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jazzyoranges · 4 months

Note

i love you write! can i req where shapeshifter reader's Super high after hanging out with stoners and shift to grizzly bear and can't shift back to human form enid report to wednesday, also reader just talk random shet that all wednesday hear was bear grumbling and whining?, tq 3<

New heights

Wednesday Addams x fem!shapeshifter!reader

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: implied drug use, you’re kinda a dumbass lol, my attempt at humor

A/n: writers block is kicking my ass whoops… also happy new years!

uehdhd nsedd uew gdhjs ppppspsodod hsdf

“Wednesday, can you decipher this?” Enid gets up from her bed to show her roommate the text she just got from you, which seemed to be just a bunch of random letters

“What makes you think I’m going to understand better than you.” Wednesday raises an eyebrow at Enid from where she’s sitting at her desk

“I dunno, she’s your girlfriend? Girlfriend telepathy or something”

“I recall her telling me she was, to put it bluntly, getting high with friends tonight.”

“And you didn’t think to lead with that! Do you know where she is?”

“Knowing her, the forest.”

“And you let her!?” Enid exclaims, a hand racking through her hair

“(Y/n)’s the scariest thing in there. Worst comes to worst she comes out with a few scratches.” The blonde is about to respond when her phone pings with another few messages from you

hey uh tell wednesday to come pick up her girlfriend (10:27)

i think (Y/n)’s lost it (10:27)

i’m her friend btw (10:27)

FUCK PLEASE HURRY SHE’S NOT MENTALLY STABLE ANYMSO (10:28)

“Alright put on your big girl pants, we’re getting your girlfriend” Enid’s phone rings with an incoming facetime from you, and she scrambles to click join. What she doesn’t expect is the face of one of your friends, looking a little more than worried

“Oh, thank god! I’m sorry for bad first impressions, but-“ A whine is heard in the background your friend turns to the noise

“Chill out dude, your girlfriend is right here!” He turns back to Enid

“Please put Wednesday on, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bear cry before” Wednesday perks up at her name and swiftly takes the phone from Enid. Your friend turns around the phone so now the two roommates are looking at a grizzly bear that stands on its hind legs, whining and maybe even sobbing

“(Y/n).” Wednesday says, and you snap your head towards the phone held in front of you

Now aware of your girlfriends face in front of you, you get back down onto all fours and boop the screen with your nose

“Wednesday, I missed you! Y’know I was just out here, getting high with my friends as one does, and then all of a sudden I was really sad! Then I started thinking really hard why that might be and I realized it was because you weren’t here! You know how I ugly cry, right? Well I started doing that but for some reason my friends didn’t really understand what I was saying, but I know you’d understand! So that’s why we’re here. Also, I think I might’ve had a growth spurt. I feel really tall and big right now”

Just by the shaking of your phone on the other end of the call, Enid knows her feelings of confusion and maybe fear are shared when you start to grumble and whine. Only you would be able to ramble as a fucking grizzly bear

“C-Connection’s bad, please say something!” Your friend squeaks behind the phone, and Wednesday resists the urge to roll her eyes. It was you, after all. No reason to be scared

“Enid, make sure she doesn’t freak out. I’ll go pick her up.” Wednesday sighs, grabbing her jacket and giving Enid her phone back. She hears you whine even more when you can’t see Wednesday in frame anymore

“(Y/n), can you…” Is the last thing Wednesday hears before leaving the dorm. For an academy that had a curfew, they were astonishingly bad at keeping it upheld. A turn here, climb up that wall, don’t touch that grass near the academy, and boom you’re in the forest before Enid can post something on her blog about Xavier and Bianca’s relationship

You weren’t very difficult to find. The wailing of a bear basically echoed in the forest and claw marks on trees made a clear path to the place you and your friends were getting high at. Well, were getting high at. Wednesday almost wants to watch your friends stay scared behind trees as you claw at the ground below you even more as Enid’s attempts at calming you down seem to be futile

“Wednesday’s almost there, (Y/n)! Maybe just a few more minutes?”

“But I want her now!!” You cry, falling to the ground on your furry stomach with a loud thump

“We’ve already established you’re a bear! We don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, dude!” Your friends voice cracks

“There are two wolves inside of me…” Your head snaps at the sound of a twig snapping in the forest. You stand up on your hind legs, hoping to intimidate whoever seems to be in the forest with you. You’ve already pissed on every tree so no way another bear would dare challenge you for territory

“Who’s there!”

“Don’t get your fur matted, it’s just me.” Wednesday makes her presence known by a chill in the air, which makes your friend jump but ultimately hide behind her. At first he touches her shoulder but the glare she sends his way makes him rethink his life. Luckily he gets out of the way before you barrel towards Wednesday. This time, as a giant tiger

The Addams is quickly tackled to the floor with your entire body weight on her. Your tongue would probably hurt Wednesday if you licked hard enough so you opt for chuffing wildly while having all the characteristics of a needy house cat. You had to make your peace with not being able to purr as a tiger. Which, you were always mad about. “If big cat, why no purr?” as you’d say

“(Y/n).” Wednesday embraces you. Her hands rack through your fur with calculated fingers that knew where to pet you. Under your stomach, behind the ears, and anywhere on your neck. She also knew where your pressure points were, but there’s no fun in dragging a tiger back to Nevermore

You chuff in response, not planning to stop smothering your girlfriend

“(Y/n).” Wednesday tries again. She fails.

“(Y/n).” This time, the look on your girlfriends face makes you stop your smothering. You blow air into her face with a tilt of your head

“Human, now.” You huff in Wednesday’s face while unwillingly getting off of her. Despite her protest you stay a tiger as you walk over to your friend, who looks confused as ever. Giving him a small nod, you take your phone out of his hand with your mouth and let him pet your head

Next, you scoop up Wednesday on your back while deciding it’s a better time than ever to leave

“S-Same time next week?” Your friend calls behind you. You give him the best smile you can whilst your phone is still in your mouth

You’re halfway out the forest when Wednesday finally decides to talk to you again

“For the record, I’m not doing this again the same time next week.”

//-//

Bonus:

Enid opens her door to; you, who’s taken Wednesday’s jacket with a shit eating grin and Wednesday, who’s glaring at you with what looks to be either murder or adoration.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday (2022)#wednesday x y/n #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #xavier thorpe #bianca barclay

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star-anise · 5 months

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Everyone's got a take, and I've got a take too, about the current Internet Villain: James Somerton, a gay Youtuber who just got exposed (in the back half of a 4-hour video) as massively plagiarizing the work of LGBTQ+ media critics, historians, and memoirists, and then exposed in another 2-hour video as just making up the wildest nonsense about the topics he demonstrably had access to accurate information on.

He achieved a six-figure income on his work by squeezing money out of his audience with claims...

That only he was creating content that preserved queer history and elevated the voices and experiences of the LGBTQ+ community (a lie)

He was in serious financial distress and would have to go out of business if people didn't give him tons of money (a lie)

That he was going to use some of that cash to make definitely good and not-at-all-plagiarized independent movies, a thing he was definitely skilled and experienced enough to do (a lie), and

That those plagiarism allegations were incorrect,, and frankly,,,, hurtful and homophobic. (a GIANT lie)

Like, here's a visualization of the script of one of his videos, "Society and Queer Horror". The highlighted bits were lifted nearly verbatim from the works of others—the 18 authors identified at the time the exposé was posted—and presented as Somerton's own work.

So here's what drives me absolutely up the wall about this:

If he had just ADMITTED that it was the work of other people, THAT WOULD STILL BE COOL. If he had just said, up front, "We are going on a survey of thoughts and insights people have had about this topic", that would still be a good video with a real audience!

Like yes, he studied business in university, he might not have gotten the kinds of research skills and knowledge someone like Kaz Rowe uses to not just report on the history and analysis of others, but evaluate their relative validity and trustworthiness.

But honestly, since watching my niblings (oldest is 13) watch Youtube, I think you honestly can't underestimate the number of viewers who are really hungry for someone saying, "I don't understand this topic! Let's explore it together!"

But NOOOOOOO, Somerton didn't want to be just some schmuck waxing enthusiastic about homoeroticism on film and acknowledging the smartness of other people. He wanted to be HIM, MR. SMARTYBOY, very sophisticated and alluring and thoughtful and deep. Definitely an intellectual heavyweight who just happened to spout off his own personal ideas and analysis that put him at the forefront of all the scholarship on the topic he's come across.

I hate being wrong. Hate being wrong. But blogging for most of my life has forced me to confront constant textual evidence that two or ten or twenty years ago, I said some dumb-ass shit. Honestly, it'd probably keep me up at night sometimes even if I didn't have a written record. I absolutely understand the desire to scan the field, find the coolest people around, and quickly clothe yourself in as perfect an imitation of them as you can manage.

But if you want to be an artist or a scholar who produces something lasting, you can't prioritize coolness over truth all the time. To develop your true, independent voice, you need to find a time and place where it is just you and just the work you're doing, and you have pick up your tools and say, I don't know if I'm doing this right, but this is what feels right to me.

There are a lot of things in life to which we can only truly contribute our presence and our perspectives. Things we can only witness or hold space for. We cannot go back and bleed the pain out of history, or erase the complexity of another person's life. Not honestly, at least.

But those are the times that need our presence, our perspectives, our witness, and our space. When we gather round and tell sad tales about the death of kings, honesty can be the only thing you give that's worth a damn in the large scale of things.

If this dude had owned up to the truth and honestly showed the work of trying to piece together a queer understanding of the world, trying to draw the threads of culture together until he found a place he fit inside them, it would have been so much more valuable to our culture as a whole.

He probably made more money this way, though. While it lasted.

#staranise original #james somerton #plagiarism #lgbt discourse

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kisakis-boyfriend · 5 months

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ayaka (genshin) soft sex in a cabin? like we have a cute romantic getaway to a skiing resort or something and there’s a heavy snowstorm and while we cuddle in our room to wait the storm out it quickly escalates into something else <3

(gn reader if possible please! male reader is fine too if you wanna write that)

Pairings: Ayaka Kamisato x reader

Warnings: GN!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Ayaka, fluffy sex, eating out, reader penetrates Ayaka but no specific parts are mentioned

Genre/Format: Smut; Oneshot

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

“Sorry, babe. I don't think we're getting out there any time soon.” You shouted across the chilly cabin that you were currently trapped inside of. Today was originally going to be the ideal day for skiing, but the weather report changed; warning the resort of an incoming blizzard and advising the residents to take shelter as a precaution

“It's still blocking the door and it's only getting worse...” You sighed, closing the curtain on the front door and retreating back to the fireplace. Ayaka sat curled up in her ski gear and a soft quilt, frowning at the bad news

“That's unfortunate... We were so looking forward to today. We even made sure to wake up extra early...” She lamented. “Well, at least we're stuck here together, right?”

You reached over to hold one of Ayaka's hands, absentmindedly playing with her chilly digits in front of the crackling fire. “That's true. Sure it's disappointing, but we can find something else to do. Together!”

Ayaka's soft smile melted your heart. The warm glow from the fire made her look like a goddess; even in her pink goggles and blue n' white ski suit. Who says a goddess can't wear a puffy ski suit anyways?

Gazing at your girlfriend like this, you thought of all the things you'd like to do with her instead of sliding down a snowy mountain. Several ideas came to mind; there were a few board games and card games stashed away in your cabin. Or, providing that the storm didn't knock out the power, you could watch some movies for a while. Or maybe...

“Hey, I have an idea.” Ayaka turned to look at you, quizzically humming. The fire behind your eyes rivaled the flames preventing the two of you from turning into icicles at this moment. Ayaka yelped as you swiftly stood up and scooped her off of the couch, tossing the quilt onto the floor and spreading it around with your feet before placing your flailing girlfriend down on top

“H-hey! Y/n what are we—?” She giggled while you playfully pinned her wrists above her head, smiling a devious smile. Lips suddenly crashed into hers, warm but a bit chapped from the weather

“Ya taste lovely, angel~” You whispered against Ayaka's lips. She melted into the kiss rather quickly, giving up any resistance and relaxing against the comfy layer you placed underneath her. Soon enough, your hands wandered down to undo her zipper, removing the many layers that were going to protect her from the harsh temperature. She let you — even helping you take off her shirts. When you removed your own layers Ayaka couldn't stop herself from admiring your body. Biting her red bottom lip as you flexed just for her

“You're cute when you stare. All shameless like this.” You snickered when Ayaka turned away, blushing in embarrassment and covering her face with her hands. “Aw, c'mon cutie,” you leaned down until your lips brushed against her ear, “don't shy away now. It's just getting good~ ”

Reluctantly, your girlfriend moved her hands back to resting next to her head, only to find you down near her thighs — sucking on the supple flesh. Ayaka's squeaks filled the living room as you trailed your kisses and bites inward. “Hm, let's get these out of the way. There we go~” Her underwear were quickly discarded, allowing you all of the room you needed to devour her with your warm mouth

Not only did Ayaka look like a goddess, she tasted like one too. Her mouth fell open in silent gasps while you lapped at her cunt, using the flat of your tongue first. Suddenly, it wasn't so cold inside anymore — things were heating up quite nicely

Your girlfriend's precious moans spurred you on, pushing your tongue in a little deeper, sucking on her a little stronger, using your fingers to spread her open and dip inside while you suck on her thighs again. “Y'ready for me, angel?” You mumbled against her skin

“Mm-hmm~” Came Ayaka's soft voice. Her back arched so prettily when you penetrated her pussy; bringing her hands to your hips and forcing you in some more. Slow and deep — you set the pace somewhat softly, in no rush to be anywhere else than right here with your lover. Cherishing her lovely moans and gasps as you bring her closer and closer to an orgasm. Ayaka's arms wrap around your neck as you bend down to kiss her again, hungry for more of her against your body

You hold her so close, sharing body heat as you tightly embrace her squirming body. Ayaka loses herself soon, rubbing her clit and pushing her hips down until a strong orgasm has stars filling the corners of her vision

“Aah-! Cum-ming—!! ” She cries out, throwing her head back then relaxing a few seconds after. Breathing heavily while you brush some stray hair out of her eyes, smiling down as you take in the sight of her

After more gentle kisses trailed down to Ayaka's pretty chest, you begin thrusting again, drawing another symphony of noises out of your partner until she cums for a second time

#my writing #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact #ayaka kamisato #ayaka smut #ayaka x reader #sub ayaka #gn reader #gender neutral reader #dom reader #top reader #winter specials ❄️#oneshot #requested #genshin x you #ayaka x you

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gendercensus · 1 year

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The 2023 Gender Census is now open!

[ Link to survey ]

The 10th annual international gender census, collecting information about the language we use to refer to ourselves and each other, is now open until 9th May 2023.

It’s short and easy, about 5 minutes probably.

After the survey is closed I’ll process the results and publish a spreadsheet of the data and a report summarising the main findings. Then anyone can use them for academic or business purposes, self-advocacy, tracking the popularity of language over time, and just feeling like we’re part of a huge and diverse community.

If you think you might have friends and followers who’d be interested, please do reblog this blog post, and share the survey URL by email or at AFK social groups or on other social networks. Every share is extremely helpful - it’s what helped us get 40,000 responses last year.

Survey URL: https://survey.gendercensus.com

The survey is open to anyone anywhere who speaks English and feels that the gender binary doesn’t fully describe their experience of themselves and their gender(s) or lack thereof.

For the curious, you can also spy on some graphs and demographic data for the incoming responses here.

Thank you so much!

[ Link to survey ]

Image credit: Avery at Tradescantia Hub

#gender census #GC2023 #survey #gender #meta

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elite-amarys · 1 month

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Event Announcement: BBA Student Council Election Season

It’s election season at Blueberry Academy! That means that it’s time for our Student Council candidates to start campaigning for your votes. There are multiple seats available, all of them requiring a different set of skills and know-how! The positions to be campaigned for are:

Student Council President *SEE NOTE BELOW*: The one in charge of it all! Student Council President leads the charge on all current projects, makes final decisions, and is the representative of our school to the world at large. BBA is a school run primarily by its students, which makes this is a big role, with a lot of responsibilities, but if you think you’re up for the challenge announce your candidacy today! One seat available, and the runner up in this poll will be named Vice President of the Student Council.

Secretary: The administrative brains behind the operation. The secretary compiles and distributes meeting minutes, assists in special projects, reports treasury information, and monitors all incoming communication from students and clubs. One seat available.

Treasurers: The money masters! These students monitor and manage anything and everything to do with our BP economy, including your BBQ rewards and club budgets. They are also responsible for monitoring all club spending. There are three seats available.

Historian: This is the person responsible for all documentation of club activities, as well as general media attention to BB Academy. They record interviews, save photos of memorable moments, and generally ensure that the history of BBA is well documented. One seat available.

While we strongly recommend that candidates for the Student Council President position have at least some experience with Student Council in the past, any student may announce their candidacy for any position! The deadline to announce your candidacy is MAY 10th

From May 11th onward election season will be in full swing! Campaigns, posters, speeches, big promises, whatever you feel will get you the most votes. And while the official campaign doesn’t start until the 11th, there’s nothing stopping you from making friends and taking names before then, eh? 😉

Anyone running for Student Council President MUST have their platforms finalized and announced by no later than May 15th. Any candidates that fail to announce a platform will be disqualified.

Finally, election day will take place on June 2nd! Any student currently enrolled in BBA who will be attending in the 2024-2024 school year is welcome to vote.

Best of luck, candidates!

//OOC housekeeping below the cut read or perish

First up, any BBA blog can run for any of these positions but the outcome of Student Council President is locked to Amarys winning. This is because 1) BBA Student Council is my baby and I will not be giving up control of it, you can pry my headcanons out of my cold dead hands, 2) This is a canon character trait of hers and 3) My event my rules. That said, the runner up WILL be named vice president, which is also a very important spot on Student Council. Amarys’ name will not be showing up on the actual polls on June 2nd, but if another blog wins by a landslide Amarys will be considered to have won by only a slim margin. So basically, if you are running for StuCo President you are actually running for Vice President.

If you want your character to participate you MUST message me directly, it can be an ic ask or not. The important point is that you don’t just make a post on your blog. I might not see it, and then you will not be included in the list of candidates posted May 11th.

This is going to be a tumblr event, no discord required.

All positions will have at least one NPC running for them. This is both to give anyone who opts in someone to fight against, and to give me a safety net in case there is a position or positions that no one wants to run for.

Lastly, if you want to participate but don’t think your own blorbo would run, you are free to create an anon persona to campaign with. I think this would be difficult to do, as you’d be limited to only campaigning via asks, but it is absolutely an option. You also run the risk of someone impersonating you to spread rumors but hey! I think that kind of drama would be a blast tbh.

That’s all! Let me know if you have any questions :3

#pkmn irl #BBA Election Season

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sin-djarin · 5 months

Text

hold harder

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Rating: Explicit. MDNI. This blog and its contents are 18+.

Word Count: 4.8k (jfc)

Summary: Tim hates his Christmas party. He also forgets his Secret Santa gift. The holsters stay on despite it all.

Warnings: Established relationship, unprotected PinV (wrap it up, please!), oral sex (m! receiving), creampie, mention of food, Tim Rockford's gunholsters, reader wears a dress but no other physical descriptors, no use of y/n, possible weird phone formatting issues and typos.

A/N: I don't know anymore. The Rockpool is deceptively deep.

More Tim:

hold tight ¦ steep is the mountain

You didn’t need to look at the calendar to tell you what day it was. Tim wore it on his face. The deep seated reluctance to stay late after work and attend the station’s annual Christmas party began to eat away at him from the second he rolled over and slammed his fist on the alarm clock to stop its blaring.

During breakfast, he aggressively tore his bagel from his teeth, scattering the seeds and crumbs in all directions across the island. The knot in his striped tie seemed to cause him extra annoyance as he struggled to get it to sit correctly. The furrow in his brow grew deeper as it resisted every tug and pull of his fingers.

As the morning passed, you thought that the only reason the dread didn't gnaw him to the bone was he when sat, slumped on the edge of your bed, lost in observing you getting ready to start your day. The other 364 days of the year, your skincare routine was an enigma but this morning, it captivated him. He was so engrossed in watching you apply a thin layer of moisturizer, he forgot to check his watch. The one that stopped telling him the time and had started to count down the moments to his own annual nightmare for the first time since he woke up.

Tim's eyes followed you around the room, watching as you got dressed in front of the mirror. He studied every item of clothing you put on, taking note of the order in which you put on each garment. You smiled at his reflection, his head tilting as your body moved and swayed to finish getting ready, carefully absorbing every detail as if like this might be the Christmas party he never came back from. It was only when you asked for help to zip up your dress that he appeared to come hurtling back to Earth. With a heavy sigh, he pulled it up with a huff before resting his head on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your skin.

Normally, he’s turning the handle to his office while you’re turning over in bed to chase any of his lingering body heat that he might have left between the sheets. But today, he hung around long enough that you practically had to drag him out of the house and hand him his raincoat like a kid on their first day of school.

“It'll be fine,” you told him, your voice filled with conviction. “Stay for an hour and then you can come home.” You assured him with a hand on his chest in the driveway.

Tim rolled his eyes before pressing a bittersweet kiss to your lips that lasted longer than it normally does and ended with a huff from him before you both took separate cars and left for work.

Meanwhile, your own day was far from idyllic. Back to back meetings with the broken promise of lunch after each one and the pressures of end of year reports mounted, leaving hardly any time for a decent break. All of it made you begn to think that maybe Tim had the right idea, that the two of you should have just stayed home and he could have curled himself around you like a city wall under the blankets. Regardless, you carried on, and you were never happier to see a clock read 5.30.

Sitting in the evening traffic, your stomach rumbles with hunger and you can almost hear last night’s leftover chili calling your name from the top shelf of the refrigerator. But an incoming call from Tim soon drowns that out.

“Hey! Having fun yet?”

“Getting there. Listen, I think I left my Secret Santa gift in your car.” his voice echoes through the car speakers just as you come to a stop at a red light.

“Tim-”

“I know, I know. Could you bring it down here? Please?” he pleads, a rising sense of urgency runs off his words.

You close your eyes and sigh before answering.

“Alright. Hold tight.” you agree, looking over at the shiny metallic gift bag sitting in the door well on the passenger side.

“Thank you.”

After a quick U-turn, the journey to the station is short. The parking lot is packed compared to Thanksgiving. It’s only when you turn off the engine that the weight of the words that tumbled from your lips land on you all at once.

Suddenly you’re transported back to his office. You can almost feel the texture of the leather holsters against your palms again, the imprint of his lips on your neck and the scratch of his mustache against your exposed skin. The same warmth he left simmering in your belly on Thanksgiving returns in full force.

Your thumb taps a rhythm on the steering wheel while you stare at Tim’s forgotten gift. Whether he truly forgot it is up for debate. He’s normally the one to remind you about everything - anniversaries, deadlines, holidays, all of them, meticulously mapped out ahead of time. But he didn't pencil thanksgiving into his diary and the idea that you’ve left him reeling from it only stokes the flames of the fire inside you.

A grin creeps across your lips and without a second thought, you’re lifting your dress and hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and slipping them down your legs.

Exiting the car, the cool night air hits your warm core as you put on your jacket, shoving Patricia’s secret santa gift from Tim in one pocket and your underwear in another.

A uniformed officer at reception points you in the direction of the cafeteria. The corridors that lead there are lined with decades worth of official photographs of various units. Jaded pieces of tinsel now hang above each frame.

The chorus of carol music gets louder as you reach the end of the hallway and when you step into the kitchen, it’s teeming. Your nostrils are filled with the pungent smell of cinnamon and lacklustre coffee. The tables have been pushed towards the walls and tupperware containers and trays of homemade baked goods and casseroles are laid out in abundance. Tim’s colleague’s are gathered in small crowds, from fresh-faced rookies to plain clothed veterans sporting reindeer antlers, all of them eating from decorative paper plates and making conversations with their mouths full.

Then your jaw drops. You expect to see the holsters strapped around his shoulders but what you don’t expect to see is the Santa hat slightly askew atop his head. When he peers up from the coffee cup that’s probably nothing more than a prop to occupy his fidgeting hands, he gives you a wave and you bite your lip to stop a smirk spreading across your face at the surreal sight. He continues to nod at the person that’s speaking to him but you know that preoccupied expression; he’s not remotely interested in the words coming from the man’s mouth.

Once you’ve navigated through the small sea of people to Tim’s side, you discreetly take the bag from your pocket and place it with the rest of the wrapped boxes under the small bauble covered Christmas tree behind him. Tim's palm comes to rest on your lower back, his fingers hovering over the spot where your underwear were until moments ago.

“Pardon us, Nick.” Tim says to Nick and ushers you over to the spread of food, guiding you through the crowd. “Help yourself. Just don’t eat the potato salad.” he advises, taking a plate from the large stack and passing it to you.

You mull over your options between sweet and savory but ultimately you let your sweet tooth win and scoop up a piece of golden apple pie. It’s a far cry for the dinner you had in mind but it’s still something.

“Thanks for doing this. You saved my ass.” he tells you, watching closely as your lips close around the plastic fork.

“Fuck. This is good.” you exclaim, still chewing on a mouthful of decadent apple pie.

“Yeah, that’s…” he trails off, gazing at your tongue licking the sugary filling from your lips. He clears his throat before continuing, “Suzie’s. She makes it every-”

He’s cut off by the hand of a taller man landing on his holsters. He mumbles something into Tim’s ear and his brows knit together in response.

“I’ll be back in five minutes. Will you be okay here?” he asks you with a look of concern on his face.

You nod, satisfied with the delicious dessert filling your stomach and you watch him leave.

Although you’re surrounded by strangers, you don’t feel out of place amongst the seasonal cheer and laughter. The lights that are strung on the walls flicker in everyone's eyes and there’s a friendly atmosphere, almost homely. It's not the most exciting affair you've been to but can’t understand what exactly it is that Tim has against it. Maybe it's not the Christmas party after all and you've read this entire situation wrong.

Waiting for him to return, you wander the room. People smile as you pass with your plate in hand. You stop at the notice board. There are thank you cards and photos of retirement parties pinned amongst a slew of colorful posters for events in the community and sunbleached health and safety reminders.

After falling into a polite conversation with a stranger about your plans for Christmas and not how someone managed to talk Tim into wearing a Santa hat, she excuses herself to change the festive CD that’s skipping in a dated stereo in the corner. A look at the clock tells you he's been gone for twenty minutes. Your rising sense of curiosity and concern become too impossible to ignore and in her absence, you go in search of him.

Down the corridor, there’s light coming from behind the closed blind in his office. Your heartbeat drums a little faster in your chest at the familiarity of it, almost instinctively preparing you for whatever is on the other side of the wall. You knock on the door but no one answers. Taking your chances, you turn the doorknob.

To your surprise, Tim is not at his desk. Nor is he accompanied by any fellow detectives. Instead, he sits comfortably on a plush suede couch, alone, one that you swear wasn’t here during your last flying visit. Or perhaps it was, but your vision was too clouded by lust to notice it. He’s immersed in a file, absentmindedly chewing on the arm of his glasses. He barely looks up from the paper as you close the door behind you.

“Investigating Santa? Trying to get inside his head?” you taunt, unable to bite your tongue any longer.

“Funny.” he replies flatly, snatching the fluffy red and white hat from his head.

Compared to the cafeteria, his office is nearly silent. The only noises to be heard are your voices and the rustling of loose paper as he closes the file. You wander around his space, taking the time to appreciate the little details you missed the last time; a trashcan full of crumpled paper on the floor, a plaque with his name on the wall. Then you catch a glimpse of his desk and the not so distant debauched memory of it sends another lick of heat down your spine.

Behind the scene of your last seasonal liaison, a calendar is taped to a corkboard. Birthdays, dinners, meetings; they’re all written in red pen and organized. And he’s just proven you to be correct; he didn’t just forget.

“So,” you start, taking your jacket off and throwing it over his chair. “You redecorated.” you point to the couch, the tone of your voice light when it breaks the silence.

“Yeah. I finally got it moved down after Jody’s retirement.”

Despite his earlier reservations about staying late, he looks comfortable. His broad frame is nestled into the middle of the sand coloured cushions, legs spread wide and inviting. His eyes are locked on you, raking over your body from head to toe, the same way they did this morning as you stride towards him and he bends forward expectantly.

Standing in between his strong legs, you run your knuckles under his stubbled jawline, tilting his head upwards. Tim reaches out to roll the satin soft fabric of your dress between his thumb and index finger, and the small beam of light from the lamp beside him highlights the glint in his eyes.

“Now that I'm here,” you say, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you push him back to straddle his lap. “I'm working on a case of my own. Perhaps you could help me with my line of questioning? Detective.”

Tim's eyes narrow in confusion but relax again as his attention is drawn to your fingers that have begun to loosen the tail of his tie. With a gentle tug, the knot surrenders its hold and you pull it from under his collar, letting it fall free to his side before beginning your line of enquiry.

“I told you last night that your Secret Santa gift was in my car. Right?”

He watches, hardly blinking, as your fingers start to push the buttons of his white shirt through their holes. “You did.”

“But you didn't get it when you went to the garage?” You continue, revealing the ribbed tank top underneath, button by button.

“I didn't.”

“And you called me and asked me to bring it to you this evening?”

“I did.” Tim answers, his breathing becoming more ragged as he hangs on your words and the spaces in between them while you try to keep your composure at the fact his cock is throbbing beneath your thigh.

“Am I right to assume that you might have left it there on purpose? And that if you left me alone long enough that I'd try to come and find you? And maybe. Just maybe, you might want to relive certain events from thanksgiving?”

Tim pauses, considering his answer carefully. All of his features are relaxed but his pursed lips betray him and twitch as they try to hide that renegade grin you love.

Guilty.

After a sharp intake of breath he finally speaks. “I plead the fifth.”

But his answer doesn't serve him and when you open the last button of the shirt, your hands come to a stop on his belt buckle, right above where his cock is straining hard against his zip.

Shamelessly, Tim’s warm hands begin their exploration under your dress, gliding over the smooth skin of your thighs and moving upward towards your waist. Your pulse quickens knowing that when his fingertips seek out the underwear he witnessed you put on this morning, he won't find a fiber of evidence that they were ever there.

When his thumb finally brushes over your hips and they’re bare, his brown eyes darken and his lips part at the realization that he left you to mingle with his colleagues like this.

"Words come easy when you tell the truth, Tim. It’s a real shame, too. I was hoping you would cooperate with me." you sigh, feigning disappointment, as you attempt to distance yourself from him, pushing on his holster clad shoulders.

Tim cocks his head and a wry chuckle escapes him that etches the dimple deeper into his cheek.

"Ah. Don’t." he calmly warns, firmly pulling your hips downwards until you’re flush against his pelvis, allowing you to feel how undeniably hard he is under his black slacks. "It seems to me that I may have had an accomplice in this," he suggests. The deep resonance of his voice sets your nerve endings ablaze. "Because you, out there? Like this?” he leans forward, his full lips grazing against yours before continuing, “That’s criminal.”

Another rush of excitement courses through your veins that almost hinders your poised reply, “Well, I guess we’re both guilty.” you whisper against his wet mouth, draping one of your arms around his shoulders while the fingers of your free hand twist into the textured curls at the nape of his neck.

One of Tim’s hands drift downwards, brushing over your lower stomach and between your legs to part your folds, coating his fingers in your arousal that’s been pooling ever since you turned the ignition off. His eyebrow arches upwards, delighted at how soaked you are.

“Partners in crime.” he purrs in a lower pitch, biting down gently on your bottom lip.

The husky timbre of his voice and the heat of his breath washing over your skin make you shift your weight and grind down on his clothed cock. The tip of his tongue teases your upper lip as you rock your hips, drawing a low groan from him when your fingers tug on the small strands of hair they’re entangled in.

He dips his head lower, incisors nipping at your chin as he writhes into your wetness - as desperate as you for friction. Slowly, he works his way down the column of your throat, his lips pressing open mouth kisses into the delicate skin, turning your attempts at breathing into tiny gasps for air.

“Did you lock the door?” he asks, tracing the arch of your neck with his wet lips as your head tips back.

“What…no.” you tell him truthfully. The thought of doing so never crossed your mind.

Tim leans back and your hands fall back to his belt buckle, the cool metal of it a stark contrast to your scorching skin. At the same time you pull the leather free from the first loop, a pair of voices pass by on the other side of the wall and a look of trepidation flashes on his face. He twists the whiskers below his swollen lip as their voices gradually fade away. This is risky. But it was risky at Thanksgiving.

And he’s still achingly hard under the now damp polyester.

As he weighs up his options, you raise up off him to settle between his legs once more and his eyes widen when you lower to your knees.

You place your finger over your lips, prompting him to be quiet and he shoots you another coy smirk as you undo the clasp and zip of his pants. He’s eager, raising his hips when you hook your fingers inside the waistband of his slacks and boxer briefs to peel them down his legs.

Your fingertips brush upwards along the tender skin of his inner thighs as you lower your head and a layer of goosebumps form in their wake. You meet his gaze under the glow of the lamp and there's a spark in his eye - he's like tinder ready to ignite. His only concern now is the image of you on your knees and the skill of your mouth.

Tim holds his breath as your hands travel over his pelvis, further towards where he’s wanted them since early morning. His fingers clutch to the upholstery beneath him, digging deeper at the first whisper of the heat of your breath meeting his cock.

Finally, you take him in your hand, and he breathes a shaky sigh of relief at the contact. Your thumb runs a slow circle over the thick head that glistens from he's been leaking and the muscles beneath the tanned skin of his thighs contract under your touch.

Your eyes flit upwards towards him again, and when your tongue runs a slow, long line up the underside of his length, his spine involuntarily arches off the couch.

"Fuck." he exhales deeply through puffed out cheeks but it falters in to a needy whine. "Mmm. Keep going. Please." he pleads, nostrils flaring to fill his lungs.

You repeat the movement, from the base to the tip until your lips envelop the crown. He heaves another satisfied sigh as the flat of your tongue runs back and forth over the sensitive slit.

Slowly, you take more of him, watching how his body responds - from the tiny flexes across the swell of his belly when you press your tongue against the base to how his Adams apple dances under the tanned skin of his throat when your lips seal around the tip as he melts into the pillows that support him. A gruff groan that sounds like it's risen up from the depths of his stomach escapes him as he hits the back of your throat.

Tim’s hand reaches for yours that rests at the apex of his hip. He interlocks his fingers with yours, marvelling at your lips masterfully moving around the girth of him in an even rhythm, hollowing out your cheeks to accommodate him.

The temperature radiating from his body seems to climb with every bob of your head, blanketing you both in a sweltering bubble of heat. Your tongue and lips work in unison that make his whimpers and groans hang in the air. Each one of their low bassy tones makes you grow more thankful that he forgot his gift but it also makes you ache for him further.

“Need to feel you.” he pants from above you, as if he read your own mind.

Pulling away from him, you take a second to feast your eyes on him. Sweat has begun to collect between his clavicles making the white cotton of his tank top and shirt stick to him like a second skin. The plains of his broad chest rise and fall rapidly, desperate to ease his breathing.

He takes your hand in his once more, coaxing you closer to crawl over him, positioning you back across his lap. That same devilish look plays on his face again, the same one you recall from thanksgiving when he realized that you were hungry for him. Any earlier apprehension he harbored has been abandoned. You search his eyes for the slightest hint of worry but it’s gone, replaced by unbridled lust. You think an entire unit could file into his office right this second and he’d still fuck you.

“Quiet.” he nods fervently and chases your mouth.

The kiss is feverish. His tongue swipes against yours, tasting himself on you, as he hurriedly hitches your dress higher around your waist.

He rubs the velvet head back and forth across your clit, still slick from your mouth and you manage to hold back a moan of your own. His hand moves to cradle your neck, drawing you closer to rest your forehead against his. Not once does he break eye contact as you slowly sink down around him, inch by inch. Once he bottoms out, his head falls back against the couch, swallowing hard as you begin to tentatively roll your hips.

Tim’s keen hands find your waist, guiding your hips to set a steady pace. The delicious stretch of him makes you reach out to grip the cushions, anything behind him to anchor yourself, but he takes your hands in his and gently moves them to his holsters.

“Tight. Remember?” he instructs, and it’s followed by that same roguish grin.

He keeps his hands wrapped around yours for a moment, until he’s confident that you do remember, before they move back to your thighs, clammy fingertips digging into the flesh of them.

The air becomes dense around you as you both find a tempo. The ever rising temperature of both your bodies, the urgency and the risk of it all is an intoxicating mix that makes it increasingly difficult for both of you to stay silent. Tim’s mouth is latching on to whatever exposed part of you it can find, licking and sucking anywhere to try and muffle his own sounds.

Regardless of the danger, you’re still Tim’s number one priority. His palms are quick to pick up on any trembling in your legs and the hitching of your breath when he hits that sweet spot so he can repeat it. He’s precise and it feels good, it always does but there’s something about this being so wrong that heightens everything.

Tim's hands leave your hips to wrap themselves around yours at his chest and they squeeze yours gently.

“Harder. Hold on a little bit harder for me.” he rasps.

He runs his thumb across his tongue before moving it down between your bodies to skillfully rub circles on your clit. Before you can make a sound, his mouth claims yours, devouring any sinful sound that threatens to escape from your lips. The ones he knows you’d make if you were at home - the same ones that you can’t thrill him with here.

The grip you have around the leather tightens further, hauling him closer as the pleasure intensifies inside you, shooting electricity through your veins. He shifts his hips, angling himself perfectly so that his length grazes your clit with every roll of his hips.

Both of you drown in each other's senses; the sight of Tim underneath you, pupils dilated and dazed, the supple leather flexing in your grasp and taste of your skin on his lips - all of it continues to build.

And that recognizable feeling starts to bloom in your belly. You arch your back into him, desperate to find the angle to drag his cock over the most sensitive spot just one more time. The beginnings of it send little shivers up your spine until it unfurls and it takes whatever remaining energy is left in your body to not release a cry that you’ve kept in your throat.

“There you go.” he encourages, his breath searing against your ear as he feels your walls pulse around him.

Large fingers splay across your back, cradling you as you as he relishes in watching you ride the ebb and flow of your orgasm with a heavy liddled gaze.

It’s enough to make his hips start to stutter beneath you and with a few more thrusts of his own, his large frame is shuddering between your legs, throbbing and spilling hot inside you with an unrestrained growl through gritted teeth. Each wave of it pulls the veins in his neck further towards the surface, swelling with the rush of oxytocin and dopamine.

Your grip loosens from his holster but he continues holding you in place for a moment. Other than your shared, heavy breaths, the office is still as quiet as when you walked in. You ease yourself up from him, where you lay your head against his chest while his knuckles strum back and forth across your arm.

"Detective." He laughs.

"You can laugh, but I say we just committed the perfect crime. Again. Things didn't turn out so bad after all, huh?" Your shared joke is interrupted by the clinking of metal on glass followed by a commotion coming from the cafeteria. "Sounds like you should get back out there." you tell him.

“Almost perfect.” he corrects you as you unwind yourself from around him for a second time.

Tim stands with a groan and pulls his slacks up to cross the office to his desk. He grabs a box of tissues from his desk drawer, wiping it around the back of his neck and over his chest before tossing it in the trash can. His long fingers fumble to redo the buttons of his shirt that now clings to his torso.

"You might want to, um..." you smile and point to his crotch and then over to his raincoat hanging on the back of the door.

Glancing down, he clicks his tongue at the sight and reluctantly shucks on his coat, buttoning it at his middle before tossing you the box of tissues.

Just as he turns on his heel to leave, you stretch over and grab the Santa hat. “Here. Don’t forget this.” you say, throwing it in his direction and he catches, rolling his eyes.

You take a moment to clean yourself up and smooth out your dress before grabbing your own jacket to put it back on. As you search through your pockets for your car keys, you pull out your underwear instead - the catalyst for the evening. Before leaving, you decide to leave a little reminder of your own and place them in the top drawer of Tim’s desk.

Walking back down the hallway towards the cafeteria, everyone is still as lively as when you left. There’s no funny glares from anyone. No one has batted an eyelid at his decision to put on more layers. They’re too busy discussing their Secret Santa gifts. Tim stands alone by the little Christmas tree. His cheeks are still flushed but the Santa hat has done its job at hiding his just fucked hair. He holds some crumpled gift wrap in one hand and a pocket sized black leather planner in the other.

“Wow. You got lucky.” you tease before pressing a kiss to his cheek. He quickly scans the room, making sure none of his colleagues overheard. “Don't forget to schedule me in for next year.” you say with a wink, tapping the hardcover of the planner with your finger. “I’ll see you at home.”

- - -

#tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford fanfiction #Spotify

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ben-marco · 2 months

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You're right for telling people who have/pretend to have DID to keep their information private. If you're not diagnosed with a disorder like that and you receive tips or other income from people because they believe you do have it, that's fraud, and people like myself love to make sure that people who scam others out of money by lying about having DID get arrested for fraud and theft by deception.

So if you or anyone else is making money from claiming to have DID, you should probably make it harder for us to report you for fraud. It won't matter because you will eventually be found out and arrested, but since it's such a common scam now....

Idk, either you and people like you can stop lying and scamming people, or try a VPN to see if it prevents any consequences to your actions. It won't, but you can try.

Stay safe, scammers!

Hi there anon. Who exactly are you addressing with this ask? I don't know who you mean with "you and people like you".

First of all, I make posts about Internet safety and privacy because a great proportion of people in online OSDDID and RAMCOA communities are minors or vulnerable in some way. Lack of information safety has been a massive problem in these spaces for years. I want people to be safe online and save themselves the trouble of broadcasting their trauma to Discord servers full of strangers. I don't encourage Internet safety so that purported "scammers" can prevent consequences of their actions.

I have a few years' experience in scambaiting. Since when is faking DID "a common scam" and since when are people getting arrested for it? I'm pretty sure the authorities are more concerned about bank fraud, hacking and ransomware, money transfer scams, and scam call centers impersonating the IRS, Canadian Revenue Agency, the FBI, Homeland Security... the list goes on.

Look, even if I was faking a horrific trauma-based disorder, I wouldn't be making any money off of this blog. Have you heard of DissociaDID, though? Prolific DID (and other disorders, like CFS and PNES) faker who makes a living off of it.

#actually did #actually dissociative #ramcoa #ramcoa survivor #did osdd #did system #dissociation #dissociative identity disorder #dissociative system #osddid

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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To save the news, ban surveillance ads

Tonight (May 31) at 6:30PM, I’m at the MANCHESTER Waterstones with my novel Red Team Blues, hosted by Ian Forrester.

Tomorrow (Jun 1), I’m giving the Peter Kirstein Lecture for UCL Computer Science in LONDON.

Then it’s Edinburgh, London, and Berlin!

Big Tech steals from the news, but what it steals isn’t content — it steals money. That matters, because if we create pseudo-copyrights over the facts of the news, or headlines, or snippets to help news companies bargain with tech companies, we make the news partners with the tech companies, rather than watchdogs.

How does tech steal money from the news? Lots of ways! One important one: tech steals ad revenue. 51% of every ad dollar gets gobbled up by tech companies — primarily the cozy, collusive ad-tech duopoly of Google/Facebook (AKA Googbook). If we can shatter the market power of the concentrated ad-tech industry, news companies would go back to getting 80–90% of the ad revenue their reporting generated, which would pay for more reporting.

There’s lots to like about fixing ads. For one thing, a fair ad marketplace would benefit all news reporting, not just the largest news companies — which are dominated by private equity-backed chains and right-wing billionaires who have repeatedly shown that any additional revenues will go to pay shareholders, not more reporters. Fair ads would also provide an income for reporters who strike out on their own, covering local politics or specific beats, without making themselves sharecroppers for Big Media.

One way to fix ads would be to break up the ad-tech “stacks.” Googbook both operate impossibly conflicted ad-placement businesses in which they bargain with themselves on behalf of both advertisers and publishers, with the winners always being the tech companies. The AMERICA Act from Senator Mike Lee would force ad giants to divest themselves of business units that create conflicts of interest. It’s popular, bipartisan legislation — and I do mean bipartisan; its backers include Elizabeth Warren and Ted Cruz! I wrote about the AMERICA Act and the role it will play in saving news from tech for EFF’s Deeplinks Blog last week:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

This week, I’ve got a followup on Deeplinks about another important way to unrig the ad market: banning surveillance ads:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

Even if we break up the ad-tech stacks, ads will still be bad for the news — and for the public. That’s because the dominant form of digital ads is “behavioral advertising” — the ad-tech sector’s polite euphemism for ads based on spying. You know these ads: you search for shoes and then every website you land on is plastered in shoe ads.

Surveillance ads require a massive, multi-billion-dollar surveillance dragnet, one that tracks you as you physically move through the world, and digitally, as you move through the web. Your apps, your phone and your browser are constantly gathering data on your activities to feed the ad-tech industry.

This data is incredibly dangerous. There’s so much of it, and it’s so loosely regulated, that every spy, cop, griefer, stalker, harasser, and identity thief can get it for pennies and use it however they see fit. The ad-tech industry poses a risk to protesters, to people seeking reproductive care, to union organizers, and to vulnerable people targeted by scammers.

Ad-tech maintains the laughable pretense that all this spying is consensual, because you clicked “I agree” on some garbage-novella of impenatrable legalese that no one — not even the ad-tech companies’ lawyers — has ever read from start to finish. But when people are given a real choice to opt out of digital spying, they do. Apple gave Ios users a one-click opt-out of in-app tracking and 96% of users clicked it (the other 4% must have been confused — or on Facebook’s payroll). The decision cost Facebook $10b in the first year. You love to see it:

https://www.cnbc.com/2022/02/02/facebook-says-apple-ios-privacy-change-will-cost-10-billion-this-year.html

But here’s the real punchline: Apple blocked Facebook from spying on its customers, but Apple kept spying on them, just as invasively as Facebook had, in order to target them with Apple’s own ads:

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

The thing that stops companies from spying on us isn’t the strength of their character, it’s the discipline imposed by regulation and competition — the fear that they’ll get fined more than they make from spying, and the fear that they’ll lose so much business from spying that they’ll end up in the red.

Which is why we need a legal ban on ads, not mere platitudes on billboards advertising companies’ “respect” for our privacy. The US is way overdue for a federal privacy law with a private right of action, which would let you and me sue the companies who violated it, even if no public prosecutor was willing to go to bat for us:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/01/you-should-have-right-sue-companies-violate-your-privacy

A privacy law that required companies to get your affirmative, enthusiastic, ongoing, specific, informed consent to gather and process your personal data would end surveillance ads forever. Despite the self-serving nonsense the ad-tech industry serves up about people “liking relevant ads,” no one wants to be spied on. 96% of Ios users don’t lie.

A ban on surveillance ads wouldn’t just serve the public, it would also save the news. The alternative to surveillance ads is context ads: ads based on what a reader is reading, rather than what that reader was doing. Context-based ad marketplaces ask, “What am I bid for this Pixel 6 user in Boise who is reading about banana farming?” instead of “What am I bid for this 22 year old man who recently searched for information about suicidal ideation and bankruptcy protection?”

Context ads perform a little worse than surveillance ads — by about 5%:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/29/taken-in-context/#creep-me-not

So presumably advertisers won’t pay as much for context ads as they do for behavioral targeting. But that doesn’t mean that the news will lose money. Because context ads favor publishers over ad-tech platforms — no publisher will ever know as much about internet users as spying ad-tech giants do, but no tech company will ever know as much about a publisher’s content as the publisher does.

Behavioral ad marketplaces have high barriers to entry, requiring troves of surveillance data on billions of internet users. They are naturally anticompetitive and able to command a much higher share of each ad dollar than a contextual ad service (which would have much more competiition) could.

On top of that: if behavioral advertising was limited to people who truly consented to it, 96% of users would never see an ad!

So contextual ads will show up for more users, and more of the money they generate will land in news publishers’ pockets. If context ads fetch less money per ad, the losses will be felt by ad-tech companies, not publishers.

Finally: publishers who join the fight against surveillance ads won’t be alone — they’ll be joining with a massive, popular movement against commercial surveillance. The news business is — and always has been — a niche subject, of burning interest to publishers, reporters, and a small minority of news junkies. The news on its own is a small fry in policy debates. But when it comes to killing surveillance ads, the news has a class alliance with the mass movement for privacy, and together, they’re a force to reckon with.

My article on killing surveillance ads is part three of an ongoing, five-part series for EFF on how we save the news from tech. The introduction, which sets out the whole series, is here:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

The final two parts will come out over the next two weeks, and then we’re going to publish the whole thing as a PDF that suitable for sharing. Watch this space!

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Manchester, Edinburgh, London, and Berlin!

[Image ID: EFF's banner for the save news series; the word 'NEWS' appears in pixelated, gothic script in the style of a newspaper masthead. Beneath it in four entwined circles are logos for breaking up ad-tech, ending surveillance ads, opening app stores, and end-to-end delivery. All the icons except for 'ending surveillance ads' are greyed out.]

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/2023/05/31/context-ads/#class-formation

Image: EFF https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

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

#pluralistic #class formation #ad-tech #context ads #news #gdpr #big tech #eff #monopoly #how to save the news #link taxes

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