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bigification · 3 months

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Hiking Clothes

"Fuck, that guy was weird." You say under your breath as you walk back to your car.

What else did you expect, responding to an ad for free clothes on Facebook marketplace. He was an older guy with a big gut that was too big for his clothes. He never made eye contact, just looking down at my body. And he spoke in an emotionless monotone voice.

You don't think much of it, just glad you're on your way home now. The man doesn't live far, so you arrive home in just a few minutes. As you walk up to your apartment, you see a familiar face getting into the elevator. He is looking away from you, so it's hard to tell but he looks kinda like the guy who sold you the clothes.

"I guess he just has one of those faces, huh?" You dismiss it, assuming they just look similar.

You get home and immediately get undressed, ready to try on the new clothes. You throw on the large black shirt, It's a bit loose but if you tuck it in it looks fine. You pull up the shorts and they're also too big, although they come with straps that hold them up. Good enough, given they were free after all.

You stand in front of the mirror, trying to decide whether you like them enough to keep them. They don't look that good, but something about the way it fits you makes you feel confident. But then you notice a dry white stain in the crotch area.

"Ew, what the fuck! That's disgus- aooohh ughh." You try to voice your disgust at the not so subtle stain, but you're quickly interrupted. The stain disappears as the dried liquid siphons up your dick. The euphoric feeling interrupts your train of thought with nothing but pleasure.

"Fuuuuuck that feels good." You say between moans.

You grab your cock as it starts to harden, making it stick straight out in the loose fitting shorts. The tingling feeling in your crotch continues as you can feel your dick growing in your hands. From your underwhelming 4 inches to 5, 6, 7, 8 inches. It folds to the side, trying to find room to comfortably sit in your shorts. The tingling shoots down your thick shaft and into your balls, making them drop further as they grow to the size of tennis balls. The bulge is now unmistakable under your shorts.

"Ooouugh... More." You can barely manage to speak.

Suddenly your small but perky ass starts to fill with fat. Your cheeks expand until they fill all the empty room in your large shorts, creating a large shelf on your backside. Your thighs soon follow suit, growing with fat and muscle and making you spread your legs to make room for them. Your calves and feet double in size to accommodate your growing body.

"What... Ooohh... Is happening... Ugh... To me?" You try to reason, but overwhelming pleasure has already taken over your lower half. You cups your fat ass, making your hips thrust forward as a stain of pre-cum starts to form in your crotch.

The tingling pleasure that has engulfed your legs starts to migrate up into your midsection. You feel a tightness in your stomach, looking down you realize a small mound of fat is now hiding under your large shirt. The small mound grows and grows until your belly would be impossible to hide, even under the loosest shirts. Your posture starts to lean back as you try to balance out your growing belly. Your shirt is now stretched tight over the beach ball sized gut that is hanging over your waist, making your overalls slide to the side of your belly. You even feel the soft fat growing on your sides and pushing your arms outward, leaving you with thick love handles that spill over the waist of your shorts.

"Wait... Nooooouuuggh... This isn't aauuugh... Right." You try to say as your gut starts to block the view of your lower body.

You instinctively try to reach your cock again, the tingling feeling is strongest there and it begs for release. You try to stretch and contort, but no matter what your gut prevents you from reaching it.

"No no no auugh, fuck!"

This isn't the end of it, it will get worse. His flat pecs suddenly burst outward. Soft fat engulfs them as they start to press against his shirt, his rock hard nipples showing through. They start to sag to the sides as they lay on his gut. He let out a loud moan as his fingers shot to his large nipples.

You feel your shoulders fill out your now tiny looking shirt as they grow large and broad. Your arms fill with a mix of strong muscle and soft fat, making you look strong but cuddly. And your hands double in size and fill with callouses, leaving you with massive man hands. Your arms lengthen in the process, finally allowing you to reach your dick. One hand rubbing your belly, and one hand stroking your cock. The stain in your crotch keeps growing and growing as per cum spills out.

"Ooouugh Fuck yeah!"

You barely notice your deep voice and thick southern accent. Similar to that of the man who sold you those clothes. If anything the manliness of your voice turns you on even more. You waddle to a mirror, wanting to see the package of manliness that you now are.

You stand in the mirror, gut proudly pushed forward and hand stick on the crotch. You look at your face and it seems unfamiliar. It's young and almost feminine, the complete opposite of you. But it doesn't last long. Your flowy hair completely falls out, leaving you with a shiny white head. Your eyebrows thicken as your brow bone becomes more prominent and manly. Your clean shaven face rapidly fills with a bushy black beard, covering the thick double chin that covers your jawline.

You confidently stare at your body, finally matching the manly image you have of yourself.

If only you could spread that to everyone in the world, make them understand the immense pleasure of being a big manly guy such as yourself. The tingling in your cock returns when you think about it. You stare at your gut and start to pump your hand up and down your crotch. Normally a man in his fifties would have trouble getting hard, but a true man like you is hard all the time and ready to spread his seed. Your knees buckle and you let out a loud moan as ropes of cum shoot out into your shorts. You fall to your knees with a loud thump as your cum leaks down the inside of your leg.

"Fuck I'm hungry!" You forget everything you were thinking in favour of the overwhelming need to get bigger. A loud belch erupts from your body as you slowly get up to your feet. The ground rumbles under your feet as you walk to the fridge and pull out some leftover pizza and a beer. You lay your fat ass down on the couch and turn on the tv. You surf through channels, trying to find the sports channel. But you stop on the local news, as something catches your eye. The two anchors look so... Manly. Your dick hardens as you turn up the volume. The two southern hunks are talking about donating clothes for free.

"A drastic increase in donated clothes has been reported in the last few hours. Us two anchors have received a few of these generous donations today. We highly recommend wearing these donated clothes as soon as possible, and donating as many of your clothes as possible to spread the... Ugh... Generosity."

"I should do that!" You tell as you heave yourself off of the couch.

You run to the neighbor and loudly bang on the door. It takes a few moments, but a tall scrawny man answers in his underwear and a small button up.

"What!?" He asks, irritated.

"I want you to have these. For free!" You say as you pull off your stained shorts.

"Uugh okay?" He says confused.

"Here I'll put them on for ya."

You firmly grab his ankle and lift it through the leg of the shorts.

"Hey wait, what the fuck are you doing!?" The man yells.

You grab the other ankle and pull the shorts up his legs as he struggles.

"He sto... Ooouugh ugh." The man stops struggling as soon as you button them up.

The stain you left in the shorts quickly disappears as your seed enters his body. You should feel proud for contributing to the world by spreading your manliness.

The man quickly succumbs to the effects. His belly inflated into a hairy ball gut as it popped all of the buttons in his shirt. His chest turns into two man tits with swollen nipples. His arms and legs expand into thick hairy limbs as his hands and feet double in size. The bulge in his pants grows and so too does the stain of pre cum. Finally his hair falls out and a thick beard grows in its absence. The man is left there staring at you while rubbing his massive cock and his hairy gut.

He lets out a moan as a new stain forms in his pants. You catch his as he is about to fall. You lean into his ear and whisper "Spread the message," in a deep sultry voice.

"Honey, are you coming back." A man's voice echoed from inside the apartment.

"Go get him." You tap him on the shoulder.

He smiles as he pulls off his shorts and waddles back into his apartment.

"Who are you?" You hear. Though as you walk away, all you can hear is a struggle, followed by loud moans coming from the apartment. And you smile, knowing you helped spread your manliness today.

#male tf #masculine #fat tf #hairy #male wg #reality change #male transformation #muscle tf #age progression

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Forcing your computer to rat you out

Powerful people imprisoned by the cluelessness of their own isolation, locked up with their own motivated reasoning: “It’s impossible to get a CEO to understand something when his quarterly earnings call depends on him not understanding it.”

Take Mark Zuckerberg. Zuckerberg insists that anyone who wanted to use a pseudonym online is “two-faced,” engaged in dishonest social behavior. The Zuckerberg Doctrine claims that forcing people to use their own names is a way to ensure civility. This is an idea so radioactively wrong, it can be spotted from orbit.

From the very beginning, social scientists (both inside and outside Facebook) told Zuckerberg that he was wrong. People have lots of reasons to hide their identities online, both good and bad, but a Real Names Policy affects different people differently:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/01/22/social-scientists-have-warned-zuck-all-along-that-the-facebook-theory-of-interaction-would-make-people-angry-and-miserable/

For marginalized and at-risk people, there are plenty of reasons to want to have more than one online identity — say, because you are a #MeToo whistleblower hoping that Harvey Weinstein won’t sic his ex-Mossad mercenaries on you:

https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/harvey-weinsteins-army-of-spies

Or maybe you’re a Rohingya Muslim hoping to avoid the genocidal attentions of the troll army that used Facebook to organize — under their real, legal names — to rape and murder you and everyone you love:

https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2022/09/myanmar-facebooks-systems-promoted-violence-against-rohingya-meta-owes-reparations-new-report/

But even if no one is looking to destroy your life or kill you and your family, there are plenty of good reasons to present different facets of your identity to different people. No one talks to their lover, their boss and their toddler in exactly the same way, or reveals the same facts about their lives to those people. Maintaining different facets to your identity is normal and healthy — and the opposite, presenting the same face to everyone in your life, is a wildly terrible way to live.

None of this is controversial among social scientists, nor is it hard to grasp. But Zuckerberg stubbornly stuck to this anonymity-breeds-incivility doctrine, even as dictators used the fact that Facebook forced dissidents to use their real names to retain power through the threat (and reality) of arrest and torture:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/25/nationalize-moderna/#hun-sen

Why did Zuck cling to this dangerous and obvious fallacy? Because the more he could collapse your identity into one unitary whole, the better he could target you with ads. Truly, it is impossible to get a billionaire to understand something when his mega-yacht depends on his not understanding it.

This motivated reasoning ripples through all of Silicon Valley’s top brass, producing what Anil Dash calls “VC QAnon,” the collection of conspiratorial, debunked and absurd beliefs embraced by powerful people who hold the digital lives of billions of us in their quivering grasp:

https://www.anildash.com/2023/07/07/vc-qanon/

These fallacy-ridden autocrats like to disguise their demands as observations, as though wanting something to be true was the same as making it true. Think of when Eric Schmidt — then the CEO of Google — dismissed online privacy concerns, stating “If you have something that you don’t want anyone to know, maybe you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place”:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2009/12/google-ceo-eric-schmidt-dismisses-privacy

Schmidt was echoing the sentiments of his old co-conspirator, Sun Microsystems CEO Scott McNealy: “You have zero privacy anyway. Get over it”:

https://www.wired.com/1999/01/sun-on-privacy-get-over-it/

Both men knew better. Schmidt, in particular, is very jealous of his own privacy. When Cnet reporters used Google to uncover and publish public (but intimate and personal) facts about Schmidt, Schmidt ordered Google PR to ignore all future requests for comment from Cnet reporters:

https://www.cnet.com/tech/tech-industry/how-cnet-got-banned-by-google/

(Like everything else he does, Elon Musk’s policy of responding to media questions about Twitter with a poop emoji is just him copying things other people thought up, making them worse, and taking credit for them:)

https://www.theverge.com/23815634/tesla-elon-musk-origin-founder-twitter-land-of-the-giants

Schmidt’s actions do not reflect an attitude of “If you have something that you don’t want anyone to know, maybe you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.” Rather, they are the normal response that we all have to getting doxed.

When Schmidt and McNealy and Zuck tell us that we don’t have privacy, or we don’t want privacy, or that privacy is bad for us, they’re disguising a demand as an observation. “Privacy is dead” actually means, “When privacy is dead, I will be richer than you can imagine, so stop trying to save it, goddamnit.”

We are all prone to believing our own bullshit, but when a tech baron gets high on his own supply, his mental contortions have broad implications for all of us. A couple years after Schmidt’s anti-privacy manifesto, Google launched Google Plus, a social network where everyone was required to use their “real name.”

This decision — justified as a means of ensuring civility and a transparent ruse to improve ad targeting — kicked off the Nym Wars:

https://epeus.blogspot.com/2011/08/google-plus-must-stop-this-identity.html

One of the best documents to come out of that ugly conflict is “Falsehoods Programmers Believe About Names,” a profound and surprising enumeration of all the ways that the experiences of tech bros in Silicon Valley are the real edge-cases, unreflective of the reality of billions of their users:

https://www.kalzumeus.com/2010/06/17/falsehoods-programmers-believe-about-names/

This, in turn, spawned a whole genre of programmer-fallacy catalogs, falsehoods programmers believe about time, currency, birthdays, timezones, email addresses, national borders, nations, biometrics, gender, language, alphabets, phone numbers, addresses, systems of measurement, and, of course, families:

https://github.com/kdeldycke/awesome-falsehood

But humility is in short supply in tech. It’s impossible to get a programmer to understand something when their boss requires them not to understand it. A programmer will happily insist that ordering you to remove your “mask” is for your own good — and not even notice that they’re taking your skin off with it.

There are so many ways that tech executives could improve their profits if only we would abandon our stubborn attachment to being so goddamned complicated. Think of Netflix and its anti-passsword-sharing holy war, which is really a demand that we redefine “family” to be legible and profitable for Netflix:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

But despite the entreaties of tech companies to collapse our identities, our families, and our online lives into streamlined, computably hard-edged shapes that fit neatly into their database structures, we continue to live fuzzy, complicated lives that only glancingly resemble those of the executives seeking to shape them.

Now, the rich, powerful people making these demands don’t plan on being constrained by them. They are conservatives, in the tradition of #FrankWilhoit, believers in a system of “in-groups whom the law protects 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

As with Schmidt’s desire to spy on you from asshole to appetite for his own personal gain, and his violent aversion to having his own personal life made public, the tech millionaires and billionaires who made their fortune from the flexibility of general purpose computers would like to end that flexibility. They insist that the time for general purpose computers has passed, and that today, “consumers” crave the simplicity of appliances:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

It is in the War On General Purpose Computing that we find the cheapest and flimsiest rhetoric. Companies like Apple — and their apologists — insist that no one wants to use third-party app stores, or seek out independent repair depots — and then spend millions to make sure that it’s illegal to jailbreak your phone or get it fixed outside of their own official channel:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

The cognitive dissonance of “no one wants this,” and “we must make it illegal to get this” is powerful, but the motivated reasoning is more powerful still. It is impossible to get Tim Cook to understand something when his $49 million paycheck depends on him not understanding it.

The War on General Purpose Computing has been underway for decades. Computers, like the people who use them, stubbornly insist on being reality-based, and the reality of computers is that they are general purpose. Every computer is a Turing complete, universal Von Neumann machine, which means that it can run every valid program. There is no way to get a computer to be almost Turing Complete, only capable of running programs that don’t upset your shareholders’ fragile emotional state.

There is no such thing as a printer that will only run the “reject third-party ink” program. There is no such thing as a phone that will only run the “reject third-party apps” program. There are only laws, like the Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, that make writing and distributing those programs a felony punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine (for a first offense).

That is to say, the War On General Purpose Computing is only incidentally a technical fight: it is primarily a legal fight. When Apple says, “You can’t install a third party app store on your phone,” what they means is, “it’s illegal to install that third party app store.” It’s not a technical countermeasure that stands between you and technological self-determination, it’s a legal doctrine we can call “felony contempt of business model”:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

But the mighty US government will not step in to protect a company’s business model unless it at least gestures towards the technical. To invoke DMCA 1201, a company must first add the thinnest skin of digital rights management to their product. Since 1201 makes removing DRM illegal, a company can use this molecule-thick scrim of DRM to felonize any activity that the DRM prevents.

More than 20 years ago, technologists started to tinker with ways to combine the legal and technical to tame the wild general purpose computer. Starting with Microsoft’s Palladium project, they theorized a new “Secure Computing” model for allowing companies to reach into your computer long after you had paid for it and brought it home, in order to discipline you for using it in ways that undermined its shareholders’ interest.

Secure Computing began with the idea of shipping every computer with two CPUs. The first one was the normal CPU, the one you interacted with when you booted it up, loaded your OS, and ran programs. The second CPU would be a Trusted Platform Module, a brute-simple system-on-a-chip designed to be off-limits to modification, even by its owner (that is, you).

The TPM would ship with a limited suite of simple programs it could run, each thoroughly audited for bugs, as well as secret cryptographic signing keys that you were not permitted to extract. The original plan called for some truly exotic physical security measures for that TPM, like an acid-filled cavity that would melt the chip if you tried to decap it or run it through an electron-tunneling microscope:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/05/trusting-trust/#thompsons-devil

This second computer represented a crack in the otherwise perfectly smooth wall of a computer’s general purposeness; and Trusted Computing proposed to hammer a piton into that crack and use it to anchor a whole superstructure that could observe — and limited — the activity of your computer.

This would start with observation: the TPM would observe every step of your computer’s boot sequence, creating cryptographic hashes of each block of code as it loaded and executed. Each stage of the boot-up could be compared to “known good” versions of those programs. If your computer did something unexpected, the TPM could halt it in its tracks, blocking the boot cycle.

What kind of unexpected things do computers do during their boot cycle? Well, if your computer is infected with malware, it might load poisoned versions of its operating system. Once your OS is poisoned, it’s very hard to detect its malicious conduct, since normal antivirus programs rely on the OS to faithfully report what your computer is doing. When the AV program asks the OS to tell it which programs are running, or which files are on the drive, it has no choice but to trust the OS’s response. When the OS is compromised, it can feed a stream of lies to users’ programs, assuring these apps that everything is fine.

That’s a very beneficial use for a TPM, but there’s a sinister flipside: the TPM can also watch your boot sequence to make sure that there aren’t beneficial modifications present in your operating system. If you modify your OS to let you do things the manufacturer wants to prevent — like loading apps from a third-party app-store — the TPM can spot this and block it.

Now, these beneficial and sinister uses can be teased apart. When the Palladium team first presented its research, my colleague Seth Schoen proposed an “owner override”: a modification of Trusted Computing that would let the computer’s owner override the TPM:

https://web.archive.org/web/20021004125515/http://vitanuova.loyalty.org/2002-07-05.html

This override would introduce its own risks, of course. A user who was tricked into overriding the TPM might expose themselves to malicious software, which could harm that user, as well as attacking other computers on the user’s network and the other users whose data were on the compromised computer’s drive.

But an override would also provide serious benefits: it would rule out the monopolistic abuse of a TPM to force users to run malicious code that the manufacturer insisted on — code that prevented the user from doing things that benefited the user, even if it harmed the manufacturer’s shareholders. For example, with owner override, Microsoft couldn’t force you to use its official MS Office programs rather than third-party compatible programs like Apple’s iWork or Google Docs or LibreOffice.

Owner override also completely changed the calculus for another, even more dangerous part of Trusted Computing: remote attestation.

Remote Attestation is a way for third parties to request a reliable, cryptographically secured assurances about which operating system and programs your computer is running. In Remote Attestation, the TPM in your computer observes every stage of your computer’s boot, gathers information about all the programs you’re running, and cryptographically signs them, using the signing keys the manufacturer installed during fabrication.

You can send this “attestation” to other people on the internet. If they trust that your computer’s TPM is truly secure, then they know that you have sent them a true picture of your computer’s working (the actual protocol is a little more complicated and involves the remote party sending you a random number to cryptographically hash with the attestation, to prevent out-of-date attestations).

Now, this is also potentially beneficial. If you want to make sure that your technologically unsophisticated friend is running an uncompromised computer before you transmit sensitive data to it, you can ask them for an attestation that will tell you whether they’ve been infected with malware.

But it’s also potentially very sinister. Your government can require all the computers in its borders to send a daily attestation to confirm that you’re still running the mandatory spyware. Your abusive spouse — or abusive boss — can do the same for their own disciplinary technologies. Such a tool could prevent you from connecting to a service using a VPN, and make it impossible to use Tor Browser to protect your privacy when interacting with someone who wishes you harm.

The thing is, it’s completely normal and good for computers to lie to other computers on behalf of their owners. Like, if your IoT ebike’s manufacturer goes out of business and all their bikes get bricked because they can no longer talk to their servers, you can run an app that tricks the bike into thinking that it’s still talking to the mothership:

https://nltimes.nl/2023/07/15/alternative-app-can-unlock-vanmoof-bikes-popular-amid-bankruptcy-fears

Or if you’re connecting to a webserver that tries to track you by fingerprinting you based on your computer’s RAM, screen size, fonts, etc, you can order your browser to send random data about this stuff:

https://jshelter.org/fingerprinting/

Or if you’re connecting to a site that wants to track you and nonconsensually cram ads into your eyeballs, you can run an adblocker that doesn’t show you the ads, but tells the site that it did:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

Owner override leaves some of the beneficial uses of remote attestation intact. If you’re asking a friend to remotely confirm that your computer is secure, you’re not going to use an override to send them bad data about about your computer’s configuration.

And owner override also sweeps all of the malicious uses of remote attestation off the board. With owner override, you can tell any lie about your computer to a webserver, a site, your boss, your abusive spouse, or your government, and they can’t spot the lie.

But owner override also eliminates some beneficial uses of remote attestation. For example, owner override rules out remote attestation as a way for strangers to play multiplayer video games while confirming that none of them are using cheat programs (like aimhack). It also means that you can’t use remote attestation to verify the configuration of a cloud server you’re renting in order to assure yourself that it’s not stealing your data or serving malware to your users.

This is a tradeoff, and it’s a tradeoff that’s similar to lots of other tradeoffs we make online, between the freedom to do something good and the freedom to do something bad. Participating anonymously, contributing to free software, distributing penetration testing tools, or providing a speech platform that’s open to the public all represent the same tradeoff.

We have lots of experience with making the tradeoff in favor of restrictions rather than freedom: powerful bad actors are happy to attach their names to their cruel speech and incitement to violence. Their victims are silenced for fear of that retaliation.

When we tell security researchers they can’t disclose defects in software without the manufacturer’s permission, the manufacturers use this as a club to silence their critics, not as a way to ensure orderly updates.

When we let corporations decide who is allowed to speak, they act with a mixture of carelessness and self-interest, becoming off-the-books deputies of authoritarian regimes and corrupt, powerful elites.

Alas, we made the wrong tradeoff with Trusted Computing. For the past twenty years, Trusted Computing has been creeping into our devices, albeit in somewhat denatured form. The original vision of acid-filled secondary processors has been replaced with less exotic (and expensive) alternatives, like “secure enclaves.” With a secure enclave, the manufacturer saves on the expense of installing a whole second computer, and instead, they draw a notional rectangle around a region of your computer’s main chip and try really hard to make sure that it can only perform a very constrained set of tasks.

This gives us the worst of all worlds. When secure enclaves are compromised, we not only lose the benefit of cryptographic certainty, knowing for sure that our computers are only booting up trusted, unalterted versions of the OS, but those compromised enclaves run malicious software that is essentially impossible to detect or remove:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/28/descartes-was-an-optimist/#uh-oh

But while Trusted Computing has wormed its way into boot-restrictions — preventing you from jailbreaking your computer so it will run the OS and apps of your choosing — there’s been very little work on remote attestation…until now.

Web Environment Integrity is Google’s proposal to integrate remote attestation into everyday web-browsing. The idea is to allow web-servers to verify what OS, extensions, browser, and add-ons your computer is using before the server will communicate with you:

https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity/blob/main/explainer.md

Even by the thin standards of the remote attestation imaginaries, there are precious few beneficial uses for this. The googlers behind the proposal have a couple of laughable suggestions, like, maybe if ad-supported sites can comprehensively refuse to serve ad-blocking browsers, they will invest the extra profits in making things you like. Or: letting websites block scriptable browsers will make it harder for bad people to auto-post fake reviews and comments, giving users more assurances about the products they buy.

But foundationally, WEI is about compelling you to disclose true facts about yourself to people who you want to keep those facts from. It is a Real Names Policy for your browser. Google wants to add a new capability to the internet: the ability of people who have the power to force you to tell them things to know for sure that you’re not lying.

The fact that the authors assume this will be beneficial is just another “falsehood programmers believe”: there is no good reason to hide the truth from other people. Squint a little and we’re back to McNealy’s “Privacy is dead, get over it.” Or Schmidt’s “If you have something that you don’t want anyone to know, maybe you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.”

And like those men, the programmers behind this harebrained scheme don’t imagine that it will ever apply to them. As Chris Palmer — who worked on Chromium — points out, this is not compatible with normal developer tools or debuggers, which are “incalculably valuable and not really negotiable”:

https://groups.google.com/a/chromium.org/g/blink-dev/c/Ux5h_kGO22g/m/5Lt5cnkLCwAJ

This proposal is still obscure in the mainstream, but in tech circles, it has precipitated a flood of righteous fury:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2023/07/googles-web-integrity-api-sounds-like-drm-for-the-web/

As I wrote last week, giving manufacturers the power to decide how your computer is configured, overriding your own choices, is a bad tradeoff — the worst tradeoff, a greased slide into terminal enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:

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

All of which leads to the question: what now? What should be done about WEI and remote attestation?

Let me start by saying: I don’t think it should be illegal for programmers to design and release these tools. Code is speech, and we can’t understand how this stuff works if we can’t study it.

But programmers shouldn’t deploy it in production code, in the same way that programmers should be allowed to make pen-testing tools, but shouldn’t use them to attack production systems and harm their users. Programmers who do this should be criticized and excluded from the society of their ethical, user-respecting peers.

Corporations that use remote attestation should face legal restrictions: privacy law should prevent the use of remote attestation to compel the production of true facts about users or the exclusion of users who refuse to produce those facts. Unfair competition law should prevent companies from using remote attestation to block interoperability or tie their products to related products and services.

Finally, we must withdraw the laws that prevent users and programmers from overriding TPMs, secure enclaves and remote attestations. You should have the right to study and modify your computer to produce false attestations, or run any code of your choosing. Felony contempt of business model is an outrage. We should alter or strike down DMCA 1201, the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, and other laws (like contract law’s “tortious interference”) that stand between you and “sole and despotic dominion” over your own computer. All of that applies not just to users who want to reconfigure their own computers, but also toolsmiths who want to help them do so, by offering information, code, products or services to jailbreak and alter your devices.

Tech giants will squeal at this, insisting that they serve your interests when they prevent rivals from opening up their products. After all, those rivals might be bad guys who want to hurt you. That’s 100% true. What is likewise true is that no tech giant will defend you from its own bad impulses, and if you can’t alter your device, you are powerless to stop them:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Companies should be stopped from harming you, but the right place to decide whether a business is doing something nefarious isn’t in the boardroom of that company’s chief competitor: it’s in the halls of democratically accountable governments:

https://www.eff.org/wp/interoperability-and-privacy

So how do we get there? Well, that’s another matter. In my next book, The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation (Verso Books, Sept 5), I lay out a detailed program, describing which policies will disenshittify the internet, and how to get those policies:

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

Predictably, there are challenges getting this kind of book out into the world via our concentrated tech sector. Amazon refuses to carry the audio edition on its monopoly audiobook platform, Audible, unless it is locked to Amazon forever with mandatory DRM. That’s left me self-financing my own DRM-free audio edition, which is currently available for pre-order via this Kickstarter:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/the-internet-con-how-to-seize-the-means-of-computation

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

[Image ID: An anatomical drawing of a flayed human head; it has been altered to give it a wide-stretched mouth revealing a gadget nestled in the back of the figure's throat, connected by a probe whose two coiled wires stretch to an old fashioned electronic box. The head's eyes have been replaced by the red, menacing eye of HAL 9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.' Behind the head is a code waterfall effect as seen in the credits of the Wachowskis' 'The Matrix.']

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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metamorphesque · 12 days

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Formula 1, Sportswashing and Greenwashing a Genocide ... in other words, just an ordinary day in baku

As the final Formula 1 Grand Prix is set to take place tomorrow in baku, azerbaijan, I find it impossible to remain silent. The world is gearing up for what’s supposed to be an exciting event but behind the gleaming lights of the racetrack, there’s a much darker story that demands attention: the ethnic cleansing of Artsakh and azerbaijan’s ongoing brutal actions against Armenians.

azerbaijan’s history of oppression toward the Armenian people is not a secret. The forced displacement of Armenians from their ancestral lands, the violent campaign of ethnic cleansing in Artsakh, and the inhumane imprisonment and torture of Armenian captives in baku are undeniable facts. The world has remained shockingly quiet as over 200 Armenians languish in azerbaijani prisons, subjected to treatment that violates every principle of human rights.

One of the most glaring symbols of azerbaijan’s hatred toward Armenians is the Genocide Theme Park in baku, a chilling place that mocks the pain and suffering of an entire people. This is not just an internal issue; it’s an attack on humanity. But instead of confronting azerbaijan’s actions, the world is endorsing them.

These atrocities are certainly not limited to the government and the officials; the indescribable hatred has extended over to the people as well - take a glimpse into the azeri society

Now, let's imagine that you were fortunate enough to watch the F1 Grand Prix live in baku. How would you feel knowing that the azerbaijani person sitting next to you might be one of the many who were selling beheaded bodies of Armenian children on Facebook? Or perhaps they took their children to the Genocide Park and photographed them pretending to choke the statues of Armenian soldiers?

azerbaijan is not only hosting the Formula 1 Grand Prix but is also set to host COP29, a global climate summit. These events are being used to greenwash and sportwash the regime’s crimes.

How can we watch Formula 1 without acknowledging that the very ground this race is held on is soaked in the suffering of Armenians? How can we cheer for a spectacle when the cries of the oppressed go unheard?

This is not a political issue; it’s a matter of basic human decency. While the world enjoys the race, we must not forget the injustices happening in the shadows. Formula 1 should be about fairness and excellence. But in azerbaijan, it’s about something far more sinister—using sport to hide atrocities.

So, as you watch the Grand Prix in baku, remember the Armenian lives shattered by violence, hatred and silence. Let’s refuse to let sports and international events become tools for erasing history and ignoring the suffering of innocent people.

BREAK THE CHAIN OF IGNORANCE: Share Information: use social media platforms like Tumblr, Instagram, X, Facebook and others to share articles, videos, and testimonies about the atrocities being committed by azerbaijan. The more people know, the harder it becomes to ignore. Engage in Dialogue: talk to friends, family, and colleagues about the situation in azerbaijan and encourage others to take action too. Support Armenian Communities: donate to/support organizations helping displaced Armenians and those impacted by the conflict in Artsakh. Even small contributions can go a long way in providing humanitarian aid. Artsakh Relocation Project All For Armenia

TAKE ACTION by adding your name to THE LIST of supporters.

Remember that this is not a political issue; it’s a matter of basic human decency.

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plaguevampyr · 2 months

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Elliott headcannons (some of these I gather from people but there's side notes who it's from)

I definitely do not have an obsession with this man.

Elliott used a smoking pipe before. He doesn't know how to use it by the way that he start coughing. (Bonus from @majokothesmol: "He doesn't use it to smoke. It's a bubble blower." Then @/3-and-a-half-possums-in-a-hat added "plotwist, he inhaled the bubbles")

He doesn't know how to maintain eye contact. That's why he's facing side ways and he looked confidence (or arrogant as you might say it) just to hide the fact he can't make eye contact.

He came from a wealthy family and his parents hates him because he wants to he a writer instead of a lawyer or something. Probably an only child, if not, his sibling is either decades away from his age and probably his parents favorite, sorry Elliott you don't have parent favoritism. (younger or older)

Theatre kid, that's it. You can't tell me that's not a theatre kid. He probably played Goston for the Beauty and the Beast musical in highschool and I don't know why.

Someone said he's a werewolf and it's the funniest thing I've read. (I can't rell you who because I found it on Facebook and it was their personal account...)

When he's folding origami, he folds it neatly and perfectly aligned.

Willy invites him for meal sometimes if he's cooking at home. Don't starve Elliott, you're too glamorous.

Broke ass. (We all agreed on this and it's because he spent most of his money on hair care products. Or some good quality papers.)

Wait, have you guys ever realized that this man has OCs? THIS GUY LITERALLY HAVE OCS? OF COURSE HE HAVE OCS, HE'S A WRITER...

#elliott sdv #stardew valley elliott sdv #headcanons #elliott headcanon #sdv headcanons #elliott stardew #stardew elliott #stardew valley elliott #elliott stardew valley #sdv elliott #elliott #stardew valley #stardew #stardew valley memes #elias talk

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listentoace · 2 months

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This will freak you out

... or at least I hope it does. Yes, I know most of the stuff I post on here is just kinky and horny talk and that's totally fine. By now, thousands of users have found their way to my blog and I'm very grateful for the support. I know I don't share much about myself, but the following will be about a more personal matter. I work in IT, or more specifically, with data. Lots of data. Being into data science, I am hyper-aware of the constant collecting and aggregating of user data. I know it's somewhat common knowledge that you're being tracked, but I want to take this opportunity to point out how bad the situation is and why privacy matters. I'll try to keep it as easy to follow as possible, so please bare with me!

The Trackers

Right now, you're on Tumblr. As you are reading this, your app connects to over a dozen servers that are not from Tumblr itself. They are from companies like Google, Amazon, Yahoo, but also lesser known companies such as Adjust and Moat. Within a single day, the Tumblr App sends about 5.000 tracking requests to the aforementioned and more companies, sharing your personal data. That's once every 15-20 seconds, regardless of whether you have the app opened or not. While I can't say exactly what data is being shared, it is likely that this is personal information that can be utilized to assume your opinions, target ads, or predict future behavior, as these are ways how companies will ultimately make money. Depending on what permissions you have granted the Tumblr app, it might also scan your gallery, your entire file system, access your call history, or your camera and microphone. By granting this permission, you are essentially giving Tumblr the keys to your phone on a complete "just trust me, bro"-basis. To me personally, that sounds scary.

But why do you use Tumblr yourself, then?

Very good and fair question! I actually am conflicted regarding using Tumblr, but I have put several security measures into place to minimize tracking potential as much as possible. While Tumblr can still see when I go online, read all the messages I send to others, know what content I view, like, comment on, and otherwise engage with, that is about it. Tumblr cannot acces my general file system, it cannot remotely access my camera and microphone, and even all the aforementioned trackers are blocked. I'll go more into this later.

"So what, I've got nothing to hide."

It's great that you think that! That's just what the big tech companies want you to believe. But answer me this: have you ever found it uncomfortable when a person next to you was reading all your texts, looking at your gallery, and just generally kept an eye on what you do on your phone at all times? Well, if a single person doing that is bothering you, how much worse must it be to know that several companies with thousands of employees spy on you for a living? Yes, they have seen your nudes, your breakup texts, your hours of Whatsapp calls with your best friend. It's literally a Big Brother Dystopia.

"Why would they be interested in me?"

I bet you have heard about the Cambridge Analytica (CA) scandal from 2018. Just to summarize: a data analytics company CA worked closely together with Facebook to target adds specifically tailored to users to manipulate them into voting for Donald Trump as President. If you are asking how specific this could be, just look at this demonstration by Signal, where their ads are extremely specific to a point where probably only a few thousand if not only hundreds of people would fit the description and just those exact people saw their ad.

"You got this ad because you're a newlywed pilates instructor and you're cartoon crazy. This ad used your location to see you're in La Jolla. You're into parenting blogs and thinking about LGBTQ adoption."

Facebook took it down within hours. But imagine you seeing this ad of a random company knowing this much and lots more about you. Note that Instagram and WhatsApp belong to Facebook/Meta, so even if you're not using Facebook directly, you're still being watched just as closely.

Knowing exactly what you like, dislike, fear, and love, strong emotions can be triggered for political or financial gain. You're into sustainability? Buy this product and we will retrieve one pound of plastic from the ocean! You are conservative and maybe slightly racist? Immigrants are taking over more and more healthcare jobs! You are scared by a possible nuclear war? Vote us for safety and peace!

This is how Cambridge Analytica managed to pull in millions of voters in the US and manipulate the election in a way that Donald Trump wouldn't have won without their manipulation. This is literally a threat to democracy. And as you know, my allegiance is to the Republic, to Democracy!

You might be aware of how right-wing and extremist parties all around the western world use very polarizing and emotional topics in their campaigns and are doing very well on social media. Often much better than more centered, leftist, or conservative parties, who tend to polarize less. This is not a coincidence. Not only is this because of customized, targeted content, but it's also because strong emotions generate more attention

Doom Scrolling & Dopamine

Social Media has had decades to perfect their dopamine lottery. The algorithms know exactly what you are into, no matter how much of a niche it might be. A good, user-oriented algorithm would show you a few posts, the best ones of the day, and then simply say "well, that's been all the good stuff. Wanna see the rest anyways?". But that's not how it works, is it? When opening an app like Instagram, TikTok, Tumblr, etc., you usually immediately land on a recent top-post. This is to give you the instant gratification and that sweet hit of dopamine.

Have you ever noticed how you had to scroll a bit before you got a post again that you really loved? That's by design. The mix of top-posts and mediocre ones is on purpose, to keep you waiting for more. You never know when the next super funny TikTok will come by. All you know is that it might be the next one. In-between top-posts, you're met with mediocre garbage and an add or two and just before it gets too boring, you hit gold again. The constant release of much higher than normal amounts of dopamine make your brain temporarily lose touch with what levels are normal. Why is it that you feel drained and tired after scrolling through social media for a few hours, even though you've done nothing but sitting around? You didn't think hard, you didn't move much, so what is it? It is the dopamine-rollercoaster that is mentally straining you. And there are tens of thousands of highly trained software engineers and corporate executives designing their platforms to keep you scrolling for as long as possible. If that little chiming sound increases your screen time by as little as 2%, it will be added. It is designed to suck your life away, chain your eyeballs to the content they want you to see, just so they can literally sell you to anyone who has the cash. You need that new gadget, visiting this country is an absolute must, this new sports competition is amazing, definitely vote for this cool party. Trust them. They know what you want. You don't know anything about them, but they know everything about you.

"What do I do now?"

Well, it is unlikely that you'll stop using social media at all. I mean, even I am still here. But there are things you can and should do for your mental and financial health, and for your own safety and protection against manipulation. Here is a list of things you should consider

Limiting social media to only a few apps you actually use and are interested in

Spend no more than 2 hours on social media per day

Meet friends irl instead of only texting

Stop sharing personal information. It is not illegal to enter false names, birthdays, etc into random sign-up forms! Protect your children as well!

Use privacy- & user-oriented platforms, such as Signal instead of WhatsApp, or Mastodon instead of Twitter. They finance themselves through volunteers and donations instead of by selling your data and lifetime to any buyer

Use privacy-oriented frontends (the visual interface and application you interact with), such as NewPipe or FreeTube instead of YouTube. You also won't be seeing any ads there

Don't buy anything impulsively. Take a week or two to think about whether you really need and want it.

Check facts, do your own research, use multiple sources, be critical

And in case you're interested in what I use:

I'm have an Android phone running /e/OS and a total of 5 computers/servers which run Linux and a Windows laptop for work. My phone block any trackers, fakes my GPS location (not VPN/IP) to where I am in Barcelona. All devices have a 24/7 encrypted VPN connection. I don't have WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, or even a Google account. For personal use I have Signal, Element (Discord alternative), and Proton Mail. That's it. Every website or platform I have an account on has it's own, unique, single-use email, a randomized password and 2FA whenever possible. I use KeePass as my password manager, encrypted with a password, key file, and hardware key. I enter false data into any random form, use hardened Firefox browsers to resist fingerprinting and tracking, and back up all my data at home on a hard drive instead of using a cloud service. (Yes, there is much more)

For my content, I use Tumblr and a semi-active Discord account, Reddit accounts are banned.

For my professional life, I am forced to use Microsoft Teams and Outlook, yet I only use those on my work computer & phone.

Privacy = Freedom

Yes, I know my measures are far beyond average, but I wanted to present an example and hopefully inspire some of you to take back your online freedom and privacy! Because that's what it is! Privacy is Freedom!

I hope this inspired you and please ask any questions in the comments! This truly is a topic that means a lot to me so thank you for reading all the way through it. Please reblog to further share this important topic and encourage others to protect themselves!

- Ace

#venting #data privacy #online surveillance

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badolmen · 1 year

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“I’m scared to pirate stuff - ” do it scared!*

*with Firefox and Adblock and a VPN and -

If you want a nonspecific, nonexhaustive “where do I even start” guide…

Sail the cyber seas at your own risk!

Streaming - “I want to watch xyz”

This is normally what most people want when they talk about pirating.

Use Firefox with uBlock Origin and additional privacy add-ons such as PrivacyBadger, TrackMeNot, etc.

Free VPNs are out there. Get one - but vet it’s efficacy. My go-tos are Proton VPN, or Windscribe if you plan to do a bit of torrenting.

What is torrenting? How does it work? Here’s a guide!

Back to streaming -

Make sure that a) you’ve got your Mozilla browser with all its adblocking private glory, and b) you’ve got a VPN turned on to hide what you’re doing in that browser from your ISP (internet service provider).

Now you need to actually find a site to stream from. This is the tricky part, because openly sharing these sites will get them taken down if they’re talked about widely enough. (Remember how tiktok idiots got zlibrary taken down?)

You’re going to have to talk to people on forums. You’re going to have to experiment with sites you find yourself. Search for ‘x online free’ and look at the links that come up - is the preview text mangled or clickbaitey? Are there Reddit threads about that website confirming or denying its content? A good rule of thumb is to ignore the top result or two - copycats of good streaming sites will often buy out the top result spot. Eventually, you’ll develop a good gut feeling and understanding of what a good site ‘looks like’ from the results page alone.

However, there are some places that compile good sites that haven’t been nuked by lawyers (yet) - check out r/FMHY! The masterposts are actively curated and updated when a site goes down or is found to have malicious downloads.

Remember - loose lips sink ships. No tweeting (xeeting?) or Facebook statuses about your new favorite piracy website and where you found it. Even posting to tumblr (kind of like this…) isn’t a great idea if you want those websites to stay under the radar and stay accessible. Nobody talks, everybody walks (away with their share of pirate booty)

If you aren’t downloading media, pick pretty much any site and watch away! Adblock and Firefox will keep away pop-ups and other annoying ads, and your VPN means your ISP can’t tell that you’re visiting an unofficial streaming service.

Note: In my experience, I’ve never heard of visiting a site and watching stuff on it infecting or otherwise compromising your computer. That tends to come from misclicks on invisible or overwhelming pop-up ads that redirect you to an automatic download or similarly malicious bullshit. If you’re using Firefox and uBlock, you shouldn’t be in any danger of an accidental redirect.

Downloads - “I want to keep xyz”

This is the realm of pirate archiving - you’re keeping files physically on your hard drive, an external hard drive, or burning a disk.

Adblock + Firefox browser? Check. VPN on? Check.

Go to your streaming site of choice - most if not all have download options. You can download those files or, manually, right click and save the video file from the webpage as an mp4. I honestly don’t know if there’s a difference in quality or more danger in clicking the download buttons, but regardless -

Run that puppy through VirusTotal.com! It’s a reliable browser based virus checker - if the file is too large, use a local virus checking program (your native Windows Defender on Windows computers or, I prefer, Malwarebytes)

Generally mp4 and mp3 files are clean - choose where to save them for the long term, and bam! Free forever media.

Optionally, I also upload mp4 files to a named Google document - this way I can easily share them or make them findable through a ‘xyz Google doc’ search for others :]

Torrents - “I want to keep and share xyz”

I’m not going to go into this subject in depth because, honestly, it’s not something I do regularly.

See the previously linked Torrenting guide for information on how the process works, and check out r/FMHY for recommendations and warnings about different torrenting clients (I’ve personally only used qBittorrent - I’ve heard to stay away from the Pirate Bay and Bittorrent.)

As with streaming, turn on that VPN baby! You’re going to need one that supports peer-to-peer (p2p) connections, so Proton’s free version is a no-go. Windscribe is what I’ve used for torrenting (and it’s a good free VPN on its own - I’m just partial to Proton). You get 10GB every month on Windscribe’s free version, which is more than enough for a few movies/a season or two of your favorite show.

(Bigger torrents like video games are easily 30+ GB, so be prepared to either pay for a no-limit premium account or spend a few months downloading your files in chunks.)

VPN on? Double check.

Boot up your torrenting client - I use a slightly out of date version of qBittorent, but there are other options. The Reddit thread and previously linked torrenting guide have a few dos and donts of selecting a client, so be thorough before you download your client of choice.

This is getting into the logistics of torrenting a bit, so forgive me if this is vague or incorrect, but now you need a torrent seed. These will be .tor files found through pirating websites or archives - these are rarely malicious, but it’s good to run any piracy related download through something like VirusTotal.com or scan it with a local program like Malwarebytes.

You open your seed file in your client and wait. A ‘healthy’ seed tends to have lots of seeders and few leeches, but sometimes you’re stuck with an obscure seed you just have to wait for.

Your torrented files have fully downloaded! Now what? a) keep your client open and seed those files for others as long as you want to - sharing is caring! and b) run those files through a security program like Malwarebytes (not sponsored it’s just the only program I’m familiar with).

Be wary of what gets flagged - sometimes the files seem important, but are just trojans, and likewise sometimes they seem malicious, but are just cracked software getting flagged by your system. It’s good to check and see if others have had a problem with this particular torrent before - Reddit threads from 2008 are your long dead friends.

And that’s about it. Feel free to correct me if anything I’ve recommended is malicious or outright wrong. I’ve been doing this for years and haven’t had an active problem to my knowledge, so if there is something fishy with how I do things, I am a statistical outlier and should not be counted.

I wish you smooth sailing and strong winds in your ventures me hearties!

Obligatory ‘don’t pirate small author’s or artist’s works what the fuck dude’ statement.

#ra speaks #piracy #pirating #pirate to make hondo ohnaka proud #I’ve seen so many people on my streaming piracy post bemoaning that they don’t know how like !!!!#congrats you get to learn without the middle school trial and error phase we zillenials had (RIP family computer 2004-2009)#I genuinely think piracy has gotten easier/safer than it used to be. that or I’ve gotten smarter. which is also likely.

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countrymusiclover · 4 months

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9 - Life Changing Moments

Part 10

Dr. Redheaded Neighbor

Tag list - send an ask to be added @annieradcliff @watermeezer @zaidatorcuatomorgado @kmc1989

Maxon made a noise looking up at Will with a tilt of his head. “What do you think that conversation is going to be about, Max.” Will just sat down with him laying at his feet simply wanting to wait until she got back.

Sylvie and I exited the ED going to sit down on one of the benches outside the building so we could talk. I wasn’t sure what she needed to talk to me about or how she found me here at the hospital in the first place. “So, I have to ask how the hell did you find me here exactly?”

“I looked you up on the internet. Facebook showed some pictures with you and Dr. Halstead. I searched through his page and found out that he worked here. The chance of you being here still at the same town was a happy coincidence.” She explained and I nodded somehow not finding that creepy given the smile she had given me.

I clicked my tongue intertwining my hands together in my lap. “Okay, so – what exactly did you need to talk to me about privately?”

“I have been trying to rack my brain about why I couldn’t get you out of my head and it finally came to me. It’s because you clearly aren’t ready to be done helping people.”

I eyed my right leg wishing that I didn’t have the brace on all the time. “Maybe I am. I mean I had to be discharged from Army after I got injured. I don’t remember the last mission I only know I came home with this on me probably for the rest of my life.”

“Look I have been thinking about offering you a chance to come work at Firehouse 51 or at least consider looking into helping out there.” The female firefighter sends me a smile again.

Running a hand through my loose hair I sighed thinking about what she was offering. “Wow. That’s - that’s a huge offer. I mean I don’t have any training to be a Firefighter or Paramedic like you guys.”

“You’re right but you’d be able to learn on the job and take courses if you really want to look into what I’ve mentioned here.”

I asked her meeting her blue eyes. “Is this even allowed with your boss?”

“If you truly are considering saying yes, I will speak with him as soon as possible.” She reached forward touching my knee.

Since coming home I was just focusing on trying to adjust getting back to civilian lifestyle and getting spend more time with my best friend again. “I’ll let you know. Uh here – I can give you my phone number.” Taking out my phone I handed it to her showing my phone number.

“Thanks. Just call me, Mallory.” She put her number in my phone handing me my phone back.

The hospital sliding doors opened causing me and the firefighter to turn our heads and attention towards them. I saw Maxon coming towards me before I saw Will slowly running over to us. “Raegan is awake and asking for you. If you want to see her now.”

“Oh my gosh. Ms. Brett, I will certainly let you know my answer later.” Jumping up onto my feet Maxon bolted to the doors with me and Will following him inside the hospital doors. I entered the room she was supposed to be in seeing her sitting somewhat upright in her bed, smiling when I rushed to her bedside. “Rae, I was so worried about you. I – I thought something really bad was going to happen.”

She blew a raspberry at me. “I’m too stubborn to leave you alone. Especially when you haven’t fessed up and told your Redhead how you feel.”

“You know the thought of you dying is more important than my romantic life.” I sent her a glare.

She crossed her arms over her chest huffing at me. “Okay but you know that I’m right. Halstead from what I can tell isn’t very good about hiding his feelings. So, I see no issue with getting it over with and telling him that you have feelings for him too.”

“But what if he- “

She held her up left hand with an iv sticking in her arm. “I will take this out which will set off all the alarms and go find himself. Do you really want me to be the one to tell him what you won’t.”

Holding up my hands up in surrender in front of me I begged her. “Don’t you dare do anything like that. I’ll tell him soon okay.”

“You better.” Raegan sent me a warning look.

Pushing opened the apartment door I tossed my keys on the countertop the second I walked inside Will’s apartment while carrying in a pizza box that we had picked up on the way home from the hospital. Maxon jumped up onto the couch and he laid down in a curled-up position. Will came in shortly after sitting his bag by the door. “Oh, what a day. I gotta say I love being an ED doc but it sure wores me out.”

“At least now I finally kept up on my promise on bringing you this.” Spinning the pizza box around on the kitchen counter I drew the lid open and the familiar comforting smell filled the air.

He shrugged his jacket off ditching it onto the back side of the couch coming over in two long strides until his nose was right above the pizza box. “Ohh I’ve been needing this all day.”

“I gotta admit it is pretty good pizza.” I picked up a bite thinking back to my old home state. “I do remember the drive to Dominos wasn’t too bad either.”

Will set his piece of pizza down. “How dare you say bad things about me pizza..”

“I can’t help I’m from Indiana, Will.” I throw my hands up staring at him.

He glared at me across the kitchen island. “Dang country girl.”

“City slicker.” I did my best to hold a straight and serious face when I was looking at him but I only lasted a few more seconds. I bent my head down in my arms laughing my head off.

Will mirrored my laughter shaking his head. “Who would’ve thought that we would work together like this. Living together, me, you and Maxon.”

“We do make a pretty good trio.” Picking up my slice of pizza I take out a few bites before picking up another.

Will moved over to the couch sitting down with some pieces of pizza on his plate. “Do you ever think we’d still work together this great as a couple?”

“Wha – what did you say?” I nearly choked on the bite of pizza I had in my mouth.

Will’s gaze focused on me standing by the kitchen island sitting the plate down on the coffee table in front of him. I’ve been thinking for a while that I should have told you this much sooner. And so now I’m done waiting.” He rose from the furniture striding over to me until I held my hands up before he can say anything more.

“Will, hang on a second. I need to say something to you too. I – I just have been so terrified of what you would say.”

He rummaged around in his pocket holding up a random coin. “Let’s let luck decide this then. Heads, we say our feelings one at a time. Tails, we say them at the same time. And there’s no backing out.” Will tossed the coin up off his thumb and it landed down in his palm.

“What does it say?” I nervously gripped the ends of my tea shirt in my fingers nervous for his answer.

“Tails.”

I gulped. “Okay. 3 – 2 – 1.”

Will and I paused before uttering out at the same time. “I have feelings for you.”

Covering my mouth with my hands I felt some tears welling in my eyes. “I thought that you wouldn’t – um.” I didn’t know what to say considering I assumed he wouldn’t feel the same way since we’d been friends for over six years now.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He asked me.

I started to respond to him but he cut me off. “I was afraid that our relationship would be ruined and that you wouldn’t feel the same way- “

He crashed his lip’s down onto mine where I gasped taking a second to process what was happening. I had imagined what it would be like to kiss him but now that it was happening I thought I was dreaming. I leaned up slightly on my toes kissing him back and wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Mal, Mallory, listen to me okay.” He drew back holding my face in his hands, smiling through happy tears. “Our relationship could never be ruined by you being honest with me. Cause I have always had feelings for you. Always have, always will.”

I grinned up at him gripping the fabric of his shirt. “So this is for real?”

“Yes, Mallory. This is real.” He sent me that familiar cheeky grin. “Now what would you say to me taking you out on our first official date tomorrow night?’

Leaning up on my toes I began the next kiss we shared. “I’d love that.” Will moved his hands around my waist holding me against his chest until we broke away knowing the pizza was getting cold.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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bi4pan-polls · 1 year

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Poll: round 2a #4

[ Image ID. AN image of Amelie Maçon and Rashmi Jamil from Entropic Float. They are standing next to each other, with Rashmi be hide Amelie. Amelie is holding her own arm and Rashmi is learning forward toward her, comfortingly. Amelie has light skin, and long pink hair in pigtails tried with black scrunchies. She is wearing a pink beanie, black glasses, a pink checkered coat, and a white skirt over hot pick pants with a bunch of black question marks on it as a design. She has black shoes. Rashmi has brown skin, and black hair that is mostly short but with long part in front. They are wearing a grey turtleneck, and black short shorts. They have on a brown jacket that is hanging off their shoulders, and a key necklace. they have on yellow headphones. They have long white socks and black shoes, and an image of 2 ocs, their images edited togther. On the left is Mel. She has a hot pink, long dress that puffs out. It is plad and has a black designs around it, she has pale skin, a mark on the left side of her face which goes down to her neck, and short brown hair. She has blue, purple and green in her eyes. On the right is Cree. He has short blond hair, and pale skin, he is wearing grey overalls over a green long sleeved sweater , that has a feather design over it, you can see the collar of a white button down under the green sweater. He is wearing sneakers. He has a Green right eye and a orange left eye, and he has eyebags. End ID]

info on Mel and Cree from @melodemonica

mel is a demon (not the biblical kind) and studies whats basically magic biology + psychology =D she also really enjoys traveling and wood carving! cree is human and i originally made him a lawyer of some kind but currently that's up in the air lol, he loves bad tv shows and pointing out the inaccuracies in them! they watch horror movies together and laugh at how stupid the characters are <3

Cree is trans

mel is as previously mentioned, a demon, she is thusly immortal so you can imagine the kind of angst that causes considering cree is a human dude, also since i've only mentioned this in some tags, cree is canonically trans

cree is the sole braincell in their friend group most of the time and he only uses it when he finds it funny or when his friends' shenanigans go a bit too far and they need bailing out

mel loves traveling solely for the sake of learning, she's totally the museum going type (cree is too but for completely different reasons) i imagine she gets genuinely a bit bummed when there isn't some kind of guided tour for her to take when traveling (she doesn't need it but she likes the experience)

they hated each other when they first met, cree was in a 'being an asshole is totally a normal and acceptable coping mechanism' phase and mel's usual trauma response is of the 'angry at the world and everyone in it' variety. they became close after being forced to become roommates and having to be in close proximity to each other's pathetic attempts at pretending to be alright

mel is american and cree is german-japanese, mel is completely emancipated + no contact while cree has a cordial but kind of strained relationship with his adoptive mother

mel's face markings are actually burns! (i just kinda suck at illustrating them lol) they extend all down her torso and part of her legs and arms

mel is very strong and frequently swings cree around just for funsies, whether cree enjoys this depends on the day

mel changes her hair very frequently, this is due to her demon-ness providing her shape-shifting abilities, this is hilariously the only thing she really uses it for

cree has a collection of those weird shirts that you see in facebook ads (and also memes) he got one from one of his siblings as a joke and everyone else just ran with it

speaking of siblings, cree has 8 and mel had 1, cree is also a twin though they're not really on speaking terms at the moment

mel cooks while cree bakes, because cree is good at the chemistry-ness of baking while mel is good at the whole add whatever your heart tells you to aspects of cooking

cree totally once mixed some unholy drink concoction (like coffee redbull and cherry pepsi or something similarly unholy) at 3 am and instead of telling him it was a bad idea mel probably asked him for a sip

mel is totally normal about her job she totally doesn't go on hours long rants about the effects of long term exposure to magical artifacts nope totally not

mel and cree used to be in a band, they played keytar and guitar respectively they were also the vocalist

#rashmeile #rashmi jamil #amelle macon #entropic float #oc x oc #ocs #poll #poll tournament #tournament poll

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iambutmortal · 1 year

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@elucienweekofficial Day 1: Mates

Summary: When Elain signs the divorce papers she’s sure she’s done with Lucien Vanserra. Until they’re offered the chance to recreate their honeymoon as a part of her job. For free. But reliving all those memories with Lucien proves leaving may be more difficult than she thought.

Word Count: 3k

Authors Note: I would like to thank @foreverinelysian for the amazing prompt and also apologize for holding onto it for a year (sorry @sjmkinkmeme). Also, yes, I did steal the opening scene from Asylum of the Daleks but in my defense that was my 12 year old sexual awakening so allowances must be made.

Read on Ao3

It took everything Elain had not to blow the strand of hair out of her mouth. The fan was pointed directly at her face, whipping her hair back dramatically. Or at least she hooped it looked dramatic, and not like she’d been caught by a cyclone. Because that would not make the magazine editors, or her manager, happy.

And with her luck would probably result in her ending up as a Facebook meme. She could picture the caption me trying to model but the world says no. The grandmothers of the world would be in stitches.

But the photographer seemed happy, kept yelling how the shot was perfect and stunning and you’re amazing darling so Elain was pretty sure it was dramatically.

“Break,” shouted the creative director, already leaning over the photographer’s camera to peer at the camera screen.

Elain resisted the urge to massage her cheeks, aching from the sultry, but not too sultry, smile she’d been forcing herself to hold for the better part of an hour. She was sure there were thousands of pictures at this point, all with her at a slightly different angle, chin up a fraction, down an inch, to the left a hair, all in service of getting one perfect picture the perfume makeup company could slap up on billboards to advertise their new blush.

She felt bad for anyone who actually fell for it, since half the pan had been spread across her face in an effort to make some color appear, and whatever the final result was would still need digital enhancement. Even the makeup artist hadn’t been able to control her laughter at the attempt, shaking her head. “Guess I won’t be adding this to my kit.”

But a job was a job, and Elain needed the work to pay the bills. Bills that were suddenly a lot higher.

No, Elan scolded herself. She wasn’t allowed to think about it at work. That was the rule she’d had for herself two months ago when she’d had to lock herself in the bathroom to cry during a shoot. Despite her attempts to blot the smeared mascara away with toilet paper, the make up artist had been livid. Elain had only been spared by the fact that the photographer had liked it. Thought it was edgy and cool for whatever bland perfume they were selling to middle age house wives.

“Ma’am,” said one of the PAs on set, appearing at her elbow. PAs had a nasty habit of doing that, sliding behind her before she could notice, and nearly scaring her half to death.

“Yes,” Elain asked, pasting a pleasant smile on her face. Her cheeks barked in protest. But she was not going to be known as the model who was hard to work with.

“Your husband is here.”

In spite of herself, Elain couldn’t hide her glare. “I don’t have a husband.”

The PA glanced down at his clipboard, searching for the note he’d scribbled there. “It says here—”

“It’s fine,” Elain said, slipping past him and towards the room they’d turned into a makeshift dressing space. The company had rented an old house for the natural lighting and Victorian chandeliers, and they’d used the front parlor as a space to dump makeup and accessories. “I’ll go talk to him.”

She brushed past the curtain and there he was.

Lucien Vanserra. Her husband, at least on paper.

He looked good, and Elain hated herself for noticing. His red hair was shorter, only down to his shoulders, and slicked back. He’d made himself at home in one of the upholstered chairs scattered around the room, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. It showed off the muscled thighs Elain was well acquainted with, hidden beneath dark was jeans.

“You need to sign these,” Lucien announced, holding up a stack of papers.

Elain snatched them out of his hand.

The words at the top Decree of Divorce stood out in bolded font.

She turned around, grabbing the pen someone had left lying off the wardrobe-turned-desk. She scanned the text briefing, before jotting her signature down on each of the dotted lines.

“Just like that?” she asked, handing them back.

Lucien unfurled himself from the seat, all lanky limbs chorded with muscles, and took them back from her.

“Just like that.”

He tucked them into the breast pocket of the black leather jacket he was wearing. Since when has he had that?

“Do you need a folder?” Elain asked, eyeing his chest suspiciously. “I doubt the judge wants wrinkled papers.”

Lucien snorted. “They’re fine. I know what I’m doing.”

“Of course you do,” Elain muttered. “Little Mr. Perfect.”

“What was that?” Lucien asked, taking a step closer to her.

“Nothing,” said Elain, smiling up to him with saccharine sweetness. “I just want to make sure after this I don’t have to see you again.”

“Don’t worry, beautiful, after this you never will again.”

Elain remembered a time when Lucien calling her beautiful would have her blushing fiercely, would no doubt result in him getting laid that night. Now it came out dripping with derision.

Elain rolled her eyes, pointing towards the curtain. “There’s the exit.”

“Nice knowing you,” Lucien said, striding toward the curtain and dipping under it.

Elain bit her lip as she watched his retreating back side. She ought to say something nicer, she thought. Before he was gone from her life forever, surely.

“Wait,” she called out after a long moment. But Lucien was already gone.

A part of Elain sighed in relief. What was she going to do if he stayed, explain why he came back from work one day to all his stuff packed in bags on the porch?

She huffed a sigh, blowing one of the strands of hair that had fallen into her face out of her eyes.

It was fine. She was going to finish her job and then go home and eat an entire carton of Halo Top. Maybe two depending on how sad the Hallmark movie on that night made her feel. Nowhere near as good as the real thing, but quantity over quality.

Elain glanced in the mirror behind her, to check that none of her makeup had smudged and that her eyes were crystal clear, not glassy, before following her soon to be ex-husband out.

Only to find him standing in the entryway with her sister.

“Oh perfect, I was about to send Lucien in to find you,” Nesta said, looking up from the email she was furiously typing on her phone.

“Do you have another job?” Elain asked. Nesta, on top of being her overprotective sister, was also Elain’s modeling agent. And a very good one. One wall of Nesta’s office was dedicated to all the magazine covers her models had gotten, right behind the Birkin bag she’d gotten as a gift from Anna Wintor on its shelf of glory.

“One day I’ll have a wall of Vogue,” had always been Nesta’s promise to herself and, at twenty nine, she was already well on her way there.

“Only the best for you,” Nesta said, sliding her phone into the pocket of her cleanly pressed slacks and brushing a kiss across Elain’s cheek. “And Lucien gets to join you on this one.”

“Oh,” Elain said, any excitement she had rapidly deflating.

Because she hadn’t actually told her sister she was getting divorced. It made her the worst kind of coward, something she told herself at every family dinner when she and Lucien sat next to each other and pretended things were going well, but she couldn’t bear to do it. Couldn’t stand to see the crestfallen looks on Feyre and Nesta’s face, the confused horror on her father’s. She was supposed to be the one who succeeded, married the nice boy from down the road and had a nice family.

Never mind that down the road was in a multi-million dollar mansion near Beverly Hills.

And after Elain told her family, she’d have to face the paparazzi. She was moderately well known, enough to get an occasional “who wore it best” shoutout in People (she always won), and Lucien was the son of Hollywood's most beloved silver fox.

A silver fox who’d run away with the wife of the state governor three months ago and was desperately trying to rehabilitate his image in the eyes of the press before his next movie. The media was out for blood, and Helion’s beloved son divorcing his pretty little wife wasn’t what anyone needed right now.

So Elain and Lucien had an unspoken mutual agreement not to tell anyone. When they showed up to Feyre and Rhys’ Sunday night dinners, whoever got there first sat in their car until the other arrived and they could keep up the appearance of arriving together. They sat next to each other and made a good show of acting like they didn’t hate each other’s guts. And then, when it was over, they left without another word and Elain pretended it didn’t feel like her heart was being stabbed over and over.

“You know the company you and Lucien used to book your honeymoon?” Nesta asked, too focused on whatever gig she had planned to notice Elain’s dismay. “They’ve been asked to plan the Greek princess’ honeymoon, which means Cosmopolitan wants to run a profile. And since the Royal wedding hasn’t happened yet, they wanted to feature another famous couple they worked with, and that’s you and Lucien.”

Elain’s eyes darted over to Lucien to see his eyebrows were high enough to touch his hairline.

“You want me to take pictures for a magazine spread?” Lucien asked. “I do have work to do. Not to mention,” Lucien gestured at the left side of his face, and the scars that raked down it, standing in stark contrast to his golden brown skin. A reminder of the car crash he’d been in in high school. “This.”

Elain had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something. She’d always thought the scars only served to make Lucien look more handsome, gave him a slightly dangerous air that lured her in, something that she reminded him of frequently, but her comments always seemed to fall on deaf ears. But it wasn’t her place, not now.

Nesta gave Lucien a scathing look. “The shoot is planned for two weeks after the California state election, so I’m sure you’ll have some time to take a week long, all expense paid vacation to the Bahamas.”

“We honeymooned in the Dominican Republic,” Elain interrupted.

Nesta whipped out her phone and tapped on it rapidly for a few seconds. “Yes, there.”

Elain barely contained her eye roll. She was sure Nesta could point out both countries on a map, and rattle off at least two or three facts about their geopolitical status, but asking her to remember where Elain went for her honeymoon was a step too far for her when she was focused on work.

“And the magazine is well aware of what your face looks like. It’s been enough places for everyone to know,” Nesta finished with finality.

Elain scowled. “We can’t just uproot our lives. We have things to do, I have things to do.” Namely buying the ugliest pink couch she could find to put in Lucien’s old office as one last fuck you.

“All expenses paid?” Lucien asked, speaking over her.

Nesta smiled dangerously. “Flight included.”

Lucien crossed his arms. The leather jacket pulled up at the motion, the cuffs tight around muscled forearms. “And all we have to do is take some magazine photos.”

“And do an interview,” Nesta added.

Somehow, Lucien managed to arch one brow even higher. “And they want me, son of a currently disgraced movie star.”

“And potential senatorial candidate,” Nesta added.

“Rumors,” Elain interrupted. “All just rumors.”

“Which are good in this line of work,” was Nesta’s counter.

“I’m in,” Lucien said.

“We’ll think about it,” Elain corrected, glaring over at Lucien. He smirked at her in challenge.

Nesta sighed, glancing between the two of them, at last picking up the tension. “I need an answer by tomorrow, they want to book flights.”

Elain squirmed under her sister’s stare. This was exactly what she didn’t want, any cracks showing in her picture perfect life before she was ready to sit everyone down with a carefully rehearsed speech.

“Elain?” Nesta asked.

In response, she leaned slightly towards Lucien, who obligingly pulled up his sleeve to show her his watch, a thick silver one she’d given him for his last birthday. At least he hadn’t forgotten that trick, since Elain never had a watch or phone on her at work. “My ten minutes are up,” Elain said, glancing at the time. “Gotta run.”

“I need an answer,” Nesta called as Elain slid backwards, towards where the photographer and director were still leaning over the camera, arguing back and forth over some detail or other.

“I’ll text you,” Elain promised. She almost felt bad leaving Lucien with Nesta. Almost, but not quite.

“I don’t know what to do,” Elain said on the phone later that night. “It would be a whole spread, at least ten pages, and a cover story.”

“Which would be perfect for your career,” Vassa finished for her.

“But then I would have to—”

“Spend a week with Lucien.”

Elain sighed. Vassa and Jurian were the only two people outside of their lawyers who knew Elain and Lucien were separating. It was unavoidable, since Lucien was living in their guest room for the time being. Looking for his own place would raise too many questions, and staying in a hotel for weeks would be an invitation for bored paparazzi.

“What would you do,” Elain asked, taking a bite of her ice cream. She’d splurged on Haagen Dazs, rationalizing that the encounter with Nesta had more than justified it.

“I’m not the one getting an all expense paid vacation.”

“With your ex-husband.”

“Technically he’s still your husband until Monday,” Vassa laughed. Because the court closed early on Friday and Nesta’s appearance had taken up too much time for Lucien to drive over to the court house.

“Not helping,” Elain growled. “And why would Lucien even agree? He loves to poke at Nesta’s buttons.”

“It would be good for him too,” Vassa said. “Future state Senator gets a fluff magazine article about him and his beautiful wife.”

“It’s a rumor,” Elain insisted. “He hasn’t even nominated himself. And anyway, it’s going to look a lot worse when he has to come out and say we’re not together anymore.”

“First of all, you know it’s more than a rumor. No political analyst gets called into a meeting with the head of the DNC for nothing, and second just pretend you’re still married, you’ve already been doing it for six months.”

Elain suppressed her groan. Vassa made it clear at every possible opportunity how much she disapproved of Elain’s current course of action. A “Congrats of Getting Divorced, Coward” Edible Arrangement had shown up on her door the day she moved to start the paperwork, and it had only escalated from there.

Although Elain figured she should be glad Vassa would still talk to her instead of taking Lucien’s side completely. She was distressingly short on friends who weren’t her sisters and it would be so easy for Vassa to blame her when Elain still refused to explain what exactly had caused her to kick Lucien out. But Vassa had just sighed, crawled into the mountain of blankets Elain had made for herself, and said she knew Elain would talk to her when she was ready.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Elain had given an emphatic no and that had been that.

“Ugh,” Elain sighed, flopping back on the couch. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve said that about twelve times already,” Vassa sighed. “We’ve been on this call for two hours.”

“Then maybe you’re not being helpful enough.”

“I’m not helpful? Fine then,” Elain heard a rustling on the other side of the phone as Vassa started thumbing through her room.

“Oh you don’t need to…” Elain protested weakly.

But the sounds of video game weapons were already buzzing in her ear.

“Lucien,” Vassa asked, her voice muffled as she pulled the phone away and put it on speaker. “What are your thoughts on Nesta’s offer?”

There was a long, pregnant pause on the other side of the line.

“I’m in if Elain is.”

“Thank you,” Vassa chirped.

Elain waited until there was once again silence on the other side of the line to speak. “Traitor.”

“I accept you’re welcome, I’m forever in your debts, I could never repay you.”

“I hate you,” Elain snapped. “I hope your favorite tree burns down in the next wildfire.”

“Low blow,” Vassa protested. It was, based on how much time and energy Vassa spent caring for that orange tree.

“I’m hanging up,” Elain said.

“Text your sister.”

“See you at spin tomorrow.”

“Love you bitch,” was Vassa’s sign off, and then the line went dead.

Vassa was too smart for her own good, Elain thought. Because if Lucien was in, so was she. There was no way she was going to look like the coward in front of Lucien, like she wasn’t willing to do something he will.

So she closed the phone app and pulled up her text messages.

Nesta’s was at the top, several unopened messages demanding an answer waiting.

We’re in.

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Pluralistic: Leaving Twitter had no effect on NPR's traffic

I'm coming to Minneapolis! This Sunday (Oct 15): Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Monday (Oct 16): Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

Enshittification is the process by which a platform lures in and then captures end users (stage one), who serve as bait for business customers, who are also captured (stage two), whereupon the platform rug-pulls both groups and allocates all the value they generate and exchange to itself (stage three):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Enshittification isn't merely a form of rent-seeking – it is a uniquely digital phenomenon, because it relies on the inherent flexibility of digital systems. There are lots of intermediaries that want to extract surpluses from customers and suppliers – everyone from grocers to oil companies – but these can't be reconfigured in an eyeblink the that that purely digital services can.

A sleazy boss can hide their wage-theft with a bunch of confusing deductions to your paycheck. But when your boss is an app, it can engage in algorithmic wage discrimination, where your pay declines minutely every time you accept a job, but if you start to decline jobs, the app can raise the offer:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

I call this process "twiddling": tech platforms are equipped with a million knobs on their back-ends, and platform operators can endlessly twiddle those knobs, altering the business logic from moment to moment, turning the system into an endlessly shifting quagmire where neither users nor business customers can ever be sure whether they're getting a fair deal:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Social media platforms are compulsive twiddlers. They use endless variation to lure in – and then lock in – publishers, with the goal of converting these standalone businesses into commodity suppliers who are dependent on the platform, who can then be charged rent to reach the users who asked to hear from them.

Facebook designed this playbook. First, it lured in end-users by promising them a good deal: "Unlike Myspace, which spies on you from asshole to appetite, Facebook is a privacy-respecting site that will never, ever spy on you. Simply sign up, tell us everyone who matters to you, and we'll populate a feed with everything they post for public consumption":

https://lawcat.berkeley.edu/record/1128876

The users came, and locked themselves in: when people gather in social spaces, they inadvertently take one another hostage. You joined Facebook because you liked the people who were there, then others joined because they liked you. Facebook can now make life worse for all of you without losing your business. You might hate Facebook, but you like each other, and the collective action problem of deciding when and whether to go, and where you should go next, is so difficult to overcome, that you all stay in a place that's getting progressively worse.

Once its users were locked in, Facebook turned to advertisers and said, "Remember when we told these rubes we'd never spy on them? It was a lie. We spy on them with every hour that God sends, and we'll sell you access to that data in the form of dirt-cheap targeted ads."

Then Facebook went to the publishers and said, "Remember when we told these suckers that we'd only show them the things they asked to see? Total lie. Post short excerpts from your content and links back to your websites and we'll nonconsensually cram them into the eyeballs of people who never asked to see them. It's a free, high-value traffic funnel for your own site, bringing monetizable users right to your door."

Now, Facebook had to find a way to lock in those publishers. To do this, it had to twiddle. By tiny increments, Facebook deprioritized publishers' content, forcing them to make their excerpts grew progressively longer. As with gig workers, the digital flexibility of Facebook gave it lots of leeway here. Some publishers sensed the excerpts they were being asked to post were a substitute for visiting their sites – and not an enticement – and drew down their posting to Facebook.

When that happened, Facebook could twiddle in the publisher's favor, giving them broader distribution for shorter excerpts, then, once the publisher returned to the platform, Facebook drew down their traffic unless they started posting longer pieces. Twiddling lets platforms play users and business-customers like a fish on a line, giving them slack when they fight, then reeling them in when they tire.

Once Facebook converted a publisher to a commodity supplier to the platform, it reeled the publishers in. First, it deprioritized publishers' posts when they had links back to the publisher's site (under the pretext of policing "clickbait" and "malicious links"). Then, it stopped showing publishers' content to their own subscribers, extorting them to pay to "boost" their posts in order to reach people who had explicitly asked to hear from them.

For users, this meant that their feeds were increasingly populated with payola-boosted content from advertisers and pay-to-play publishers who paid Facebook's Danegeld to reach them. A user will only spend so much time on Facebook, and every post that Facebook feeds that user from someone they want to hear from is a missed opportunity to show them a post from someone who'll pay to reach them.

Here, too, twiddling lets Facebook fine-tune its approach. If a user starts to wean themself off Facebook, the algorithm (TM) can put more content the user has asked to see in the feed. When the user's participation returns to higher levels, Facebook can draw down the share of desirable content again, replacing it with monetizable content. This is done minutely, behind the scenes, automatically, and quickly. In any shell game, the quickness of the hand deceives the eye.

This is the final stage of enshittification: withdrawing surpluses from end-users and business customers, leaving behind the minimum homeopathic quantum of value for each needed to keep them locked to the platform, generating value that can be extracted and diverted to platform shareholders.

But this is a brittle equilibrium to maintain. The difference between "God, I hate this place but I just can't leave it" and "Holy shit, this sucks, I'm outta here" is razor-thin. All it takes is one privacy scandal, one livestreamed mass-shooting, one whistleblower dump, and people bolt for the exits. This kicks off a death-spiral: as users and business customers leave, the platform's shareholders demand that they squeeze the remaining population harder to make up for the loss.

One reason this gambit worked so well is that it was a long con. Platform operators and their investors have been willing to throw away billions convincing end-users and business customers to lock themselves in until it was time for the pig-butchering to begin. They financed expensive forays into additional features and complementary products meant to increase user lock-in, raising the switching costs for users who were tempted to leave.

For example, Facebook's product manager for its "photos" product wrote to Mark Zuckerberg to lay out a strategy of enticing users into uploading valuable family photos to the platform in order to "make switching costs very high for users," who would have to throw away their precious memories as the price for leaving Facebook:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

The platforms' patience paid off. Their slow ratchets operated so subtly that we barely noticed the squeeze, and when we did, they relaxed the pressure until we were lulled back into complacency. Long cons require a lot of prefrontal cortex, the executive function to exercise patience and restraint.

Which brings me to Elon Musk, a man who seems to have been born without a prefrontal cortex, who has repeatedly and publicly demonstrated that he lacks any restraint, patience or planning. Elon Musk's prefrontal cortical deficit resulted in his being forced to buy Twitter, and his every action since has betrayed an even graver inability to stop tripping over his own dick.

Where Zuckerberg played enshittification as a long game, Musk is bent on speedrunning it. He doesn't slice his users up with a subtle scalpel, he hacks away at them with a hatchet.

Musk inaugurated his reign by nonconsensually flipping every user to an algorithmic feed which was crammed with ads and posts from "verified" users whose blue ticks verified solely that they had $8 ($11 for iOS users). Where Facebook deployed substantial effort to enticing users who tired of eyeball-cramming feed decay by temporarily improving their feeds, Musk's Twitter actually overrode users' choice to switch back to a chronological feed by repeatedly flipping them back to more monetizable, algorithmic feeds.

Then came the squeeze on publishers. Musk's Twitter rolled out a bewildering array of "verification" ticks, each priced higher than the last, and publishers who refused to pay found their subscribers taken hostage, with Twitter downranking or shadowbanning their content unless they paid.

(Musk also squeezed advertisers, keeping the same high prices but reducing the quality of the offer by killing programs that kept advertisers' content from being published along Holocaust denial and open calls for genocide.)

Today, Musk continues to squeeze advertisers, publishers and users, and his hamfisted enticements to make up for these depredations are spectacularly bad, and even illegal, like offering advertisers a new kind of ad that isn't associated with any Twitter account, can't be blocked, and is not labeled as an ad:

https://www.wired.com/story/xs-sneaky-new-ads-might-be-illegal/

Of course, Musk has a compulsive bullshitter's contempt for the press, so he has far fewer enticements for them to stay. Quite the reverse: first, Musk removed headlines from link previews, rendering posts by publishers that went to their own sites into stock-art enigmas that generated no traffic:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/oct/05/x-twitter-strips-headlines-new-links-why-elon-musk

Then he jumped straight to the end-stage of enshittification by announcing that he would shadowban any newsmedia posts with links to sites other than Twitter, "because there is less time spent if people click away." Publishers were advised to "post content in long form on this platform":

https://mamot.fr/@pluralistic/111183068362793821

Where a canny enshittifier would have gestured at a gaslighting explanation ("we're shadowbanning posts with links because they might be malicious"), Musk busts out the motto of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal, pray I don't alter it any further."

All this has the effect of highlighting just how little residual value there is on the platform for publishers, and tempts them to bolt for the exits. Six months ago, NPR lost all patience with Musk's shenanigans, and quit the service. Half a year later, they've revealed how low the switching cost for a major news outlet that leaves Twitter really are: NPR's traffic, post-Twitter, has declined by less than a single percentage point:

https://niemanreports.org/articles/npr-twitter-musk/

NPR's Twitter accounts had 8.7 million followers, but even six months ago, Musk's enshittification speedrun had drawn down NPR's ability to reach those users to a negligible level. The 8.7 million number was an illusion, a shell game Musk played on publishers like NPR in a bid to get them to buy a five-figure iridium checkmark or even a six-figure titanium one.

On Twitter, the true number of followers you have is effectively zero – not because Twitter users haven't explicitly instructed the service to show them your posts, but because every post in their feeds that they want to see is a post that no one can be charged to show them.

I've experienced this myself. Three and a half years ago, I left Boing Boing and started pluralistic.net, my cross-platform, open access, surveillance-free, daily newsletter and blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

Boing Boing had the good fortune to have attracted a sizable audience before the advent of siloed platforms, and a large portion of that audience came to the site directly, rather than following us on social media. I knew that, starting a new platform from scratch, I wouldn't have that luxury. My audience would come from social media, and it would be up to me to convert readers into people who followed me on platforms I controlled – where neither they nor I could be held to ransom.

I embraced a strategy called POSSE: Post Own Site, Syndicate Everywhere. With POSSE, the permalink and native habitat for your material is a site you control (in my case, a WordPress blog with all the telemetry, logging and surveillance disabled). Then you repost that content to other platforms – mostly social media – with links back to your own site:

https://indieweb.org/POSSE

There are a lot of automated tools to help you with this, but the platforms have gone to great lengths to break or neuter them. Musk's attack on Twitter's legendarily flexible and powerful API killed every automation tool that might help with this. I was lucky enough to have a reader – Loren Kohnfelder – who coded me some python scripts that automate much of the process, but POSSE remains a very labor-intensive and error-prone methodology:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/13/two-decades/#hfbd

And of all the feeds I produce – email, RSS, Discourse, Medium, Tumblr, Mastodon – none is as labor-intensive as Twitter's. It is an unforgiving medium to begin with, and Musk's drawdown of engineering support has made it wildly unreliable. Many's the time I've set up 20+ posts in a thread, only to have the browser tab reload itself and wipe out all my work.

But I stuck with Twitter, because I have a half-million followers, and to the extent that I reach them there, I can hope that they will follow the permalinks to Pluralistic proper and switch over to RSS, or email, or a daily visit to the blog.

But with each day, the case for using Twitter grows weaker. I get ten times as many replies and reposts on Mastodon, though my Mastodon follower count is a tenth the size of my (increasingly hypothetical) Twitter audience.

All this raises the question of what can or should be done about Twitter. One possible regulatory response would be to impose an "End-To-End" rule on the service, requiring that Twitter deliver posts from willing senders to willing receivers without interfering in them. End-To-end is the bedrock of the internet (one of its incarnations is Net Neutrality) and it's a proven counterenshittificatory force:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-need-end-end-web

Despite what you may have heard, "freedom of reach" is freedom of speech: when a platform interposes itself between willing speakers and their willing audiences, it arrogates to itself the power to control what we're allowed to say and who is allowed to hear us:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

We have a wide variety of tools to make a rule like this stick. For one thing, Musk's Twitter has violated innumerable laws and consent decrees in the US, Canada and the EU, which creates a space for regulators to impose "conduct remedies" on the company.

But there's also existing regulatory authorities, like the FTC's Section Five powers, which enable the agency to act against companies that engage in "unfair and deceptive" acts. When Twitter asks you who you want to hear from, then refuses to deliver their posts to you unless they pay a bribe, that's both "unfair and deceptive":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

But that's only a stopgap. The problem with Twitter isn't that this important service is run by the wrong mercurial, mediocre billionaire: it's that hundreds of millions of people are at the mercy of any foolish corporate leader. While there's a short-term case for improving the platforms, our long-term strategy should be evacuating them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/18/urban-wildlife-interface/#combustible-walled-gardens

To make that a reality, we could also impose a "Right To Exit" on the platforms. This would be an interoperability rule that would require Twitter to adopt Mastodon's approach to server-hopping: click a link to export the list of everyone who follows you on one server, click another link to upload that file to another server, and all your followers and followees are relocated to your new digs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/23/semipermeable-membranes/#free-as-in-puppies

A Twitter with the Right To Exit would exert a powerful discipline even on the stunted self-regulatory centers of Elon Musk's brain. If he banned a reporter for publishing truthful coverage that cast him in a bad light, that reporter would have the legal right to move to another platform, and continue to reach the people who follow them on Twitter. Publishers aghast at having the headlines removed from their Twitter posts could go somewhere less slipshod and still reach the people who want to hear from them on Twitter.

And both Right To Exit and End-To-End satisfy the two prime tests for sound internet regulation: first, they are easy to administer. If you want to know whether Musk is permitting harassment on his platform, you have to agree on a definition of harassment, determine whether a given act meets that definition, and then investigate whether Twitter took reasonable steps to prevent it.

By contrast, administering End-To-End merely requires that you post something and see if your followers receive it. Administering Right To Exit is as simple as saying, "OK, Twitter, I know you say you gave Cory his follower and followee file, but he says he never got it. Just send him another copy, and this time, CC the regulator so we can verify that it arrived."

Beyond administration, there's the cost of compliance. Requiring Twitter to police its users' conduct also requires it to hire an army of moderators – something that Elon Musk might be able to afford, but community-supported, small federated servers couldn't. A tech regulation can easily become a barrier to entry, blocking better competitors who might replace the company whose conduct spurred the regulation in the first place.

End-to-End does not present this kind of barrier. The default state for a social media platform is to deliver posts from accounts to their followers. Interfering with End-To-End costs more than delivering the messages users want to have. Likewise, a Right To Exit is a solved problem, built into the open Mastodon protocol, itself built atop the open ActivityPub standard.

It's not just Twitter. Every platform is consuming itself in an orgy of enshittification. This is the Great Enshittening, a moment of universal, end-stage platform decay. As the platforms burn, calls to address the fires grow louder and harder for policymakers to resist. But not all solutions to platform decay are created equal. Some solutions will perversely enshrine the dominance of platforms, help make them both too big to fail and too big to jail.

Musk has flagrantly violated so many rules, laws and consent decrees that he has accidentally turned Twitter into the perfect starting point for a program of platform reform and platform evacuation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/14/freedom-of-reach/#ex

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

Image: JD Lasica (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Elon_Musk_%283018710552%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #twitter #posse #elon musk #x #social media #graceful failure modes #end-to-end principle #administratable remedies #good regulation #ads #privacy #benevolent dictatorships #freedom of reach #journalism #enshittification #switching costs

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lesvegas · 1 year

Text

Rating Pregnant Men Emojis

Apple - 3/10

Art feels flat somehow. He feels like a stock image. Not sensing any paternal pride in his dead eyes. This is still technically an emoji some tech-illiterate grandpa could use after having a big meal.

Google Noto Color Emoji - 7/10

This one feels like it's on the right path. He's gentle, it feels like he's connecting to the baby. I like how he's not staring at me. Anatomy still leaves a little to be desired but it's still a solid emoji imo.

Samsung - 5/10

It's like the google noto one but worse. Oddly shiny. His expression feels less like a gentle smile and more like a smirk. Anatomy is fine but a little flat. I don't feel good about this one but at least it's not staring at me.

Microsoft - 1/10

What the fuck. Why is he looking at me. Why does he look way too happy. Where is his elbow. His belly looks like a staircase. This is awful. Combines the worst traits of the previous emojis somehow. Hate it.

Whatsapp - 2/10

His baby bump looks like he's hiding a watermelon and he's staring at me again. His expression feels uncertain, possibly afraid. But I like his moustache so he gets an extra point.

Twitter - 0/10

Somehow even more flat than the previous ones. This looks like my first attempt at drawing a human posing. Just bad anatomy all around (why do his hands look like paws??). He's not looking at anything. Flat, emotionless, not communicating anything, might as well be abstract.

Facebook - 1/10

This style is reminiscent of every mobile game ad I've ever seen. Slightly more detail =/= better. I feel like he's gonna ask me to match 3 baby supplies and the ad is gonna fuck it up badly so he's out in the cold while his wife is with a generic chad and he's gonna ask me to download his app to fix his life.

JoyPixels - 0/10

I don't hate it as much as I hate the Facebook one but it definitely feels worse somehow. It feels like it tried to be the google noto color one but it didn't stick the landing. It feels like a bootleg emoji.

Toss Face - 8/10

I'm grateful for the simplicity and lack of hyper realistic details here. He's a little pregnant emoji guy. What else is there to say.

Noto Emoji Font - 9/10

"MR GAME AND WATCH PREGNANCY" -my partner when I showed him this one. Anyway besides looking like a guy with a beer belly it's straight to the point. People will see what they need to see with this one.

Openmoji - 8/10

I'm not a fan of the style here, but I love the addition of the heart. He loves his baby. Other emojis could learn from this one.

Emojipedia - 0/10

My partner thinks he's sneaking food into the theatre. I think he's taking a shit.

#rating emojis #mpreg

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charlie-lec-stories · 10 months

Text

Dirty Little Secret - Part 5.2: The whole truth // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character

Series Summary: Charles' wife went to The Other Side and came back, but her past did too.

Chapter Summary: Y/N finally finds what happened with Maud. Max has to risk everything for a friend and Charles does the one thing he never wanted to have to do again.

Series Warnings: Death, descriptions of CPR and a car crash, sexual comments and implied sexual acts, mentions of blood, mentions of suicide and depression.

Author’s Note: This is a special I decided to write inspired by Halloween and the Qatar GP, it's five parts long. It's the first time I write something for this page instead of editing thing I have written before, I hope you guys like it. Rate: +16 (descriptions of medical procedures).

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"En in dit laatste geval, zijn er de afgelopen twee jaar zes mensen vermist in het bosnd". Y/N heard Mikel Horton say on the news.

"Six people, that's crazy, Max". She told him and he just grunted.

"I don't understand why people think the woods are the problem". Maud added while applying her makeup. "I know it's a maze there, but if something happens that's literally the best place to hide, no one can find you there. If people are stupid enough to get lost, that's not on the woods".

"Well, I kind of agree with that". Y/N said, Max finally looked up from his phone. "I hid there the other day, to skip Math and that horrible test".

"You hid in the woods to skip that test?". Max asked incredulously. Maud just laughed out loud.

"Mate, my mom would literally kill me if I don't pass that test".

"She's gonna kill you for skipping anyways". And to that, Y/N had nothing to say. They heard a car park in front of the house.

"It must be him!". Maud said, excited. It was 7:55 PM. With Max and Y/N's help, Maud climbed out the window.

"Have fun". Y/N said and she smiled.

"I owe you guys!". She jumped down the remaining height and ran off to the car.

She felt chills with the anticipation of finally getting to go out with Connor. The warm Spring breeze moved her dress around and gave her hair a little messy touch that actually complimented her. She jumped a little when the car window rolled down and inside, she didn't find Connor. The guy in the car was a little older, maybe in his early twenties and he gave Maud the feeling that she should go back inside. His black hair covered his eyes a little, he kind of reminded her of the emo bands Max loved so much, but when he looked at her he didn't look that threatening. He told her that he was Connor’s cousin, Martin, and that Connor got out of practice late and asked him to pick her up and take her to Connor’s house. He smiled at her and she saw the happiness get to his eyes, blue like Connor's. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and when she pulled it out she saw her date had sent her a direct message on Facebook. "Did Martin pick you up yet? He's my cousin". She answered with a simple "yes" and got in the car with Martin. They talked for a few minutes, she told him about racing and he said that he knew nothing about that, but that he gladly hear all about it some other time they meet. She smiled at that, maybe Connor really liked her, he sent his cousin to pick her up and take her to his house after all, that must meant that he wanted her to meet his family at some point. Martin started telling her about his life in Amsterdam, but then Maud noticed that they were going in the wrong direction.

"This is not the way to Connor's house, you should have turned right, not left". He looked at her and, for a fraction of a second, Maud could see him frowning.

"I just need to do a 'quickie pit-stop'". Maud felt her heart skip a beat. 'Quickie pit-stop' was something that she told Connor, one of those times they talked about races. How did Martin know that term if he knew nothing about racing? She tried to unlock the door, but for some reason, the lock wouldn't lift.

"What are you doing?" Martin asked her in harsh tone.

"I want to get out". She started pulling at the lock, desperately, but it wouldn't budge.

"What? Why?". He grabbed one of her arms while still driving.

"Stop the car, I want to get out!". With as much force as she could, she loosened his grip on her arm and tried to pull out her phone. He tried to snatch it from her and the argument turned into a fight. She did what she could to keep her phone and he tried to drive while moving his arm around, looking for it. He stoped the car in front of the woods and she took the chance to try and break the window. Martin, not having to drive anymore, finally took her phone away and threw it to the backseat. Then, he tried to keep her still, but she was fighting him with everything she had.

"Just stop it!". He yelled at her and followed that with a smack to her left cheek. Understanding that things could only get worse, Maud did what she could to jump on top of him and scratched his face as much as she could. She just tried to move fast, not giving him time to respond to her attack. Martin, on the other hand, was surprised by her fighting back. On top of him, and still attacking him with one hand, she opened his door and threw herself out of the car, falling harshly to the dirt road. Instinctively, she ran to the woods, looking for a place to hide. She could hear Martin calling for her and running not too far behind, but that only made her run faster.

The woods were dark and the little moonlight that filtered through the trees made the flowers shine. She tried to remember the type of flowers she saw, to make sure that she'll remember her path back home. The warm breeze she loved earlier became a humid atmosphere that made her sweat even more and between that and the fear she felt, her whole body was shaking. She found something that looked like a small cave and hid there, waiting for Martin to go away. She waited for what felt like an eternity, thinking about why she had to say yes to this date and how she could be so stupid to fall for all of that. All she wanted was to get back home, to turn back time and never jump out of that window. But she couldn't, and now she felt the humid air of the woods hit her skin like a thousand knives.

The minutes passed by and she thought that she was safe to get out and run back to the town. She barely made it out of the cave when a pair of hands grabbed her and threw her to the ground. She looked up, finding Martin on top of her, a pocket knife on his right hand. He never said a word and she wanted to know why. Why do this to her? Why? But she never got to ask, a sharp pain paralyzing her instantly. Maud wanted to look down, to actually see what he did to her. Looking down made it real and she wanted to forget. So she went back home, back to Max and Y/N, to her parents, to school. She went back to that morning and her mom making breakfast, the smell of the butter hitting the pan and instantly melting filled her nose. She went back to school and how excited Y/N and her were that Max was coming back from his karting race in Spain. Then to that afternoon and all the planning they made for the fake sleepover, how her best friends promised to help her choose an outfit, without even thinking that it would be the last thing she ever wore. She remembered the last hug she gave her parents before getting out of the house. She was so deep into the memory that she never felt the second stab, or the third, she didn't feel anything, just her mother's arms tightly around her frame as she breathed in her perfume. Lastly, she went to one special memory, the day she met Max. She knew that he was the one the moment she saw him, but she was so scared to ruin their friendship. She looked at the flowers, shining in the dim moonlight, all orange, yellow and purple. Closing her eyes, she let Max's blue orbs be the last picture she brought up.

Martin felt like he couldn't stop, maybe he didn't want to, he didn't know, but he had already done it. He got up and looked at the kid one more time. The mess he made was terrible for the business, but the merchandising was useless dead, so he didn't care much about that. But it was a shame, she was prettier than most. Still, there were a lot of 14 years-olds naive enough to pick up. By the corner of his eye, he saw some movement, like a shadow, and before the predators could smell the blood he decided to leave. Those woods were a lot more terrifying that he expected and now he felt more like the pry. He saw the shadow again but this time, he didn't feel threatened by it, in fact, he felt like the shadow was glad of what he did. He looked back, discreetly, and saw the shadow cover the body of his victim. A sense of safety fueled his body and gave him the strength to run back to his car, he wasn't that deep into the woods anyways. He heard some rustling behind him and stopped in his tracks to watch the body be dragged into the small cave. Assured that the evidence of his crime was erased, he finished his run to the car. He never expected to encounter the supernatural, and for sure he never expected it to help him cover up a homicide, but he was glad that he did. Back at the car, he picked up the girl's phone from the backseat and texted her friends, letting them know that she was having the time of her life with Connor and hinting that she wanted it to never end. Around 10 PM he told them to go to sleep and they told him, or their friend actually, that they were going to bed and that she should call them when she was going back to the house so they could help her through the window. He sent a smiley face and after 5 minutes turned the phone off. He drove back to Amsterdam, broke the phone and threw it away. He expertly covered his tracks and started working on the next clueless girl he could find on Facebook.

The tears in her eyes made the adjustment to the darkness of the cave a lot harder and her shallow breaths weren't enough to let the oxygen into her lungs. There was this suffocating hurt inside her chest as she felt what Maud felt that spring night, over a decade ago. She hugged the jean jacket close to her chest wishing for it to be full of life, full of Maud. The silence around the cave was deafening, like she was unable to feel anything. But then, she felt the faint touch of hand on her shoulder. Not letting go of the jacket, Y/N turned around ready to face her destiny in the hands of the shadow, but instead, she found her little friend, still 14. She looked exactly as she remembered her, her bright blue eyes and shiny blond hair, the beautiful half smile that always adorned her face was still plastered on her features, like it never left. Y/N extended her hand, slowly, afraid that the smallest of touches could make her disappear. She noticed her hand was a lot smaller, her wedding ring baggy on her finger and it caught Maud's attention.

"Your wedding was so beautiful". Maud said in a whisper and Y/N felt herself shred more tears at the sound of her voice. She missed her voice so much. "I remember how we used to talk about getting married and our weddings when we were younger. I'm so happy that you got to live that. You deserved it".

"You deserved it too". Maud smiled at that. Y/N recognized her own voice a lot higher in pitch. She understood then, they were back to were they left off.

"Max looked great. I couldn't help but think about how good he would of looked at our own wedding". They shared a bittersweet giggle.

"He still loves you, so much". Y/N could see the pain in her friend's eyes.

"I know and I will always love him, but he needs to move on. He needs to be happy. You should have never came back here. You should've stopped looking for me long ago". That confused Y/N.

"What do you mean? You came to me after the crash, you asked us to come back". Maud shook her head quickly, frowning.

"I can see you, but I could never contact you out of the veil. It was her, the shadow, she was the one that lured you here". Maud looked around, making sure they were still alone. "She's... death. The Death, or, I guess, one of them. She feeds on us, the living, every time one of us dies. She lives in the woods and, at night, she gets people and eats them. Like she ate me".

"She's been trying to eat us, all this time". Maud nodded.

"I've heard her for years, complaining that you and Max never got out of the tent. She loves it when people give into her, she doesn't like to take you, she likes to break you. She likes to get healthy people and make them... I can't even say it. She says that it tastes better". Y/N shut her eyes tight, disgusted.

"But how did she make me see you like that? She was never able to do that before". Sha had never hallucinated before, not matter how hard the trip to the woods was.

"When you died, in Qatar, you crossed the veil. She saw that and you bonded, she bonds with everyone that crosses. That bond probably went back with you when Charles and the doctors brought you back". Y/N remembered her crash, and for the first time, she was able to remember the short time she was dead. She saw Charles, trying to bring her back, desperately doing CPR, begging her to stay with him. Then, in front of her, there was the shadow. It got closer and closer, until it touched her face. She felt like everything got colder and Charles' voice was further away. Looking down, she saw how she was flowing into the shadow. But when she thought she was gone for good, she barely heard someone yell "clear" and a burst of energy went though her. The next thing she remembered was waking up in the hospital, Charles by her side and Maud's rotten figure at the foot of her bed.

"She just wanted me to come back to the woods so she could take me. She knew I would bring Max too". Maud looked at her, sad.

"The only way for you to get rid of her is destroying her".

"We have to go to the camp, we need to tell Charles and Max to leave. She's gonna try and get them too". Y/N tried to get up, but Maud placed her hand on her shoulder again and stopped her movements.

"We can't". She saw the confusion that tinted her features and the realization hit her. "Oh no". Y/N just looked at her, impatient. "Y/N, love, you're almost dead. That's the only reason you can see me, you're at the veil again". Maud took Y/N to the entrance of the cave and showed her something outside. "That's you, holding onto the little life you have left. She hasn't took you yet, once she does, she'll bring your body here, to her collection. Like she did with me. For now, she can't take you. You haven't given up. Charles and Max have to find you and bring you back. But you have to destroy the shadow first, or she'll haunt you until she can take you".

Max and Charles ran to the cave as soon as they understood that Y/N was taken by the shadow. At the entrance of the cave, Charles faced a sight he saw before but he never wanted to see again: his wife dead. Max, who had took a bag from the camp before sprinting off, kneeled next to her and took her pulse. Sighing, he opened the bag and took out some needles. Charles looked at him puzzled.

"You have no idea how much illegal stuff you can buy on the internet if you have enough money". Max told him, sensing Charles' confusion. "Now I'm sure. The shadow, I know what it is".

"What is it?". Charles wasn't actually sure if he wanted to know the answer to his own question.

"It's a Reaper. A Death. I suspected it with the amount of people that went missing here in the last 15 years". The Dutchman moved Y/N's body to make her lay face up and with her arms and legs extended. He then turned around, towards Charles. "Listen. This needles have two cocktails. One to stop the heart, one to restart it. You are the best one doing CPR, Charles. You brought her back once. I need you to bring us back again".

"Us? Max, what the fuck do you thing you're doing?"

"Do you really think that the Reaper will let her go again so easily? Someone has to give her a hand, I'm not good at CPR, not as good as you. You can bring us back". Charles knew that arguing was pointless. "Start doing CPR to Y/N, I'll inject myself. Give me 90 seconds. She she'll be back by then, and you inject me the other other cocktail. There's a hand defibrillator on the bag. If I don't come back in two minutes, use it on me. I promise you, Charles, I'll bring her back to you". And with that, Max laid next to his best friend and stuck the needle in his arm, while Charles started CPR on his wife... again.

"She's back". Maud informed Y/N while they hid in a corner of the cave. They had spent a minute trying to think how to defeat the shadow.

"We have to attack it now. I've been dead for three and half minutes, I have to go back before seven or I'll have brain damage". Y/N told her. They had no plan and no weapons to attack this being that they didn't even know how to kill. But if Y/N had to go, she'd go swinging. They were about to jump on her when Max suddenly appeared next to them. He looked young again and for a second, everything felt fine, they were all together again.

"Maud". Max said, perplexed. She smiled at him, without thinking, they both jumped to each other, melting on the hug they waited so long for. "I love you. I have loved you my whole life".

"I know. I love you too and I always will". He squeezed her tight, but she knew they couldn't waste time. "Listen, the shadow is-"

"A Reaper". Max finished, proudly. "I figured it out".

"We have to destroy her or she'll never leave Y/N alone. But we don't know how". Max tried to explain everything quickly.

"I know. Before the trip I did a little research. You need to grab her so I can force my hand inside its chest and touch her heart, or something like that, it was an old book, it'd free the energy she ate and kill her.". Maud's eyes grew bigger at his explanation.

"Its core, you have to touch its core". She sad excitedly. "I know where it is, it's where my life went when I died".

"We don't have much time, Y/N's been dead for four and a half minutes".

The three of them ran to it, Y/N and Maud grabbed it by what seemed like its arms but when Max tried to make his hand go through the shadow, it hit her chest like it was a hard surface. The Reaper angrily pushed them away and jumped on top of Y/N, starting to eat her life. Maud and Max were desperate, he looked at the entrance of the cave and saw Charles doing CPR on Y/N's body, giving it his all. He couldn't fail Charles, he promised him to bring his wife back to him, he couldn't let him down. Maud understood immediately what she had to do.

"You're not fully dead, not yet. But I can go through her. I can destroy her". Maud turned Max's head around and quickly pecked his lips. "I love you. Please go back and live the life we both deserved, live it fully".

With that, Maud ran to the shadow and forced her hand through its back, getting to her core. The shadow pushed her off and Max ran to Y/N to keep her safe. He looked back at Maud, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, then she didn't simply forced her hand, she forced her whole being into the shadows core, both of the exploding in a bright white light. Max felt different, he felt like he wasn't caged anymore, he felt light. Picking Y/N up, he dragged them both to the outside. Charles was there, stopping CPR to inject Max. The blond felt the shot of adrenaline through his body and in what felt like a blink, his eyes opened and he was looking at the sky, back in his body and back his age. He saw Charles going back to CPR, Max sat up as fast as he could and went to grab the defibrillator, he knew that Y/N was weak after what the shadow did to her, she needed a hand coming back. Charles cut her shirt open. Max placed the pads of the machine on her chest and followed the instructions it said out loud. The machine said "clear" and they both moved away from Y/N. Her body went stiff and then relaxed, then the machine informed that there was pulse again.

They went back to the town and straight to the hospital to have both Y/N and Max checked out. When they were given the green light, they told the Chief of Police about the cave, that was a lot bigger when they went back. The power of illusion the of the shadow made people believe that it was a small cave when it was actually a bigger one. Thirty-six bodies were found, Maud included. Her family did a little service for her and Max and Y/N got to say good-bye again. Y/N went back to visit her parents and then the three of them went back to Monaco. On the plain, Charles and Y/N talked.

"I'm sorry I lied, the truth is I was so ashamed of what happened, felt so guilty that I thought you'll never love me if you knew". She sighed and looked at him, trying not to cry. "I understand if you want a divorce. I know that everything I did, the lying, the hiding, it was all wrong". Charles took her hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a soft kiss.

"Do you remember that night at the bar, where you told me a secret so I could tell you one of mine?". She smiled at the memory, of course she remembered. It was the first time he finally let go and kissed her like he meant it. He kissed her with the love she wanted him to give her.

"Yeah, I could never forget". Charles sent her one of his signature smiles.

"'Today I was rooting for you, and even though you DNFd, I still feel like a winner when you look at me'. That was the truest and more honest thing you've ever said to me, I know that. So believe me when I tell you this: I've been feeling like a winner since the first time I laid my eyes on you, 20 years ago, on that karting race". She finally let her tears fall and he kissed them all before they could reach her jaw.

They had a lot to work on, a lot to overcome, but just like they overcame this madness, they would fix this too. Because they shared a little secret:

They were winners together.

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Okay! This was not my plan at all, I wanted to publish this TWO WEEKS AGO but shit happened and I couldn't. I'm really sorry for the cliff hanger.

So... the end! I cried my eyes out writing this one. I hope you guys liked this, I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you felt scared and happy and sad and had fun, that's the whole point of this.

I'll be active again, now that I think I will have more free time.

See you all on the next story!

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines

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