#and once I’m legally European again

[thegreenmeridian]

My family’s stories about who we are and where we came from are a mess but a vague awareness of us being Jewish(ish) has always been there. I don’t know if I count as halachically Jewish - my family history on both sides is vague and muddled and there’s Jewishness smattered throughout, but from what I can tell the matrilineal line only goes back so far. London-Irish great grandma married a Jewish man. I think. Records on people from my socioeconomic background are vague and muddled too.

But I’ve always felt a connection to Judaism, always wanted to convert (or be affirmed, if it turns out conversion isn’t necessary). I’ve never done it. Either I’ve not lived near a Jewish community or I’ve not had the right frame of mind or whatever else. I’ve enquired. I think I was 17 when I first emailed a rabbi. But I’ve never done it.

And now, well, I live pretty much as far from a Jewish community as it’s possible to be. In a hippy town in rural Iceland where… well, there’s a lot of Palestinian flags around and enough dog whistles alongside them that I think being openly Jewish or believing the provable fact of Jewish indignity to the Levant or even just being anything less than rabidly anti Israel would be a major issue. My landlord’s daughter was talking about how my supermarket shouldn’t sell Lays crisps because they’re “linked with Israel”.

Iceland has a rabbi, a Chabad guy. Nice bloke, I’ve spoken to him a few times, on my last foray into maybe converting (but obviously, Chabad rabbis are maybe not the best choice for a transgender bloke covered in tattoos). And I spent my Christmas, ironically, with an Israeli Jew and his Icelandic husband. So there are Jews here, albeit barely enough for a Minyan. But still, not a community and definitely not a community here.

But… I’ve found Darshan Yeshiva. They’re an online community, an online conversion program, working with rabbis and cantors from a variety of denominations, and specifically targeted at people who don’t have proper access to a Jewish community. And when I’m done with my AS exams and I have a bit more spare cash, I’m doing it. I know online conversion is controversial, I do. But this is the route for me. And with the services and seminars held by the Chabad rabbi in Reykjavik, I won’t be entirely cut off from an offline community.

I’ve picked the worst possible time to commit to converting, I know. But I think part of why I’ve chosen now to finally do it, is that it’s such a bad time for it.

[harlowtales]

Jack finds out his daughter has talent but has to deal with her attitude first 😒

18 + only - Adult themes,drama,romance

“For the 3rd time Patricia. Go Change!” Jack said ordering his daughter back to her room to take off her mini skirt and tank top.

“Not fair!!” Patricia said stomping back upstairs and slamming the door to her room.

Jack found her with her face buried in her pillow sobbing. He made her jump when he put his hand on her shoulder.

“Bug.” He said gently “I..I’m sorry for yelling, but I can’t let you go out like that.”

“Daddy so not fair. I’m not a slut!” Patricia cried

“Exactly so don’t dress like one.” Jack said sternly “I can get you a top notch stylist to show you how to dress for fashion and taste.” Jack offered but Patricia was more offended.

“So now not only am I a slut but I have no fashion sense or taste?!!” She fumed. “This is about Jordan isn’t it?” She questioned “You don’t like him. Just say it.”

“I don’t think you’re a slut at all Patricia, and Jordan is a nice guy…for another girl, just not my daughter.” He explained.

“You are such a snob! Uncle Clay was right.” She said meanly

“Wait what? Don’t listen to Uncle Clay.” Jack said sternly “You’re not wearing that so take it off and then if you decide to talk to me with some respect, you can go to the movies.”

“Don’t worry about it because I’m just going to stay trapped in my tower!!! When did you become so lame!” She raged. It was clear Patricia was in no mood. Jack decided to leave her alone.

“Umm Y/N, this weekend with Patricia is not going well.” Jack said solemnly as he called you for help.

“That’s weird because you’re so good with words.” You said mocking him. It was just like Jack to call you when he hardly had Patricia on weekends due to his schedule and having other fun. What you didn’t realize was he always did everything for Patricia. He was just staying visible at all the parties but he preferred being with his daughter any day of the week.

“She has Instagram you know Jack. She sees her dad all over the world and not with her and you wonder why she’s disrespectful?” You said angrily.

“Y/N please. Maybe…Maybe we should try again. You and me, I mean us as a family. I’ll slow down, or you guys can come on the road with me. Little Bug needs me now more than ever. I fear she’s going in the wrong direction, hanging around the wrong people. I can’t fucking stand that Jordan kid.” Jack said tiredly. He didn’t know what to do and every time he suggested trying again you shot him down.

Much to his surprise you were quiet.

“Y/N?” Jack asked concerned

“You’re right. You’re fucking right and I hate it.” You said through tears starting to well up in your eyes. You never stopped loving Jack even after a year of separation. “She’s not getting the best of me either. I’m so consumed with getting my business going.”

“…and dating.” Jack blurted out. He heard the rumours.

“Jack I have a right to date.” You said firmly

“You’re not single.” He pointed out as you were still legally married. Jack had kept to himself the whole year of separation even though reports had him connected to a few people. For once in Jack’s life a relationship didn’t end because of cheating. It was because of his true other woman…music. His career was all consuming and everything with you and Patricia fell apart when he forgot the date of her graduation and booked a European tour he couldn’t get out of. His whole family was upset at him for that one.

“Ok I don’t want to fight with you. Maybe I should come by and talk to her.” You said

“That would be awesome…we can go for dinner as a family, or not whatever you’re good for.” Jack said not wanting to push you away but thrilled he would be seeing you.

As Jack was headed back upstairs to tell Patricia her mom was coming and they were going out for dinner he heard her through the door singing what sounded like something she wrote. He stopped dead in his tracks her voice was that beautiful. It was a sad song talking about not wanting to be in someone’s shadow so she’s hiding her light from the dark world. Jack softly knocked on the door. Immediately she stopped, blew her nose and tried to appear as if she hadn’t been singing or crying.

“Baby. That was beautiful” Jack said humbled by her obvious talent.

“It was?” She asked looking up at him like a little girl again.

“I’m truly touched. Did you write that song?” He asked not wanting to pry too much.

“I just wrote it fooling around being upset.” She said sadly.

“You JUST made that up, like while I was gone just now?” Jack said incredulously.

“Yeah it just comes to me like that.” Patricia said clearly oblivious to her gifts.

“Ok I’m not going to push you but...” Jack started to say

“Oh no. No. No. No. you’re not getting me in the studio.” She replied before he could finish.

“Ok we’ll revisit this because maybe you need something constructive to focus on.” Jack said

“Oh you mean other than Jordan.” Patricia retorted.

“That’s exactly what I mean, but you have to know, you are an amazing singer.” Jack complimented his daughter in awe of her.

“I…I am?” She said in awe of her dad. It was her secret dream to tour with him.

“Dead ass.” Jack said

“OMG dad never say dead ass again it’s so outdated” She groaned rolling her eyes.

“Hey…can I come in?” You had overheard their conversation.

“Mom!!!” Patricia ran to you giving you a big hug.

“Hey sweet pea. Rough day?” You said patting her hair lovingly. Jack’s eyes lit up when he saw you. “You have to respect daddy. We talked about this remember?”

“He’s being so lame mom.” Patricia said like Jack wasn’t there.

“Hey, I have a suggestion. Why don’t we pass by Ceviche for dinner?” Jack offered

“I’m literally starving.” You said smiling at him which was not your usual demeanour in his presence.

“Can Jordan come?” Patricia asked

“No Jordan.” Jack said bluntly. He clearly wasn’t changing his mind about Patricia’s boyfriend. “And I want you on the road next tour. You gonna do this music thing, you have to learn it’s hard work.”

A little smile crept onto Patricia’s face. “Are you being serious?” She said seeming to come out of her dark cloud

“As a heart attack” Jack answered with his hand on his heart in earnest.

“Ughhh! You are the ultimate dork.” Patricia said “But I love you dad.” She left her mom’s embrace and went over to Jack giving him a huge hug that filled him with joy.

“Now change that outfit and let’s go eat.” He said

“Lame.” Patricia said cracking a slight smile.

“Y/N” Jack said in a low soft voice as he had you alone in the hallway. He pulled you close unexpectedly.

“Jack what are you…” You said bewildered and totally unprepared as he drew you into a deep kiss that mesmerized you.

“Doing what I should’ve done months ago.” He said leaning up against the wall like you were in high school days back at Atherton. You and Jack met in math class. He was barely passing and if it wasn’t for you he probably wouldn’t have graduated.

“You wanna sleep over after dinner?” He said smoothly “My parents are out of town”

Patricia came out of her bedroom seeing him pressed up against you and exclaimed “Ewww!!!!” as she pushed past both of you.

You laughed playfully hitting him in the chest saying “Yeah eewww you’re so lame!”

@ride4harlow @okaaay-mice @itsyagirljaz

[cloudsspoke]

¿La Scaloneta? Una poesía muy buena ~

Some heated, hilarious, and heartwarming moments when the boys meet each other as a rival ⚔️

↳ Previously on “¿La Scaloneta? Una familia (part 1)”

Nico: No estaría mal que Leo se coma una patadita Caro: NOOOO

Le dije que no se tenía que enojar porque fue todo pelota. Después se reía porque sabe que se tiró al pedo. Tenemos una gran relación con Ale, son cosas del Partido y quedan ahí - Cuti Romero's interview with Sofi Martinez

↳ Context: Mac was actually upset that Brighton lost because he felt injustice from the Ref’s decision

🔴 Enzo (Benfica) vs Messi (PSG): two legs UCL game all draw, vs Di Maria-Paredes (Juventus): two legs UCL game all won

🔵 Meanwhile, Chelsea’s Enzo vs Cuti – Licha-Garnacho – Julian – Mac Allister – Dibu: all LOSE 😭

Sad to know we don’t get to see Cuti vs Licha during the Spurs clash against United because of Licha’s injury, but at least we get to see Juli-Enzo together once again 💕

FROM THIS >>>> TO THIS

I'm not crying, you are :')

🟥 El Huevo got a red card that prevented him from playing in the Final match

The hard pill from having “The All-Argentinian Final” 😔

The more (Muchachos play in the same team), the better 💕

⚽ Molina dedicated his goal to Angelito Correa (who missed the game due to the death of his beloved Mother)

Is this even legal to have 5 Argentines in 1 club 😭😭

Lisandro Martinez es como mi padre - Garnacho on MUTV

In September, if all is well and Ten Haag is nice to us, let’s hope to see these two together play for Argentina, as what a stroke of bad luck that we had when in March it was Garnacho who couldn’t join the squad during the 1st FMD, and last month we missed Licha when Garnacho made his debut 😩

⚫⚪ Being Juventini for 20 years I’m happy both of them left the club, especially after Juventus’ point deduction that made them couldn’t participate in any Europe competition. And although to me they playing there is like a failed project aka wrong decision, at least I got to see Di Maria scored a hattrick (Sofascore rating solid perfect 10) and Paredes also got MOTM with his superb free kick goal (against Lecce) ⚽

⭐⭐⭐

2022/2023 Season wrap-up:

CONGRATULATIONS:

Lautaro & Tucu for winning Super Coppa and Coppa Italia 2022-23 (Lautaro scored in both final matches) 🏆🏆

Licha & Garnacho for winning Carabao Cup 2022-23 🏆

Messi for winning Ligue1 2022-23 🏆

Gio Simone for winning Serie A 2022-23 🏆

Otamendi for winning La Primeira Liga 2022-23 🏆

Montiel, Acuña, Papu, Lamela, & Ocampos for Winning UEL 2022-23 🏆

Manu Lanzini for winning UECL 2022-23 🏆

↳ Not to mention Brighton & Hove Albion who finished #6 which makes them qualified for UEL Group Stage 👏 and Aston Villa (#7) who for the 1st time in 12 years have qualified for European competition (UECL Qualifier) 👏

Finally and above all, triple applause for ‘La Araña que pica’ Julian for winning the Treble [EPL-FA Cup-UCL] with City 🏆🏆🏆

🕸️

📌 Honorable mention from me goes to Facu Medina:

MAN IS ON A MISSION 🤭

We were talking, you know what Leo is as a person and as a player. To be honest, I congratulated him and thanked him for the World Cup - Facu Medina on his chat with Messi after the game @ SC_ESPN

⭐⭐⭐

👋 if you enjoy reading this post you can also click here to similar posts I have already made:

(1) Little Things I Love from La Scaloneta

(2) Hilarious & Heartwarming stories about La Scaloneta

(3) Crackhead Muchachos

(4) Full thread about AFA's Tournament de Truco

(5) Full thread about Players' room arrangement (¿Quién duerme con quién?) + more gifs about Messi and the gang

Coming up next: Argentina FMD + Holiday picts, stay tuned 😉

[pasiphile]

Ace Attorney, first kiss :*

There had never been a good time.

There’d always been reasons not to. His own feelings, the situation, Trucy… Far too many things happening to justify adding yet another complication to them, and so months had turned into years and all the while Edgeworth had kept silent, biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

Or so he’d thought. Right now, he was starting to wonder if he hadn’t just been too much of a coward.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Edgeworth started.  “I – nothing worth a penny, I’m afraid. Work.”

“Pretty intense work stuff, then. That frown looked like it was about to break your face in two.”

“Yes, well…. Call it a conundrum.”

Phoenix smiled. “Wanna run it past me? God knows I can’t exactly call myself a legal expert these days, but a new perspective might help.”

A new perspective. Edgeworth almost choked.

“Or not.” Phoenix shrugged and leaned forward, forearms on the banister.

The setting sun was catching in his eyes, giving the warm brown a copper tinge. He looked… relaxed, more than Edgeworth had ever seen him. Although, as always since the disbarment, there was this hint of something underlying it all, something hidden…

Never mind. That was speculation. For all intents and purposes, Phoenix was here on a little holiday, helping a friend and enjoying the South-European climate.

And there were no excuses left.

Edgeworth cleared his throat. “Phoenix, I – “”

“Huh.”

Edgworth halted. “What?”

“No, it’s just…” Phoenix shrugged. “It’s been a while since I heard my first name.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Maya and Pearl always call me Nick, and to Trucy I’m Daddy, obviously. And most of the other people I talk with just call me Wright. Although…” He smiled.

“What?” Edgeworth asked, mouth inexplicably dry.

“Well, with you knowing me so long as you have…” Phoenix turned his head, catching Edgeworth’s eye. Smiling. “It feels sorta right.”

That smile. That stupid smile on that stupid face, so pleased about a stupid joke that was even barely one, and he looked content for once, no tension, no thinly-veiled panic, no bitterness –

Edgeworth lunged.

He obviously caught Phoenix by surprised because he half jolted back, then turned and their noses bumped and it was awkward beyond measure and he’d made a mistake, damn it all, should’ve waited, should’ve –

Phoenix tilted his head. Edgeworth relaxed, his hand finding the sun-warm nape of Phoenix’ neck, mouth opening, carefully, gently.

They pulled apart. Phoenix blinked, his eyes still that warm copper brown, so different here than from the harsh lighting in court.

Phoenix opened his mouth. He closed it again.

“Well?” Edgeworth said, his voice almost not shaking. “Did that feel right to you too?”

“Yeah.” Phoenix smiled, crookedly. “Yeah, actually, it does.”

“Ah. Well. That’s…”

“Good?”

“Yes. Definitely. Good.” Edgeworth cleared his throat. “So…”

Phoenix grinned, then grabbed Edgeworth by the hip and pulled him in and, yes, good, finally.

He’d waited a long time, possibly – likely – far longer than necessary. But thank god it hadn’t been too late yet.

[sheep-from-rad]

Its me again!! I was listening to some musical tunes when i immediately remembered your recreating Hamilton SAGAU content. All i have to say is two things-- Yanfei. Legally Blonde the Musical.

Random out.

(Also imagining Kaeya as Architacos in Gay or European just makes me feel sO MUCH JOY-- AHAHAHA)

SAGAU: Gay or European (ft. Yanfei as Elle Woods)Notes: Took a while for me to get to this ask phew. I have one final quiz tomorrow and next month is final exams ah, time is fast. As per usual, requests are open 24/7. Your author is a bit of a turtle and a college third year student so it might take a while. Thank you!! Warnings: A bit of Kaebedo (not much just them playing as Argitacos and Carlos) Masterlist

Yanfei as Elle Childe as Warner Ayato as Emmett Zhongli as Callahan Amber as Brooke Kaeya as Argitacos Albedo as Carlos Reader as creator/director (so they don’t play a role and just watching in the audience)    

Performing in a musical is not something that crossed Yanfei’s mind once, not even when it was a musical made by their creator. She remembers the day clearly, her light stroll in Liyue after a client case was interrupted when a Milileth approached her saying  that her presence was needed in the Jade Chamber. With the rise of cases of people trying to trespass to the Jade chamber (and even harassing Ningguang) to get an audience with their creator, Yanfei didn’t really think much of it and let herself be escorted. 

    It wasn’t until she was given a folder full of paper saying  that she will be playing the main character of a musical from their world. Yanfei shook her head once more as she straightened the pencil skirt that she is wearing as part of her costume. It was tailored to match the colours that she wears in her day to day work but the style is a bit more restrictive and prevents her from running around. Her eyes looked at the audience discreetly, you, their creator, is watching them with awe. If her voice cracks in this song, she will lose her face forever for sure. 

    “Nicos couldn’t have an affair with Brooke! I just did the bend and snap in front of him and nothing. Clearly he must be gay!” Such logic makes her lawyer side question things. She faced tons of cases from Liyue to Mondstadt but she never once heard about something just like this. “Nikos did leave a Cher CD in the pool once”, Amber who is playing as Brooke recalled in her seat. 

    “You want to out this guy on the stand? Elle, that’s crazy. You can’t build a legal strategy on the... Bend and Snap. We need a defense, not a dance move”, Childe who is at the table behind them said. Her fingers are just itching to catch him to throw him to jail but he was tasked specifically to to play a role and the creator seemed to like them. 

    “So you think he’s perjured himself. But you can’t prove it. If you’re not right, we look desperate AND homophobic”, the mysterious funeral director said this time. He looks even more formal with the costume tailored with the colors he usually wears. The glasses that he wears were enough to make the girls in town squeal earlier. 

    “But if she is right…”

    “And I know I am right”

    The spotlight shifted to Kaeya and he froze like a statue. His normal open chested shirt that showcases his pecs to hungry people to see is in a bolder colour of blue. The smile on his face rivals Childe’s and Yanfei is pretty sure that if both of them go together it will be trouble. 

THERE!RIGHT THERE!-- LOOK AT THAT TAN, WELL-TENDED SKIN!LOOK AT THE KILLER SHAPE HE’S IN!LOOK AT HIS SLIGHTLY STUBBLY CHIN!OH PLEASE, HE’S GAY,TOTALLY GAY!

    Zhongli who is playing as Callahan shifted took place next to her and sighed. He himself is starting to question the logic but he found it himself as fun.

I’M NOT ABOUT TO CELEBRATE: EVERY TRAIT COULD INDICATE A TOTALLY STRAIGHT EXPATRIATE. THIS GUY’S NOT GAY. I SAY NOT GAY.

    The passing of lines continued with the audience throwing flowers in the first row as Childe said ‘Depending on the time of day, Snezhnayans go either way’. People in the first row were enjoying it so much, minus for Itto who got flowers in his mouth as he is so focused on the show that he keeps on gasping at every information that he is learning. 

WAIT A MINUTE! GIVE ME A CHANCE TO CRACK THIS GUY. I’VE AN IDEA I’D LIKE TO TRY.

    The gentleman from Inazuma took his place on the floor. His costume is the same style as the clothing that he wore when he first set foot in Liyue harbour but it is in powder blue colour. He buttoned his suit before taking the floor. “So Mr. Argitacos”, he started. The two blue haired gentlemen stared at each other, their smiles playing as the greeting. To Yanfei they are both shady figures but not as bad as the fatui who is playing a big character on their table. 

    “this alleged affair with Mrs. Wyndham has been going on for...?”

    “2 years” 

    “..and your first name is?”

    “Nikos”

    “And your boyfriend’s name is?”

    “Albedo”

    The whole makeshift theatre set up in the docks gasped with Itto being loudest in front. Thoma, who is in the audience, stopped eating midway, Diluc had to set down the bottle of liquor that he was mixing in the mini bar, and Paimon even accidentally squeaked. Kaeya fake coughed and Yanfei felt herself smile. “I’m sorry I think I misunderstood! You say boyfriend I thought you said best friend! Albedo is my best friend!” 

    The shock didn’t stop there as Albedo stood straight up from the audience. He was a bit late that’s why instead of the stage, he opted to sit in the audience instead. Him suddenly shouting that the back made people turn their heads fast together with Venti who is holding the spotlight. “YOU BASTARD!” he shouted. Sucrose had to be pulled by Eula to the side as she felt her legs giving up. This is the first time that she saw her teacher getting mad and even cursed. “YOU LYING BASTARD!” Albedo started walking quickly to the stage. 

    “That’s it! I no cover for you no more! People! I have big announcement!..”

    The front stage erupted in colours of the rainbow and the front lights opened. The whole song for Yanfei remained silly as it wasn’t something that she heard even once as a lawyer. She knows for sure after this play that she’s going to miss the role. 

Taglist: @chihawari @eccedentesiast-sapphic @zurithegalaxywolf

[theshortolivia]

Do you ever wonder who your real parents are

First, thank you for my first ask ever! It’s super cool that I exist to people I don’t face to face know.

I’m gonna assume that by ‘real parents’ you mean biological parents. (Just a note I would try to stop using the term ‘real’ when talking about biological relationships it might offend people). Anyway, I actually do know my biological parents! I have two moms, one of them is my biological mother, and my parents used a non-anonymous sperm donor and artificial insemination to conceive me.

I used to be really uncomfortable about the donor thing as a kid, it weirded me out that there was a stranger involved in my conception. But I love to talk about this now for education purposes and as a fascinating story most people as old as me don’t have to tell (a two mom family having a kid not from a previous hetero marriage in 2000? pretty rare at least where I’m from!) so here’s some further explanation:

When my moms decided they wanted kids they actually chose sperm donation instead of adoption because as a lesbian couple in 2000 Ontario, they would have been pushed to the bottom of the adoption list and it would have been really difficult to get a child basically. So they went with a non-anonymous sperm donor. (This is better than anonymous for a million reasons I could go into another time if you’d like I’d love to talk about it from my perspective as a donor baby!) My moms decided which of them would get pregnant based on who wanted to, health, and family health history. They chose the donor based on a multitude of things: someone who looked like my non-bio mom so I’d look like both sides of the family, someone with good genetics both health wise and characteristic wise (no diseases run in family and family are very smart, creative), and because this donor specifically provided much more information than other did, way more than required. He gave us a video of himself talking about why he chose to do this, family and childhood photos of him, extensive family history including professions and personalities, etc. Then on March 21st 2000 (I’d have to check with my mom but if I remember correctly this is when) at 10am my mom got artificially inseminated and I was conceived. (I think it’s super cool that I know my exact conception date and time btw). Fun (not so fun) fact my moms were common law partners (mostly same legal bindings as marriage in Canada) when I was born but my non-bio mom was not put on the birth certificate out of discrimination (a common law husband to a woman’s biological baby would have been placed on the birth certificate), so, to have legal guardianship over me she had to adopt me. To make things equal my bio mom disowned? me and they both adopted me together! In similar discriminatory fashion, my non bio mother did not originally get granted leave from work and they had to go to court to fight it because a man would’ve. (My parents are trailblazers they’re so cool!)

I can meet the sperm donor if I’d like, he allowed meet ups on his profile at the sperm bank, so once I was 18 I could meet him. I’ve never really cared to though since I don’t see him as anything other than half of my genetic information, i suppose it could be interesting to see what similarities we share since I’m studying genetics but that’s about it. I do think it’s really cool I know my genetics so closely because it’s all written down though. Im half European Jewish on his side and have his eyebrows, and a mix of his and my bio moms hair!

I also know of the other 5 I think? children whose parents used him as a sperm donor scattered around the North America, my parents were in contact with them when I was a baby not not really anymore though, I also don’t really wanna meet them cause they’re strangers to me? Like idk it’d feel kinda weird to make up some connection to them cause we have genetic info in common.

Thanks again for the ask, im pretty much an open book and it’s super cool that I can give my perspective’s answers for questions!

(Sorry this was so long winded and probably disorganized, that’s just how my neurodivergent brain be)

[forerussake]

The google docs thing is fear mongering. Google would get sued to oblivion if that actually let ai into google docs.

Hi there! Thank you for letting me know. I sure hope they’d get sued into oblivion for bullshit like that! I know virtually nothing about the legal side of the AI debate, let alone this specific programme, and I’d imagine European law would deal with it differently than American law anyway. I decided to go read through the Workspace Labs privacy notice and terms of service a little more carefully myself, and I see where worrying about certain phrases in that might become a slippery slope to worrying about things that aren’t really in there. As I read it, the user still chooses what information to share with the AI, and it doesn’t automatically get access to your full google drive (which is what the person in that video was most worried about I think?). Though the fact that Workspace Labs is would be an integrated feature of google docs is confusing on that front. I sure hope I’m right in this!

I also have to admit though that find it difficult to parse the intent behind certain phrases in the terms of service, simply because I do not have enough experience with interpretating them :/// It’d be interesting to compare these terms of service to those for other AI programmes, but I don’t use any anyway because I abhor the idea of them 😅

I honestly don’t know at what point common sense vigilance (which I’d say is important to have for anything you do on the internet, and is something we’re kind of losing in this time of modern social media) turns into fear mongering, but either way I’d still opt out of any AI programme myself, including this one.

I’ll delete the post, but I encourage people to continue to actually read the terms of service for the digital tools they use. Also, not inputting any personal information into an AI has got to be common sense. I personally prefer to keep all my documents on my actual computer and not anywhere in the cloud, and also keep sensitive documents on a separate external harddrive. Maybe this is fear mongering myself, but I don’t trust google to give a shit about anything but making money off of me and my data (and yet I still use google chrome with all its features…. google has won the battle, but will they win the war?) But maybe that’s just the result of me growing up with a dad who works in IT 😅😅

Thanks again for warning me! This once more shows the importance of fact-checking and critical thinking before clicking the reblog button :)

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

Were you aware of the Post Office Horizon scandal?

Long story short, the largest miscarriage of justice in British legal history, or so I’m told. 

Many years ago, back in the nineties, the Post Office decided to splurge on some new accounting software. A few years and a billion or so pounds later and it had one - Horizon. Ta-dah! It does stocktaking! And other stuff.

This was used in post offices up and down the country, processing millions of transactions a day. It also had problems. In a couple of places in a couple of post offices it was coming up short, showing that money was missing. Thousands of pounds, sometimes. The people running these post offices said the software had issues. The kind of issues that, oh, might make it look like thousands of pounds are missing when thousands of pounds are not missing.

The Post Office itself said no, the software was perfect, you’re all just thieves.

And so, one by one, the Post Office took these people tp private prosecution. Any time one of them said hey, look, the software is faulty here’s the proof the Post Office said no, the software is perfect, you’re just a thief, we had someone check it and it’s perfect there are no issues, now give us our money back.

(Some people did pay back the shortfalls out of their own money. Money for nothing! Did the Post Office give any of that back? Did they fuck.)

There were issues. They either knew about the issues and pretended not to or didn’t care when person after person told them there were issues. More than once they have been caught lying, but how is that a surprise?

Twenty years and, oh, seven hundred plus dodgy prosecutions later - more than a few resulting in bankruptcies, unemployment, jail, divorce, and suicide - they’re finally brought up on all this and decide to just double down and say it’s all fine and use lots and lots of public money to fight every appeal that comes their way, despite them being wholly in the wrong.

At some point in this I think whoever was in charge got to leave with a generous golden goodbye, too. Just because.

Anyway, that’s the vague outline. I’ve likely glossed over a couple details and got more than a few things wrong but the main point is they, a publicly-owned body, ruined the lives of hundreds of people who were entirely innocent, ignored every VERY OBVIOUS sign of a problem, and utterly refused to face any responsibility for it.

If you want to know actual details you can look at the wikipedia entry.

Anyway!

I bring it up because today a fresh wrinkle appeared! And it’s a doozy!

So hold in your mind a company throwing its weight around and crushing the innocent and ignoring all signs that there’s a problem, and then add on top of that the fact that the company also started investigating the claimaints and had them sorted by, well...

An internal document shows fraud investigators were asked to group suspects based on racial features.

But how bad could that be, really?

The guidance, which was reportedly published between 2008 and 2011, required investigators to give sub-postmasters under suspicion a number, according to their racial background.

The numbered categories on the document include 'Chinese/Japanese types', 'Dark Skinned European Types' and 'Negroid Types' - an archaic and offensive term from the colonial era of the 1800s that refers to people of African descent.

Pretty fucking bad, it turns out!

So not only were they chasing innocent people into penury and, again, suicide, they were then snooping on them and grouping them using all the subtlety and tact of a nineteenth-century phrenologist.

Jesus Christ!

[weelittleweasley]

sheer brilliance (f.w.)

prompt: being a teacher’s assistant at a local college, you are assigned to a philosophy professor who is notorious for being young, cocky, and undeniably handsome. does his arrogance get in the way of you getting or job done? or is it his looks?

pairing: professor! fred x teacher’s assistant! reader

warnings: typically frowned upon relationships (oopsie i love forbidden romances that are legal and consentual mwah), language, food, drinking, alcohol

word count: 15k (I am so sorry I really couldn’t help myself)

author’s note: there won’t be a direct part two of this, but you can bet ur sweet booty that i will be writing more prof!fred in this universe because he’s just so HNNNGG

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff​ @harrysweasleys​ @gcdricreads​ @lumos-barnes​ @whizboingies​ @lumosandnoxwriting​ @pxroxide-prinxcesss​ @c-t-h​ @lol-idk-oops​ @another-lonely-heart​ @kaseyrose96-blog​ @hufflepuff5972 @amourtentiaa​ @parseltongueswriting​ @shilohpug​ @peachypotter​ @spacexcowgirl​ @PaintballKid711 @vogueweasley​ @freddie-weaselbee​ @freds-slut​ @missmulti​ @gryffindcrghost​ @wand3ringr0s3​ @valwritesx​ @sweeterthansammy​ @loonylovegood13​ @lostaurorax​

“It’s so nice to see another young face here,” a blonde haired girls sighs next to you as you swipe your ID card to enter the university building for your first official day of work. “I thought I was going to be the only new TA here,” she confides in you as your shoes click down the corridor as you make your way through the halls. 

You flash her a comforting smile, “Same here. But I think there’s more of us on the way. Besides, we’re relatively early.” 

As a last year graduate student, you needed to be a teaching assistant in order to get your degree and finish your course requirements. It wasn’t an opportunity you were thrilled about, but it would give you hands on teaching experience in a university setting that could be very valuable. That was, if you had the right professor.

“I’m Luna, by the way,” the girl next to you chimes as she fixes the strap of her purse, offering you her hand to shake, gladly accepting it. “I’m a TA for Women and Gender Studies,” she adds proudly.

“I’m (Y/N),” you smile, “TA for Philosophy.” Luna looks impressed as you tell her about your area of study, making you laugh. “I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds. I quite like it, actually. Just hoping the professor I’m assisting is a good one,” you nervously speak, turning the corner to walk to the Dean’s office.

Luna shakes her head, “I hear you. It’s definitely nerve wracking, but Hogwarts University has some of the top rated professors in the country, so I really don’t think we’ll have many problems in that department.” 

You suck in a deep breath as you nod. The university was quite prestigious, you were shocked when you were informed you would be assisting here, but honored nonetheless. However, there was still a pool of nerves that swam around in your stomach as you thought about the professor you would be assisting. You could have a someone who was so knowledgeable in your field of study or someone who was a complete ass. It was a dice roll. “One can only hope,” you sigh before arriving in front of the Dean’s door, placing three knocks on the wooden door.

The door swings open to reveal a happy looking man, brown hair combed back and a toothy grin on his face. He wore houndstooth pants with a white button down tucked in and a neatly tied bow tie around his neck, matching the color pattern of his pants. His face glowed with excitement as he beamed, “Ms. Lovegood, Miss (Y/L/N), so glad to finally have you with us!” You and Luna offered him a warm smile in return as he opened his office door wider for the two of you to enter. “Welcome to Hogwarts! I’m Dean Longbottom, but you two can just call me Neville,” he smiles as he sits behind his desk adorned with small succulents and stationary. “I’ve been anticipating your arrival along with the other teaching assistants for awhile. It’s so nice that we have such a large pool of you for this semester. The professors are quite lucky to get quite a brilliant bunch like you,” he compliments.

“Speaking on behalf of all the TAs, I think I can confidently say we feel honored to be here,” Luna smiles softly as the dean chuckles and you nod.

Neville nods his head, “We are honored to have you.” You and Luna thank him before he begins again, “So, the two of you have some time before you are reporting to your classrooms for lecture. How about I give you the tour of the campus? A proper Hogwarts welcome?”

You and Luna excitedly agree and Dean Longbottom starts to walk you through the hallways of the beautiful university. The university had once been castle during the Gothic era, still maintaining the same structure. Beautiful hallways, paintings of founders hung in the walls, windows adorned with stained glass as sunlight seeped through. “The dining hall is on the left over here,” Neville gestures, revealing a large room lined with tables, school flags hanging high as students varying in year gather to chat and eat. “And if you look ahead, you’ll find the campus courtyard. It’s beautiful this time of year with the flowers in full bloom,” Neville smiles to himself. “Across the street are the campuses houses. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Syltherins, and Hufflepuffs,” he points as you see tall houses, coated in paint of their respective colors. “I myself was a Gryffindor when I was a student,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you and Luna. “Other than that, I think that concludes the tour. Here are your staff lanyards and your professor assignments have been forwarded to you in your emails. There’s still some time left before lecture, so feel free to hang around campus or in the staff lounge. If you need anything, please, don’t hesitate. I’ll see you two very soon!” he waves before disappearing down the hall. 

In this moment, you take the time to look around the hall to see the bustling student body, smiling and laughing as they make their way down the halls. You softly smile to yourself, reminiscing about when you were an undergraduate. A freshman in the halls, excited for university. Now, you were nearly done with graduate school, soon to be a certified professor. Time had flown by in the blink of an eye. 

“You want to take a peak in the staff lounge?” Luna disturbs your thoughts.

Turning to her, you give her a smile and a nod before walking up the stairs three levels to reach the staff lounge. Inside were a few professors scattered here and there, but mostly there were TAs. The room radiated buzzing nervous energy as red lanyards signifying TA status hung around a few necks. One of the boys sitting at the table spotted the red lanyard and spoke cooly, “You’ve found the right place.” 

He rose from his chair and walked over to you and Luna with a shocking amount of confidence. His jet black hair was gelled back neatly, a crisp light blue button up and handsome tie clung on his neck as he stuck out a hand for you to shake. “Name’s Harry,” he proudly shook your hand. “I was a TA here two years ago, now in charge of the TA program and coordinator for the math department. You two look new. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just I could sense it,” he laughs.

“(Y/N),” you shake his hand firmly as he smiles. Luna does the same with a small smile. “You’re right about the new part. It’s both our first semesters here,” you confirm. 

Harry nods and walks back to his chair, leaning back, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Nice. What’s your area of focus?” he asks. 

Luna grabs a seat and speaks, “Women and Gender Studies. You by any chance know a Ginevra Weasley? She’ll be the professor I’m assisting this semester.”

Harry lets out a chuckle before an unfamiliar voice speaks up, “Oh, Potter is familiar here with Ms. Ginevra Weasley. That’s his fiancé.” You turn around to face a smirking face as he sips on his piping cup of black coffee. “I’m Seamus Finnegan. Head TA for the chemistry department,” he introduces. “You’ve lucked out,” he tells Luna. “Ginny is the best in the department. She’s a hard ass, but you’ll learn a lot from her.”

Luna smiles to herself, “Very excited to get started then.” 

“What about you?” Harry nods to you as Seamus slides into a seat next to Harry. “Area of study?”

“Philosophy,” you reply cooly. Seamus gives you an impressed look as Harry smiles lightly. “Specifically Ethics,” you add on. “I’m assisting another Weasley, actually?” you look at Luna. “Are they by any chance related?” you ask Harry and Seamus.

The two of them just chuckle as Harry sighs, “Yeah, the whole family basically teaches here. You’ll learn fast. They all got jobs at the same time since their father is on the board of directors. All of them deserve to be here though. Brilliant professors, all of them.”

You let out a sigh of relief that you didn’t realize you were holding in. Confirmation that you had a more than capable professor was good news. 

Seamus continues on Harry’s tangent. “Basically one in each department,” he shrugs. “Ginny is a  women and gender studies professor, Percy is the head of the business department, Charles is in the vet school, Bill is an adjunct professor now, but he’s in the language department with a focus in French, Ron is the European History professor and by the looks of it, he’ll be the head of the department next year, George is the chemistry professor I assist, and then there’s Fred w-”

“That’s the one,” you interrupt. “He’s the one I’m assisting this semester. How’s he? Do you have any intel that could help a new bee out?” you ask hopefully with a glimmer of jest in your voice. But the look on Harry and Seamus’ faces make your stomach do a flip. They look at each other knowingly as Seamus lets out a small chuckle. He mutters a small yikes before sipping on his coffee and excuses himself from the table to go attend his lecture with George. “What was that look about? Is he a lazy professor?” you groan.

Harry lightly laughs and shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Fred Weasley is a great professor, no need to worry about that. He’s just...how do I put this without getting fired?” he whispers the last bit to himself as your eyes widen and you lean in closer with a what?, making Harry shake his head. “It’s not bad, I swear, he’s not like...unstable or anything. He’s just very cocky. Fred is good at his job and he knows it. He doesn’t let anyone forget it. He’s been ranked top professor at the school for the past three years and wears it like a badge of honor.” 

Great, a cocky professor. A narcissist. Just what you needed when starting a job that could determine the fate of your career. You sigh and flop back in your chair as Luna gives you a sympathetic look. “Bloody brilliant,” you huff.

“He’s a great professor though!” Harry tries to make light of the conversation. “Fred has been teaching straight out of university, so he knows what he’s doing. Students really admire him and his lectures are some of the best that I’ve seen. He knows how to have fun in the class, but he doesn’t take any bullshit,” Harry reassures you as you give him a weak nod. It was nice to hear that he was at least respected and admired by the students. Maybe you could learn to do the same. 

Luna takes a look at her watch and gives you a nudge. “It’s twenty minutes until the new lecture block. Reckon we should introduce ourselves to our professors?” she asks as you sigh with a reluctant nod. After that bit of information you just received, you were less excited to meet your professor. “It was nice meeting you, Harry,” she beams to Harry as you two rise from your seats. 

“Lovely meeting you two. I’m sure I’ll catch you around in the halls,” he winks friendly before you both exit the staff lounge.

Nervously, you played with the cuffs of your turtleneck, walking down the halls, parting with Luna, wishing the other good luck in their first lecture. As you strolled the hallway of the fifth floor, searching from room 523 where Philosophical Ethics would take place. You wondered how he would look. Old, no doubt. Harry said he’s been teaching since he graduated which had to mean he was in his late forties. Was he a cranky old white man? Great. Just fantastic. He probably had the traditional way of teaching which meant he sat at the front of the classroom and spoke at the class for three hours. Your worst nightmare. How could someone ruin something you loved?

You stumble upon the wooden door with golden paint etched into it 523. With a confident inhalation, you push the door open and enter the classroom, neatly set up for the next lecture. Three rows of eight, one next to the other. In the front of the classroom was a large chalkboard with the words Welcome to Ethics written in sloppy handwriting. Gently, there was soft jazz music playing from a small speaker, filling the classroom, saxophone and trumpet melodies echoing. Everything looked normal. Except for who sat at the desk.

At the front of the classroom, sitting at a dark brown desk was a tall, lean young man with tuffs of orange hair styled back. He wore a freshly ironed white button down that was tucked neatly into a pair of chestnut corduroys with matching brown chukka boots. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off his muscular biceps and toned arms. A shiny silver Rolex watch was strapped on his left wrist as he tapped a pen against his desk. But you couldn’t get over how young he was. The youth in his face was lively as his dark chocolate eyes scanned over a paper in front of him. Your presence was unknown to him as he continued to flip through papers, dragging his pen across the margins. 

Politely, you clear your throat, causing him to look up from his paper, looking up at you. When his eyes landed on yours, you gulped thickly. His whole face was undeniably attractive. His angled jaw, full lips, soft eyes. He gave you a confused look. “Lecture isn’t for another twenty minutes,” he told you before looking back down at his paper, almost dismissing you. “But feel free to have your choice in seat. I hope you don’t mind the music. Let me know if it’s distracting,” he tells you before flipping the pages again.

You inhale deeply. “Actually, Professor Weasley, I’m (Y/N),” you introduce yourself. Professor Weasley looks up at you with confused eyes, trying to put together your identity. “Your TA for the semester?” you speak with a small smile. “I’m very excited to get started with you.”

But before you can ask him what you could do to help set up the classroom, he speaks, “I didn’t ask for a TA.”

His words take you aback for a moment. Instead of an introduction or even a simple hello, he told you he didn’t ask for a TA. “I beg your pardon?” you ask with almost a laugh.

“I didn’t ask for a TA. I don’t need one,” he clarifies to you, rising from his desk as you gulp, taking in how tall he was, standing proudly above you. “I’ve never needed a TA in the past, and I don’t know who decided I needed one this year. After being voted best professor since I got here, I don’t understand why this is the year I need one,” he laughs, making his way around the desk, leaning against it, tucking his hands in his pockets.

You give him a disturbed look. Harry telling you that Fred Weasley was cocky was a damn understatement. The bloody guy was telling you to your face that you weren’t wanted or needed here. That he could do his job perfectly fine without you. “I’m sure you don’t need one, Professor, but this was my assignment. Dean Longbottom assigned me here and I’m just following what I was told to do in order to get my degree,” you tell him, trying to remain cool and polite when you’d rather tell him to suck it up and deal with it.

Fred run his fingers through his hair before placing them on either side of his body, leaning back into his desk, tongue pressed against his cheek. His biceps flexed underneath his tight white shirt, making you gulp, trying not to get distracted at the fact that your professor was not only a dick, but an incredibly handsome one. “Neville assigned you?” he laughed. “Alright. Well, I’ll go down to office and get this sorted away,” he huffed before standing up straight.

But before he could take a step further, you stopped him, now getting frustrated that this guy didn’t even try being nice to you. “Hold on,” you stopped him, fixing the strap of your purse on your shoulder before placing it on the desk next to you. “This job was assigned to me. There are no other TA positions available in the philosophy department this late in the game. I’m not gonna lose this job just because you allegedly don’t need a TA,” you try to keep cool, but the venom leaks out every now and then.

Fred gives you a light chuckle before speaking, “Not allegedly. I don’t need one. There’s a reason why I’m one of the most successful and youngest professors. I can run this class by myself without some grad student’s help.”

Now, you are pissed. “Alright, you know what?” you fold your arms over your chest. “I don’t appreciate being spoken to like this. I’ve worked very hard to get where I am and I will be respected. Regardless if I am a TA, or a student, or a co-worker. I am here to do a job and I will do that job no matter what anyone says,” you tell him as he just stares at you, a cocky smirk on his face that makes your blood boil. It was like he wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. “So how about we save ourselves the dramatics and just be satisfied with the fact that this is the situation?”

Fred just exhales and rubs hand over his face. You could tell he didn’t want you here, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to be here either after his little stunt. You were quite sure he was capable of running his own class, but you weren’t here to take his job. You were here to be an assistant to his teaching, being there to support and help him. This was a requirement for you, not a pastime. “Alright then,” he eventually states, making the way back to his desk. “You can grab a desk from the rows and bring it up to the front, I guess,” he huffs as you remain standing with your arms still folded across your chest. 

He looks up and gives you a look. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” you ask with venom pouring from your glossed lips as you give him a sarcastic smile. 

Fred gives you a sarcastic smile back as he drops his pen and speaks, “Fred Weasley. MA in Philosophy and Human Ethics. Cambridge Graduate. Cum laude.” The pride dripped from his voice as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “And you are?”

You wanted to throw your shoe at his head, your blood was boiling at how arrogant and prideful this man was. “If you were listening before, you would know my name is (Y/N). MA in Philosophy and Human Ethics. University of Oxford. 3.98 GPA,” you mimic him.

Fred gives out a chuckle as you grab your purse and start to settle yourself in the room. “Oxford student? Fitting that our universities are rivals,” he huffs before pulling a desk and chair over for you, placing it near his desk. 

“And why would that be?” you ask sarcastically as Fred bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to snap a snarky response back at you. “Listen, Fred, I’m just here to do my job and do it well. I’m not here to step on your toes. I’m here to finish my requirements so I can get certified,” you tell him as you stand beside your desk, smoothing out your plaid skirt that your turtleneck was tucked neatly into. 

As you stand there, Fred’s eyes rake up and down your body, taking you in as a whole. The first time he’s done this since you walked in. His eyes are like magnets, scanning every inch of your body and how you carry yourself so confidently in the space. When his eyes reach yours, you inhale deeply, trying to prevent the heat from rising to your cheeks as your handsome superior checks you out. “I’m not worried about you, darling,” his thick accent coos. “You’re the least of my worries.”

Just as the words slip out of his mouth, students start to file into the classroom, greeting Fred with good mornings and how are you’s. You tell yourself to calm down, to remain friendly, and cool. As the students file in, Fred greets them all with a warm smile. “Welcome back everyone. This is Philosophical Ethics with Professor Weasley. You all can call me Professor, Professor Weasley, Fred, Professor Fred. Just not Freddie, that one is reserved for my mum,” he teases, earning a few chuckles from the class. He glances over to you with a small stare and begrudgingly introduces you, “This is (Y/N), my TA for the semester. She will be here with us for...?”

“The whole semester,” you remind him with a sweet smile contrasted by your  daggers for eyes. “Looking forward to working with you all,” you tell the class with a warm smile, receiving a few back in return.

Fred sighs, “Right. Well, anyway, let’s take roll and then get right into things, yeah?” The class nods as you sigh. “Alright, who can talk to me about Nietzsche?”

This was going to be a long semester.

Three hours of the class went by at a sluggish pace. Not to mention, Fred didn’t extent an invitation for your opinion or thoughts during the lesson. You didn’t expect him to let you teach the class, but instead, you just sat and listened to him run the class. 

Although he didn’t let you say much, you had to admit that his lecture was quite good. He led the class in a really interesting way, almost like a Socratic seminar type. He let his students make observations and create open dialogues about the philosophy you were covering. Fred encouraged student’s thoughts rather than shut them down and he tried to encourage everyone to participate to make sure everyone said what they wanted to say. But you, he didn’t extend that offer. 

Instead, you took notes. Notes on Fred Weasley. The way he spoke with his hands, how he sloppily wrote on the board with chalk, underlining words, circling, and drawing small diagrams. How he folded his arms across his chest when someone brought up a provocative thought. How he nibbled on his bottom lip when a student asked him a question. How he glanced over at you every once in awhile, catching your eye and smirking when he caught you looking at him. You would roll your eyes and continue to scribble down his mannerisms, what he focused on in class, and how he conducted it. 

The students ate up everything that fell from his lips. It was like magic, the way he could capture 20 students attention about something as niche as existentialism. But you couldn’t lie, Fred Weasley was captivating.

“Okay, for next week’s class read Nicomachean Ethics and start drawing comparisons and differences between Aristotle and Nietzsche,” Fred announces as he closes his book and dismisses his students for the day, a chorus of thank you’s and have a good day’s echo in the classroom.

The final student exits as Fred retires back to his desk, sorting papers and filing away miscellaneous papers. You click your pen as you watch him, waiting for him to break the silence. But instead he sits at his desk and starts scribbling into his planner. With a sigh, you break the silence and speak, “You give a really informative lecture. You engage with the students really well.”

You thought a compliment would be a peace offering. An olive branch of sorts. But Fred took it as an opportunity to dig into you. “I know. That’s why it’s a full class and I’ve got a waitlist 30 kids long,” he speaks without looking up at his desk. 

The guy was cocky as all hell and he was letting you soak it all in. The grip on your pen grows tighter as you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth in irritation, trying to maintain a steady facade. “So,” you breathe out as you grab your bag, pulling your notebook from your back. “You want to talk about lesson plans? I see that you’ve assigned Aristotle for the next week and a half. Maybe a smooth transition would be going into Kant and talking about the categorical imperative?” you suggest, sitting on a desk in front of Fred’s.

He peers up at you through his lashes, your legs dangling from the desk. He gives you all of his attention as he pushes his sleeves further up his arms, fiddling with the lock on his Rolex. “I’ve already taken care of the lesson plans for the rest of the semester. It’s all planned out. It has been since last month,” he explains to you as you nod your head, thinking he would offer something else for you to do.

“Okay,” you trail off. “Is there...anything you want me to do? Coordinate office hours? Set up my own as well so I can be a resource to the students. I can give you my phone number and email to put on the syllabus, so the students know they can reach out to me if they have any questions,” you tell him as you start to scribble down your email and number.

But Fred shakes his head, “Won’t be necessary. If a student needs you, they’ll come to you. Besides, they should really come to me if they need anything since I have more knowledge about the course.”

His passive comments were starting to pile up on you as you inhale deeply, your chest heaving. The turtleneck around your body felt very warm as anger started to bubble in your chest. “Maybe if you told me about the course, I could be a valuable resource to students. Remember, I’m just as qualified as you. I just haven’t graduated yet,” you remind Fred as you lean back on the desk, legs swinging back and forth as Fred starts to pack up his briefcase.

“Yet,” he looks up at you with a smirk, pink lips curled upwards as he leans over his desk, gathering his things. Even though the smirk was condescending as all hell, it did something to you. In more than one way. It made anger gather in your chest, frustration tingle in your temples, but butterflies pitter patter away deep in your stomach.

“So what exactly do you want me to do?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest as Fred grabs his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in the other as he does a once over his desk.

Calmly, Fred speaks, “You can start by filing away those papers on my desk and then once that’s done, make a list of the students in grade point average order. I want to know who needs the most help and who is fine on their own.” After he gives you that direction, he starts for the door.

With a scoff, you hop down from the desk. “And you’re just going to leave?” you laugh at him as he place his hand on the door with a shrug. “You know I am a teaching assistant. Not your personal assistant,” you spit at him.

Fred swings the door open and stands there with a smile. “Teaching is more than just standing front of a room as talking out of your ass, dear,” he tells you as the nickname makes you bite your tongue from yelling at him. 

“You really are arrogant, you know that?” you sneer at him with your hands on your hips, glaring at him. You stare at him as he stands in front of the open door, jacket laid over his forearm, leather briefcase in hand, his other hand combing through his fire red hair.

Fred smiles lightly to you before sighing, “I’m bloody brilliant, (Y/N). You would be arrogant, too.” His words make you shake your head with a scoff. “Sort those papers for me, won’t you? I’ll see you tomorrow in here. Early. 9am sharp.”

But before you can ask him why, he’s out the door and calling after another professor, leaving you alone to your own devices. You let out a frustrated groan as you cover your face with your hands. Of course, you got stuck with the prick professor who takes advantage of an extra set of hands. You walk over to his desk and see a small stack of papers to be sorted and filed away along with the list he wanted you to organize. 

You plop yourself into the desk seat and carefully start going through each file, examining each student’s credentials, organizing them by GPA and last name. You note who could be a tutor and who needs a tutor, who is at exit level, who is at entry level, so on and so forth. The task was interesting, but so time consuming. It was a way you could start to learn more about your students, even if it was through paper.

It had been an hour and a half and you were on your last file when you hear a gentle knock at the door. Slowly, it creaks open to reveal Luna and Harry together. Luna carries two lattes in her hand and smiles, extending her arm out to give it to you. “You are a saint, you know that?” you laugh as you accept the warm, caffeinated beverage. 

“You’re still working?” she asks in disbelief as you finalize some last notes in the margins of one student’s file. “But class ended almost two hours ago.”

You look up at the both of them. “Oh, I know. But Fred left after the lecture and insisted I do the filing and note taking whilst he got to leave on time,” you speak through gritted teeth, finishing scribbling your last note and flopping the pen down, leaning back in the desk chair with a huff. “You weren’t lying when you told me he’s a self-righteous fuck,” you talk to Harry.

Harry laughs and digs his hands into his pockets with a huff. “Well, I didn’t use those words,” he laughs as you give him a look through your mascara coated lashes. He gives you a sorry sigh and leans over the desk, “Fred is a great guy one on one, but as a professor...he just likes having reign over his classroom. It’s not just you. His last TA was three years ago and he made the kid miserable. The kid, Dean Thomas, was so sick of philosophy after he switched to psychology. Now he’s a first year professor.” You roll your eyes and push yourself out of the desk, grabbing your purse and notebooks, piling them all in as Harry continues. “What happened today?”

Recounting the moments of the day made you frustrated, but you allowed yourself to vent to your co-workers. “Well, when I walked in, he thought I was a student,” you speak as Harry and Luna give you an apologetic look, Harry muttering an ouch. “Oh, that’s not even the worst part. Then I told him I was a TA and he told me he didn’t need one, because he’s more than capable of running his own classroom,” you mimic his pompous attitude. “He had the gall to threaten me to go to Neville’s office and find me a replacement class! I mean, sure, he’s a great professor, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only good one in this bloody school!” you exclaim, frustrated failing your arms, earning a small chuckle from Harry and Luna. “I’m sorry, I’m just very frustrated that this is how my first day on the job went,” you run your fingers through your hair, shaking your head.

“No need to apologize,” Luna walks over and touches your shoulder gently. “He sounds...unpleasant...” she tries to be as cordial as possible, earning a giggle from you. “But maybe you’ll warm up to each other? It’s only the first day. We have a whole semester ahead of us,” she looks between you and Harry cheerfully. In a weird way, her light, happy tone made you feel a little better.

You sigh, “I guess so. Ugh, a whole semester with Fred Weasley...” 

The three of you start out of the classroom and start to make your way down the halls, retiring to the staff parking lot and bus stops. But before you can make your way to the public transportation, Harry suggests, “Hey, a few of us are headed to the bar to grab a drink before headed home. Do you both fancy coming?”

Luna perks up and shakes her head with an eager yes please. The idea of grabbing drinks sounded great and just what you needed after this gruesome day. But the looming thought of having to get up early and meet Fred in the classroom tomorrow at nine sharp hung over you like a storm cloud. With a sigh, you speak, “Wish I could. But Fred is making me meet him at nine to talk about lesson plans or something. Last thing I need is showing up hungover to my second day on the job.”

Harry and Luna groan in protest. “Oh, come on! You can’t let Fred rob you of your autonomy!” Luna stomps her foot and grabs your hand. “One drink won’t hurt! We’ll both have one pint and then I’ll take the bus back with you. We’re only one stop away from each other on the blue line,” she tries to convince you.

Harry starts dancing backwards to his car as he beeps it open. “I’ve got an extra seat,” he sing songs as he opens up the door for you.

A small smile creeps up on your face as you sigh. One drink couldn’t hurt. Just one cheeky little drink and then home away you would go. The night was still young, so you’d still be in bed at a reasonable hour. One drink. “You guys suck,” you laugh as you start walking to Harry’s car as Luna claps her hands in glee and Harry triumphantly punches the air, making you laugh.

-------

The morning sun creeps through your window, making you groan and roll over. The sunlight hurt your eyes and made your stomach churn as a headache pounds through your cranium, making you feel sick. “Bloody hell,” you whisper as you sit up and rub your eyes. 

You slowly start to remember the events of last night and everyone there. It was all the TAs, including some of the younger professors. You met another Weasley, Ron you think. The history professor. Absolutely nothing like Fred. He was charming and goofy in a lovable way as he sat next to his wife, Hermione, a classical literature professor, an arm draped over her shoulders. Seamus was also there along with a few other chemistry TAs as they sat at a high rise table, pointing and whispering about the business professors and TAs who sat all the way in the back, drinking scotch and making mild chatter.

“No bother meeting them,” Seamus told you as you sipped on a gin and tonic. “The business professors and TAs are all little shits. The one with the blonde hair is Draco Malfoy. He thinks he’s better than everyone because he got his PhD, but everyone knows his dad paid off the university to give him the doctorate. His TAs all kiss his ass to get in his good graces. Zabini, Nott, Goyle, all of them,” he groans before taking a long sip of his ale, making you laugh.

You had tried to tell yourself that you would only stay for one drink, but then you started yourself in conversation with the other TAs about undergrad and grad school, realizing the mutual friends you had with each other. And then, you found yourself being convinced by Ron to do a green tea shot with him as he toasted to all of the new TAs of the semester. And with that, one drink became six.

With a groan, you slump yourself up in your small studio apartment and rub your temples. As the sunlight leaked in through your white linen curtains, you check the clock. The hands pointed to 8:25am which made you gasp and rise to your feet. “Motherfucker,” you huff to yourself as you run to the bathroom. You had to meet Fred at 9 and it already took you twenty minutes to get to campus which left you with virtually no time to get ready. “Shit, shit, shit,” you turn on the shower quickly, running to your closet to grab a fresh pair of plaid pants and a jumper. “I’m so dead,” you whisper to yourself as you scramble to get ready.

You frantically rub soap all over your body with one hand and brush your teeth with the other, needing to freshen up after a long night out. The shower was cold and unpleasant as you shivered before hoping out and throwing your clothes on, opting to skip a full face of makeup and just pop on tinted moisturizer and lip balm. 

Checking the clock again, it was 8:35 and you groan in frustration. “I am a fucking moron,” you curse at yourself, grabbing your purse and notebooks and pens and papers, trying to get yourself organized before racing out the door to catch the bus. You run to your pantry to grab a granola bar as your phone starts buzzing on your nightstand. “Who the fuck is it?!” you scream as if your phone could hear you.

Stomping over, you grab it and see it was Harry calling you. “I’m kinda rushing to get out the door, Potter, make it quick, what’s up?” you babble as you slip your shoes in your Oxfords, lacing them up quickly.

Harry chuckles over the line. “I figured as much. You were a bit of a mess last night,” he tells you as you groan. “I’m only teasing you. But that being said, I’m passing your street in like two minutes, do you wanna catch a ride instead of betting on the bus?” he offers.

You sigh the biggest sigh of relief as you immediately respond. “Harry, you are a life saver,” you huff as Harry laughs. “I’ll be downstairs in a hot second. I just need to grab my coat and keys,” you tell him before hanging up.

Someone had your back today and sent Harry Potter to you. Rushing over to your coat rack, you grab your trench coat and your keys, doing a once over of your apartment, making sure you had everything, turned off all the lights and faucets. With a confident sigh, you exit your apartment, lock the door, and rush down the stairs. 

As expected, Harry sat in his car with a ginger haired woman in the passenger seat. You give him an exhausted smile as you open the back seat and slide in. “Morning,” he chimes as you shut the door and buckle your seatbelt. “How are we feeling?”

You give him a knowing look. “Fuck off,” you grumble as he laughs. “I can’t believe I let myself get carried away like that last night.” You never let yourself loose track of time like that; you felt so irresponsible. “If you didn’t call me, I would surely have my ass handed to me by Fred today.”

“Fred?” the woman in the passenger seat chimes in. “Are you the poor TA who has to deal with my brother this semester?” she asks as you sigh and nod. “Good God, I apologize on his behalf. He can be a dick sometimes. I’m Ginny by the way.”

She turns to you, offering her hand to shake as you gladly accept it. “The women and gender studies professor, right?” you ask as she proudly nods. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m (Y/N), philosophy,” you tell her with a smile. “You and Harry are engaged, if I remember correctly?”

Ginny smiles happily and flashes you her engagement ring. “Just recently, yeah,” she confirms with an admiring look to Harry as he drives down the road, a small smile on his lips. “We met when we were both TAs and have been together since,” she recounts with a smile. “Enough of that though, how are you finding Hogwarts so far? With exception of my bothersome older brother,” she reframes the question.

“So far, so good,” you tell her honestly. The staff at the university was class. Everyone was so warm and welcoming and made you feel at home instantly. “I think last night I also met your brother, Ron. He kept handing out shots to the new TAs,” you recall as the pang in your head agrees.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s him. Ron likes to mess with the new bees every year,” she speaks. “Here, take this,” she hands you a piece of spearmint gum and a tube of mascara. “It’ll make you feel better, trust me,” she winks as you thank her. “Harry should have given you a heads up on that one,” she elbows him.

Harry shakes his head, “Ron has been my best mate since grad school, I’m not revealing his tricks to anyone no matter how good of a friend they are.” And with that, Harry pulls into the staff parking lot of Hogwarts as the time reads on the dashboard 8:55am. 5 minutes to spare.

As Harry puts the car in park, you unbuckle yourself and say, “I hate to rush out like this, but I quite literally have to dash to get to this meeting with Fred on time. Ginny, it was lovely meeting you. Harry, I owe you one. Thanks so much for the ride,” you slide out of the car as you dash towards the school.

“You can buy me a round of drinks!” he teases after you as you shake your head, dashing through the halls of Hogwarts to get to classroom 523.

You dart in between students as you run up the stairs, purse in hand, hair flowing as you make a mad dash. Finally, you reach the classroom and push the door open to reveal no one in the room. “Seriously?” you huff out of breath. You just ran here for no reason. Fred was no where to be found. But after closer inspection, there was a small sticky note on the chalkboard that read be back in ten. You huff and throw your bag down, walking around the classroom, trying to distract yourself from your throbbing headache.

The classroom is neatly decorated, plants here and there, the windows open to draw in fresh air as you inhale deeply. Then you remember from yesterday. There was a small speaker by Fred’s desk, connected to the desktop on his desk. You walk over and press the power button, making the speak bleep on with a blue flashing light. You press play and see what was on the queue. Soft jazz music starts playing, specifically Frank Sinatra’s I’ve Got You Under My Skin. You smile to yourself, how fitting. 

As the jazz music echos lightly, you allow yourself to sway gently to the music, smiling to yourself. The song reminds you of working late in the library when you were in school, listening to music to maintain your focus. You hum the melody to yourself, dancing around the classroom, looking at the bookshelves, letting your fingers trace down their backbones. You allow yourself to start softly singing the lyrics as the tempo picks up, swaying back and forth as you pluck a book from the shelf, scanning it’s contents. 

The song picks up, the brass section wailing as you dance around, reading the first few pages of a random book from Fred’s collection. You continue to sing out loud, a little off key as you smile to yourself. In this moment, you were content, regardless of how gross you felt. “’Cause I’ve got you under my skin,” you sang gently as you continued to dance back and forth, cradling the book in your arms.

But you are pulled from your day dream when a voice speaks, “You’re a fan of old blue eyes?” You let out a light squeal as you see Fred standing there, watching you with a small smirk on his mouth, holding two coffees in his hand. 

You place a hand over your heart, monitoring how it thuds against your chest from being startled. You looked at Fred and sighed. He stood there, in a light tan khakis, crispy white shirt with a maroon tie hanging from his neck. A pair of square glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as his chocolate brown eyes peered at yours through them. “Sorry you had to see that,” you chuckle. “Sinatra is one of my favorites.”

Fred chuckles, “No need to apologize. Frank is one of the greats.” He walks over to you and hands you a coffee as you tuck the book in your hands under one of your arms. “Figured you’d need one of these,” he refers to the coffee. “TAs usually have quite the night out of the first day of work,” he recalls with a small smile. Was he...being friendly? But before you could ask how he knew you went out, he answered, “Ron is my brother. I know his ways. Because he learned them from me.” You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, but I assumed a latte with an extra shot would suffice?” 

You give him a soft smile, “Yeah, that’s perfect. Thanks so much. I appreciate it.” Fred nods and sits as his desk with a huff, pulling himself close to the desk. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Fred pulls his glasses off of his face and twirls them in between his fingers as you watch the glasses spin around and around. “I wanted to talk about expectations for the class and for you,” he speaks as you nod and take a sip of your warm latte that almost instantly helps with your headache. “I...I realize that we may have not gotten off to the best start yesterday...and I apologize for my behavior,” he speak as you nod.

An apology was a good start. “You’re forgiven,” you simply state.

“Thank you,” he adds before rubbing a hand over his lips. “As for the class, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. This class is a prestigious course. One of the harder ones in the department. That being said, I think it’s best for me to have the reigns on the class and lead class lectures. You are free to observe and aid in answering questions about assignments or papers,” he tells you as he leans back in his chair, thinking he made a reasonable bargain. But it was quite the opposite.

You weren’t here to sit around and listen to another philosophy professor spew a scripted lecture. You did that for four years in undergraduate school. You were here to learn how to teach a classroom, how to run a lesson plan, how to gain hands on experience. Being a puppet in the corner was not going to accomplish any of those things. “Fred, I appreciate the apology. But this offer is not acceptable,” you state calmly. “I’m your teaching assistant. I’m here to help in any way I can, of course, but I’m also here to help teach and instruct the class. You are suppose to help me learn how to teach the class.”

Fred nods, “And you can do that by matters of observation.”

His way of brushing you off made you infuriated again, just like yesterday. Did he do this to everyone? “But don’t you think it would be more helpful for me to have some actual hands on experience? Like actually teaching the class?” you tell him more than ask him.

He rises from his chair and sighs, “I don’t need you creating a new lesson plan. I’ve been using this one since I got here and it works. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.” Fred walks over to the board and writes in bold letters, Aristotle, preparing for today’s lecture. The way that he so nonchalantly stated that to you and started writing on the board as if he didn’t insult your intelligence made you infuriated.

“You’re a fucking prick,” you flat out spew. You wish you could take it back, you really did. As soon as the words left your lips, you regretted what you had said to him. Insulting your superior was surefire to get you fired and released from your job, making you ineligible to graduate. But damn did it feel good to say. 

Fred turns around to look at you, eyebrows furrows as if you just spoke in a foreign language to him. “I’m a fucking prick?” he repeats, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back on the chalkboard, crossing his legs as you stand in front of him, completely enraged, fists tight next to your sides. “Wouldn’t be the first time I heard that,” he laughs, combing his fingers through his hair, as if what you said was a compliment.

“Well the people who said it before were right! You’re cocky and arrogant and self-righteous and pompous and self-absorbed. You clearly have no intention of helping anyone but yourself! That’s probably why you like being a professor! So everyone listens to every last bit you say,” you start to ramble. Now that you had said what was on your mind, it was almost impossible to stop. The words flew off your tongue like a jet. 

Boldly, Fred pushes himself off the chalkboard, hands dug into his pant’s pockets as he walks closer to you. A small smirk dances along his lips as his tongue darts out and drags across his lower lip. The action makes your breath hitch in your throat as you mentally curse yourself, wanting to be annoyed with him, but yet you found yourself aroused. “Keep going,” he urges. “Go on. Tell me how unbearable I am. You’ve only known me twenty four hours, but it seems like you have me all figured out,” he speaks, just a foot away from your body.

Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, your lips slightly parted as you take heaving breaths, making your chest rise and fall quickly. Fred’s eyes scan your face, soaking in your annoyed and confused expression. You suddenly become very aware of how close he is to you and you shake your head, taking a step back. “I only need a day to know an asshole when I see one,” you simply state, folding your arms over your chest. Your expression reads as if it were Fred’s turn to take a dig at you.

Fred chuckles lowly before speaking, “Here’s your problem, darling.” The endearing terms makes your stomach curdle. “You don’t get the hands on experience your second day on the job. You’ve gotta prove to me that you can run a class and keep their attention for three hours. You think it’s easy keeping the attention of a bunch of twenty year olds when you’re talking about philosophy? It’s not as easy as you may think it is,” Fred explain as you roll your eyes. “I was in your shoes once before, so I know what you’re experiencing.”

You laugh, “Oh, don’t pull that card. You’re a professor now. You did your time in my shoes. Don’t pretend like you’d give anything to go back.”

“Oh, honey, you couldn’t pay me enough to go back!” Fred retorts, now with an edge. “You know what. I could let you run today’s class,” he chuckles at the thought. “I could let you run it and watch you crash and fucking burn,” he emphasizes with a shrug. “I could watch those students trample all over you, you know why?” he asks looking at you intently as you gulp. “Because they don’t respect you! They don’t know who you are. In fact, they see you as one of them! If I mistook you as one of them on the first day, then what made you think they wouldn’t?” he asks as you inhale deeply. “Respect is earned when you are in a position of authority. Even if you’re just a professor. And you, (Y/N), haven’t earned that yet from the students. And I honestly don’t know if you have it from me.”

And with that last dig, the first student enters the classroom signaling that the first lecture of the day was ready to begin. Fred and you don’t acknowledge the student, just staring at each other. Fred’s words stung. Like a fresh wound, you were bleeding out. His words were sad, but true. You were a TA, but you were still a grad student. Fred worked to get to the position he was at. You just needed to prove to him that you were capable of handling yourself in a classroom setting as a teaching assistant.

You retreat back to your desk at the front of the room and sit down with a small huff, pulling out the attendance sheet, marking students as present as they enter the classroom.

Fred rubbed his hands over his face, feeling guilty for his out burst. He knew you were brilliant. To be quite honest, Fred knew he was going to get a TA. He had checked out your academic profile, seeing that you graduated undergrad with a nearly perfect grade point average and extra circulars that were sure to blow any one away. Your thesis statement made Fred laugh to himself, it was similar to his own when he was in university; the effect of utilitarianism on free will in our post-modern society. In a weird way, you reminded Fred of himself. Confident, smart, and ballsy. But where you differentiated with Fred is your adaptability. How you could adjust and go with the flow, that was Fred’s downfall.

Soon the classroom was full of students again and Fred took a deep breath, trying to regain his focus and composure to teach the class. He didn’t dare look at you, it would just make him upset. And you didn’t want to look at him. Fred sat on his desk, his long legs almost hitting the floor even when he sat. “Hello everyone,” he addressed the class, some students chiming back. “Let’s get started for the day. Shall we?” he claps his hands together. “Who can talk to me about eudaemonia?” he asks the class.

You looked out at the classroom along with Fred, anticipating a slew of hands but instead you got nothing. Students sat in their chairs in silence, some twiddling their pens, others scribbling in a notebook, some still groggy this during the ten o’clock lecture. “Someone’s gotta know about it. Come on then,” Fred probes the class as they remain silence, only sound is some kid yawning in the back. Fred allows the class to remain silent for a moment. “Alright,” he huffs. “Rough morning for a lot of us,” he speaks, hoping to catch your attention with that line, but you scribble nonsense into the margins of your notebook. “Maybe (Y/N) could give us a definition?” he suggests.

Your head shoots up like a rocket from your paper as you look at Fred with panic in your eyes. He looks at you with a small smile and encouragement, almost as if this were his way of making amends. A twisted way. You look towards the class and see twenty sets of eyes on you as you gulp before shaking away your nerves. “Um, yeah,” you clear your throat. “Eudaemonia is the greatest good, the aim for all human thinking and rational. Another word for eudaemonia is happiness,” you simply state, making the students start scribbling in their notebooks. Pride swells in your chest as you realize what you was valuable to the students. “Eudaemonia is achieve through action in tandem with the human soul and psyche. When eudaemonia is at its highest form, it is known as virtue,” you explain further as the class continues to scribble down what you were saying.

Slowly, you look towards Fred who gives you a small smile and a nod as you just give him a curt nod and turn back to your desk. But when you look away, it’s hard to cover up the small smile on your lips as you fiddle with the pen in your hands. Fred notices your grin as smiles to himself before speaking, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Maybe today would be better than yesterday.

--------

Another two weeks had gone by and the work relationship you had with Fred improved significantly. He let you interject at certain points in his lectures, let you pose questions to the class, and even assigned you students for office hours. Finally, you started to feel like you were doing what you came here for and you were loving every moment of it.

Fred was a great professor and an even better mentor. He commanded a classroom unlike any other professor you have ever seen. He spoke with confidence and coolness and the students ate him up. It must be rewarding for him, watching students love his work as much as he did. You would watch him with a small smile as you jotted down notes here and there. Fred would catch your eye every now and then in class and gave you a small smile or cheeky wink that made your heart stop every now and then as you turned away from him, biting the inside of your cheek to make you stop smiling. 

“Remember to finish Kant’s Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals for tomorrow’s class! If you haven’t turned in your paper on Nicomachean Ethics yet, do it by 4pm or else I will personally send (Y/N) to find you and hunt you down,” he teases the class as you roll your eyes, making the class laugh. “Happy Friday. Now scram,” Fred dismisses class as students file out.

When the majority of them have dispersed, you walk over to Fred’s desk and huff, “Good lecture today. Katie brought up some good questions about the differences between hypothetical imperatives and categorical imperatives.” Fred leans back in his desk chair, flopping his notebook down on his desk.

“Yeah, she did. But god, I wanted to punch Brian in the face. He kept talking over her while she was saying something poignant. I get it, Brian, there are different formulations, but damn, shut the fuck up,” Fred groans, making you laugh as you grab your bag and get ready to pack up for the day. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news...” he trails off as he rises from his seat.

You groan and throw your head back as you spin on your heels to face him. “Please, don’t tell me...” you start as Fred nods his head sadly. “Come on, Fred. It’s Friday night! Beginning of the weekend! All of the TAs are getting drinks at the pub tonight and quite honestly, I’d rather be doing that than grading philosophy papers,” you whine to him.

Fred mockingly places and hand over his heart and speaks, “First off, I am offended that you don’t want to spend time with me grading papers on the brilliance of Aristotle through a twenty year olds eyes.” The comment makes you chuckle, but he pushes on, “But I want to grade this papers tonight and finish them tonight so I, well we, can have the weekend free. You can get drinks any other night with the TAs. But we’ve got to do this tonight.”

You stomp your foot in frustration like a toddler, making Fred chuckle as he places his glasses on his face. “But tonight it’s dollar drafts! Dollar drafts happen once a week!” you beg him. “Why can’t we grade tomorrow?”

“Because I need to put these grades into my grade book before the students start wondering if they’ll ever be graded for something in this class,” he explains. “How about this?” he proposes. “We meet back here at 4:30pm. I’ll get take out for the both of us and we can drink coffee and energy drinks like we’re back in undergrad cramming for an exam. It’ll be fun,” he shimmies his shoulder making you giggle. 

With a huff, you say, “Fine. But if we’re here past midnight, I’ll never forgive you.” 

You start out of the classroom as Fred calls after you, “It’ll be fun!”

Shaking your head down, you start down the hall and see Harry and Luna talking as they leave their respective classrooms. “Heyo,” Harry calls out to you before slinging an arm around your shoulder. “So, for dollar drafts tonight we were just gonna take a cab there at around 5:00. Ron is going to be late because he’s going to wait for Hermione to get out of her night class and they’ll come together. But Seamus, Luna, Cho, and I will all be there and I think Dean said he’s coming and bringing some friends from grad school. It should be a great time,” Harry explains with a big grin.

Your ‘fomo’ was kicking in hard core as you sigh and speak, “About that...I can’t make it tonight.” Luna gives you a sad look as Harry groans and throws his head back. “Fred and I need to grade papers tonight to make the first quarter grades. If I get out early though, I’ll call and see if you guys are still there,” you offer as Harry slumps over. 

“At least it sounds like things are going better with you and Fred,” Luna tells you and you nod with a smile. “Are you learning from him?”

“Absolutely,” you tell her. “Fred is actually a great professor and the class adores him. I’ve been enjoying it a lot recently.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows, “Yeah, I’m sure you have.”

You slap Harry’s shoulder at his cheeky suggestion that something was going on. “Oh, quit it, Harry,” you say through gritted teeth. “Fred and I have a strictly working relationship. He and I are co-workers and are professional. All of my relationships are here. That’s more that some people can say,” you tease him about his engagement to Ginny as he rolls his eyes and mimics you. “Besides, there is nothing romantic or sexy about grading papers about ethics. In fact, it’s the opposite thing.”

Harry laughs, “You never know. Maybe you two will get so caught up in talking about morals that you just start to...” he mimics the sounds of sloppy snogging and moaning as you slap his arm again, Luna giggling. “Okay, okay, I’m just teasing you! But if you can meet us at the pub, give one of us a call and we can hail you a cab,” he tells you as you hug Luna goodbye and then Harry.

“Will do. Have a drink for me. Lord knows I’ll need one,” you huff, watching them walk off to catch up to Dean and Seamus. 

Instead of getting drunk at a bar after a long week of work, you would be grading papers all night with Fred. Which honestly, maybe, didn’t sound so awful.

A few hours past and you and Fred were at on opposite sides of his desk, empty Chinese take out boxes scattered around you along with empty coffee cups and cans of energy drinks. It was ten o’clock at night and you had hardly made a dent in the papers. You throw your head on the desk with a thud, making Fred chuckle. “This is hell,” you groan. “Do they even proof read their sentences?” you ask Fred who shakes his head. “Seriously. Some of these papers are just bad. Weak thesis and an even weaker argument,” you slap the paper in front of you.

Fred scribbles in red ink on one paper and circle the letter grade on it before shifting it to the done pile. “Honestly, if it’s horrid and you struggle to make it past the third page, just skip to the end, read the conclusion and if it reads fine, give them a C minus. If they have a problem, they can come to office hours and talk about it with me,” he tells you as you laugh. “I’ve done that with two of them already.”

You place a C minus in red ink at the end of the paper and shift yours into the done pile. “How many more do we have left? We’ve been here for nearly six hours,” you tell him.

Fred examines the pile and huffs, “About four more. So two more each and then we’ll be done. The papers are ten pages long, so only twenty more pages of absolute garbage to read before we are done.”

Eh, that wasn’t so bad. You sigh and examine the room around you. Your eyes land on Fred whose eyes scan over the page as he nibbles away at his lower lip, glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, red pen tucked behind his ear. He made markings on the paper here and there, adding comments as he sees fit. He’d mumble a bloody hell here and there if something was really bad, making you giggle. He’d catch your eye and a proud smile would form on his lips when he saw that he’d made you giggle.

After another hour and a half of grading, you were finally finished with the thick stack of papers on Fred’s desk. The two of you let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back in your chairs. “Freedom!” Fred cried out as you laughed, running your fingers through your hair. “And before midnight!” he points to his watch, the hands pointing to 11:37pm. “I think I know what this calls for,” he speaks wiggling his brows as you watch him stand up and pulls out a drawer to reveal a small handle of whiskey. 

You laugh and shake your head. “Ohhhh, no,” you laugh and wave your hands. 

“Really, (Y/N)? Eight hours of grading papers and you don’t want one drink?” he pours one glass, waiting to pour yours.

You think for a moment. You were supposed to call Harry and Luna and tell them that you would meet them at the bar. But quite honestly, you didn’t feel like leaving the classroom and the pleasant company of Fred. Maybe some one on one time could strengthen your relationship...as co-workers, of course.

In defeat, you sigh, “Fine.” 

Fred smiles and pours you a nice, hefty glass of the brown liquor before handing it to you and sitting in his chair. “To a job well done,” he toasts as you clink your glasses together, sipping from the glass. The whiskey is smooth and warms your chest up delightfully as you relax further into the chair. The two of you rest in comfortable silence before Fred starts, “So...after you’ve finished your job here, where do you hope to go?” 

You think for a moment and lean on your elbows on his desk, letting your hair flop forward. “Not too sure really,” you admit. “I know I want to teach at a university level, but it’s just a matter of where positions are available. Maybe I’ll go back to Oxford and see if there’s any availability in their department,” you toss around as Fred boos you, knowing the rivalry between Cambridge and Oxford is still fierce. “But I’m trying to go with the flow and see where the demand is.”

Fred nods his head and huffs, “Well...what if I told you that there is going to be an opening in position here at Hogwarts for next fall?” You give him a confused look as you sip from your whiskey. He says, “Professor McGonagall? She’s been here for ages and she’s retiring after nearly sixty years of teaching.” You widen your eyes and nod your head. Impressive. “The department is looking to hire a new, fresh face and I think you might be right for the job...” he takes a sneaky sip from his glass.

“It’s a really kind offer, Fred, really thoughtful of you,” you tell him. “But I want to know that where I apply for a job I’ve earned it. I didn’t get the job because someone pulled the strings behind the scenes,” you tell him. This was true. Anyone would kill for a job at Hogwarts University, but you wanted to know that you earned your title here and not because a friend handed it to you. 

He leans forward and speaks, “This wouldn’t be me pulling any strings. (Y/N), you are a brilliant person and the students adore you. Just last week four students asked for your contact information to reach out about private tutoring. Neville loves you and the department sees the work that you’ve been doing and is throughly impressed. You’ve earned this position and the respect that comes along with it,” he tells you, honestly shining in his eyes, making you melt in your chair at his gaze. You feel heat rising to your cheeks as you look away from him, sipping from your glass. The sight makes Fred’s heart skip a beat. 

“Are you saying I’ve earned your respect?” you ask him with a teasing smile as he chuckles.

“Yes. You earned it awhile ago. You’re an incredible woman,” he tells you as you smile, looking down at the glass in your hands, too meek to meet Fred’s gaze now. 

It’s quiet for a moment before Fred clears his throat and stands up, turning on the speaker as Frank Sinatra softly starts playing again as you laugh to yourself. It Happened In Monterey starts to echo in the classroom as you smile at Fred. “One of my favorites,” you tell him.

Fred nods, “One of his best hits,” he says as if it were a fact. “Give me your top three. Go.”

You think for a moment before speaking, “It Happened In Monterey, The Way You Look Tonight, and Girl From Ipanema. I think those are his best.”

Fred smiles, “Agreed. His version of The Way You Look Tonight I prefer much over Tony Bennett’s.”

“Oh, easily! Don’t get me wrong, Tony Bennett has some great hits, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Frankie,” you tell Fred, making him chuckle. The two of you chat about music for a little while longer before Come Fly With Me comes on and Fred claps his hands. “My mom loves this song,” you smile, fondly remembering her singing in the kitchen to this song.

Fred rises to his feet and immediately grabs your hands and brings you to his feet. He places your drinks down on the desk as he spins you around, making you laugh. “You can’t not dance to this song,” he tells you, placing his hand on your waist, the other holding your other hand in his larger one. The contact makes your heart flutter in your chest as you giggle as he spins you around again, this time into his chest. 

Your back is pressed against him as he sway with you in his arms before spin you back out, dancing around and around the classroom, the two of you laughing messes as you dance to Frank Sinatra, still in your work clothes from this morning. As you dance, you steal glances of Fred. How his hair was messy from running his fingers through it, his tie loose around his neck, impressions of his glasses in the bridge of his nose. He was so effortlessly handsome and it made your stomach sway at the sight of him. How he could be so handsome without even realizing it. Without even realizing how he made you feel. All warm and fuzzy inside, giggling like a child as he spun you around in his arms, making this moment feel like something out of a movie. 

The song slowly fades away before Autumn in New York starts play, changing the tone of the room. You two catch your breaths before looking at each other in the eyes, Fred’s hands on your waist as your hands rest on his chest. The two of you look at each other, and slowly start to sway as the orchestra of the song starts to swell. Frank’s clear voice echos in the empty classroom as you slowly wrap your arms around Fred’s neck, him pulling you close to his body as you start to slow dance in the middle of the classroom, neither of you registering what is happening. You two were purely acting on instinct. But god, it felt so right.

The two of you dance gently to the music as Fred’s hands rest on your lower back, his thumbs tracing small circles into your jumper as you lace your fingers around his neck. No words are spoken. You just listen to the music and stare at the other, taking each other in during the dance. How could something that started off so innocent turn so beautiful? 

Your mind was reeling, watching Fred look at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You wanted to tell him everything that’s ever happened to you in this moment. Everything that you’ve gone through that brought you to this moment. Something about Fred made you feel safe. Something you hadn’t felt in years. 

As the music starts to come to a close, you can feel Fred lean down gently and press his forehead to yours as you inhale a shaky breath. So desperately you wished to close the gap between you two, pushing your lips together, giving into him. But before anything can happen, the horns blare over the speaker, Brazil blasting over the speakers, making the two of you jump, startled at the change in pace. 

You place a hand over your heart as Fred races over to the speaker to lower the volume. “That scared the living hell out of me,” you breathe out as Fred laughs and nods. The two of you stand there, wondering what to say, knowing that you were both thinking the same thing. But no one says anything. “Um,” you clear your throat. “It’s quite late. I should probably get going...” you trail off as you walk over to grab your purse and notebooks.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he tells you with a nod, cleaning up the mess of take away boxes on his desk. “You need me to call you a cab?” he asks.

“No, no, it’s fine, I got it,” you tell him with a smile as he nods, throwing out the garbage and sorting away miscellaneous papers. “Um, I, um...”

“I had fun with you,” Fred finishes your sentence for you as you exhale and smile gently with a nod. “I’ll see you on Monday then?”

You nod your head, “Absolutely, yeah.” He grins and digs his hands into his pockets.

You start to make your way towards the door, but Fred stops you and says, “Hey, (Y/N)? On Monday, I’d like you to run the lecture. For both classes.” Your eyes widen as you look at him in disbelief. You try to protest, but Fred speaks, “I think that the class would benefit from your perspective. And your sheer brilliance.” 

A small smile forms on your lips as you let out a breathy laugh. “Wow. Okay. Yeah. For sure,” you tell him with a nod as Fred smiles. “Thank you, Fred. This is...wow. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” he tells you. “You’ve earned it. You’ve earned it all. Now, get going and get a goodnight’s rest. That you surely deserve.”

And with one small wave, you exit the classroom and start down the hall, feeling like you were on cloud nine. Nothing felt as good as this.

------

Monday rolls around as quickly as Friday left and you enter campus with a pep in your step. Today you were teaching the class and you were beyond prepared. You had your lesson plan in your bag, a coffee in your hand, and your favorite jumper on. You felt invincible. 

As you walked into the staff lounge, Harry sat with Seamus, sipping on coffees and munching on provided breakfast. “Morning, you lot,” you chime merrily as you place your bag on the table and walk towards the breakfast tray and grab a crossiant.

“You’re too cheery for a Monday morning,” Seamus says with a look on his face. “What’s got you so bright eyes and bushy tailed?”

You smile to yourself as you walk back to the table, tearing open the croissant to slab some jam on it. “Fred is letting me run lecture today,” you reply happily.

Seamus looks over to Harry with wide eyes, the two of them in complete shock. “Wow,” Seamus says. “That’s...incredible. Good on you, (Y/N),” he tells you as you thank him with a smile. “I didn’t know Fred let his TA run a class. The most he let Dean do was take roll,” he told Harry.

Harry took a sip from his coffee and wiggled his brows, “I didn’t think so either. I guess our very own (Y/N) has made him have a change of heart.”

You roll your eyes and speak, “I earned this, Harry. I’ve been working my ass off and after a long night of grading papers, Fred offered me the opportunity which I gladly took.” Harry nods his head with a mhm as you throw as piece of croissant at him. “I’m serious!”

“I’m not saying you don’t deserve it, (Y/N)! You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met; you deserve this like humans needs to breathe!” Harry exclaims. “I’m just...shocked that Fred let you make a lesson plan, nevertheless teach a whole class,” he speaks as you shrug. “Guess you bring out the best in Fred Weasley.”

You smile, “Is that such a bad thing?” Harry chuckles as Seamus shakes his head with a huff. “Well, if you excuse me, I have to get ready for my lecture,” you joke as Harry rolls his eyes.

“Don’t let this thing get to your head!” he calls after you as you flip him the bird, making Seamus laugh.

As you walk to 523, your heart patter against your chest with excitement, but also lots of nerves. What if they preferred Fred over you? What if Fred was more engaging with them? What if someone fell asleep? What if someone asked you a question you couldn’t answer?

Soon your confidence began to waver as you entered the classroom, Fred clearing the chalkboard, getting the room ready for you. “There she is. Professor for the day,” Fred claps his hands. “You excited?” he asks. But you don’t answer him. You nervously place your purse on the desk and start gnawing at your nails. This makes Fred worried as he walks over to you and places his hands on your shoulders. “You alright?” he asks, concern washing over his face.

You relax into his touch as you sigh, “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just...nervous.” Fred gives you a sympathetic smile. “What if they like you better than me? What if I say something stupid and they all laugh at me? What if I forget everything? I mean, how much do I really know about Mill? Probably nothing,” you ramble.

Fred laughs and gives you arms a squeeze, forcing your eyes up to him. “Hey, look at me,” he speaks as you huff and look into his comforting gaze. “Everything is going to be just fine. You are brilliant and the students love you. You’re gonna get up there and smash it. I know it,” he tells you with a confident smile, making your heart flutter and your stomach flip. “I was nervous for my first lecture too, but once you start, the adrenaline gets pumping and you feel on top of the world.”

You give him a shaky nod, “Yeah. Okay. I can do this, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” he laughs. “You’re more than capable,” he reassures you. “I believe in you. I always have,” he speaks, tilting your chin up with his fore finger as you gulp thickly. Fred’s eyes dart to your lips back up to your eyes as he smiles softly. “You’ll be brilliant.”

“Thank you,” you speak just above a whisper as Fred nods.

Slowly, he pulls away from you and sits at his desk which prompts the first student to enter the classroom as you gather your notebook and a piece of chalk, writing on the board in bold letters, Mill and Utilitarianism. You wipe your hands on your pants and look over to Fred who gives you a thumbs up.

Soon enough, the classroom fills up with students as you try to keep yourself calm and not let the class see your nerves. “Happy Monday, everyone,” Fred speaks from his desk. “I hope you all had a great weekend. Your papers on Aristotle have been graded and the grades are posted online. Some of you did great, some of you did shit. If you have any complaints, you can see me or (Y/N) after class to discuss,” he speaks, earning a few laughs from the class. Fred speaks, “Brian, I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. (Y/N) couldn’t make it past page three of yours before handing it off to me.” This earns a loud roar of laughter from the class which eased your nerves. God, Fred knew exactly what you needed. “Speaking of (Y/N), she will be running lecture today. I’ll be playing the role of TA and you’ll give her the same amount of respect like you give me. Understood?” The class nods. “Brilliant. (Y/N), you have the floor.”

You smile at him, “Thank you, Fred, for the introduction.” Fred nods. You turn to the class. “Alright. Let’s talk about Mill’s Utilitarianism. After reading it, what are our thoughts? How do we feel about Mill in comparison to Kant or Aristotle?” you ask generally trying to ease into the lecture.

The class is motionless for a moment before Jessica raises her hand and you nod. “I found it interesting how he acknowledges the objections in his work,” she tells you as you nod. “Not many philosopher’s explicitly do that in their works.”

“Great,” you smile at her. “Let’s take a look at that. Everyone open up your copies and turn to page seven. Mill writes, ‘Life has no higher purpose than pleasure? What are we, swine?’ What do you think this means?” you ask the class. The stare blankly at you as you inhale deeply, this being a fear of yours. But before you can allow yourself to freak out, you think about what Fred would do. You repeat the quote again and add this time, “Are we swines? I mean, I don’t know about Brian, but I know that I’m not a swine.”

This causes the class to erupt with laughter, Fred included, and Brian blushes a deep shade of red before he raises his hand to answer the question. Ah, victory. 

The class continues on and the discussion was incredible with both classes you taught. The students had such provoking conversations with fruitful discussions on the topic. It made your heart swell that they were so good for you and you felt like you were in your element the whole time.

Fred couldn’t help but smile to himself as he watched you give the lecture, bouncing off points, connecting ideas, and posing new questions that he couldn’t even think of. You were electric and the students were infatuated with you, even more so than they were with him. He couldn’t help but feel proud of you. He loved watching you smile and laugh as you talked to the students. 

“Okay, well unfortunately we are at time, but next week bring in your annotated books along with your first drafts of your papers!” you tell the class as they thank you as they leave the class one by one. 

After each student has left the classroom and the door shuts, you turn to Fred who springs from his chair and runs over to you, scooping you up in a hug and spinning you around as you laugh. “Sheer brilliance,” he places you down with a beaming smile. “I’ve never seen students so excited to talk about moral philosophy,” he shakes his head as you grin widely, holding your hands behind your back. “That was great, (Y/N).”

“I feel great,” you tell him with a smile. “Seriously. It blows my mind how smart they are sometimes. Bloody Brian had such great talking points today!” you beam as Fred laughs. “But really, I learned everything that I did today from you. You are the great teacher,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully.

Fred rolls his eyes, “Oh, don’t give me all the credit. I mean...give me some, but not all.” You laugh and shake your head. “Kidding, kidding,” he tells you as you smile at him, taking in the way his face looked as the sun started to set behind him, signaling the end of your day. “Um, I’ll walk with you to the lot?”

You nod your head as the two of you pack your things and make your way to the parking lot with Fred, the both of you making light chatter about the class discussions and how thought provoking they all were. As you walk in the halls, you pass Harry who calls out, “I’m guessing it went well!”

“Shut it, Potter!” you call back as Fred chuckles. 

Soon enough, you reach the staff parking lot and Fred digs around in his pockets for the key to his car. “Well,” Fred huffs. “You did a great job today, (Y/N). I would say I’m impressed, but I knew you would do brilliantly.”

You beam, “Thank you, Fred. Really. I know how much this class means to you and I thank you for trusting me with it.”

He smiles and leans against the hood of his black Audi, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows before leaning on his hands. “It’s my pleasure. I know how much teaching a class meant to you and I’m happy I could help,” he tells you as you nod. 

The two of you stand there, watching each other as the sun sets behind the castle. Fred’s eyes glossed over your body and how pants hugged your curves and how the jumper clung onto your figure. He took a deep breath in before smiling to himself as you gulped and cleared your throat, trying to diffuse some of the tension between the two of you. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, Professor,” you tease Fred as he chuckles. 

You start to walk away and towards the bus stop, but Fred’s voice stops you. “(Y/N)?” he speaks as you turn back to him, walking back to him. “I’ve got a quick question for you.”

“What’s up?”

“So, Mill said ‘There's no time for all this calculating when we're faced with an actual moral decision.’ And I’m afraid that I have a moral decision of my own,” he speaks with a smirk as you heart races at the sight of the smile you’ve grown so fond of over the past few weeks.

You smile at your feet before looking up at him. “And what would that moral decision be, Professor Weasley?” you tease him as he chuckles.

“That night, we spent grading papers,” he starts as you tuck your hands into your back pockets. “I wanted to kiss you.” His confession makes your heart race as face heat up. “And ever since then, I’ve been trying to find a moment where I can finally suck it up and kiss you,” he smirks. “So, what I guess what I’m trying to say is, is it alright if I kiss my teaching assistant in the parking lot of this bloody school?”

You lightly laugh and speak, taking a step closer to him as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you place your hands on his chest, “Well, if we are talking about this in the terms of Mill, would kissing your teaching assistant bring you pleasure?”

Fred smiles, “Without a doubt.”

“Then I think you’re morally obligated to,” you tell him as he chuckles.

He hesitates no longer and dips his head down to connect your lips together as you inhale deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck. His lips are soft, but passionate against you as they gently move against yours. His hands squeeze your hips gently as you press yourself against his body, making Fred lightly moan into your mouth. His tongue slips past your parted lips, caressing his tongue with yours as you let out a soft moan, making Fred inhale deeply. Your heart is pounding against your chest as you gently pull at the roots of his hair, relishing in the way his lips feel against yours. His mouth moves slowly and lazily against yours, making your head spin and desire grow. It’s everything you imagined it would be as cliche as it sounded. 

Gently, you pull away as Fred smiles lightly. “Thank you, John Stuart Mill,” he breathes out, making you laugh. “I’ve been dying to do that.”

“I’m glad you did,” you confess to him, arms still wrapped around him as Fred squeezes your hips, placing another soft kiss to your lips. “Now that you’ve accomplish that moral dilemma, do you have any idea what your next one is?” you tease him, wiggling your brows.

Fred shakes his head, “Oh, we’ve got the rest of the semester to figure that one out.”

[lazypeachsoul]

I wouldn't want to spend a minute lovin' anybody else.

Warnings: this fic has some sad moments and mentions of the blip. also kind of AU because I'm completely ignoring Natasha's canon end.

Word count: 4,2k (i got very carried away with this fic)

Summary: · Meeting the right person at the wrong time can be life changing when it doesn’t work out the way we desire. But if it's meant to be it will always happen, right?

A/N: This is my fic for the "Women of Marvel xReader Exchange" created by @marvelxreaderfanfictionfest . It was created for @im-holding-ontoyou and I hope you like it! gif by @natasharomanovgifs 🌼 ALSO; i haven't watched Black Widow yet so I'm sorry if something in this fic doesn't fit the new info we got about natasha.

Masterlist.

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New York, 2015.

When you received the call from one of your bosses that you had a new case you would have never imagined how big that case would turn out to be.

You had been working for one of the most important law firms in New York for a year now, and you were getting kind of used to reading cases that would be narrated in the papers for months. Rich and entitled men, big divorces were they fight over who gets the yacht, one or two murder cases... if it revolved around the powerful people of New York city, your firm would get it.

When you got to the debriefing and were told that Tony Stark, one of the firm's most important clients, asked your team for assistance in the creation of some legislation with the newly created “Advanced Threat Containment Unit” you were more than surprised.

The events that the Avengers had caused (or saved us from, there were different opinions going around) in the small country of Sokovia were known all around the and it was only time before the most powerful officials asked for the regulation of ‘superhero activity’.

You weren’t important enough to actually attend the meetings that took place with the government, seeing as you had only passed your bar exam a little over a year prior, but you were deemed cheerful and nice enough to act as a nexus between the firm and the client.

For months you spent your days talking to Tony Stark and other members of The Avengers trying to explain what was being talked about. The first few meetings were a disaster, seeing as the mood was somber for the lives lost and nobody really understood your legal jargon. But slowly you started to transform your language and really tried to make the meetings as easy as possible for everyone present.

But who were you kidding, they really didn’t care about the meetings or the silly attorney being sent to explain something that was way above their paycheck. Well, at least Stark was gracious enough to set a coffee station with some pastries for the meeting. You were pouring the hot liquid into your to-go cup when your hand jerked and the hot liquid splashed your hand.

You could feel the sting of the burn but avoided further sudden movements trying not to make it worse. Before you could reach for a napkin to clean up the mess you made, a more dexterous and manicured hand reached for them and exchanged the hot cup in your hand for the bunch of papers.

“Careful, Stark always serves boiling coffee. I think it’s to mask that it’s not the best quality.”

You lifted your gaze from your hand and found a pair of deep green eyes gazing back. You would have thought that spending numerous meetings in the company of superheroes would make you less susceptible to their powerful auras, but being this close to Natasha Romanoff made your heart beat a bit faster.

“Yeah, I found out the hard way.” You joked, lifting your hand a bit. “You would guess one of the richest people in the world would actually serve good coffee...”

Seeing her crack a smile made you feel less tense. Sometimes you forget they are still normal people. Normal people who could kill you with their bare hands and had superhuman powers. She placed your cup on the food table, apparently not bothered by how hot it must have been, and pushed her hand in your direction.

“I’m Natasha Romanoff.” You wrapped your hand around hers and shook it, biting your tongue trying not to tell her of course you knew her name. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself in earlier meetings, we were all trying to come to terms with what had happened.”

“No worries, I can only imagine how hard it must have been for all of you.” You nodded and tried to show her sympathy, trying to avoid thinking about all the lives affected by the fight. “Oh sorry, I’m-”

Natasha quickly cut you off, speaking your name before you could even say it. You could feel your cheeks get warmer at the idea that they actually knew who you were, and she probably could sense your mood change because she quickly explained.

“I know who you are, you send us at least two emails a week about these meetings and FRIDAY always announces you before you arrive.”

“Who announces me?” You asked curiously at the mention of a name you recognized.

“FRIDAY. It’s the name of Stark’s AI technology. It works all around the tower and it’s there to make life easier for everyone.” She explained pointing around at the speakers strategically placed around the room.

“Oh, I get emails from Friday sometimes. Most of them are asking me to translate or explain something about the debriefing because Mr.Stark is not interested in legal terms.” Both you and Natasha laughed at the thought.

But she quickly recomposed and tried to look serious again when she heard her teammates coming in to get ready for the meeting.

“I wanted to ask you about that. Do you think we could schedule a meeting so that you could explain some things about the legislation of the A.T.C.U.?” She spoke lower than she had when the two of you were alone and you wondered why she didn’t want her colleagues to know about the meeting.

“Ye-Yeah, of course I can.” You were confused but thought it would be in your best interest, and the firm’s, to say yes to the proposal. And a meeting with a very attractive and definitely interesting woman was not something that happened constantly for you.

“Great, thank you.” She smiled warmly and squeezed your hand that you hadn’t even realized was still wrapped around hers from the introduction. “I can promise you better coffee.”

You could only hum in response, still trying to piece together what she might want from the meeting. But your thoughts were quickly cut off when Stark entered the room and you moved to start the reunion.

During the entire meeting you could feel the dull pain in your hand from the scorching coffee and the feeling of a pair of green eyes watching your every move.

Vienna, 2016.

The situation had only gone downhill from the Battle of Sokovia. The public’s opinion on the Avengers was at an all-time-low and that made terrorist groups bold. They knew that if they struck and caused enough chaos, the blame would fall on the good guys that tried to stop them.

The only thing that seemed to be a stable thing in your life was Natasha. Well, as stable as dating a superhero might be. She was busy a lot, but you understood the importance of her job and you were quite busy too gaining importance within the law firm.

And even if sometimes terrorists and criminals got in the way you still found a moment to spend together, wrapped around each other without having to think about how messed up life was.

You thought Lagos was the blow that would make everything tumble, the Sokovia accords were unveiled and it broke the Avengers, and your girlfriend. You could feel how torn she was at her decision of some of her friends to oppose the signing and go on the run, and her own decision to subordinate to the United Nations mandate. But you realized how small that had been when king T’Chaka was killed at the UN.

You had been at the UN as part of the USA legal team that participated in the writing and monitoring of the accords. Your participation in the negotiations almost broke your relationship but you were able to recover once you explained your position and Natasha actually came to an understanding of it.

Natasha was also in Vienna when everything went down, you hadn’t managed to properly see her because she was one of the signers and they sat at the assembly while other guests sat at the amphitheater watching the retransmission.

You hadn’t been able to properly see her all day, seeing as she took a detour before flying to Austria. You were only able to communicate through texts where you tried to make the situation more comfortable for her and she promised a peaceful european trip to celebrate the signing.

When the bomb went off and all hell broke loose the first thing you tried to do was look for her, she was at the epicenter of the explosion and you just wanted to see if she was okay. You saw her from afar when you were being pushed to the outside of the building while they swiped the perimeter.

She sat with T’Challa before he jumped from the bench and stomped away. Natasha looked around and your gazes crossed, immediately melting away some of the worry. You tried to push your way through the crowd to get to her, but police and security didn’t budge.

You never took your eyes off of her, scared that if you did she would disappear. But she did move her gaze to her phone and the look that crossed her face when she heard the voice at the other side told you it was a very important call.

Once the call was over and she looked at you again you knew that would probably be the last time you would see her in some time. You hadn’t known Natasha as long as some of her colleagues had, but you could proudly say you could understand what she wanted to say with just a look. And the look on her face in that moment read close to a goodbye.

New York, 2018.

It had been two years since the fall of Helmut Zemo and part of the Avengers was still on the run. And it maybe wouldn’t have had that big of an impact on you if it wasn’t because Natasha had also been on the run for that long.

You had heard about what happened at the Leipzig airport and how Natasha had changed alliances to join Captain America’s fight. You had been heartbroken at the news knowing that any resemblance of normality that you still hope for was destroyed.

You had spent months wondering what had made her change her mind. Had she thought about your conversations about the accords? Had she even remembered you, waiting for her back in New York, when she decided to go on the run?

A part of you tried to convince you of how selfish thinking about that was, why would she think about you when the future of her team and friends was at stake? But also you were her girlfriend, she should have thought about the implications that might have had for you.

In those years you had mourned your relationship and after the grieving period you tried to rebuild your life. New friends, a new position and new chances to take. And it went okay...at least until someone opened their mouth to talk about superheroes or The Avengers. Years down the line and it was still on people’s minds.

On special occasions you would receive anonymous gifts at your office or your apartment. The first birthday after the war you sobbed for fifteen minutes when you saw the bunch of flowers. There was no name or indicative of who might have sent them, that was until you looked better at the card and saw the small red hourglass painted in the corner.

The gifts continued. Every case you won, promotion, birthday or holiday a bunch of flowers would be delivered to you with the same note.

In a way it gave you a sense of peace knowing she was okay and still thought of you. But the more you thought about it the angrier you got at how she had left you.

You didn’t expect a message from your boss to run to the Avengers compound and assess some situation between Coronel Rhodes and Thaddeus Ross. Although the team had crumbled, your company was still hired to legally represent the remaining members and moderate situations that might arise with the government.

You entered the compound expecting another bureaucratic complaint about their activity but you found a trickier situation. The meeting room was filled with people you thought you would never see again.

Captain Rogers was sitting on one of the chairs sporting a new look that made you almost not recognize him and a tense demeanor. Next to him was Sam Wilson, looking around at the smallest of movements and trying to assess the situation. Wanda Maximoff was standing on the furthest corner of the room playing with her rings, meanwhile Vision was apparently being checked out for a wound. What kind of wounds a synthezoid could get was beyond your understanding.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, I might have angered Secretary Ross during a meeting.” Rhodey came up to you with a nervous smile.

You had gotten closer to him thanks to your job seeing as he was the one doing the dirty superhero work.

“Yeah, I got that much from the text. Nothing new then.” You tried to joke to diffuse the tension in the room. “It would have been nice to know you had guests though.”

“We are not guests. Last time I checked this was our home too.”

That voice made your blood freeze. You should have expected her there, all her friends had returned and the chance of her being back too was almost 100%. But hearing her voice again after two years was not something you expected.

You bit your tongue before you could talk about how it’s not a home if you abandon it, but decided against it. This was a fight between them, not Natasha and you.

“I need you to work with the government to avoid this situation becoming a disaster.” Rhodey explained and you scoffed.

“Rhodey, I’m a lawyer not a politician. I have as much power in this as you might have.” You tried to lay your point across but it was difficult with all eyes on the interaction. “Hell, I have even less power than you do.”

“Then I need you to distract them enough to get them off our shoulders.” He pressed. “Something big is coming and we need all the strength we can get.”

You thought about it for a moment. If it was true that something big was coming, the Avengers were the best option to fight it.

“I’m in.” You scoffed at his smile and sat down in one of the chairs of the meeting room. “I’m not ready for the world to end yet.”

The meeting went on for a while. You called bosses, government officials and everyone that would listen to your distractions. You sent emails that would flood their inboxes for days so that they couldn’t read any news that might reach them about what the superheroes had in mind.

It was late at night when a cup of steaming liquid was placed next to you. You looked at it and saw that it was some kind of herbal tea, probably made to relax the drinker. You followed the hand that was still holding the mug until you reached Natasha’s face.

You had done your best to ignore her looming presence in the room but now there was no distraction. Looking at her you could see tiredness in her face. She was platinum blonde now, a look that weirdly suited her, but her face still looked as welcoming to you as it always did.

You tried to stop the flashbacks to the last time you saw it in person in Vienna, but they kept replaying in your head until her voice broke you out of the loop.

“I thought you might need it, I remember how nervous calls used to make you.”

She was smiling but you could tell it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I got over it since I got my promotion. Now I spend a long portion of my day making calls.”

She hummed and sat down next two you, but leaving a chair in between you as a safe space.

“I read about it in an article, I sent you flowers to celebrate.”

“I got them. And the Christmas ones. On my birthday too.” You enumerated the times you had gotten the plants in the past two years. “You must have spent an awful amount of money buying me so many flowers.”

“You deserved it, you still do.” She shrugged and that’s when you noticed she had her own mug of warm tea in her other hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to celebrate with you.”

You laughed into your mug sarcastically. Out of everything you expected her to say this wasn’t one of them.

“Did you really? Because you didn’t seem to consider me much when you went on the run for two years.”

Natasha paled when she heard your tone. She probably wasn’t used to situations like these but you weren’t going to let her go without an apology at least.

“I was trying to do the best for-”

“-for the world. I get it, Natasha, I do.” You tried to contain your emotions but it was getting harder with every word. “Relationships are supposed to be teamwork. I know you are always too busy playing heroes and I never judged you for that, I just wish you would have trusted me enough to tell me before you disappeared.”

She was silent and knowing Natasha it’s because she was probably overwhelmed with the display of feelings. But she needed to hear how bad you had felt.

After minutes of waiting for an answer from her and getting nothing but sighs you shook your head and looked back at the computer screen.

“I guess it was a case of the right person, wrong time.” You shrugged trying to find distraction in the flurry of letters in your email inbox. “Or at least it was for me.”

She got up from her seat without a word and you grew exasperated. Why had she even approached you if then she wasn’t willing to have an adult, two sided conversation? She was almost at the door when you heard her voice again.

“Please never doubt how much I love you. I made some bad choices but dating you was not one of them.”

New York, 2024.

Time apparently flies by when you are erased from the face of the earth. One day you are in your office working late and the next you appear five years in the future with no recollection of what might have happened.

You were taken by authorities to impromptu camps and one by one examined to check your identities. The entire thing seemed to be something out of one of the dystopian novels you used to read as a teenager.

When it was your turn you gave them all the information you had on what had happened. You had given them your name and personal information and apparently had been a very searched person because the computer started beeping as soon as your name was introduced in the database.

You were moved to a secluded part of the camp and kept in an isolated room for god knows how long. Your stomach was in knots during the entire situation and you could feel the cold sweat on you. That mixed with the metallic taste on your tongue you knew this time your anxiety was justified. You were almost dizzy because of how hard you were thinking about the entire situation and trying to make sense of it.

When you heard the door of the room open you jumped up, discarding on the floor a makeshift blanket that had been placed on your shoulders when you got there. Your legs almost gave out at the movement and your heart felt like it was going to burst out.

The door opened enough for you to see who had been searching for you. Natasha stepped through the door still dressed in her tactic gear and with tiredness written all over her face. But that feeling seemed to almost disappear when she finally saw you.

With quick movements she stepped into the room and wrapped her arms around you tightly. For some reason that action was the trigger that you needed to let all your emotions consume you.

You started sobbing uncontrollably at the unknown. You didn’t understand what happened or how you are here, but feeling her embrace helped you feel safe in a way. It had been years since you last hugged her but it still felt as good as back in 2015.

You could hear Natasha’s soothing shushes in between your sobs and you moved to hold her tighter.

“You are here. I can’t believe I found you again.” She spoke softly and you didn’t know if she was speaking to you or herself. “It’s okay darling. I’m here and I’m not letting you go again. I promise.”

And with that promise a ray of hope made way between all the fear you felt.

Missouri, 2025.

Soft music could be heard all around the ground floor of the house. The soft beat was upbeat enough to get the morning started but not enough to be overwhelming if you had just woken up. You were sitting on the kitchen island looking at the news on your phone and having breakfast.

Mornings were usually very calm around the homestead and you couldn’ be more thankful for that. It allowed you to silently prepare your breakfast and coffee and get a headstart on Natasha’s breakfast too.

Since she had retired, Natasha had discovered a newfound love for sleeping in and you didn’t dare to take that away from her. She deserved it from all the work she had done in her life.

You, meanwhile, tried to get up early to scroll through the cases that you got in your new and smaller job and schedule meetings or emails.

It was a Saturday so work wasn’t a thing and you could actually enjoy your toast and coffee in peace. Or at least until a pair of arms wrapped themselves around your middle and pulled you back against Natasha.

“Good morning baby, how did you sleep?”

“Like a baby.” You could feel her smile when she kissed your cheek from behind. “You weren’t there when I woke up though.”

You shrugged before moving to get a bite out of your toast. Natasha tried to do the same but you quickly moved it away from her with a smile. She tried again and you moved as fast as your reflexes allowed you.

“C’mon baby, give me a bite” “No, it’s my toast. You can make your own.” “But it tastes better when you make it.” “No it doesn’t, don’t be lazy.”

The playful fight continued for a few moments until she got close enough to get a small bit but you moved it again.

“Don’t make me bite you, darling.”

You chuckled at her threat and plopped the remaining toast on the plate in front of you. Breakfast didn’t matter much anymore. You threw yourself into her arms and pressed your lips against hers. It wasn’t a slow and sensual kiss, it was closer to how small kids smooch their parents. But you knew it would convey your love more deeply.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Nat.” You spoke against her lips and squaked when you felt her playfully nip at your bottom lip.

“Is now a good time?”

That question had become recurring in your household, a nod to the phrase you said when you found eachother again after being separated the first time.

“I couldn’t think of a more perfect time.”

And you couldn’t. The rest of your life spent in a homestead with your girlfriend and whatever life might bring? It sounded absolutely delightful.

Taglist: @tagehaya @flyforeverfree @rooskaya-yelena @evalynanne @insanitybyanothername @princessayveke @yelenabelovasgf @kyli314

[msvenarsian]

Mutual Aid

Case Update:Hello folk, chosen family and friends, I continue to await direction from asylum procedures that should send me back to the U.S. However, given the fact the government agency handling my case is about to be abolished due to, well, human right violations duh. I honestly do not know whether they would provide clearance to my transfer and travel. In the case they fail to comply with regular procedures, I would need to take my case to European Human rights court for I’m currently experiencing nothing short of violation to my rights….colonizers!!!I

’ve met with LGBT leaders who are currently providing legal assistance in order to apply for a humanitarian visa via medical care. As many of you know, I am living with undiagnosed neuropathy conditions as well as bursa related injuries in addition to immunocompromised condition due to a benign pituitary tumor affecting my metabolism. It’s a lot. But medication is making it possible to be somewhat functional.

Between caring for my health, legal battles, housing insecurity, lack of labor market access this spoonie is exhausted and scared. I constantly fear for my life when I lack the capacity to care for myself. In all sincerity despite the daily terror managed via meme therapy; I’m walking this path in complete faith with my ancestors and the universe. I want to get what’s mine.  I’m asking you all again to support and help me get through this, as I await uncertainty once again. I have only been able to raise enough funds every month to make ends meet. I have not been able to raise enough to secure a safety net for housing options. Currently my safety funds are exhausted.  

Donate at whatever capacity and share widely across media platforms to reach those in capacity to help.Thank you once again for everyone who has been a champion and angel to my life, I hold lots of gratitude for your kindness.

To my siblings in da’ struggle: “Hang in there, someone out there wants to help someone like you. Someone like me”

With Love,

Pink Moon Midnight blue

[mightyoctopus]

When I started watching Legend of Korra, I honestly expected it to deal with themes of poverty more. Many scenes in the first season lay a solid foundation to be worked on, but subsequent seasons just ignore it, apart from a quick acknowledgement of Ba Sing Se’s rigid class system in season three.

Like, two characters in the main cast (Mako and Bolin) are orphans who used to be homeless! Why doesn’t this get explored more?

When we’re first introduced to them, they’re working as pro-benders. You might say, “That seems like a prestigious career. I’m sure they’re making lots of money.” BUT, their employer is also their landlord and he uses this position of power to exploit them. They’re a scene where he holds out a wad of cash (the price money they won) and he just keeps deducing things (rent for their apartment, payment for the gym, equipment, etc.) until all the money is completely gone.

This is a real problem in the real world, where lots of workers get a “legal wage” but have to give large amounts of it right back to their employer, who provides them with transportation, board and loge. (Where I live, Eastern European farm workers and harvest helpers are especially affected.)

Because of all the deductions, Mako takes on a second job at a power plant, where he generates lightning. I think this is meant as an analogue to real-life factory work. Likewise, Bolin gets involved in gang crime due to the promise of money. (He is unable to complete the job and get the money, though, because he gets kidnapped.)

Their money problems only get solved when they meet Asami, by chance, who is very rich. The wealth disparity between these characters only gets explored through a few jokes and gags.

In the first episode, we’re also introduced to Gommu, who is described as a vagabond and lives in a bush in a public park. Korra shares a meal of fish with him and they get talking. Korra says that she thought everyone in Republic City was living it up. Gommu chuckles and says she’s got a lot to learn. Right after, a police officer shows up (because fishing is forbidden) and they run away in opposite directions.

Having this right there in the first episode? Having the rich and good reputation of the city contrasted with its poorest occupants? Seeing how the law is not in place to uplift them, but to criminalize them? That seems like a great set up! Too bad nothing was done with it.

Gommu shows up again in one of the last episodes, when the city is overtaken by equalists and the Avatar and her friends find shelter in an underground vagabond camp. Once again they share food, which Bolin names “the best-tasting street gruel [he’s] ever had. Seriously!” while Asami spits hers out.

There are also some more small scenes and details, like Mako wearing the same patched-up undershirt for all four seasons.

Written down like this, it might seem like a lot, but in the end it doesn’t lead anywhere. While all this would serve as a great foundation, it’s not build upon. If there were plans for a poverty-subplot, they got dropped completely.

I wish they weren’t.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dishwashers have become Iphones

Apple is a true business innovator: For more than a decade, they have been steadily perfecting an obscure anticompetitive tactic, turning a petty grift invented by console games companies into a global, cross-industry mechanism for extracting rents and centralizing control.

I'm speaking of App Stores, of course, and not just any app store, but one that's illegal to compete with or switch away from. This started with console companies, who used technical tricks to ensure that they could skim a rake from every program you bought for your system.

Consoles used proprietary hardware or media formats to ensure that software vendors couldn't sell directly to you, that every sale would be forced through their storefronts or licensing systems.

These tactics acquired the force of law in 1998 after Bill Clinton signed the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), whose Section 1201 made it a felony to traffick in "circumvention devices" that bypassed "access controls" for copyrighted works.

Broadly, that meant that you could go to prison (for five years!) for making anti-DRM tools. What's more, DMCA 1201's drafters rejected tying the law to acts of copyright infringement, making it illegal to remove DRM, even if you did so for a perfectly legal reason.

For example, if your games console had some code that ensured that the software you were running had been taxed by the manufacturer, then removing that code could become a criminal act - even though that has nothing to do with copyright infringement.

To make that concrete: copyright is supposed to help creators and audiences transact with one another. If you own a console and I wrote some software for it, then copyright should facilitate you paying me money for it and then running it on your console.

But if the console's manufacturer had designed its product so that it got to impose a tax on transactions like this, then I can't sell you my copyrighted work anymore unless I pay the tax. Doing so is a felony, but not because it infringes copyright.

No, it's a felony because it's bad for the manufacturer's shareholders. It's what Jay Freeman calls "Felony Contempt of Business Model."

Now, the defenders of this practice say it's not anticompetitive because I can invent and manufacture a different, competing console, sell it to you, and then sell you my code without paying tax.

But this isn't how competition works. Companies don't get to say, "You can compete with me, but only on the terms I set, and in the domains where I think I have an advantage." Excluding competition in "complimentary goods" (like apps) is 100% anticompetitive.

For several years after the passage of the DMCA, the abuse of Sec 1201 to create "Felony Contempt of Business Model" stuck mostly within the realm of games consoles, with the exception of mixed results in the printer ink market.

Then along came the App Store for Apple's Ios devices: these were designed to be locked to a single app store, so that people who made copyrighted works (apps) and people who wanted to buy them (Ipod/pad/phone owners) couldn't transact without going through Apple.

Apple's paternalistic pitch was that it would only use this power to benefit its customers. The press *loved* this story, because Steve Jobs posed himself as a daddy-figure who would use apps to get us all to pay for media again.

https://memex.craphound.com/2010/04/01/why-i-wont-buy-an-ipad-and-think-you-shouldnt-either/

The consensus that Apple should be able to decide how other companies could compete with it was advanced by its most loyal customers, who'd long considered themselves to be a kind of oppressed religious minority.

They insisted that there was no reason to allow a third-party app store because everyone who owned an Ios device loved using Apple's App Store.

But when anyone pointed out that if this was true, then there would be no reason to ban third-party stores (because they'd fail), they'd switch tactics, saying that any Ios user who switched stores was Doing It Wrong.

This is the Apple fanboy No True Scotsman argument: "Everyone loves the limitations of Apple's walled gardens, and if they don't, they're not really Apple customers. If they didn't want to be locked into the walled garden, they should have bought a different device."

To understand how weird this is, consider the inverse: we live in a market society based on property rights. Once I buy an Ios device, I get to decide which programs I run on it and who I buy them from. If Apple didn't like that deal, it shouldn't have sold me an Ios device.

This belief-system is intrinsically conservative, in the sense articulated by Frank Wilhoit: "There must be in-groups whom the law protectes but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect."

https://crookedtimber.org/2018/03/21/liberals-against-progressives/#comment-729288

How else to explain the indifference of Apple trufans for the company's decision to reverse-engineer all of Microsoft Office's file formats and make compatible players for them, and their defense of Apple's strict prohibition on doing this to Ios?

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

But even if you think Apple will never abuse the power to decide who can compete with it to make complimentary products that interoperate with its own devices, the norms, laws and precedents backstopping Apple's business-model innovations can by used by anyone.

In 2015, I wrote a Guardian microfiction that exposed the perils of allowing companies to choose their competitors. It was called "If Dishwashers Were Iphones."

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2015/feb/13/if-dishwashers-were-iphones

It was a letter from the CEO of an "innovative" dishwasher company explaining why his customers were wrong to try to wash third-party dishes in his products.

The comments swiftly filled up with Apple defenders who decried it as an absurd, over-the-top analogy.

To those people, I say, behold, the Bob Dishwasher! It's a cute, countertop dishwasher aimed at single-person households, and it uses a proprietary cartridge for detergent dispensing, at about $0.67/wash - about $242/year.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVup5ya0WVQ

The company makes a lot of familiar, paternalistic claims to justify selling a non-refillable, single-use electronics package that becomes immortal e-waste once you've used it up and replaced it: the precision electronics and proprietary detergent ensure optimal performance.

dekuNukem bought a Bob and decided that he - and not the manufacturer - should decide whether the "advantages" of throwing out the cassette and buying a new one were worth it. He reverse-engineered it and made a defeat device he calls a "rewinder."

https://github.com/dekuNukem/bob_cassette_rewinder

The tale of how he did this makes for a fascinating read, especially the analog sleuthing he did using product safety labels to reverse-engineer the "proprietary" composition of the detergent and rinse-aid, which turn out to be commodity products marked up by 7700%!

Extraordinarily, he's actually selling the Rewinder, for $30. This shouldn't be extraordinary, but it is, thanks to the penalties under DMCA 1201 (and the UK equivalent law, derived from Article 6 of 2001's EU Copyright Directive).

https://www.tindie.com/products/dekuNukem/bob-rewinder-renew-your-bob-dishwasher-cassette/

It's not just dishwashers, either. Would-be digital rentiers have figured out that they can turn their shareholders' preferences into legal obligations to their customers by engineering their products so they have to be used in specific ways...or else.

For example, KLIM makes a motorcyclist's airbag vest that deactivates itself if you stop making subscription payments (of course, this means that anyone who exploits a defect in KLIM's IT can shut off all its airbag vests, everywhere).

https://twitter.com/TrashGoat00/status/1387301889356689410/photo/1

If that sounds extreme to you, it's really not. Tesla has many safety features that are marketed as downloadable content, which it remotely deactivates when a car changes hands through a private sale:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

If you find yourself scrambling for reasons that it's OK for Tesla to do this with its cars, but not for KLIM to do it with its airbag vests, allow me to gently remind you that Tesla owners are not an oppressed religious minority, either.

This kind of rent-seeking is just getting started. As I tried to illustrate in my novella UNAUTHORIZED BREAD (part of my 2019 book RADICALIZED), there are limitless ways for Apple's pioneering business innovation to destroy our lives:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

And as I wrote in my story "Sole and Despotic Dominion," this is a frontal assault on the idea of personal property - it creates a world where property is the exclusive purview of remorseless, transhuman colony organisms (AKA corporations).

https://reason.com/2018/11/17/sole-and-despotic-dominion/

However, that future is anything but assured. Apple is being sued by Epic for antitrust violations over its Felony Contempt of Business-Model system:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/02/technology/apple-epic-lawsuit-app-fees.html

And European competition regulators have opened an enforcement action against the company on the same basis:

https://www.cnbc.com/2021/04/30/eu-says-apples-app-store-breaches-competition-rules.html

Meanwhile, copycats who created their own Felony Contempt of Business Model walled gardens, like Valve did with Steam, are facing their own lawsuits, courtesy of Wolfire:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2021/04/humble-bundle-creator-brings-antitrust-lawsuit-against-valve-over-steam/

We've come a long way in a decade, and the No True Scotsman defense of the right of a dominant corporation to interpose itself between buyers and sellers, to control its customers' choices after a sale, is finally facing a real challenge.

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

[olderthannetfic]

I'm a Chinese, nationally and racially. Racial projection seems to be a common practice in western fandom, doesn't it? I find it a bit... weird to witness the drama ignited upon shipping individuals with different races, or the tendency to separate characters into different "colors" even though the world setting doesn't divide races like that. Such practice isn't a thing here. Mind explaining a bit on this phenomenon?

--

Sure, I can try. But of course, fish aren’t very good at explaining the water they swim in.

Americans aren’t good at detecting our own Americanness, and a lot of what you’re seeing is very much culturally American rather than Western in general. (In much of Europe, “race” is a concept used by racists, or so I’m told, unlike in the US where it’s seen more neutrally.) Majority group members (i.e. me, a white girl) aren’t usually the savviest about minority issues, but I’ll give it a shot.

The big picture is that most US race stuff boils down to our attempts to justify and maintain slavery and that dynamic being applied, awkwardly, to everyone else too, even years after we abolished slavery.

There’s a concept called the “one drop rule” where a person is “black” if they have even one drop of black blood.

We used to outlaw “interracial” marriage until quite recently. (That meant marriage between black people and white people with Asians and Hispanic people and others wedged in awkwardly.) Here’s the Wikipedia article on this, which contains the following map showing when we legalized interracial marriage. The red states are 1967.

That’s within living memory for a ton of people! Yellow is 1948 to 1967. This is just not very long ago at all. (Hell, we only fully banned slavery in 1865, which is also just not that long ago when it comes to human culture.)

Why did we have this bananas-crazy set of laws and this idiotic notion that one remote ancestor defines who you are? It boils down to slavery requiring a constant reaffirming that black people are all the same (and subhuman) while white people are all this completely separate category. The minute you start intermarrying, all of that breaks down. This was particularly important in our history because our system of slavery involved the kids of slaves being slaves and nobody really buying their way out. Globally, historically, there are other systems of slavery where there was more mobility or where enslaved people were debtors with a similar background to owners, and thus the people in power were less threatened by ambiguity in identity.

Post-slavery, this shit hung around because it was in the interests of the people in power to maintain a similar status quo where black people are fundamentally Other.

A lot of our obsession with who counts as what is simply a legacy of our racist past that produced our racist present.

--

The other big factor in American concepts of identity is that we see ourselves as a nation of immigrants (ignoring our indigenous peoples, as usual). A lot of people’s families arrived here relatively recently, and we often don’t have good records of exactly where they were from, even aside from enslaved people who obviously wouldn’t have those records. Plenty of people still identify with a general nationality (”Italian-American” and such), but the nuance the family might once have had (specific region of Italy, specific hometown) is often lost. Yeah, I know every place has immigrants, and lots of people don’t have good records, but the US is one of those countries where families have on average moved around a lot more and a lot more recently than some, and it affects our concepts of identity. I think some of the willingness to buy into the idea of “races” rather than “ethnicities” has to do with this flattening of identity.

New immigrant groups were often seen as Other and lesser, but over time, the ones who could manage it got added to our concept of “whiteness”, which gave them access to those same social and economic privileges.

Skin color is a big part of this. In a system that is founded on there being two categories, white owners and black slaves, skin color is obviously going to be about that rather than being more of a class marker like it is in a lot of the world.

But it’s not all about skin color since we have plenty of Europeans with somewhat darker skin who are seen as generically white here, while very pale Asians are not. I’m not super familiar with all of the history of anti-Asian racism in the US, but I think this persistent Otherness probably boils down to Western powers trying to justify colonial activities in Asia plus a bunch of religious bullshit about predominantly Christian nations vs. ones that are predominantly Buddhist or some other religion.

In fact, a lot of racist archetypes in English can be traced back to England’s earliest colonial efforts in Ireland. Justifying colonizing Those People because they’re subhuman and/or ignorant and in need of paternalistic rulers or religious conversion is at the bottom of a lot of racist notions. Ironic that we now see Irish people as clearly “white”.

--

There are a lot of racist porn tropes and racist cultural baggage here around the idea of black people being animalistic. Racist white people think black men want to rape/steal white women from white men. Black women get seen as hypersexual and aggressive. If this sounds like white people projecting in order to justify murder and rape... well, it is.

Similar tropes get applied to a lot of groups, often including Hispanic and Middle Eastern people, though East Asians come in more for creepy fantasies about endlessly submissive and promiscuous women. This nonsense already existed, but it was certainly not helped by WWII servicemen from here and their experiences in Asia. Again, it’s a projection to justify shitty behavior as what the party with less power was “asking for”.

In porn and even romance novels, this tends to turn up as a white character the audience is supposed to identify with paired with an exotic, mysterious Other or an animalistic sexy rapist Other.

A lot of fandoms are based on US media, so all of our racist bullshit does apply to the casting and writing of those, whether or not the fic is by Americans or replicating our racist porn tropes.

(Obviously, things get pretty hilarious and infuriating once Americans get into c-dramas and try to apply the exact same ideas unchanged to mainstream media about the majority group made by a huge and powerful country.)

--

Politically, within the US, white people have had most of the power most of the time. We also make up a big chunk of the population. (This is starting to change in some areas, which has assholes scared shitless.) This means that other groups tend to band together to accomplish shared political goals. They’re minorities here, so they get lumped together.

A lot of Americans become used to seeing the world in terms of “white people” who are powerful oppressors and “people of color” who are oppressed minorities. They’re trying to be progressive and help people with less power, and that’s good, but it obviously becomes awkward when it’s over-applied to looking at, say, China.

--

Now... fandom...

I find that fandom, in general, has a bad habit of holding things to double standards: queer things must be Good Representation™ even when they’re not being produced for that purpose. Same for ethnic minorities or any other minority. US-influenced parts of fandom (which includes a lot of English-speaking fandom) tend to not be very good at accepting that things are just fantasy. This has gotten worse in recent years.

As fandom has gotten more mainstream here, general media criticism about better representation (both in terms of number of characters and in terms of how they’re portrayed) has turned into fanfic criticism (not enough fics about ship X, too many about ship Y, problematic tropes that should not be applied to ship X, etc.). I find this extremely misguided considering the smaller reach of fandom but, more importantly, the lack of barriers to entry. If you think my AO3 fic sucks, you can make an account and post other fic that will be just as findable. You don’t need money or industry connections or to pass any particular hurdle to get your work out there too.

People also (understandably) tend to be hypersensitive to anything that looks like a racist porn trope. My feeling is that many of these are general porn tropes and people are reaching. There are specific tropes where black guys are given a huge dick as part of showing that they’re animalistic and hypersexual, but big dicks are really common in porn in general. The latter doesn’t automatically mean you’re doing the former unless there are other elements present. A/B/O or dubcon doesn’t mean it’s this racist trope either, not unless certain cliched elements are present. OTOH, it’s not hard for a/b/o tropes to feel close to “animalistic guy is rapey”, so I can see why it often bothers people.

A huge, huge, huge proportion of wank is “all rape fantasies are bad” crap too, which muddies the waters. I think a lot of people use “it’s racist” as an easy way to force others to agree with their incorrect claims that dubcon, noncon, a/b/o, etc. are fundamentally bad. Many fans, especially white fans, feel like they don’t know enough to refute claims of racism, so they cave to such arguments even when they’re transparently disingenuous.

--

Not everyone here thinks this way. I know plenty of people offline, particularly a lot of nonwhite people, who think fandom discourse is idiotic and that the people “protecting” people or characters of color are far more racist than the people writing “bad” fic or shipping the wrong thing.

But in general, I’d say that the stuff above is why a lot of us see the world as white people in power vs. everyone else as oppressed victims, interracial relationships as fraught, and porn about them as suspect. Basically, it’s people trying to be more progressive and aware but sometimes causing more harm than good when those attempts go awry.

[edie-baby]

Les Fleurs du Mal Chapter 1| Pierre Gasly

Summary: Sava Dvorakova had big dreams for Formula One. An opportunity of a lifetime comes around, so she takes it and runs. She proved just about everyone wrong, and is awarded a very controversial seat on the F1 grid. There’s smiles and grins, hugs and kisses, love and laughter. There’s tears and sobs, fights and break ups. There’s evil where you least expect it, hidden in the garden of eden. The Flowers of Evil.

Warnings: a lot of swearing, shitty parents (they’re a recurring theme), sexism, i ignored a lot of actual f1 rules because i couldn’t be bothered writing it into the story tbh, yuki is fcking adorable, a lot of smut eventually, like a lot.

There were hundreds, thousands, maybe even a million girls who have dreamed of making it into Formula One. It is the pinnacle of motorsport, the highest calibre and the most competitive of its many engine-based counterparts. Many women over the years have tried to make their way into the sport, but as each season becomes more competitive, it seems as though the women of motorsport keep slipping through the cracks. Perhaps it’s a timing thing - they weren’t in the right place at the right time - or perhaps it’s a sexism thing, or maybe the female drivers just simply are not at the same level that a lot of the men are at.

Sava Dvorakova feared being one of those women. One that would try their hardest, but were still unable to make their mark on a sport they had very clear passion for. The seventeen year old had been karting since her fifth birthday, progressing through the levels the Czech Republic had to offer before she moved onto European championships. Nearly every weekend of the year, Sava was in her kart, racing against boys three years her senior and thrashing them each time. However, she didn’t get the opportunity to progress into single-seaters for many years.

It was September 2020, just like any other race weekend when it happened, Sava piled into her kart as the marshalling for her heat was called. Her uncle patted the top of her helmet for good luck, a tradition the two had kept for about twelve years at this point, and she made it out onto her starting place - pole position as usual. Sava pulled clean moves the entire race, defended her position without being reckless or desperate, and had perfect pace. As she pulled back into the pits under her team’s marquee, she spotted her uncle speaking with an older man in a button up and slacks, something quite odd for a normal karting weekend. Sava hopped out, practically ripping her helmet and balaclava off as her footsteps increased in pace to get to her uncle. He scooped her up into a hug, spinning the girl a few times and congratulating her on another victory for the season.

“Bunny, this is Doctor Helmut Marko, he’s the director of Red Bull Racing. He’d like to speak with you about a driving opportunity.” Sebastian, her uncle, stated clearly, his excitement spilling into his eyes as he stared at his seventeen year old niece. Her dyed-pink hair sat matted to her forehead, the majority of it spun into Dutch braids down her back that would be tucked into the back of her race suit before the next race, her cheeks were flushed red, and her bottom lip was cracked in places from how much the Czech nibbled on it on and off track. Sebastian almost laughed at the situation she had ended up in.

“Dr Marko, it’s lovely to meet you. I have an hour until my next heat, so if you would like to speak urgently, there is a small cafe about a hundred metres from the track. If you’d like less of a time constraint, I will be completely free after 4pm today.” Sava told the man in front of her, Czech accent so thick the Austrian could barely understand her.

“It should only take about 10 minutes, so if you’d like, I can buy you and your uncle a coffee at the cafe while we speak.” Dr Marko offered. Sava nodded calmly, her uncle much more vocal about his excitement. Sava excused herself to change into less sweaty clothes, returning in a halter-neck singlet and a pair of ripped skinny jeans. Her trusty combat boots stepped over all of the tools, debris, and shit that was scattered around the pits as she made it back to the two men.

“So, Sava, what is your goal in karting?” Dr Marko began almost immediately after the trio had sat down in the cafe.

“To make it into formula one and win multiple world championships.” Sava responded confidently, barely a second between the question and her reply as it was something she had thought about for a very long time.

“So why aren’t you already driving in single seaters?” Dr Marko questioned further, and from the corner of her eye, Sava could see her uncle tense up.

“Because no one’s willing to give me a chance in the big leagues because they know I’ll do a lot better than half the boys on the grid.” The seventeen year old replied. Helmut seemed impressed with the rapid fire, confidence laden responses he was receiving.

“Well, I’m willing to. Jehan Daruvala, a Red Bull junior currently driving for Carlin in formula two is unable to attend the last three races of the season because of health issues. I want you to take his seat for those races, and if you’re as good in a single seater as you are in that kart, I’ll make sure you have a seat for next year.” Helmut laid out, and Sebastian audibly choked. Sava smirked at her uncle’s reaction, and stared into the eyes of the man offering her a fast track to her dreams.

“I’d love to. When and where is the next race?” Sava chuckled, her uncle’s recovery from his choking fit was slow, and Helmut looked on in amusement. He had seen many similar reactions from the drivers he was propositioning, but it seemed as though this duo had reversed the normal roles.

“The weekend begins on Thursday in Italy. You’ll be racing in Mugello.” Helmut told the pair dryly. Sebastian began coughing once again, Sava simply rubbing his back soothingly while she nodded.

“I’ll need to make arrangements with my school, but I presume you’ll make travel and accommodation arrangements from Prague to Mugello?” Sava continued her calm conversation, though she could feel her natural bubbliness and excitement ready to burst through.

“Yes. There will be a Carlin race suit and boots in Mugello when you arrive, as well as a helmet and teamwear. You’ll have a personal assistant for the time you’re in Jehan’s seat, to keep up with the media and to navigate the paddock. I’ll have all of the relevant information forwarded to you tonight, and there will be a contract for you to sign upon your arrival in Italy.”

“Then I’ll see you there, sir. I best be on my way, I’ll need time to change back into my race suit before my heat is called in about half an hour. It was lovely to meet you, and I look forward to meeting and exceeding your expectations.” Sava concluded, standing up to give her new boss a handshake before she turned on her heels and practically sprinted out of the cafe. She speed walked back to the track and into the changing rooms before letting out the ear splitting squeal she had been holding in since she won her race forty five minutes ago.

It was easy enough to sort out her absence with her school, as there were no assessments due and Sava was already miles ahead of the rest of her peers, so her teachers had no qualms with letting their champion out to represent the country.

The issue however, was with her parents. Her father, a man she had been emancipated from for over a year, decided he would give her grief for throwing away her education to take someone’s spot for a few weeks before they would inevitably drop her once they realised how bad she was. Her mother wasn’t much better. As her legal guardian, she technically did have the right to stop her daughter from going into the F2 seat, but after a gruelling discussion and many threats from Sava to emancipate from her mother as well, she conceded.

So, on a very sunny, very early Thursday morning in September, Sava hopped onto a plane with an overnight bag to begin catching her dreams. Unfortunately, Sebastian had work during the week, but would be flying out to Italy on Friday night to watch his niece’s races on Saturday and Sunday. But, Sava arrived in Italy as bubbly and excitable as ever. Her pink hair was split into her iconic high pigtails, a white crop top, and pastel pink pleated skirt and trusted combat boots covered her form, black duffel bag thrown over her shoulder with some clothes for the weekend, and all of her travel documents. The PA standing with her name printed on a sign was very confused when a very small, very pink teenage girl bumbled over to her and said ‘Hi, I’m Sava. But everyone calls me Bunny’.

“I’m sorry, I expected someone a little more gritty.” The twenty-something woman spoke, her blonde hair in a high ponytail with a Carlin shirt and dark wash jeans. Sava guessed the PA expected someone who looked more like herself.

“It’s okay, I get that a lot. Most people don’t recognise me out of my race suit, so I definitely don’t expect someone who’s never seen me to anticipate my looks. What’s your name?” Sava’s Czech accent, combined with her hyperactivity meant she talked extremely fast, and often it was all nonsense, and she simply spoke for the sake of speaking. The PA took a few seconds to process the words Sava had spoken before finally replying with a simple ‘Amelia’. The two made it to the car that was waiting and travelled to the track in silence, Sava taking in the sights, and Amelia tapping away at her phone. When they got out, Amelia handed Sava a paddock pass, explaining the importance of it and demonstrating how to use it at the gates. They walked through to the Carlin garage, one half working away excitedly, while the other side seemed rather dead.

“Everyone, can I have your attention please? This is Sava Dvorakova, she’s our reserve driver for the rest of the season. Make her comfortable, and make sure she feels welcome!” Amelia yelled, very quickly causing silence to spread over the entire garage.

“Hi! I’m Sava, but most people call me Bunny, so feel free to do either! Or if you’d like, Dvorakova works just as well, but it’s a bit of a mouthful so I understand if you mispronounce it. I’ll also probably respond to ‘hey you’ so anything works. I’m really looking forward to working with you all and giving you some good results this weekend!” Sava giggled at the end, her fists clenched in front of her chest as she gave a small cheer with her hands and the entire garage remained silent for a few moments before breaking out into whispers, their eyes trailing over the teenager’s body. The anxiety in Sava’s belly bubbled, and she began playing with her hands until she was approached by a boy who was a little taller than her with a friendly smile on his face.

“Hi, I’m Yuki. I drive the other Carlin. It’s nice to meet you Bunny.” Yuki introduced with a smile and fist bump. He was unbelievably pleased to meet a driver who was smaller than him, though he supposed that her being a girl wouldn’t ease all of the teasing he got from other drivers on the grid. The two chatted about their background in racing, and Yuki gave Sava a few pointers on handling the car she was about to drive for the first time ever.

“Sava, I have all of your race gear to try on, and later on you’ll need to do a seat fitting as the mechanics are just going to modify one of Yuki’s seats since you two are similar height.” Amelia stated, breaking up the conversation between the two youngsters. Sava apologised to her new friend before practically skipping behind Amelia. She received a few weird looks from others in the paddock, including a few F1 drivers she recognised from TV and her Instagram feed. She wasn’t sure why they were in this paddock, but supposed a few of the younger guys had only recently come out of F2.

When she got into a Carlin motorhome, race overalls and her flame-retardant undersuit were thrust into her hands by Amelia, and then pointed toward a tiny bathroom within the motorhome while the PA continued scrolling through emails, updating social media, and answering calls. Sava pulled the suits on excitedly, and though it was a bit tight in the hips, thighs and chest, she thought it looked pretty damn good.

“So, I think this was definitely made for a guy with less boobs and smaller hips, but the fit is still really good.” Sava joked to Amelia when she stepped out, only to see Helmut Marko standing alongside her new assistant. She went red instantly, her shoulders tensing and sliding up toward her head.

“Yes, well, we can certainly fix that before the next race, but right now, I believe you’re needed for fittings in the garage, so throw on your helmet and get down there.” Helmut ordered. Sava quickly snatched up her balaclava and helmet, threading the two onto her arm as she began undoing the pigtails to braid them on her way back to the Carlin garage while Amelia and Helmut stayed behind to talk.

If Sava thought she was getting weird looks on her way to the motorhome, she was getting even weirder ones on the way back from it. From what she could tell, it seemed more like mechanics, engineers and other personnel from other teams and she couldn’t see any drivers she recognised before she slipped into the Carlin garage, one braid half finished, and her helmet banging against her head every time she moved her arm. Yuki laughed at her struggles, ambling over to thread the helmet and balaclava off her arm while she held the half finished braid precariously. Sava thanked him with a quick smile and continued braiding, her tongue occasionally poking out the side of her mouth in concentration. One she was finished, and the long braids were tucked into the back of her suit, she pulled on the balaclava and helmet in record speed, and then was ushered into the F2 car to begin the tedious process of trying and changing one of Yuki’s seats to suit her height and posture. 

After about an hour of fiddling, she was allowed to take the helmet off, and was beginning to doze off in the cockpit while a few of the employees debated different ways of measuring and fixing the seat nearby. Amelia came into the garage to find the new driver fully asleep in her car with everyone still talking around her. She took a photo and uploaded it to Carlin’s Instagram story, tagging the driver and writing a quick word about the reserve driver they hadn’t officially announced yet. She giggled slightly, and when two of the mechanics came back over to lift the seat out of the car, they accidentally lifted the driver out with it. Amelia took more photos of the seventeen year old comfortably in her race suit, curled in her seat while two mechanics held the entire ensemble up above the car.

Suffice to say, Carlin’s Instragram was flooded with adoring new fans, angered stans, and a few cheeky formula one drivers on private accounts. 

[cutesy-pink]

Legally Blonde 'Omigod You Guys' at Ghost Bride event. Just imagine the chaos that will happen there with Musical!MC singing and dancing to buy some time.

Or even 'Is He Gay or European' to sway Eliza judgement, to make her doubt that she does not want to marry Idia because MC trying to convince her that Idia is gay (even though he is not but whatever float your boat). Once again... CHAOS!! Maybe with Idia protesting that he is not or the slapped bois say he is or other things that can invite the chaoticness.

I haven't actually listened to 'Omigod you guys yet' but I have listened to Gay or European and in this essay I will-

jk jk, but yes I can totally imagine the chaos festering with that song! Especially if Idia tries to protest against it! Remember that one scene where the guy went off at the dude and the dude shoots back with "I'm straight!" and the other guy went "you were not yesterday" that is definitely Idia and MC/Yuuken.

And Idia giving up and going "Fine okay I'm gay!" with everyone cheering in the background.

And after that whole escapade Eliza would sulk a lot, and everyone would try to forget the fever dream.

Anyone who even hums the tune will get shot by a lazer beam, that's for sure (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)