the Competition and Markets Authority, run – until recently – by Marcus Bokkerink. The CMA has been one of the world's most effective investigators and regulators of Big Tech fuckery.

Last month, UK PM Keir Starmer fired Bokkerink and replaced him with Doug Gurr, the former head of Amazon UK. Hey, Starmer, the henhouse is on the line, they want their fox back.

But back to our nurses: there are plenty of examples of regulatory capture lurking in that example, but I'm going to pick the most egregious one, the fact that there are data brokers who will sell you information about the credit card debts of random Americans.

This is because the US Congress hasn't passed a new consumer privacy law since 1988, when Ronald Reagan signed a law called the Video Privacy Protection Act that bans video store clerks from telling newspapers which VHS cassettes you took home. The fact that Congress hasn't updated Americans' privacy protections since Die Hard was in theaters isn't a coincidence or an oversight. It is the expensively purchased inaction of a heavily concentrated – and thus wildly profitable – privacy-invasion industry that has monetized the abuse of human rights at unimaginable scale.

The coalition in favor of keeping privacy law frozen since the season finale of St Elsewhere keeps growing, because there is an unbounded set of way to transform the systematic invasion of our human rights into cash. There's a direct line from this phenomenon to nurses whose paychecks go down when they can't pay their credit-card bills.

So competition is dead, regulation is dead, and companies aren't disciplined by markets or by states.

But there are four forces that discipline firms, contributing to an inhospitable environment for the reproduction of sociopathic. enshittifying monsters.

So let's talk about those other two forces. The first is interoperability, the principle of two or more things working together. Like, you can put anyone's shoelaces in your shoes, anyone's gas in your gas tank, and anyone's lightbulbs in your light-socket. In the non-digital world, interop takes a lot of work, you have to agree on the direction, pitch, diameter, voltage, amperage and wattage for that light socket, or someone's gonna get their hand blown off.

But in the digital world, interop is built in, because there's only one kind of computer we know how to make, the Turing-complete, universal, von Neumann machine, a computing machine capable of executing every valid program.

Which means that for any enshittifying program, there's a counterenshittificatory program waiting to be run. When HP writes a program to ensure that its printers reject third-party ink, someone else can write a program to disable that checking.

For gig workers, antienshittificatory apps can do yeoman duty. For example, Indonesian gig drivers formed co-ops, that commission hackers to write modifications for their dispatch apps. For example, the taxi app won't book a driver to pick someone up at a train station, unless they're right outside, but when the big trains pull in that's a nightmare scene of total, lethal chaos.

So drivers have an app that lets them spoof their GPS, which lets them park up around the corner, but have the app tell their bosses that they're right out front of the station. When a fare arrives, they can zip around and pick them up, without contributing to the stationside mishegas.

In the USA, a company called Para shipped an app to help Doordash drivers get paid more. You see, Doordash drivers make most of their money on tips, and the Doordash driver app hides the tip amount until you accept a job, meaning you don't know whether you're accepting a job that pays $1.50 or $11.50 with tip, until you agree to take it. So Para made an app that extracted the tip amount and showed it to drivers before they clocked on.

But Doordash shut it down, because in America, apps like Para are illegal. In 1998, Bill Clinton signed a law called the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, and section 1201 of the DMCA makes is a felony to "bypass an access control for a copyrighted work," with penalties of $500k and a 5-year prison sentence for a first offense. So just the act of reverse-engineering an app like the Doordash app is a potential felony, which is why companies are so desperately horny to get you to use their apps rather than their websites.

The web is open, apps are closed. The majority of web users have installed an ad blocker (which is also a privacy blocker). But no one installs an ad blocker for an app, because it's a felony to distribute that tool, because you have to reverse-engineer the app to make it. An app is just a website wrapped in enough IP so that the company that made it can send you to prison if you dare to modify it so that it serves your interests rather than theirs.

Around the world, we have enacted a thicket of laws, we call “IP laws,” that make it illegal to modify services, products, and devices, so that they serve your interests, rather than the interests of the shareholders.

Like I said, these laws were enacted in living memory, by people who are among us, who were warned about the obvious, eminently foreseeable consequences of their reckless plans, who did it anyway.

Back in 2010, two ministers from Stephen Harper's government decided to copy-paste America's Digital Millennium Copyright Act into Canadian law. They consulted on the proposal to make it illegal to reverse engineer and modify services, products and devices, and they got an earful! 6,138 Canadians sent in negative comments on the consultation. They warned that making it illegal to bypass digital locks would interfere with repair of devices as diverse as tractors, cars, and medical equipment, from ventilators to insulin pumps.

These Canadians warned that laws banning tampering with digital locks would let American tech giants corner digital markets, forcing us to buy our apps and games from American app stores, that could cream off any commission they chose to levy. They warned that these laws were a gift to monopolists who wanted to jack up the price of ink; that these copyright laws, far from serving Canadian artists would lock us to American platforms. Because every time someone in our audience bought a book, a song, a game, a video, that was locked to an American app, it could never be unlocked.

So if we, the creative workers of Canada, tried to migrate to a Canadian store, our audience couldn't come with us. They couldn't move their purchases from the US app to a Canadian one.

6,138 Canadians told them this, while just 54 respondents sided with Heritage Minister James Moore and Industry Minister Tony Clement. Then, James Moore gave a speech, at the International Chamber of Commerce meeting here in Toronto, where he said he would only be listening to the 54 cranks who supported his terrible ideas, on the grounds that the 6,138 people who disagreed with him were "babyish…radical extremists."

So in 2012, we copied America's terrible digital locks law into the Canadian statute book, and now we live in James Moore and Tony Clement's world, where it is illegal to tamper with a digital lock. So if a company puts a digital lock on its product they can do anything behind that lock, and it's a crime to undo it.

For example, if HP puts a digital lock on its printers that verifies that you're not using third party ink cartridges, or refilling an HP cartridge, it's a crime to bypass that lock and use third party ink. Which is how HP has gotten away with ratcheting the price of ink up, and up, and up.

Printer ink is now the most expensive fluid that a civilian can purchase without a special permit. It's colored water that costs $10k/gallon, which means that you print out your grocery lists with liquid that costs more than the semen of a Kentucky Derby-winning stallion.

That's the world we got from Clement and Moore, in living memory, after they were warned, and did it anyway. The world where farmers can't fix their tractors, where independent mechanics can't fix your car, where hospitals during the pandemic lockdowns couldn't service their failing ventilators, where every time a Canadian iPhone user buys an app from a Canadian software author, every dollar they spend takes a round trip through Apple HQ in Cupertino, California and comes back 30 cents lighter.

Let me remind you this is the world where a nurse can't get a counter-app, a plug-in, for the “Uber for nurses” app they have to use to get work, that lets them coordinate with other nurses to refuse shifts until the wages on offer rise to a common level or to block surveillance of their movements and activity.

Interoperability was a major disciplining force on tech firms. After all, if you make the ads on your website sufficiently obnoxious, some fraction of your users will install an ad-blocker, and you will never earn another penny from them. Because no one in the history of ad-blockers has ever uninstalled an ad-blocker. But once it's illegal to make an ad-blocker, there's no reason not to make the ads as disgusting, invasive, obnoxious as you can, to shift all the value from the end user to shareholders and executives.

So we get monopolies and monopolies capture their regulators, and they can ignore the laws they don't like, and prevent laws that might interfere with their predatory conduct – like privacy laws – from being passed. They get new laws passed, laws that let them wield governmental power to prevent other companies from entering the market.

So three of the four forces are neutralized: competition, regulation, and interoperability. That left just one disciplining force holding enshittification at bay: labor.

Tech workers are a strange sort of workforce, because they have historically been very powerful, able to command high wages and respect, but they did it without joining unions. Union density in tech is abysmal, almost undetectable. Tech workers' power didn't come from solidarity, it came from scarcity. There weren't enough workers to fill the jobs going begging, and tech workers are unfathomnably productive. Even with the sky-high salaries tech workers commanded, every hour of labor they put in generated far more value for their employers.

Faced with a tight labor market, and the ability to turn every hour of tech worker overtime into gold, tech bosses pulled out all the stops to motivate that workforce. They appealed to workers' sense of mission, convinced them they were holy warriors, ushering in a new digital age. Google promised them they would "organize the world's information and make it useful.” Facebook promised them they would “make the world more open and connected."

There's a name for this tactic: the librarian Fobazi Ettarh calls it "vocational awe." That’s where an appeal to a sense of mission and pride is used to motivate workers to work for longer hours and worse pay.

There are all kinds of professions that run on vocational awe: teaching, daycares and eldercare, and, of course, nursing.

Techies are different from those other workers though, because they've historically been incredibly scarce, which meant that while bosses could motivate them to work on projects they believed in, for endless hours, the minute bosses ordered them to enshittify the projects they'd missed their mothers' funerals to ship on deadline these workers would tell their bosses to fuck off.

If their bosses persisted in these demands, the techies would walk off the job, cross the street, and get a better job the same day.

So for many years, tech workers were the fourth and final constraint, holding the line after the constraints of competition, regulation and interop slipped away. But then came the mass tech layoffs. 260,000 in 2023; 150,000 in 2024; tens of thousands this year, with Facebook planning a 5% headcount massacre while doubling its executive bonuses.

Tech workers can't tell their bosses to go fuck themselves anymore, because there's ten other workers waiting to take their jobs.

Now, I promised I wouldn't talk about AI, but I have to break that promise a little, just to point out that the reason tech bosses are so horny for AI Is because they think it'll let them fire tech workers and replace them with pliant chatbots who'll never tell them to fuck off.

So that's where enshittification comes from: multiple changes to the environment. The fourfold collapse of competition, regulation, interoperability and worker power creates an enshittogenic environment, where the greediest, most sociopathic elements in the body corporate thrive at the expense of those elements that act as moderators of their enshittificatory impulses.

We can try to cure these corporations. We can use antitrust law to break them up, fine them, force strictures upon them. But until we fix the environment, other the contagion will spread to other firms.

So let's talk about how we create a hostile environment for enshittifiers, so the population and importance of enshittifying agents in companies dwindles to 1990s levels. We won't get rid of these elements. So long as the profit motive is intact, there will be people whose pursuit of profit is pathological, unmoderated by shame or decency. But we can change the environment so that these don't dominate our lives.

Let's talk about antitrust. After 40 years of antitrust decline, this decade has seen a massive, global resurgence of antitrust vigor, one that comes in both left- and right-wing flavors.

Over the past four years, the Biden administration’s trustbusters at the Federal Trade Commission, Department of Justice and Consumer Finance Protection Bureau did more antitrust enforcement than all their predecessors for the past 40 years combined.

There's certainly factions of the Trump administration that are hostile to this agenda but Trump's antitrust enforcers at the DoJ and FTC now say that they'll preserve and enforce Biden's new merger guidelines, which stop companies from buying each other up, and they've already filed suit to block a giant tech merger.

Of course, last summer a judge found Google guilty of monopolization, and now they're facing a breakup, which explains why they've been so generous and friendly to the Trump administration.

Meanwhile, in Canada, our toothless Competition Bureau's got fitted for a set of titanium dentures last June, when Bill C59 passed Parliament, granting sweeping new powers to our antitrust regulator.

It's true that UK PM Keir Starmer just fired the head of the UK Competition and Markets Authority and replaced him with the ex-boss of Amazon UK boss.But the thing that makes that so tragic is that the UK CMA had been doing astonishingly great work under various conservative governments.

In the EU, they've passed the Digital Markets Act and the Digital Services Act, and they're going after Big Tech with both barrels. Other countries around the world – Australia, Germany, France, Japan, South Korea and China (yes, China!) – have passed new antitrust laws, and launched major antitrust enforcement actions, often collaborating with each other.

So you have the UK Competition and Markets Authority using its investigatory powers to research and publish a deep market study on Apple's abusive 30% app tax, and then the EU uses that report as a roadmap for fining Apple, and then banning Apple's payments monopoly under new regulations.Then South Korea and Japan trustbusters translate the EU's case and win nearly identical cases in their courts

What about regulatory capture? Well, we're starting to see regulators get smarter about reining in Big Tech. For example, the EU's Digital Markets Act and Digital Services Act were designed to bypass the national courts of EU member states, especially Ireland, the tax-haven where US tech companies pretend to have their EU headquarters.

The thing about tax havens is that they always turn into crime havens, because if Apple can pretend to be Irish this week, it can pretend to be Maltese or Cypriot or Luxembourgeois next week. So Ireland has to let US Big Tech companies ignore EU privacy laws and other regulations, or it'll lose them to sleazier, more biddable competitor nations.

So from now on, EU tech regulation is getting enforced in the EU's federal courts, not in national courts, treating the captured Irish courts as damage and routing around them.

Canada needs to strengthen its own tech regulation enforcement, unwinding monopolistic mergers from the likes of Bell and Rogers, but most of all, Canada needs to pursue an interoperability agenda.

Last year, Canada passed two very exciting bills: Bill C244, a national Right to Repair law; and Bill C294, an interoperability law. Nominally, both of these laws allow Canadians to fix everything from tractors to insulin pumps, and to modify the software in their devices from games consoles to printers, so they will work with third party app stores, consumables and add-ons.

However, these bills are essentially useless, because these bills don’t permit Canadians to acquire tools to break digital locks. So you can modify your printer to accept third party ink, or interpret a car's diagnostic codes so any mechanic can fix it, but only if there isn't a digital lock stopping you from doing so, because giving someone a tool to break a digital lock remains illegal thanks to the law that James Moore and Tony Clement shoved down the nation's throat in 2012.

And every single printer, smart speaker, car, tractor, appliance, medical implant and hospital medical device has a digital lock that stops you from fixing it, modifying it, or using third party parts, software, or consumables in it.

Which means that these two landmark laws on repair and interop are useless. So why not get rid of the 2012 law that bans breaking digital locks? Because these laws are part of our trade agreement with the USA. This is a law needed to maintain tariff-free access to US markets.

I don’t know if you've heard, but Donald Trump is going to impose a 25%, across-the-board tariff against Canadian exports. Trudeau's response is to impose retaliatory tariffs, which will make every American product that Canadians buy 25% more expensive. This is a very weird way to punish America!

You know what would be better? Abolish the Canadian laws that protect US Big Tech companies from Canadian competition. Make it legal to reverse-engineer, jailbreak and modify American technology products and services. Don't ask Facebook to pay a link tax to Canadian newspapers, make it legal to jailbreak all of Meta's apps and block all the ads in them, so Mark Zuckerberg doesn't make a dime off of us.

Make it legal for Canadian mechanics to jailbreak your Tesla and unlock every subscription feature, like autopilot and full access to your battery, for one price, forever. So you get more out of your car, and when you sell it, then next owner continues to enjoy those features, meaning they'll pay more for your used car.

That's how you hurt Elon Musk: not by being performatively appalled at his Nazi salutes. That doesn't cost him a dime. He loves the attention. No! Strike at the rent-extracting, insanely high-margin aftermarket subscriptions he relies on for his Swastikar business. Kick that guy right in the dongle!

Let Canadians stand up a Canadian app store for Apple devices, one that charges 3% to process transactions, not 30%. Then, every Canadian news outlet that sells subscriptions through an app, and every Canadian software author, musician and writer who sells through a mobile platform gets a 25% increase in revenues overnight, without signing up a single new customer.

But we can sign up new customers, by selling jailbreaking software and access to Canadian app stores, for every mobile device and games console to everyone in the world, and by pitching every games publisher and app maker on selling in the Canadian app store to customers anywhere without paying a 30% vig to American big tech companies.

We could sell every mechanic in the world a $100/month subscription to a universal diagnostic tool. Every farmer in the world could buy a kit that would let them fix their own John Deere tractors without paying a $200 callout charge for a Deere technician who inspects the repair the farmer is expected to perform.

They'd beat a path to our door. Canada could become a tech export powerhouse, while making everything cheaper for Canadian tech users, while making everything more profitable for anyone who sells media or software in an online store. And – this is the best part – it’s a frontal assault on the largest, most profitable US companies, the companies that are single-handedly keeping the S&P 500 in the black, striking directly at their most profitable lines of business, taking the revenues from those ripoff scams from hundreds of billions to zero, overnight, globally.

We don't have to stop at exporting reasonably priced pharmaceuticals to Americans! We could export the extremely lucrative tools of technological liberation to our American friends, too.

That's how you win a trade-war.

What about workers? Here we have good news and bad news.

The good news is that public approval for unions is at a high mark last seen in the early 1970s, and more workers want to join a union than at any time in generations, and unions themselves are sitting on record-breaking cash reserves they could be using to organize those workers.

But here's the bad news. The unions spent the Biden years, when they had the most favorable regulatory environment since the Carter administration, when public support for unions was at an all-time high, when more workers than ever wanted to join a union, when they had more money than ever to spend on unionizing those workers, doing fuck all. They allocatid mere pittances to union organizing efforts with the result that we finished the Biden years with fewer unionized workers than we started them with.

Then we got Trump, who illegally fired National Labor Relations Board member Gwynne Wilcox, leaving the NLRB without a quorum and thus unable to act on unfair labor practices or to certify union elections.

This is terrible. But it’s not game over. Trump fired the referees, and he thinks that this means the game has ended. But here's the thing: firing the referee doesn't end the game, it just means we're throwing out the rules. Trump thinks that labor law creates unions, but he's wrong. Unions are why we have labor law. Long before unions were legal, we had unions, who fought goons and ginks and company finks in` pitched battles in the streets.

That illegal solidarity resulted in the passage of labor law, which legalized unions. Labor law is passed because workers build power through solidarity. Law doesn't create that solidarity, it merely gives it a formal basis in law. Strip away that formal basis, and the worker power remains.

Worker power is the answer to vocational awe. After all, it's good for you and your fellow workers to feel a sense of mission about your jobs. If you feel that sense of mission, if you feel the duty to protect your users, your patients, your patrons, your students, a union lets you fulfill that duty.

We saw that in 2023 when Doug Ford promised to destroy the power of Ontario's public workers. Workers across the province rose up, promising a general strike, and Doug Ford folded like one of his cheap suits. Workers kicked the shit out of him, and we'll do it again. Promises made, promises kept.

The unscheduled midair disassembly of American labor law means that workers can have each others' backs again. Tech workers need other workers' help, because tech workers aren't scarce anymore, not after a half-million layoffs. Which means tech bosses aren't afraid of them anymore.

We know how tech bosses treat workers they aren't afraid of. Look at Jeff Bezos: the workers in his warehouses are injured on the job at 3 times the national rate, his delivery drivers have to pee in bottles, and they are monitored by AI cameras that snitch on them if their eyeballs aren't in the proscribed orientation or if their mouth is open too often while they drive, because policy forbids singing along to the radio.

By contrast, Amazon coders get to show up for work with pink mohawks, facial piercings, and black t-shirts that say things their bosses don't understand. They get to pee whenever they want. Jeff Bezos isn't sentimental about tech workers, nor does he harbor a particularized hatred of warehouse workers and delivery drivers. He treats his workers as terribly as he can get away with. That means that the pee bottles are coming for the coders, too.

It's not just Amazon, of course. Take Apple. Tim Cook was elevated to CEO in 2011. Apple's board chose him to succeed founder Steve Jobs because he is the guy who figured out how to shift Apple's production to contract manufacturers in China, without skimping on quality assurance, or suffering leaks of product specifications ahead of the company's legendary showy launches.

Today, Apple's products are made in a gigantic Foxconn factory in Zhengzhou nicknamed "iPhone City.” Indeed, these devices arrive in shipping containers at the Port of Los Angeles in a state of pristine perfection, manufactured to the finest tolerances, and free of any PR leaks.

To achieve this miraculous supply chain, all Tim Cook had to do was to make iPhone City a living hell, a place that is so horrific to work that they had to install suicide nets around the worker dorms to catch the plummeting bodies of workers who were so brutalized by Tim Cook's sweatshop that they attempted to take their own lives.

Tim Cook is also not sentimentally attached to tech workers, nor is he hostile to Chinese assembly line workers. He just treats his workers as badly as he can get away with, and with mass layoffs in the tech sector he can treat his coders much, much worse

How do tech workers get unions? Well, there are tech-specific organizations like Tech Solidarity and the Tech Workers Coalition. But tech workers will only get unions by having solidarity with other workers and receiving solidarity back from them. We all need to support every union. All workers need to have each other's backs.

We are entering a period of omnishambolic polycrisis.The ominous rumble of climate change, authoritarianism, genocide, xenophobia and transphobia has turned into an avalanche. The perpetrators of these crimes against humanity have weaponized the internet, colonizing the 21st century's digital nervous system, using it to attack its host, threatening civilization itself.

The enshitternet was purpose-built for this kind of apocalyptic co-option, organized around giant corporations who will trade a habitable planet and human rights for a three percent tax cut, who default us all into twiddle-friendly algorithmic feed, and block the interoperability that would let us escape their clutches with the backing of powerful governments whom they can call upon to "protect their IP rights."

It didn't have to be this way. The enshitternet was not inevitable. It was the product of specific policy choices, made in living memory, by named individuals.

No one came down off a mountain with two stone tablets, intoning Tony Clement, James Moore: Thou shalt make it a crime for Canadians to jailbreak their phones. Those guys chose enshittification, throwing away thousands of comments from Canadians who warned them what would come of it.

We don't have to be eternal prisoners of the catastrophic policy blunders of mediocre Tory ministers. As the omnicrisis polyshambles unfolds around us, we have the means, motive and opportunity to craft Canadian policies that bolster our sovereignty, protect our rights, and help us to set every technology user, in every country (including the USA) free.

The Trump presidency is an existential crisis but it also presents opportunities. When life gives you SARS, you make sarsaparilla. We once had an old, good internet, whose major defect was that it required too much technical expertise to use, so all our normie friends were excluded from that wondrous playground.

Web 2.0's online services had greased slides that made it easy for anyone to get online, but escaping from those Web 2.0 walled gardens meant was like climbing out of a greased pit. A new, good internet is possible, and necessary. We can build it, with all the technological self-determination of the old, good internet, and the ease of use of Web 2.0.

A place where we can find each other, coordinate and mobilize to resist and survive climate collapse, fascism, genocide and authoritarianism. We can build that new, good internet, and we must.

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/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#enshittification-eh

[wondrluv]

୨୧ you were always mine ; lh43

➪ summary: luke has a hard time keeping his friends-with-benefits relationship with y/n just friends-with-benefits, which leads to hurt feelings and unspoken words

➪ warnings: slightly possessive luke, fwb, um... luke lowkey playing with reader's feelings...

➪ word count: 3.4k

➪ emma's notes: fwb!luke is occupies a spot in my brain that only fwb!luke is reserved for. i would love to talk more about fwb!luke so if you ever feel like yapping away whether it's here or bedsysangel for more nsfw thoughts, i would be more than happy to answer them. takes place in 2023 which i'm sure you could get within a few paragraphs but whatever. anyway, thank you again for 1k, i love all of you so so so much 🥰

© wondrluv ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

What started as a strictly platonic relationship between her and Luke quickly escalated into something more. 

The two met during their freshman year of college when y/n dragged her roommate and a few of their friends to a frat party. She was planning on having a drink or two, blending into the crowd but getting to know a few people, simply a ‘welcome-to-campus’ type situation. But when her friends let their high school personalities seep in, she found herself locked in a room with Luke.

Much to her friends’ displeasure though, nothing happened except for a newfound friendship. The two quickly became inseparable, going out to the movies, watching his games, and playing Monopoly in her dorm every Friday night, it was y/n and Luke against the world.

And things were going amazingly, that was until sometime late into their freshman year when the line between friendship and relationship started to blur. She wasn't going to say anything, she was growing accustomed to Luke's lingering touches when they’d part ways after walking to class together and his soft words when he’d bring her into a hug after the team won. She didn’t want them to stop.

Every time Luke's arm wrapped around her waist to pull her back into his chest, every time he'd beg her to wear his jersey to his games, every time he'd place a kiss on her cheek, every time he'd take her hand and put it in his hair so she’d play with his curls, it was overwhelming.

And deep down she knew she was harboring less than platonic feelings for him, he was Luke; beautiful, handsome, cheeky, awkward but confident Luke. She couldn't help but indulge in her mind's fantasies of his kisses against her shoulder or his arms tightly curled around her and cuddling in his bed.

So, she did. She leaned into his touches, into his whispered sayings, and that was how she ended up here, at the beginning of March during her sophomore year, letting Luke drag her through campus with a tight grip on her hand, letting him scare other guys off, letting him push her against the wall as he left open-mouthed kisses along her neck.

Ever since that one night when the two of them had finally succumbed to the feeling of want, no need, Luke had only grown more touchy and possessive; glaring at any guy who looked at her, guiding her to sit on his lap when there were 5 other places to sit, braiding her hair in front of her friends, late-night cuddles with her adorning one of his t-shirts. 

She, along with everyone else, was riding out the high of the team’s win against Penn State even into the following weekend, the win signifying one game closer to a Frozen Four victory. Her group had found their way to a celebratory party that was happening somewhere around campus, it was hot and sticky due to the humidity and all the bodies there, and low and behold she had tagged along, Luke not too far behind her.

Standing in the living room, she was pressed tightly against him, his arm attached to her waist to make sure she didn't stray too far. However, after one too many drinks, she had to go to the bathroom, raising on her tip-toes in order to let him know where she was going. 

Luke being the protective best friend gentleman he was, offered to go with her, making sure nobody would bother her. But she reassured him that she would be fine making her way through the crowd and up the stairs, so reluctantly he let her go, keeping his gaze on her with every step she made.

He kept one ear on the conversation he was having with Ethan, moving his wrist in small circular motions to watch the liquid inside spin around, while the other ear he kept open in case she had called out. Seven minutes, eight minutes passed and there was no sign of her anywhere, he was getting antsy without her by his side. He kept telling himself that maybe there was a line, maybe someone was fucking in there and she had to find her way to a different bathroom.

Yet, he glanced around the living room through the mob of people in search of her and he froze when he saw two figures near the stairs. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at y/n talking animatedly with another guy, a bright smile on her face, a smile that he loved to be the cause of.

He mumbled an excuse to his friend, walking over to where the two were standing. He had abandoned his drink, dumping the rest of the cups’ contents down the sink before throwing the cup away in the nearest trash bag available. 

He neared them, finally being able to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation, but he wasn’t too worried about what they were talking about, just more or less how they were talking. He came to a stop a few feet behind her, scanning the guy from the top of his neatly gelled hair to the bottom of his new dress shoes, what was this, a wedding?

He couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes as he finished examining him, but he could stop the words of sarcasticness from falling out of his mouth, just barely though. 

He closed the short distance to y/n, his arms immediately encircling her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. She didn’t need to look over to see who it was, the firm, comforting hold was enough to let her know. 

Her smile brightened, glancing back to see a pouty, puppy dog-eyed expression plastered on his face with a possessive gleam in his eye. Her attention was entirely focused on the boy behind her now, entranced with the way his hair formed perfect ringlets but was messy at the same time caused by the dampness from his earlier shower and the humidity from the house they were in.

“Hey, Lukey.” 

“Hey.” His voice was low and somewhat hoarse from yelling the past week, the sound making her body tingle in the slightest bit. 

She could feel the way his grip tightened, placing her hands on top of his and lacing their fingers together as she motioned her head towards the guy who was still standing in front of them, “This is Alex, we have a class together.”

He nodded, turning his head so he could bury it into her neck placing soft kisses against her skin. A blush covered her cheeks, turning more and more pink with each kiss. 

“Luke.” She murmured in an attempt to stop him. Usually, she wouldn’t mind the display of affection or the gentle undertone of his jealousy, but in the past few weeks, it had gotten only slightly out of hand, she felt like she couldn’t even talk to a guy without Luke showing up and scaring them off. 

He hummed in acknowledgment, continuing his feather-light kisses, only pausing to eye the guy and what his face was expressing. She fought the urge to sigh, roll her eyes, and mutter an annoyed response. If he wanted to be around every time she talked to a guy, fine, so be it. 

She picked back up the previously abandoned conversation with Alex, talking about their upcoming finals and their summer plans. Luke’s irritation grew as their talking went on, wanting nothing more than to take y/n back to his place and strip every piece of clothing off her. He would even settle for finishing their game of Monopoly from last night, as long as he got her away from the ‘hungry’ gaze Alex had on her. 

So, he proceeded to do the only thing he knew would draw her attention back to him, moving to suck lightly on the one spot that made her weak in the knees within seconds. He could feel her tense for not even a nanosecond before she was melting into him. But little to his knowledge, a fury lit her eyes, her patience completely running out. 

 She stepped forward out of his grasp, saying a polite goodbye to her friend before dragging him out of the house and into the late March weather. It was still relatively chilly causing her to wrap her jacket tighter around her as they walked toward the sidewalk.

“What was that Luke?”

“What was what?” His face was the definition of innocence, a slight grin playing on his lips as he looked down at her.

She huffed as she took in his expression, “You know what. Why couldn’t you just let us talk in peace?”

“He was bothering me.”

“We were just talking about finals, I don’t know how that could’ve been bothering you.”

“He was looking at you like he wanted to tear your clothes apart.” He argued, frustration overtaking him. 

“So?”

“‘So’?” He asked incredulously, staring at her as if she had grown to heads. Since when was she all for someone looking at her the way he was only supposed to?

“Yeah, ‘so’. Luke, we’re not even dating.”

Her words were like a blow to his stomach. He knew they weren’t dating, but he thought at least there was some unspoken agreement that the two of them were simply just the two of them, that no one was going to come in and take the other way from them. 

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because every time I even so much as think about a guy, you’re swooping me into your arms and taking me somewhere. I haven’t had a normal interaction with a guy in weeks.”

So maybe he was being a little over-possessive. He didn’t mean to, really, he just wanted her for himself, wanted everyone to know that she was his and he was hers. 

“You’re leaving soon, Lu.”

His thoughts came to a stop, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he stared at her, “What do you mean I’m leaving soon? Y/n/n if you’re talking about Tampa it’s just for the weekend-”

“I’m talking about New Jersey, Luke.” 

He blinked slowly, more confused than before. She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes wandering around so she wouldn’t have to see him taking in what she said. 

“What’re you talking about?” His voice was soft, and careful, not wanting to upset her more than she was. 

“I’m not stupid, y’know? I’ve seen the tweets, the Devils are planning on calling you up after this whole thing is over.” She waved her hand, gesturing to the party that was thrown because of the championship. 

 “You don’t know that for sure.” He kept his words steady, reassuring her that everything people were saying was just rumors, but even he knew that wasn’t true. 

“Even if it’s not, how are we going to continue this when you do eventually go out there?” Her eyes met his, both of them shining with unshed tears, “You can’t expect me to just be a buffer for you.”

“Hey, you’re not just a buffer-”

“But aren’t I? Isn’t that what we’re doing? Using each other until we can find someone we actually want to be with?” Each word twisted the knife in his stomach further, had she really thought she was just a buffer? 

He regained his composure quickly, speaking firmly, “No. You are not just a buffer to me, sweetheart.”

The nickname caused a swarm of butterflies to erupt in her stomach and she did her best to push each one down, far enough that they couldn’t come back. The way he was talking made her feel like maybe she was wrong about the status of their feelings, maybe he really did like her and now she was ruining it, but the voice in the back of her had assured her she was reading this the right way.

“I’m not just going to drop you the second I leave for Jersey, whenever that may be.” He reached for her hand, but she stepped back, narrowly escaping the touch. 

“I can’t keep doing this. You-” she took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to say, “You’ll go to Jersey and I’ll be here, there’s no room for me to go with.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, we both know it. It- we won’t work like this.”

“So that’s it? We’re just not even going to talk anymore?”

“That’s not what I said-”

“But it’s what you meant.” He interjected, eyes still glistening with tears.

“It isn’t. I just- god Luke, you act like you want me to be nothing more than your best friend one minute and the next we’re having sex against the wall!”

He breathed heavily, listening to her speak, “If you can’t make up your mind then I’ll do it for you, whatever this is, it can’t go on. Not when we’re going to be in two different places and certainly not when we feel two different ways.”

“Y/n…” He trailed off, one last attempt to get her to hear him out, but he watched her shake her head and walk down the street, wrapping her arms around herself to protect her from the cold.

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

A week later and their not-so-breakup breakup had been the only thing on his mind, not the fact that he had just lost a Frozen Four championship, not that he had just played in what would be known as his last college game, not the fact that sometime in the next few days he would sign his first NHL contract and play in his first NHL game alongside his brother. 

He sat in his hotel room, twisting and turning in his bed as he struggled to fall asleep. Eventually, he gave up, opting to lay flat on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling, making note of every single bump it had. 

In less than 48 hours he would be doing something that he had dreamed of doing since he was younger, since he’d even known it was a possibility. And yet, none of it felt right without her there. 

They had been glued to each other’s side since that party, doing almost everything together; shopping, walking to classes and practices, eating, homework, laundry, any chance they had to be together they were. 

It was a strange feeling, not having her around even emotionally. She was always the first person he reached out to when something exciting happened; he scored a goal, he got a good grade on his test, he saw a squirrel on his way to see her, or when something upsetting happened; he got hit with a puck causing a bruise on his side, his visit to see his brothers got delayed, or he just felt downright horrible.

The thought of him relying on her too much came quickly but left just as fast. It wasn’t like he was dependent on her, he was his own person and she was hers, but she was his person. 

The one who would make him feel better with just a simple smile, the one who engaged in hockey talk because she knew it made him happy, the one who texted him random life updates every so often, the one who wasn’t afraid to let him see the real her. 

Fuck.

Realization slammed into him, hard and heavy like he was just fighting for the puck and got slammed into the boards.

Signing a piece of paper could wait until Monday, but telling his best friend he was in love with her couldn’t.

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Y/n watched the game despite her promise to herself not to. Curled up on her bed, the game playing on her computer as she ate ice cream. Going into the third period they were tied and she had mustered up as much hope as she could, but goal after goal, Quinnipiac scored 3, bringing the final score to 5-2. 

She was disappointed at their loss, as much as any other student attending Michigan, but she was even more upset that this now solidified the beginning of Luke’s future. In however many days he would be playing in New Jersey.

And now it was the day after and she was in her room working on a paper for one of her classes, headphones blocking out all the noises around her. She looked between multiple tabs, searching her papers for a Post-it note she had written not too long ago, and continuously deleted and retyped the same thing.

She was just about to start writing a new portion of the paper when a knock and wave of a hand in front of her pulled her from her thoughts, looking over to see her roommate. She pulled her headphones off, letting them rest around her neck, “What’s up?”

“Someone’s here for you.” She didn’t miss the slight smirk she had, which never meant anything good.

She uncurled herself from her spot on the chair, leaving her headphones on her desk before making her way to the door, and opening it. She froze when she saw who it was, Luke in a familiar blue Michigan sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.

“Luke? What’re you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

She hesitated but the look on his face made her crumble, opening the door wide so he could step into her apartment. They walked towards her room, letting him go in and sit down on her bed as she stood near the door, arms crossed against her chest.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I’m signing my contract tomorrow.”

“Oh, um- that’s amazing, congrats, Lu.”

He nodded, looking at the ground. A few beats passed and all he could think about was the urge to pull her in for a kiss. He wasn’t known for his impulsiveness, or maybe he was and he just never made it a big deal, but now? He couldn’t help but act on the urge, so he did. 

He took a few steps forward, pushing the second-guessing thoughts out of his mind, coming to a stop when he towered over her completely, hand reaching to cup her face and brush his thumb across her cheek.

She flushed, staring up at him with wide, almost doe-like, eyes. He leaned down, bringing his lips to meet hers, instantly causing her to turn into a puddle of mush. She kissed back just as eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck like they had been itching to do it for the past week. 

When she felt her breath running out, she pulled away, allowing her forehead to rest against his, both of them panting softly as they tried to steady their breathing. Luke’s gaze was entirely on her, studying the way her eyelashes were laying delicately on her cheeks, her light freckles spread across her nose, the pieces of hair that escaped from her ponytail. 

“You were always mine.”

Her eyes shot open at his quiet murmur, looking at him like he had just given her the answers to every single exam she still had to take. She gulped, trying to reign her thoughts in, “What?”

“You were always going to be mine, y/n/n. From the moment you bumped into me at the party, from the moment we first watched Miracle together and you cried, from the moment you stole 200 bucks of my money the first time we played Monopoly, from the first time you put on my jersey, I knew that I had to make you mine.

“And I know it’s taking me a long time, way too long, but I needed you to know, now more than ever. It might be too late, but I just-”

“I was always going to want to be yours.”

Her admission flowed through him, easing his worries immensely. He breathed a low chuckle, “Thank god. I was starting to think I was going to have to say the whole speech I prepared.”

“There was more?”

He nods sheepishly, but it was better to be over-prepared than not prepared enough, he would’ve said the whole thing a million times if it meant she would say those words.

“Are you going to let me hear it?”

“That depends… what do I get if I do?”

“A kiss?”

He hummed in thought, “I don’t know, baby. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into writing this.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Hughes.”

And who was he to say no?

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[greengoblinswifey]

Yearning—Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader

summary— you’ve had a crush on Luigi Mangione, the popular frat boy for three years. after attending his engineering club, you both finally confess. based on this and this request.

warnings— fluff, luigi is a sweetheart, thigh riding, praise kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie.

Luigi Mangione. God, where to start? Jackie Kennedy’s letter about JFK came to mind whenever he would infiltrate your thoughts.

“And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me.”

“He was charismatic, magnetic, electric and everybody knew it.”

“When he walked in every woman’s head turned, everybody stood up to talk to him.”

That summed up how you felt about him. That summed up him as a person.

You and Luigi started attending Penn at the same time. He became a frat boy but unlike his fraternity brothers, he was different. He was kind, extremely intellectual, respectful and everyone seemed to love him. Most days, you sat in the far corner of the library reading, watching Luigi as he studied with his friends or came in to do research.

Whenever you would glimpse him around campus he was always smiling, surrounded by friends and sometimes even professors. He was involved in clubs and societies, assisted his peers and even volunteered. He was a model student and it was clear he was from a good upbringing. Everyone loved him and was interested in what he had to say. He was such a people person and in the best way possible. With all those extraordinary characteristics, it was no wonder you developed a crush on him.

His dark curls were beautiful and at times you imagined what it would feel like to run your fingers through them. His thick eyebrows made him even more handsome and you thought that especially when they were not plucked and developing into a uni brow. His strong jawline, his nose—he had a facial harmony unlike any other man you had ever seen. Every single part of him was admirable, he was exactly the kind of man you craved. You’d never met anyone like Luigi.

And he had never met anyone like you. But you didn’t know that—at least not yet.

Throughout your three years at the university, you were too shy to initiate any conversation with him. It wasn’t that he seemed mean—it just seemed as though you were in two different worlds. You were nerdy and he was a popular frat boy. It was a tale as old as time, someone like him would never go for someone like you, so you pushed the idea of something sparking to the back of your mind.

The closest you’d ever gotten to speaking to him was when he would tell you good morning or good afternoon when he’d pass by. He was always so polite. His smooth voice had your heart beating fast and at times, you could barely manage to give a response. You weren’t even sure if you gave a response, your thoughts were louder than your voice.

Though these interactions were minuscule, you held them close to your heart. You yearned from afar and at the end of the day, you’d go back to your dorm and daydream. You felt like a teenager again, crushing on a boy, writing about him in your journal, he made you feel alive. He gave you hope that there were good men.

The entire class sighed as the lengthy lecture ended. It was a Friday, the last day of classes and usually the day frat parties were thrown. You weren’t interested, you’d usually take those days to read a book or write something.

As you gathered your books to exit lecture hall, your professor stopped you. “You’re a good student. I’d like to have you in my engineering club at 3, I promise it’ll be insightful.”

You thought for a moment. Your Fridays were usually spent in isolation so it wouldn’t hurt to give your professor and his club a chance. “Sure. I’ll be there, in the lab on the first floor right?” Your professor nodded happily and you have him a polite smile, exiting the lecture hall.

Once you entered your dorm, you collapsed on the plush bed. You had about two hours before the club would start, until then you’d take a shower then pick something to wear. It wasn’t like it was a special occasion, but you never did anything on Fridays.

As you picked out a chic outfit from your closet, it came to you. Luigi was in the engineering club. In fact, he was a dedicated member. The realization had your heart thumping faster in your chest. You would be in an intimate space with him for however long. You needed to look your best. You always did but now, more than ever.

After a soothing shower, your mind focused on how you would manage to keep your eyes of Luigi, you wrapped yourself in a robe and began getting ready. You applied makeup that highlighted your features and by the time you were finished, the club would be starting in just a few minutes.

Great. Your first time attending and you were late. Now, everyone’s eyes would be on you as you walked in, including his. The thought made you shudder and your heart beat faster.

Just as predicted you were late, slowly pushing the door to the lab open ten minutes after the engineering club had began. After taking a deep breath, you stepped inside.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Good afternoon,” you apologized politely as you closed the door.

Turning around, you realized the room of six people were staring as you walked in.

The only person who caught your eyes was Luigi Mangione. He was as handsome as the day you first saw him, his thick eyebrows quirked upwards and his soft, piercing gaze locked on yours.

“That’s fine. I’m glad you’re here, the club is usually filled but seeing as there’s some big frat party, no one came,” your professor chuckled but your gaze remained on your crush.

You were snapped out of your gaze when your professor gestured for you to sit in the empty seat beside Luigi.

The thought of having to sit next to him made your legs wobbly. Not like you had a choice so with your gaze still locked on his, you slowly made your way over to the empty seat.

“Good afternoon.” Luigi’s voice rang in your ear as you sat down and you hesitantly turned to look at him, returning the sentiment in a meek voice. He was always so respectful, you were the one who came and saw him, you should’ve been the one to greet him.

For the next few minutes, you zoned out. Whatever the professor and the club members spoke about was background noise as your mind swarmed with thoughts about the man beside you. That was until you heard his soothing voice answer whatever question was asked.

Slowly, you turned your head to look at him as he spoke. His side profile was ethereal, his jawline flexing as he spoke about what engineering meant to him. He was so intelligent and the entire room listened intently, grasping each word that left his lips. His presence commanded attention, you craved a man like him. You craved him.

“Do you agree?” Luigi turned to face you, a small smile on his lips. Your eyes widened for a second. Was he actually talking to you?

“Y-yeah, I do,” you said, simply.

You wanted the earth to swallow you whole right then and there. You couldn’t believe you actually stuttered in front of him.

As the time began winding down, you tried to push your overthinking to the back of your mind, wanting nothing more than to dash to your dorm and scream into a pillow.

“And that’s it for today folks. I hope you all enjoyed especially my special guest, same time next week?” your professor asked, a big smile on his face.

You nodded sweetly but you knew you weren’t coming back. Not after stuttering while you talked to your crush.

Quickly, you exited the lab, determination in your steps as you made your way back to your dorm.

“Y/N! Wait up!” You stopped in your tracks hearing his voice call after you. He knew your name.

“Is everything okay?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, Luigi was standing in front of you, concerned about your well being.

“I’m fine, Luigi. And you?” you asked, fidgeting with the bracelet on your wrist.

“Really nervous, I can’t lie.”

He was nervous, why would he be nervous speaking to you? “Why would you be nervous?” you inquired, confusion etched on your face as you avoided eye contact.

“Fuck, okay, let me start. So, uh, these past three years I’ve been trying to talk to you, but I’ve never been able to go beyond greeting you. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even respond, other times, you just had this look on your face that seemed like you didn’t want me to talk to you. And I’m not insulting your looks or anything,” he said frantically, hands held up in self defense, “you’re beautiful, really beautiful. And then today, when you walked in looking like this—”

He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair, watching as your eyes widened with each word. “When you walked in looking so beautiful, I knew I had to confess. You gave me a look too—that look in your eye that told me you feel what I feel too. Fuck, I’ve had a crush on you for so long. I’ve admired you all these years, and now I finally have the courage to confess.”

Your lips parted slightly, heart beating so loudly in your chest you could hear it in your ear. Luigi felt the same way you had felt since the moment you saw him. He wanted you just as bad. The popular frat boy had been nursing a crush on you all these years and he—him of all people, had been nervous to to confess.

“Me too, God, me too. I feel the same way. I’ve had a crush on you since the day I saw you, ever since then you’ve been stuck in my head. I see you around school a-and you’re everything I could ever want but I was just so scared to even say anything, you’re popular and I’m not and I thought—”

Your frantic confession was cut short when his large hands cupped your cheeks. His eyes fluttered shut as he titled his head and pressed a slow kiss that was hesitant at first. Once you wrapped your arms around his neck, the kiss grew deeper, though still gentle.

He smiled into your lips and you smiled against his, your heart fluttering. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear. I felt like I’ve waited my entire life to kiss you,” he beamed.

You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as your cheeks heated. Then, the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Would you like to come back to my dorm?”

“Yeah—I mean are you sure?” Luigi asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Never been sure about anything as much as I am now.” Your new found confidence shocked you and you walked back to your dorm across campus, fingers laced together. Were you in a dream? Did the man you had been crushing on for three whole years feel the same way too? You couldn’t believe it but you’d make the best of it until you could.

Walking to your dorm you got many stares—it wasn’t everyday the most desired frat boy held hands with a random, reserved girl. He sensed your slight discomfort and squeezed your hand, giving you that reassuring smile you had always seen him give to others. Now, it was yours.

As you unlocked the door of your dorm, barely managing to close it behind you, you were gently pushed up against it. Luigi had his arms on either side of your head.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he chuckled. “I need to hear you say it. Do you have feelings for me?”

The tension in the room was palpable, his sweet, strong cologne enveloped your senses making your head swoon and your thighs clench instinctively. Though it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“I have feelings for you Luigi, I really, really like you. More than you could even imagine.” His eyes softened at your words as if it was the one thing he needed to be told.

“Fuck, princess. I like you too, a lot. The way I feel about you, I’ve never felt that for anyone else. You’re all I’ve thought about for three whole years and I wish I wasn’t such a pussy and made a move sooner so we could’ve had more time together. So I could’ve had you all to myself sooner.”

This was what you had always wanted to hear and experiencing it in real time was far better than any daydream you had ever conjured up.

Now, it was your turn to interject. Your hands wrapped around his neck, bringing his head down into an intense, all consuming kiss. Your body pressed flush against him and his hands went under your thighs, instinctively. You jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist and he caught you.

“Is this real?” Luigi asked breathlessly, as he sat on your bed with you in his arms.

You giggled and snuggled into his neck, inhaling his scent and making sure your hands remained on him. You wondered if it was real too and you didn’t want to take your hands off him, scared he would just be a figment of your imagination and disappear.

He littered gentle kisses all over your face and you hadn’t even registered what you were doing until you felt a jolt of pleasure course through you. You moved back and forth on his now prominent bulge, and you both moaned in unison.

You were clad in a short dress and it rode up with the only thing separating you being your thong, his jeans and boxers. His hands hesitantly went to your hips and you stared into his eyes as you were grinding on his bulge. His hazel eyes were lust blown and his lips parted as low moans escaped. God, those moans. They were music to your ears.

“This feels so good, baby, are you okay?” he asked, breathlessly.

“Shhh, just hold me,” you whispered, feeling your orgasm on the horizon.

He guided you back and forth and pressed his forehead against yours, your breathing increasing.

“Be a good girl and cum for me sweetheart, it’s okay. I know you want to,” he whispered.

At his command you gripped his bicep, your entire body convulsing as you stared into his eyes and came in your panties.

He held you close, rubbing your back as you slowly came down from your high. “That’s it, such a good girl,” he cooed. You couldn’t believe just grinding against him made you cum that hard, if you weren’t so caught up in the moment, you would’ve been embarrassed.

“Lu, I need more,” you pleaded, voice thick with emotion.

As soon as the words left your lips, his eyes glinted in a way you hadn’t seen before. He slipped off your dress, staring into your eyes and when he found no hesitation, he unclasped your bra.

His eyes widened at the sight of your bare chest before him, nipples hard. “You’re absolutely stunning, can I touch you? Taste you?”

“Please,” you rasped.

His head dipped and you couldn’t help but moan, feeling his tongue swirl around your hardened nipples. He moved to the other neglected breast, engulfing it with his mouth and suckling, while gently pinching the other. Your fantasy was finally fulfilled as you ran your fingers through his dark curls, back arching into his touch.

Abruptly, he placed you on the bed and slid to his knees, opening your legs to reveal the heaven that resided between. “Am I allowed to touch you? Can I taste you sweetheart? It’s entirely your decision if you want me to.”

“Yes, please.” He slid off your wet panties, tossing it aside and taking a moment to marvel at your glistening pussy before his head went between your legs.

The feeling of his tongue against you was heaven, he was so skilled, sucking on your clit and flicking it with his tongue. His eyes bore into yours, a moment so intimate you almost wanted to hide your face. Your moans, the sound of your juices and Luigi’s tongue filled your once silent dorm and you gripped onto his curls for dear life.

“You taste like Heaven baby,” he murmured before diving back in.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter as he deepened his focus, his tongue pressing harder against your clit. He was relentless but tender and more soft moans escaped your lips as your thighs shook. He responded with a low groan of approval, the vibration adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

His tongue circled against your clit in a final, deliberate motion, and the world around you blurred. When your orgasm hit, it was like a storm breaking loose. Your pussy surged with pleasure, a pulse that started deep inside and spread outward, consuming every inch of you. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, gripping tight as your orgasm washed over you, a cry slipping from your lips as you squirted in his mouth. He didn’t let up, drawing every last ripple from you, not stopping until your body finally collapsed, spent and trembling.

“You did so well sweetheart, did you enjoy that?” he asked, leaning up, lips and chin glistening.

To answer his question, you pulled him in for a kiss and slipped your tongue inside his mouth to taste yourself. His hands went to your breasts, fondling you as you smiled into the kiss. “I need you so bad Lu, please.”

“Talk to me. Tell me what you need then princess,” he whispered, his deep voice making your pussy throb.

You buried your face into his neck, your cheeks heating at the request but he wasn’t having it.

“Don’t be shy sweetheart, I’m here—it’s just me. Tell me exactly what you need.”

He titled your chin to look up at him, his eyes glistening with care and something darker. Something you’d never seen before but made your thighs clench. “I- I need you to fuck me.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Luigi lay you flat on the bed then hovered over you, his body pressing lightly against yours as he sucked on your neck. He shed his clothes in a flash, and your breath caught at the sight before you. The heat of his skin against yours was electrifying, and anticipation hung thick in the air.

Luigi looked like a god, one you craved to worship, his muscles taut and glistening under the dim light in your dorm every curve and contour accentuated. You couldn’t help but caress his abs, fingers tracing the defined lines, marveling at the way his body felt firm under your touch. His eyes fluttered shut, a low groan escaping his lips as your hands explored his body.

“Like what you see?” he asked, leaning down to lick the side of your neck.

“You have no idea.” You had dreamt of the day you would be able to have him all to yourself, have your hands all over him, and it was finally here. Your eyes trailed down to his deep V line and then you saw it. He was long, thick and hard. Bigger than you had ever imagined and your breath caught in your throat as you saw his cock physically throb.

“S’okay baby, you can take it. I’ll go nice and slow for you,” he whispered.

You nodded then felt him slowly push the tip in, just enough to make your breath catch again. A gasp escaped your lips, his size stretching you, testing your limits. His brow furrowed with restraint, the muscles in his arms tensing as he held back, waiting for you to adjust.

His eyes searched yours, intense and burning with something primal, yet laced with care. “Are you okay sweetheart, want me to move?”

You nodded slightly, biting your lip, and he moved again, pressing in just a little more, but it’s so much—he’s so much, filling you in a way you’d never been before.

Your pussy tightened around him, and he moaned, low and guttural, the sound sending a ripple of need straight through you. “You feel so good baby,” he gasped, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

He was so thick, every inch was a slow, deliberate stretch, each stroke making you moan and grip the thin fabric of your sheets. His darkened eyes never left yours, his lips parted slightly as he panted softly, the strain of holding back evident on his face. You were both gasping, lost in the feeling of him filling you inch by inch, the overwhelming sensation forcing you to arch your back slightly into him.

“Lu,” you moaned, your nails clawing at his back.

“I know baby, it feels so fucking good.”

Finally, after what felt like forever, he was fully buried in your pussy, and you could feel him throbbing deep inside your cervix. The moment hung in the air, both of you frozen in awe, the sheer intensity of it all leaving you breathless.

“Feels so good Lu, I—I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, on the brink of an orgasm already.

“Not yet baby, I want it to be really good. Be a good girl and hold on for me.”

You nodded and your fingers gripped his shoulders as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, and for a moment, all you could hear were your ragged breaths mingling together and the sound of his body softly pounding into you.

His hips rolled gently, sliding out just enough to make you gasp before pressing back in with a deep, deliberate thrust. The friction was perfect, every inch of his cock dragging inside your pussy sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. The man you had a soul eating crush on for three years was fucking you. Luigi Mangione was finally fucking you.

He reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit softly and no matter how hard you bit your lips, you couldn’t stop the moans that left you. “You’ve been such a good girl for me, you can cum now. Do it around my cock, baby,” Luigi cooed.

As soon as the words left his lips you felt it. A rush of liquid escaped you as your orgasm ripped through every muscle in your body. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as you squirted around his cock, the slick wetness coating him. His name fell from your lips again, but it was a loud moan, caught in the overwhelming and intense ecstasy that took over.

You gasped realizing what had just happened. You’d never squirted before—you weren’t even sure if you had ever cum, but somehow, Luigi managed to get that out of you. He made you squirt.

“That’s it. My good girl, you came so hard baby. Fucking soaked my cock,” he said, looking down at the mess you made on the sheets and his cock as he bottomed out.

He gave you a moment to breathe, pressing soft kisses on your lips. “You’re so beautiful, God, I can’t believe I have you,” he beamed.

He flipped you on your side, his body pressing against yours as he hoisted your leg up.

“Ready sweetheart? Is this okay?” he asked.

“More than okay, please fuck me,” you whined.

He pressed a kiss to your ear before he was back in your soaked, warm walls. This time, it was easier for him to slip inside, though the stretch from this angle still had you squeezing his thigh. He thrusted up into you, hitting that sweet spot that had you crying out repeatedly.

“You take me so well baby, such a good girl,” he praised.

He maintained a steady but deep rhythm, one that had you feeling almost every inch of him, and soon you felt your pussy throb, another intense orgasm impending.

“You wanna cum baby? Yeah? Tell me how bad you want to,” he murmured.

You wrapped your hand around his head, your fingers lacing in his curls and fucking yourself back on his cock. “Please Lu, wanna cum so bad. I’ve waited so long for this. I’ve thought about this every single day, please let me cum.”

“Yeah? Me too baby. I’ve thought about fucking you for so long and having you just soak my cock. Cum for me pretty girl,” he said.

Your legs trembled, your hands pulling his head down to the back of your neck to make him suck as the pleasure peaked. He thrusted into you harder, each motion pushing you closer to the edge until you couldn’t hold on any longer. With a loud whimper, your pussy clenched around his hard cock, the tension snapping again and the release flooded through you all at once. You squirted once more, this one somehow more intense than the last and making tears prick the corner of your eyes.

“You’re amazing sweetheart, such a good girl for me,” he whispered into your ear.

Your vision blurred, the orgasm leaving you dizzy, but he didn’t stop. He kept thrusting, slow and deeper now, letting you ride out every last wave of pleasure until you were left panting and utterly spent, your body limp and trembling in his arms.

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna cum, where do you want it?”

“I-inside me, please,” you gasped, your walls clenching around him to milk him of his cum.

“Are you sure sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, grinding your ass against him and that did it.

“Oh God baby, t-thank you. You’re incredible,” he gasped as his orgasm washed over him.

You felt him pulse inside you, his cock twitching as he spilled into you, filling you with his warm cum and you came once more, this time, with him. His body tensed beside you, every muscle taut as he let out a ragged moan of release. His cum flooded through you, his orgasm drawing out in long, throbbing waves as he rocked against you, riding out every last pulse of pleasure. You’d never felt this good before.

Slowly, he pulled out of you and turned you so that you were facing him. He stared into your eyes, his expression softening as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. His breathing was still heavy, but there was a look of contentment on his face, a quiet satisfaction in the aftermath of the overwhelming pleasure and the need he felt for you over the past three years.

“You did so well, sweetheart. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.

“You didn’t,” you smiled, brushing his thick eyebrows with your fingers making him chuckle.

“I’m glad. Did I live up to your expectations?”

“Surpassed it. It was better than I could ever imagine,” you beamed.

“I feel the same way sweetheart, now let’s cuddle for a bit then take a shower and get ready. I’m taking you out to dinner.”

His words made your heart flutter and you buried your face in his firm chest. He was all you could ask for and more. After years of yearning, he was finally yours.

[the-zapped-part-timer]

[scapegoated-if]

DEMO (128K) SOUNDTRACK PINTEREST BLUESKY Chapter 1 Release Date: 14th Mar 2025

All the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey.

18+ This interactive story includes graphic violence, sexual content, alcohol and drug use, profanity and more.

Disclaimer Gender and race-locked IF due to discussions of gender and racial politics throughout.

Take centre stage as a former-rockstar turned actress navigating your new career and the chilling grip of fan-obsession. Your once-famous band may be nothing short of a ghost of the past to you, but the rest of the world cannot seem to let go. The split in 1968 was scandalous, abrupt and mysterious. And although you’ve thrown yourself into acting and secured your first major role with a big time Hollywood director, whispers of blame have been on your tail ever since.

While most of Hollywood sees these rumours for what they are--empty gossip--a darker current takes precedence and poses a much more sinister threat to your life and the lives of those around you.

✼ Shape and mould into your truest ‘70s self. Perhaps you’re a mod-girl or a hippie? ✼ Interact with '60s and '70s icons on the Sunset Strip. ✼ Help uncover the identity of the 'Ampersand Killer' terrorising the West Coast. ✼ Decide which career path is more fitting for you. Are you made to live on the silver screen or stadium stages? ✼ Maintain and better your physical health and self-defence skills. ✼ Pick from a selection of love interests (including two gender-choice options). ✼ Includes an array of potential flings. ✼ A catalogue of original songs for fictional musicians.

Vincent "Vince" Buscemi, the ex-bandmate ⇢ You were part of one of the most renowned bands of the '60s together. Vince is a jaded soul, harbouring deep-seated reservations about many people--most notably the band's keyboardist--but he has always had a soft spot for you. Despite his guarded demeanour, he exudes effortless charm and impeccable manners, a testament to his healthy upbringing. Though widely celebrated as a pop-culture heartthrob, Vince defies superficial stereotypes. His truest passion lies in music, and it's clear that nothing in the world brings him greater joy.

Penn Hausler, the filmmaker ⇢ Though still considered an up-and-coming filmmaker, Penn has already made a name for himself as a creative force in the industry, thanks to his latest hit starring Faye Dunaway. He radiates charisma, with a shining personality and a sharp sense of humour. He's unmistakably a nerd--passionately devoted to his craft. He's also prone to being a bit of a square, often finding himself tangled in bouts of nervous awkwardness. Despite this, his unwavering commitment to his vision sets him apart, and he's not afraid to take bold creative risks. Case in point: he has cast you as a supporting actress in his next film.

Kai/Kaya Anahareo (m/f), the folksinger ⇢ Although they haven't yet broken into the mainstream, K is a highly skilled musician deeply respected by their peers. Their artistry intertwines seamlessly with their role as a political activist, with much of their protest powerfully conveyed through their music. K is the embodiment of levelheadedness, exuding an aura of calm and balance that draws people to them. Their presence is steady and reassuring, much like the songs they sing--thoughtful, impactful and unwavering.

Dorinda Fisher, the journalist ⇢ Dorinda is a sharp, driven and fiercely dedicated journalist. Relentless in her pursuit of a story or a hard-to-find answer, she doesn't back down easily. Hailing from a small town, she's well-read and possesses a no-nonsense approach to life. You first crossed paths through your bandmate, whom she dated earlier in your career. During the US leg of your tour, she joined the band on the road while freelancing, documenting the whirlwind of your band's journey during a fair few defining months in your rise to fame.

Please note: You will have the option to decide whether the two of you had a romantic connection in the past while you were on the road. If you choose not to follow through with this backstory, you can still romance her as a new connection.

Phillip/Phyllis Wright (m/f), the movie star ⇢ P is a Hollywood icon, a name already as timeless and celebrated as the likes of both Hepburns, Cary Grant and Sidney Poitier. An Academy Award-winning actor, they embody the pinnacle of cinematic stardom, capturing Penn's admiration and dream of collaboration. Known for their charm, striking good looks and effortless sophistication, P commands every room they enter.

Lesley Nielsen, the detective ⇢ Detective Inspector Nielsen is a man married to his work. His guarded and disciplined demeanour can often make him seem laborious, but beneath the tough exterior lies a dry wit and the ability to crack a well-timed joke. A strikingly handsome gentleman, he's adept with a handgun and keeps one at his side at all times. A seasoned veteran of the force, Nielsen only crosses paths with you once he's assigned as the lead detective on the high-profile Ampersand Killer case. Whether you share much in common is up in the air, but one thing is certain: your mutual determination to bring a cold-blooded murderer to justice.

[i-care-4u]

the boy is mine ✹ carlos sainz

SOCIAL MEDIA AU

PAIR: CARLOS SAINZ X SINGER!READER

FACECLAIM: ARIANA GRANDE [she/her]

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED | MASTERLIST

A/N: okay but penn and ariana in that video 😍😍😍 anyway i’m back with my social media aus

→ INSTAGRAM

yourusername via instagram stories

yourusername

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honeymoonavenue oh that boy is definitely yours

yourfanbase.wildin DIV-I-I-I-INE

sabrinacarpenter cutie

anyataylorjoy my true lover

brandy 🤍🤍🤍

lizgillz she's taking it alright

user1 WHO IS THE GUY

user2 nonstop serving

user3 how many words are in sunshine

↳ user4 user3 ATEEEEEE

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→ INSTAGRAM

f1

Liked by anyataylorjoy, k.mbappe, yourusername, and 2,130,929 others

f1 Monaco always brings the stars out 🤩

#F1 #Formula1 #MonacoGP

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ynfanburner SO WHO IS ACTUALLY THE MAN Y/N?

↳ user1 ynfanburner you guys are investigating this as if she got a baby daddy 😭

ynnation y/n, nicholas galitzine, and carlos sainz in the same place??? ohhhh something is telling me that it’s either one of them

user2 MBAPPE 🤩🤩🤩

user3 got to love anya ❤️❤️❤️

brighterdaysln oh miss y/n is in monaco, which means business

itookasampleofynsfragrance CARLOS SAINZ IS IN THE MUSIC VIDEO

thankuln now we’re getting closer to seeing him making that cameo

↳ user4 thankuln and these people be the same ones that called us delusional 😔 look at us now

user5 here for monaco gp ❌ here to see y/n and sainz ✅

f1

Liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, and 540,030 others

f1 Their victory is div-i-i-i-ine ❤️

#F1 #Formula1 #MonacoGP

View all 572 comments

ordinarythings did they just quoted y/n?

↳ honeyisneedy ordinarythings carlos sainz in the boy is mine music video? i think yeah

f1forever best duo! ❤️

ferraribabe i’m going to miss csquared soon

etrnlsnshne no way the f1 account admin just spoiled the surprise for us y/n fans

user1 my boys won!!!

user2 i’m so proud of leclerc, home victory! ❤️🍾

user3 it’s been a long time coming ❤️🤍

slightlytruestory i’m living for the y/n lyric

↳ obviousssss slightlytruestory carlos sainz as the man propaganda is working and i love it

ynlnupdates

Liked by ytferrari, tunyn, lnismylight, and 103,030 others

ynlnupdates Y/n L/n spotted with Carlos Sainz after celebrating his victory at the Monaco Grand Prix, May 26, 2024.

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lnhoney i don’t even watch formula one, but what happened?

↳ vanillayn lnhoney it is rumoured that carlos sainz will be the leading man in her next music video

user1 now i need to see him in that video and i can live in peace

ynsangels in the words of hannah montana, i got the best of both worlds

user2 IM SCREAMING OMG

→ YOUTUBE

→ INSTAGRAM

carlossainz55 via instagram stories

carlossainz55

Liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 1,293,029 others

carlossainz55 The boy may be yours but the pleasure was all mine yourusername thank you for inviting me into your orbit for a moment & christhedirector for building a little world to play. Hey ma I’m in a music video! And in the presence of brandy and monicadenise ?? Honored to be alongside these icons ❤️❤️

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yourusername this is a dream come true to me! once again, i’m so honored to meet you. 🤍

*Liked by carlossainz55

sweetenernsour i was supposed to be in the music video (i wasn’t)

sain55 BRO IS LOOKING A LITTLE TOO GOOD

user1 whatever y/n is feeding this man, it’s working cause he’s so fine 😍😍😍

↳ leclercspassengerprincess user1 go clock in and go watch some f1! you’ll love it i promise 😄

whatthesainz bisexuals won today!

https.ferrari IM SO JEALOUS OF BOTH OF YOU

user2 real question is…who’s the smooth operator here?

hamiltonsbabe CARLOS WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE QUEEN 😂

carlandoo we got y/n and carlos sainz collab before gta 6

[schemmentisimpasours]

Choosing The Dark

Anon Request:can I request a Melissa x fem reader fic where reader is somewhat goth/emo new teacher and it’s a enemies to lovers (I tried to do this request justice. I hope you like it anon <3 ) Summary: Melissa is more than pissed about the new art teacher at Abbott Elementary

(AO3 saw it first because I didn't have the time to post it today so this post got scheduled last night)

Masterlist

-

Melissa came into work that day, angrier than Barbara had seen in quite some time. She threw down in her bag, slamming the fridge as she went to refill her coffee. The whole time she swore underneath her breath getting more aggressive as she went. The younger teachers quickly made their way from the room before Melissa could turn on them. Barbara stayed silent till the redhead flopped down at the seat next to her. 

“Bad morning?”

Melissa scoffed, “You could say that. I lost in my fantasy football league to a woman who doesn’t even know what she was doing. She picked purely on if she liked their name or not. I was sure she was gonna be out in the first couple of rounds but now she is in the championship. She beat me by one point Barb!”

Just as Melissa said this Ava walked in with you close to her side. It was your first day as Abbott’s new full time art teacher from funds that had been secured from blackmailing the golf course. You were excited at work picking one of your favorite outfits for the day: black dress with sheer sleeves stopping right above your black platform boots. Accessorized with different silver necklaces and bracelets. You had spent hours making sure your hair was in a two perfect buns with bang framing your face. Even your winged eyeliner had been the best you had ever done. Topped it all off with deep burgundy lipstick and you felt like you were ontop of the world. 

Well until you saw the redhead that you had been dreaming about since last Sunday. She glared daggers at you and you were brought back to last night's dreams where that angry glare had been inbetween your legs. You took a deep breath to try and control your unholy thoughts as you stared at the woman. She didn’t like you and had made that very clear but it didn’t stop you from wanting her. 

“What she doin’ here?” Melissa barked at Ava.

“Red, you could let me introduce the new teacher before you start yelling. That is how we lost the last teacher,” Ava said shaking her head, “This is Y/N our new art teacher. She will be here full time with that money from the golf course. Y/N this is Barbara Howard who teaches Kindergarten and Melissa…”

“We already met,” The older woman retorted slamming down her coffee, “You picked this job just because it sounded cool or are you actually qualified kid?”

You felt a lump in your throat at how callously she talked to you, “I actually have a masters degree in art therapy from Penn State University.”

“Well we don’t have supplies and the art room got turned into a storage closet last year,” Melissa smirked, “So have fun making masterpieces out of popsicle sticks from the lunch trash can.”

“Melissa!” Barbara scolded.

“Or I can just use my winnings from the fantasy football league,” You shot back, “Since I am already slotted to win the whole thing. How much was the winning pot again Schemmenti?”

You could hear Melissa growl as she tightened her hand around her coffee cup. Ava smiled looking between the two of you, “Oh so the plot thickens. Let me get my phone out.”

“Don’t bother I will be in my classroom to prepare for my classes tomorrow,” You said casually turning towards Barbara, “It was excellent to meet you Ms. Howard. I am coming to get your class tomorrow first thing in the morning. If there is anything you need me to know please feel free to stop by later.”

Then with a swish of your skirt you were off down the hall, completely ignoring the older woman who was staring at you. Once inside your classroom you let out a large sigh trying to hold back the tears that threatened to come over you. This job had been a risk but after no one else had wanted to take a chance on you it was the only thing you had left. But with Melissa’s nasty comment already swirling your head you didn’t know how long you could keep it up. 

This back and forth between you and Melissa went on for weeks. Her constantly digging at your teaching styles and always pointing out when you had made a mistake became exhausting. You already struggled keeping 200 students in check you didn’t need teachers also questioning you. It angered you even more that Melissa had been right and supplies had been so limited that soon you were borrowing from your savings. You had promised yourself you were going to open an art installation one day but seeing these kids light up when they were able to paint or have markers that weren’t dried out was the best thing you could ask for. 

You were showing these new supplies to Barbara in the break room one day when Melissa stormed in her usual cloud of anger. She had lost yet another bet this time on an NHL game and it had left her in a sour mood. 

“You really spent your fantasy football money on those? A waste if you ask me” She scoffed looking down at a large bucket full of cotton balls, piper cleaner,construction paper, paper plates, markers, and googly eyes.

This was when your rage finally boiled over and you snapped, “This waste is your Peter Rabbit project. Barbara told me how important it is to you and I wanted to make sure that we could give them everything they needed plus some this year. We were out of cotton balls, only had paper plates with food stains on them and not a single googly eye in this whole damn building. But if it is such a waste them screw it.”

You pushed the bucket off the table and watched as the contents scattered to the floor.You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the mess that you had made too angry to care much about anything.  You reached for your badge and phone stalking to the door. Right as you went to leave you turned back to the shocked older women.

“And just so you know I bought that with my own money from savings… you know the money I was saving to make my own art collection. Which is now empty because I put money into our kids instead. That fantasy football money you are so worried about went to help pay my daughter’s medical bills. From the car accident that she was in before school started. I still have no idea how you are her favorite teacher but don’t worry I will ask Ava to transfer her immediately.”

With a slam of the door you were gone storming out of the school and onto the front steps. As soon as the fresh air hit your face you dropped down crying into your hands. 

Back in the break room Barbara had her arms crossed looking at her best friend, “Really messed this one up.”

Melissa looked down at the supplies all over the floor and then back at Barbara, “Her daughter?”

“If you took one second to know the girl you would have known her daughter is Astrid.”

“The one who has the purple cast,” Melissa paused realizing how much your daughter Astrid looked like you. Just covered in all the colors of the rainbow instead of your usual black atire, “Oh god I am such an idiot.”

“You could say that again,” Barbara huffed and then got up, “Make sure you pick up your mess.”

Melissa spent the remainder of the lunch scrapping up papers and googly eyes trying to organize them the best she could. The entire time all she could think about how many mistakes she had made. Sure she had been pissed off about the fantasy football thing. But she had been more pissed that you looked hot doing it. That her dreams had been filled by kissing that smirk off your face when you gave her a bratty attitude. Then it just became easier to give you shit than to admit her real feelings toward you. 

When she had made her way to your classroom the door was shut for the first time since you had come to Abbott. She knocked gently and waited for you “Come in” before stepping inside. When you noticed it was her you turned your back focusing on the art projects you were lining the wall with.

“What do you want Schemmenti?”

“To apologize,” Melissa said placing the bin on the table, “I shouldn’t have criticized your supplies. The kids love coming to your class and they have been able to make more this year than ever before. I can chip in some money if you need…”

You turned abruptly throwing an envelope on the table, “I don’t need your damn money. And there is the fantasy football winnings. Take them.”

“But this is for Astrid’s medical bills,” Melissa pushing it back.

“I will figure it out but I can’t have you holding it over me for the rest of my life cause I got lucky the one time when my life was falling apart,” Tears welled in your eyes again and you did your best to shove them down, “I never wanted you to hate me. You know how hard it is to be the only girl in the fantasy football league. I thought we could have been friends...”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You sure act like it,” You scoffed.

“You want to know why I become snippy with you,” Melissa said stalking over until you were pushed up against the counter, “Becuase I can’t get you out of my damn head. I think about you ever moment of the damn day.”

She ran her fingers over your lips pulling away a line of burgundy lipstick across your cheek, “How much I want to ruin this damn lipstick everytime you open up your bratty ass mouth. How much I want to take you home in my bed just to get you to shut up for one damn minute. I don’t hate you Y/N. I am so fucking obsessed with the idea of making you mine that I can’t think straight.”

“Prove it,” You whispered.

Melissa’s eyes darkened, “What was that, sweetheart?”

“Prove it,” You snipped, “Prove how obsessed with me you are.”

Melissa smiled before lifting you up onto the counter before crashing her lips into yours. The guttural moan that came out of you would have made you embarrassed if it hadn’t been for the way Melissa moaned with you. You got lost in the feeling of her pressed against you her hands gently pulling at your hair as you clung desperately to her. The kiss only broke when there was a knock on the door.

“Um, excuse me but my class would like to start art,” Barbara said shielding her students behind her.

Melissa pulled away with a laugh fixing your lipstick the best she could before placing her forehead on yours, “So can I take you out on a real date? Maybe makeout somewhere that isn’t crawling with students.”

-

Taglist

@yoyo-w

@cupldscntrl

@milfslvr

@liliapleasesteponme

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

"Ram in the Thicket" Statuette from Ur (Iraq), c.2600-2400 BCE: this statuette is made of lapis lazuli, shells, gold, silver, limestone, copper, and wood

This sculpture is about 4,500 years old. It was unearthed back in 1929, during the excavation of the "Great Death Pit" at the Royal Cemetery of Ur, located in what was once the heart of Mesopotamia (and is now part of southern Iraq).

Sir Leonard Woolley, who led the excavations at the site, nicknamed the statuette "ram caught in a thicket" as a reference to the Biblical story in which Abraham sacrifices a ram that he finds caught in a thicket. The statuette is still commonly known by that name, even though it actually depicts a markhor goat feeding on the leaves of a flowering tree/shrub. Some scholars refer to it as a "rampant he-goat" or "rearing goat," instead.

It was carved from a wooden core; gold foil was then carefully hammered onto the surface of the goat's face and legs, and its belly was coated in silver paint. Intricately carved pieces of shell and lapis lazuli were layered onto the goat's body in order to form the fleece. Lapis lazuli was also used to create the goat's eyes, horns, and beard, while its ears were crafted out of copper.

The tree (along with its delicate branches and eight-petaled flowers) was also carved from a wooden base, before being wrapped in gold foil.

The goat and the tree are both attached to a small pedestal, which is decorated with silver paint and tiny mosaic tiles made of shell, lapis lazuli, and red limestone.

This artifact measures 42.5cm (roughly 16 inches) tall.

A second, nearly-identical statuette was also found nearby. That second sculpture (which is also known as the "ram in the thicket") is pictured below:

There are a few minor differences between the two sculptures. The second "ram" is equipped with gold-covered genitals, for example, while the first one has no genitals at all; researchers believe that the other sculpture originally had genitals that were made out of silver, but that they eventually corroded away, just like the rest of the silver on its body.

The second "ram" is also slightly larger than the first, measuring 45.7cm (18 in) tall.

Both statuettes have a cylindrical socket rising from the goats' shoulders, suggesting that these sculptures were originally used as supports for another object (possibly a bowl or tray).

The depiction of a goat rearing up against a tree/shrub is a common motif in ancient Near Eastern art, but few examples are as stunning (or as elaborate) as these two statuettes.

Sources & More Info:

Penn Museum: Collections Highlight

Penn Museum: Ram in the Thicket

Expedition Magazine: Rescue and Restoration: a History of the Philadelphia "Ram Caught in a Thicket" (PDF version)

The British Museum: Ram in the Thicket

A Companion to Ancient Near Eastern Art: Statuary and Reliefs

World Archaeology: Ram in the Thicket

Cambridge Scholars Publishing: Colour in Sculpture: a Survey from Ancient Mesopotamia to the Present (PDF excerpt)

Goats (Capra) from Ancient to Modern: Goats in the Ancient Near East and their Relationship with the Mythology, Fairytale, and Folklore of these Cultures

[the-winter-spider]

The Alchemy | Part 3

NFL!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Abuse, toxic relationships, angst

A/N: Oof this ones long but i wanted to set some shizzzzz up

Masterpost

----

It had been a surreal moment when the email came through—the offer to join the NFL team’s media crew. Your chest had been tight with excitement, your heart hammering as you reread the words, over and over, just to make sure they were real. It felt too good to be true, the kind of dream you almost didn’t let yourself have.

You were still staring at the screen when John walked into the room, his phone in hand and a smug grin already spreading across his face.

“Well?” he asked, his voice warm but expectant. “Did they call you yet? I told my buddy I’d have to pull some strings to get them to notice you, but it looks like they finally came through.”

His words hit you like a splash of ice water, the initial glow of excitement dimming as confusion crept in.

“You…what?” you asked softly, your smile faltering.

John leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Yeah, my friend from Penn State—you know, the one who knows the guy on their PR team? I mentioned your name to him a while back. Just put in a good word.” He smirked, like he’d just handed you the world on a silver platter.

“John,” you said slowly, trying to keep your tone steady. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I applied for this on my own.”

“And you think they just magically found your resume at the top of the pile?” he countered, the edge in his tone faint but unmistakable. “Come on, babe. You’re good, but the competition is insane. It doesn’t hurt to have someone looking out for you.”

Your stomach churned, his words pressing down on the excitement you’d been riding just moments ago. This was supposed to be your accomplishment, something you’d earned through hard work and determination. Now, you weren’t so sure if it was entirely yours.

“I didn’t need—”

“You’re welcome,” he interrupted, his voice teasing, though there was a sharpness in his eyes that made it clear he didn’t want to hear any protests.

“John,” you started again, your voice firmer this time, but he waved you off as he crossed the room.

“Relax, honey,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “It’s not a big deal. I just made a call. The rest? That was all you.”

You nodded hesitantly, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen. “I…guess I should say thank you?”

“There you go,” he said with a grin, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

The glow of that moment never fully returned.

You sat at the kitchen table days later, scrolling through emails from the team’s PR office, trying to focus on the logistics of your first assignment. You were determined to prove you deserved the role, to make it your own. But no matter how hard you tried, John’s words lingered, casting a shadow over every small victory.

John walked in, a beer in hand, and plopped down in the chair across from you. “How’s the new star employee doing?” he teased, leaning back and kicking his feet up onto the chair beside him.

“Just going over schedules,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

He nodded, taking a sip of his beer before setting it down with a smirk. “You’re lucky, you know,” he said, his voice light but carrying an undertone you couldn’t quite place.

“Lucky?” you asked, glancing up from your laptop.

“Yeah,” he said, gesturing vaguely at your computer. “I mean, if I hadn’t made that call, who knows where you’d be right now? Probably still stuck doing boring university media.”

Your stomach twisted, the words cutting deeper than they should have. “I thought you said it was all me,” you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay calm.

“It was,” he said with a shrug. “Mostly. But let’s not pretend like having connections doesn’t help. That’s just how the world works, babe. You know that.”

Your jaw tightened as you bit the inside of your cheek. “I could’ve gotten this on my own.”

“Maybe,” he said, tilting his head and smirking wider. “But you didn’t have to, thanks to me.”

The casual arrogance in his tone made your chest ache. Before you could respond, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Anyway,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “you better not forget who helped you get here. Wouldn’t want to lose the job, right?”

You froze, your breath catching. He laughed, the sound sharp and hollow, like he was trying to pass it off as a joke. But the glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

“John,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “That’s not funny.”

He waved a hand, leaning back again. “Oh, come on babe. I’m kidding.” His smile returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Relax, sweets. You know I’d never actually do that. You and me? We’re a team.”

The words were meant to soothe, but they wrapped around you like a vice, tightening with every syllable.

“I wouldn’t,” you said quietly, your hands curling into fists beneath the table. “I wouldn’t do anything to mess this up.”

“Good,” he said, flashing you a grin that felt more like a warning. “Because we’ve worked hard to get you here, babe. And I’d hate for you to throw it all away.”

The conversation shifted after that, moving on to something mundane, but his words lingered long after he’d walked away.

You stared at your laptop, the emails blurring together as the knot in your chest grew tighter. He was good at this—at making you question yourself, at twisting things just enough to make you doubt whether your accomplishments were really your own.

And now, as you prepared to step into the biggest opportunity of your life, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t entirely yours. That John had claimed a piece of it, slipping his name onto something that should’ve been yours alone.

Something you’d never be able to take back.

----

The jet touched down smoothly, but your nerves only sharpened with each bump and roll as the plane taxied to a stop. The rumble of the engines seemed quieter compared to the relentless buzzing in your hoodie pocket. You knew it was him—John. His texts had been coming in rapid-fire, each one another twist of the tension already coiled in your chest. You hadn’t dared look at the screen since earlier, when Bucky had quietly commented on how distracted you seemed.

The memory of his gaze lingered, heavy and unrelenting, like he’d peeled back the years and seen the cracks you thought you’d hidden. You’d done so much to build walls around yourself after leaving him behind in high school, but the way he’d looked at you—soft, questioning, but sharp enough to cut—it made you feel exposed in ways you hadn’t prepared for.

When the captain announced you could disembark, you moved quickly, unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing for the bag beneath your seat. The urge to get off the plane, to find some air that didn’t feel so stifling, burned bright. But before you could reach for the overhead compartment, Bucky was already there, pulling your bag down with a practiced ease that left you feeling both grateful and annoyed.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

“I’ve got it,” he said, his tone quiet but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You sighed, falling into step behind him as the team gathered near the exit. The energy around you was light, buzzing with camaraderie. Sam was cracking jokes about the upcoming game, and Steve laughed, shoving him playfully. Even the quieter guys seemed at ease, smiling and leaning into the banter.

You should’ve been comforted by the energy, but it only made you feel more out of place. Like you were carrying something too heavy, something that didn’t belong in the warm glow of their camaraderie.

As you reached the top of the stairs, Bucky lingered, waiting just ahead. His expression was unreadable, but the way he looked at you—like he was searching for something—made your heart stutter.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry to the others.

“I’m fine,” you replied, but the words came too quickly, too mechanically. They didn’t even convince you, let alone him.

He held your gaze for a beat longer than felt comfortable before nodding once. He didn’t push, and that restraint—his patience—only made the knot in your chest tighten further. He turned and started down the stairs, and you followed, your stomach churning with every step.

The tarmac was a flurry of movement. Luggage was being unloaded, staff were coordinating check-ins, and reporters snapped photos from behind a security line. You kept to the edges, clutching your camera bag tightly like it could anchor you.

In the lobby, the buzz of your phone returned, the vibration digging into your ribs like a taunt. You hesitated for a moment before pulling it out, your fingers shaking slightly as you unlocked the screen.

The texts filled the screen in a relentless barrage:

“Ignored me again? Guess I know where I stand.”

“Why are you even with me if you don’t care enough to answer?”

“Bet you’re too busy with all those NFL guys, huh? Think you’re too good for me now?”

"We're a team. Don't forget it, Id hate for you to lose what you just got."

Your breath hitched, the words blurring together as your chest tightened. The knot that had been forming since the plane ride twisted harder, stealing the air from your lungs. You started typing a response, but your hands shook so badly that the letters blurred into nonsense.

“You’re doing it again.”

The voice startled you, and your phone slipped from your hand, landing with a muted thud against your thigh. You looked up quickly, your wide eyes meeting Bucky’s. He was standing too close, his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in that way that made you feel like he was peering right through you.

“Doing what?” you asked, forcing your voice into something steadier than the trembling mess you felt inside.

“Looking like the world’s about to collapse on you,” he said, his words clipped but not unkind. His gaze searched yours, his blue eyes narrowing like they always did when he thought you were lying.

“It’s nothing,” you lied, the words brittle and hollow in your mouth. “Just work stuff, that's all.” You brushed him off. “The first couple weeks are always a bit rocky.” Offering a small smile.

He didn’t buy it. His jaw ticked, and his arms dropped to his sides as he took a step closer. For a moment, you thought he might press, that he might push through the space you’d so carefully constructed between you. But then Steve’s voice cut through the tension, calling Bucky from across the lobby.

Bucky turned, glancing over his shoulder at Steve before his gaze flickered back to you. His expression was a mixture of frustration and concern, his brow furrowed like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. The weight of it all hung heavily between you.

“I would like to catch up with you later, after we get settled if that's okay?,” he said quietly, the hope in his tone as undeniable as the knot tightening in your chest. You nodded in agreement.

And then he was gone, his broad shoulders retreating as he walked toward Steve and the rest of the team, leaving you rooted in place. Your phone buzzed again in your pocket, a relentless reminder of everything you’d been trying—and failing—to hold together.

You felt like you were folding in on yourself, the layers of your life pressed so tightly together it was hard to breathe. Bucky had been your shoulder once. For years, he’d been your steady place, the one person who could make you feel like the chaos of the world wasn’t going to swallow you whole. He was your best friend, the only constant you’d had after your mom started working longer hours and your dad’s drinking got worse..

And then you moved.

And that friendship was left behind, he didn't try to contact you again—not with a phone call, not with a text. It was like he’d disappeared entirely, leaving a gaping hole where he’d once been. You’d told yourself you were fine, that you didn’t need him, but the truth was that losing Bucky felt like losing part of yourself.

You thought you’d found that missing piece in John. At first, he’d been your saving grace, swooping in during the darkest time of your life, when your mom passed and the ground beneath you crumbled. John had been the one to keep you steady, to tell you to get up when you didn’t think you could. He was the one who’d pushed you to apply for this job, who told you that you were better than you thought, stronger than you believed.

For a while, he was everything.

But the last few years had shifted something. There were good days, amazing days even—days where it felt like you could conquer the world with him by your side. And then there were the others. The ones that reminded you too much of your dad, the drinking, the biting words, the feeling of walking on eggshells around someone you weren’t sure you could trust anymore.

You knew you should leave. It wasn’t that simple, though, was it? Because without John, you wouldn’t have this job. And without this job, you weren’t sure what you’d have left. You weren’t sure there was anything else keeping you together. Maybe you’d tied yourself too tightly to him, just like you’d tied yourself too tightly to Bucky all those years ago.

When Bucky stopped being your friend, you’d lost a huge part of yourself. And when your mom died, another part had evaporated entirely. What was left—the only thing holding you together—was this job.

The one you got because of John.

If you lost him, what would be left of you then?

By the time you got to your room, your limbs felt heavy, like every step had drained you of what little energy you had left. The texts hadn’t stopped. The buzzing had morphed into phone calls now, the shrill vibration rattling against your pocket like a storm you couldn’t escape. You silenced the phone, tossed it onto the nightstand, and stared at it, half-expecting it to burst into flames.

You wanted to call someone. To vent. But who?

Your coworkers didn’t know you well enough. You’d only ever shown them your polished surface, the carefully constructed excuses that kept them from looking too closely.

And then there was Bucky.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands as your mind drifted back to high school. To him. To the way he’d always been there, always trying to protect you, even when you didn’t want him to. Bucky had this way of seeing through you, of pulling truths out of you that you didn’t even realize you were hiding.

But this wasn’t high school anymore.

You weren’t sure how to let him in now—not when the walls you’d built were so much higher, so much thicker. The last time you let him in, he got in so deep it felt like he was a part of you. But when you moved, he let go. It was so easy for him to leave, to let the distance become more than physical.

What if it was easy for him again?

What if you let him back in, only for the season to end? What would happen when you got assigned to another team, when you left again? Would he let go, just like before?

The thought made your chest ache, a hollow, twisting pain you couldn’t quite name. You glanced at your phone, still silent on the nightstand, and felt the weight of your choices pressing down on you.

You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to hear him say it wasn’t easy for him, that he hadn’t meant to let go back then, that he wouldn’t let go now.

But the words caught in your throat.

So you sat there, alone, staring at the phone like it held all the answers you couldn’t bring yourself to find.

A knock on the door broke through your thoughts. You hesitated, your pulse quickening. Another knock followed, this one firmer.

“Y/N? It’s me.”

Bucky.

You let out a shaky breath, crossing the room to open the door. He stood there, still in his travel clothes, his jacket slung over one shoulder. His expression softened when he saw you, but his eyes still held that quiet intensity that always made you feel like he could see right through you.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

He glanced around the room briefly before turning to face you, his hands in his pockets as if he was trying to shrink away like he wasn’t a 6 foot tall football player “I was just wondering if you wanted to go catch up now? Maybe get dinner?”

You stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by the question. Dinner? With Bucky? You weren’t sure if the nerves knotting in your stomach were from the idea of being alone with him or the lingering fear of what John would think if he found out.

“Dinner?” you echoed, trying to buy time as your mind raced.

Bucky nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. Just the two of us. Is that okay?” His voice softened as if he was unsure of himself, something you weren’t used to hearing from him.

Your hesitation made him rush to fill the silence. “The other guys are going to this sports bar—uh, Corner Kick or something. But I thought maybe we could do something a little quieter.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to yours nervously. “I was thinking…Italian? I know it used to be your favorite. I should’ve asked first, but they have a private booth, and I figured we could just…you know…talk. Catch up.”

He rambled on, the words tumbling out in a way that reminded you of the Bucky you used to know—the one who could never quite stop his mouth from running when he was nervous. It made you smile despite yourself.

“Bucky,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. His eyes dropped to your hand before meeting yours again, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ll always love Italian.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “It sounds perfect. I can’t believe you remembered.”

He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he stepped back and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go, then.”

When you reached the elevator, he pressed the button and then turned to you, his voice quiet but full of conviction. “I never forgot anything about you, Y/N. You were my best friend.”

The words hit you like a gut punch. Were. Past tense.

Your heart twisted at the way he said it, like he was mourning something that couldn’t be brought back. You forced a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You were mine, too,” you said softly.

The elevator dinged, and the moment passed as you stepped inside.

The streets blurred past in streaks of light as the taxi rolled through the city. You sat in the back seat beside Bucky, the silence between you thick with things left unsaid.

You fiddled with the hem of your dress, your thoughts drifting to John and the inevitable fallout if he found out about this. But this was Bucky. Bucky. The boy who used to sit with you on the roof for hours, who knew your favorite songs and your biggest fears.

It wasn’t just dinner. It was a chance to have him back in your life.

When Bucky opened the door for you at the restaurant, you stepped out into the cool evening air, your nerves momentarily eclipsed by the warm glow of the Italian bistro’s lights. The sign above the door read Giovanni’s, and the faint scent of garlic and fresh basil wafted out each time the door swung open.

Inside, the restaurant was cozy, with dim lighting and rustic wooden furniture. A hostess greeted you with a smile, and Bucky gave her his name before she led you to a secluded booth in the corner.

The booth was tucked away from the rest of the diners, dimly lit with flickering candlelight that made the intimate setting feel both comforting and a little suffocating. The hum of conversation and the clink of silverware in the background were distant enough to feel like white noise. Bucky slid into the seat across from you, his broad frame making the already small space seem even cozier, more personal.

He handed you a menu, but he didn’t seem to notice the words on it. His gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes soft yet searching, like he was trying to read the pieces of your life that had been scattered in his absence.

“So…” he started, his voice low and tentative. “You’re really okay with this?”

Your brow furrowed slightly as you glanced up at him, confused. “Dinner?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the movement awkward but endearing. “I mean…me. Showing up in your life again after all this time. After everything.”

His words carried a weight that hung heavily between you, the years of silence suddenly sharper than ever.

You hesitated, the truth hovering just behind your lips. Part of you wanted to say no—that you weren’t okay with the storm of emotions he’d stirred up simply by being here. That seeing him again brought back feelings you’d buried so deep you thought they’d disappeared. But the larger part of you—the part that remembered him sitting with you on rooftops and holding your hand when the world felt like too much—knew the answer.

“It’s been a long time, Bucky,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “But…I’m glad you’re here.” You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to be brave. “I would never not want to have you be a part of my life.”

For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but then his shoulders relaxed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, softening the lines of his face. “Me too,” he murmured.

As the evening went on, the tension began to ease, the conversation flowing more naturally than you expected. It felt…normal. Familiar, even. Like no time had passed since you’d last sat across from him.

You talked about high school, trading stories about old teachers and classmates. He laughed when you mentioned how Mr. Danvers, the gym teacher, used to yell at him for being “too showy” during dodgeball. And you rolled your eyes when he brought up the time you tripped onstage during the spring play, your face flushing even though it had been years.

When the food arrived, his grin widened as he saw your plate. “Pasta al pomodoro?” he teased, leaning back in his seat. “You’re still ordering that?”

“Don’t even start,” you shot back, laughing as you twirled a forkful of pasta. “At least I don’t eat half of someone else’s garlic bread on top of my own.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands in mock defense. “That was a courtesy tax.”

“Courtesy tax?”

“You were a slow eater! I was helping!”

You laughed harder than you had in weeks, maybe months. It felt good. It felt easy. But beneath the surface, there was a quiet undercurrent—something heavier neither of you had said aloud. About how things were left, things you were both beating around the bush about.

As the plates were cleared and the candle burned lower, the conversation shifted. Bucky leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. His tone softened as he asked, “So…how’s your mom?”

You felt your stomach twist, the warmth of the evening giving way to a dull ache. “She, uh…she passed away two years ago,” you said quietly, forcing a sad smile.

His face fell, and he coughed, nearly choking on the sip of wine he’d just taken. “Oh my god...I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice thick with genuine remorse. “I had no idea.”

“It’s okay, Buck,” you said, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “She had cancer. She fought so hard, but…it was a lot for her. When my father died the year before, it broke something in her. She loved him, even after everything. Getting me out of that house was her priority, but losing him…it was too much. She held on for a year, but after that…” You trailed off, the weight of the memories making your throat tighten.

Bucky looked speechless, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. “That must’ve been so hard for you,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine—God, doll, I—”

The word slipped out, unintentional and automatic, but it hit you like a bolt of lightning. Doll.

Your heart clenched, the familiarity of the nickname stirring something you weren’t ready to face. You blinked rapidly, forcing yourself to focus as he continued.

“It was,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I was in my last year at NYU, and I wanted to drop out so many times. But John…he picked up the pieces. He pushed me to keep going.” You hesitated, swallowing hard. “He’s the one who helped me get a job doing media for Penn State after graduation. And then he helped me get this one.”

“John?” Bucky repeated, his tone careful but curious.

“My, uh…boyfriend,” you said quickly, glancing away.

The word felt heavy in the air, and you didn’t miss the way Bucky’s expression shifted. His jaw tightened, but he quickly masked it with a small nod.

“Right,” he said after a moment, leaning back in his seat. “Well, he sounds…supportive.”

“He is,” you said, though your voice lacked the conviction you wanted it to have.

Bucky didn’t say anything, but the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was thick, weighted with things he wasn’t saying. And as much as you wanted to believe you could leave the past where it was, you could feel it creeping back into the space between you.

The waiter returned, breaking the tension as he offered dessert menus. Bucky glanced at you, his expression softening again as he gestured toward the menus.

“Dessert? Or should I get you an extra order of garlic bread instead?”

You laughed, grateful for the reprieve, but the heaviness in your chest didn’t fade. Even as the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this dinner had opened a door you weren’t sure you were ready to walk through.

And when Bucky reached across the table again, his fingers brushing against yours as he asked if you wanted another drink, you realized the door wasn’t just open.

It was waiting for you to step inside.