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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 month

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Meatspace twiddling

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me next weekend (Mar 30/31) in ANAHEIM at WONDERCON, then in Boston with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then Providence (Apr 12), and beyond!

"Enshittification" isn't just a way of describing the symptoms of platform decay: it's also a theory of the mechanism of decay – the means by which platforms get shittier and shittier until they are a giant pile of shit.

I call that mechanism "twiddling": this is the ability of digital services to alter their business-logic – the prices they charge, the payouts they offer, the particulars of the deal – from instant to instant, for each user, continuously:

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

Contrary to Big Tech's own boasting about its operations, the tricks that tech firms play to siphon value away from business customers and end-users aren't very sophisticated. They're crude gimmicks, like offering a higher per-hour wage to Uber drivers whom the algorithm judges to be picky about which rides they'll clock in for, and then lowering the wage by small increments as a way of lulling the driver into gradually accepting a permanent lower rate:

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

This is a simple trick. The difference is that tech platforms like Uber can play it over and over, and very quickly. There's plenty of wage-stealing scumbag bosses who'd have loved to have shaved pennies off their workers' paychecks, then added a few cents back in if a worker cried foul, then started shaving the pennies again. The thing that stopped those bosses was the bottleneck of payroll clerks, who couldn't make the changes fast enough.

Uber plays crude tricks – like claiming that a driver isn't an employee because the control is mediated through an app – and then piles more crude tricks on top – this algorithmic wage discrimination gambit.

Have you ever watched a shell-game performed very slowly?

https://www.masterclass.com/articles/how-to-do-penn-tellers-famous-cups-and-balls-trick-in-12-steps

It's a series of very simple gimmicks, performed very quickly and smoothly. Computers are very quick and very smooth. The quickness of the hand deceives the eye: do crude tricks with superhuman speed and they'll seem sophisticated.

The one bright spot in the Great Enshittening that we're living through is that many firms are not sufficiently digitized to to these crude tricks very quickly. Take grocery stores: they can get up to a lot of the same tricks as Amazon – for example, they can charge suppliers for placement on the most prominent, easiest-to-reach shelves, reorganizing your shopping based on which companies pay the biggest bribes, rather than offering the best products and prices.

But Amazon takes this to a whole different level – beyond simply organizing their product pages based on payola, they do this for search. You ask Amazon, "What's your cheapest batteries?" and it lies to you. If you click the first link in a search-results page, you'll pay 29% more than you would if you got the best product – a product that is, on average, 17 places down on the results page. Amazon makes $38b/year taking bribes to lie to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

Amazon can do more than that. Thanks to its digital nature, it can continuously reprice its offerings – indeed, it can simply make up each price displayed on every product at the instant you look at it – based on its surveillance data about you, estimating your willingness to pay. For sellers, Amazon can continuously re-weight the likelihood that a given product will be shown to a customer based on the seller's willingness to discount their products, even to the point where they go out of business:

https://www.businessinsider.com/sadistic-amazon-treated-book-sellers-the-way-a-cheetah-would-pursue-a-sickly-gazelle-2013-10

Twiddling, in other words, lets digital services honeycomb their servers with sneaky wormholes that let them siphon value away from one kind of platform user and give it to another (as when Apple silently began spying on Iphone owners to create profiles for advertisers), or to themselves.

But hard-goods businesses struggle to do this kind of twiddling. Not for lack of desire – but for lack of capacity. Jeff Bezos, owner of Amazon Fresh – an online grocery store – can change prices and layout millions of times per day, at effectively zero cost. Jeff Bezos, owner of Whole Foods – a brick-and-mortar grocer – needs a army of teenagers on rollerskates with pricing guns to achieve a fraction of this agility.

So hard-goods businesses are somewhat enshittification-resistant. It's not that their owners are more interested in the welfare of their customers, workers and suppliers – they merely lack the capacity to continuously rejigger the way their business runs.

Well, about that.

Grocers have been experimenting with "electronic shelf labels" in order to do "dynamic pricing" – that means that prices change quickly, in response to circumstances:

https://www.npr.org/2024/03/06/1197958433/dynamic-pricing-grocery-supermarkets

This doesn't have to be bad! As @planetmoney points out, it's a little weird that grocers don't discount milk whose sell-by date is drawing near. That milk is worth less to shoppers, because they have to use it more quickly lest it expire. Instead of marking down the price of perishable goods – day-old lettuce, yesterday's bread, etc – grocers put them on the shelves next to fresher, more valuable products, leading to billions of dollars' worth of food-waste and and unimaginable quantities of methane-producing, planet-cooking landfill.

In Norway, ESLs are pretty well established and – at least according to Planet Money's reporting – they are used exclusively to offer discounts in order to reduce waste. They make everyone better off.

But towards the end of the story, they note that Norway's grocery sector – which alters prices up to 2,000 times per day – has been accused of using ESLs to rig prices, hiking them and blaming them on pandemic supply-chain problems and loose monetary policy. Greedflation, in other words.

Greedflation is rampant in the grocery sector, all around the world. Remember when the price of eggs doubled and they blamed in on bird-flu, even as the CEO of the one company that owns every egg brand you've ever heard of boasted about how he could hike prices and suckers would just pay it?

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/23/cant-make-an-omelet/#keep-calm-and-crack-on

In Canada, grocers rigged the price of bread, the most Les-Mis-ass form of corporate crime you can imagine (do you want guillotines, Galen Weston? Because this is how you get guillotines):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bread_price-fixing_in_Canada

EU grocers – another highly concentrated industry – also collude to rig prices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

Which is all to say that while these companies don't have to use the twiddling capabilities that come with ESLs to enshittify their stores, we'd be pretty fucking naive to assume that they won't.

And here's the bad news: US grocers like Whole Foods (owned by Amazon, the company that wrote the enshittification playbook) are already experimenting with ESLs. So is Alberstons/Safeway, the massive, inbred conglomerate that has already demonstrated its passion for using twiddling to fuck over their workers:

https://knock-la.com/vons-fires-delivery-drivers-prop-22-e899ee24ffd0/

Economists love "price discrimination" – where prices change based on circumstance, trying to match the perfect price with the perfect customer. On paper, that sounds plausible: if I need a quart of milk for a recipe I'm making tonight and I get a 50% discount on some about-to-expire 2%, then everyone's better off. I get a discount and the grocer gets some money for milk they'd have to throw away at the end of the day.

But these elegant, self-licking ice-cream cones only emerge if the corporation offering the deal is constrained. Perhaps they're constrained by competition – the fear that you'll go elsewhere. Or perhaps they're constrained by regulation – the fear that they'll be punished if they use twiddling-tech to cheat you.

The grocery sector, dominated by a cartel of massive companies that routinely collude to rip us off, is not constrained by competition. And for years, regulators let them get away with ripping us off (though finally that might be changing):

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/21/us/politics/grocery-prices-pandemic-ftc.html?unlocked_article_code=1.ek0.t2Pr.g4n2usbxEcoa

For neoclassical economists, the answer to all this is "caveat emptor" – let the buyer beware. If you want to make sure that ESLs are only used to offer you discounts and not to gouge prices, all you need to do is note the price of everything you buy, every time you buy it, and triple-check it every time you go back to the grocery store. Just be eternally vigilant!

Thing is, the one thing computers are much better at than humans is vigilance. With ESLs and other twiddling mechanisms, you're a fish on a hook, and the seller is tireless in giving you a little more slack, then a little less, until you finally drop your guard.

Economists desperately want these elegant models to work, but "efficient market hypothesis" is a brain-worm that always turns into apologetics for fraud. Dynamic markets sound like a good idea, but they are catnip for cheaters. "Just be eternally vigilant" is miserable advice, and no way to live your life:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

In his brilliant novel Spook Country, @GreatDismal describes augmented reality as "cyberspace everting" – that is, turning inside-out:

https://memex.craphound.com/2007/07/31/william-gibsons-spook-country/

The extrusion of twiddling technology from digital platforms into the physical world isn't cyberspace everting so much as it is cyberspace prolapsing.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

#pluralistic #fraud apologetics #caveat emptor #twiddling #competition #groceries #price discrimination #norway #electronic shelf tags #planet money #enshittification #constraints #greedflation #efficient market hypothesis brain-worms

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 3 days

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Never Say Never

Chapter 20

Pairing: SingleDad!StevexReader

Summary: You are a 32 year old single mother, raising your seven year old son on your own. After being widowed at 30 and going out on awful dates with disgusting men for the past month, you have decided that you're giving up. You already had your great love. One person can't possibly get lucky enough to have two in their lifetime. But then your son starts playing baseball and the coach might just change your mind about that.

No posting schedule.

18+ only for eventual smut

Word Count: 3.5K

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Two Years Later

Indianapolis in the summer was hot and humid. You tugged at the cotton of your shirt, pulling the material away from your wet, sticky body. All you wanted right now was to lie on your couch, your feet propped up, enjoying the air conditioning and an iced coffee. But coffee was limited to you these days and decaf just didn’t bring the same joy. What was the point? And no matter what anyone said, it did not taste the same.

The bookstore was packed with people, the air conditioner not doing much amidst the radiating body heat of the crowd, books cradled in their arms, waiting to meet the author. Mike sat at a table in the center, smiling up at a customer as he signed the copy of his latest book, Paladin of the Dead Kingdom, a sequel to his debut novel which had raced up the charts to number one on the New York Times bestseller list, shocking everyone but probably him mostly.

Releasing a long slow breath, you pressed your hand against the base of your back in an attempt to soothe the ache that had settled low in your spine. Rolling your shoulders, you moved forward, continuing to browse the selection of books on the shelf in front of you. With as much time as you'd been spending with your feet up every night, you'd been getting a lot of reading done. A few new additions to your quickly dwindling pile would be good.

Your fingers trailed over the spines as you read, waiting for something to catch your eye, the sun shining in the window hitting the diamond on your left hand with a shimmering sparkle. A soft smile crossed your lips as you flashed back to last year, you and Steve under a trellis of flowers that the girls had put together in your backyard.

It had been a small ceremony, held on the anniversary of the day you had met each other the previous year. Your closest family and friends had gathered around as you vowed to love each other until death parted you. A slight twinge of panic had raced up your spine at those words but you had pushed it down, refusing to believe that life could be that cruel twice. No. You had been lucky enough to find him and you would be allowed to keep him. You had to believe that.

Everything with the two of you had moved pretty fast. You'd bought your house, with the wraparound porch you’d always dreamed of and the pool in the backyard that you couldn’t get the boys out of during the summer, only a few months after meeting. Steve had proposed two months after that. Seven months later you were married. From first sighting to wedding rings in the span of a year but you wouldn’t change a single thing. It didn’t matter how quickly it moved when you were certain you’d found the one that was meant for you.

“Mike is eating all this attention up,” El groaned, approaching with little Max on her hip. He’d just turned one last week and you could not get enough of his full little cheeks, dimples appearing as he grinned widely at you, drool slipping out of his mouth as he chewed at the teether El was trying to soothe him with. “But I’m so proud of him. He never thought his book would go anywhere, let alone be an instant bestseller.”

“Yeah. Well, there’s a lot of nerds in the world,” Dustin said, stepping up and holding out his arms. Baby Max leapt right into them. “The nerds far outnumber the non-nerds and he wrote something that appealed to every single one of them. Didn’t he, Max?” He grinned, bouncing his hip, Max giggling. “That’s right. Daddy did good. Huh, Max?”

“While I appreciate you naming your child after me,” Max interrupted, leaning against the side of the bookcase. “It is highly creepy to hear Dustin say my name in that baby voice.”

“Oh, Auntie Max is such a downer, isn’t she? She’s as grouchy as Oscar. We just need to find her a trash can,” Dustin cooed. “Come on little Max. I saw some cookies on the table in the back. Let’s get you one.”

“Dustin, not too much sugar, please,” El called but he was already gone and she sighed, tossing her hands in the air. “He’s going to let him have way too many cookies, isn’t he?”

“Oh yeah,” you grinned. “Not to mention punch. There’s fruit punch back there and cupcakes. Max will be all sugared up.”

“Great. At least the hotel has a pool. He can swim it out before bed.”

Robin and June walked up, hand in hand, and you smiled. Sometime within the last year, Robin has stopped being so self conscious about being affectionate with her girlfriend in public. She’d stopped worrying about what other people thought or what their reaction would be. She just let herself be happy. Even better, the two hadn’t encountered too much ignorance, choosing to ignore the side eyes or wrinkled noses. If anyone had anything to say, you would be more than happy to put them in their place.

Robin had moved out of her apartment when the lease was up last August and moved in with June. The two were now running the coffee shop together. Business was booming with all of Robin’s ideas. They had things going on every single night and the town was eager to come in, not only for the coffee and sandwiches anymore, but for all the extras. People waited anxiously to hear what the next read was for book club or to see the sign advertising what new musician would be playing. Local artists and poets signed up on a waiting list that was six months long to be able to come in and feature their work.

“This is one hell of a turnout,” June commented, eyes wide as she took in the crowd packed into the bookstore.

“Isn’t it amazing? It really means a lot to Mike that you all came to support him,” El told them with a smile.

“Of course we did,” Jonathan said, him and Nancy walking up. “Plus, it gave us a nice little getaway. We’re all going to take the boys to the Indianapolis Zoo tomorrow and to a baseball game on Sunday. They can’t wait. Jere is so excited to see his first professional game.”

Nancy laughed, “Well, the guys are going to take the boys to the baseball game. Y/N and I have appointments at the spa.”

You smiled, inhaling and exhaling deeply, “You have no idea how much I am looking forward to that. My feet could use some serious pampering right now.”

“Everything could use some pampering right about now,” Nancy said, waving her hand up and down to indicate your whole body. “Why do you think Steve booked it?”

Every time you thought Steve couldn’t get anymore perfect, he managed to prove you wrong, to do something to surprise you. When talk of this trip to support Mike’s book release came up, he’d instantly suggested you should turn it into a little vacation for all of you. You were all for the idea, excited to show him the Indianapolis Zoo that you’d enjoyed so much five years ago when Justin had brought you. You fully intended on replacing your broken coffee mug on this trip.

Then last week, he dropped a brochure on your lap. It was for a spa in the city. He’d booked you the Ultimate Package. It included a massage, a facial, manicure, pedicure, a hair wash, and style. You’d argued with him, telling him it was too much, but he’d insisted. Then he’d tempted you even more by telling you that Nancy was going with you.

You and Nancy had grown exceptionally close over the last couple of years. The woman you’d been so terrified of had turned out to be one of the most exceptional people you’d ever met. She’d welcomed you into their little family from the moment she’d met you and she had supported you and Steve every step of the way. Janice had been your maid of honor but Nancy had stood right next to her, a beautiful bridesmaid, her eyes shining with tears of joy as you and Steve had promised to love one another forever.

The bell above the door rang lightly, barely heard over the chatter of conversation within the four walls. Eli and Jeremiah came racing in, darting straight for their moms, red faced, shiny with sweat, and beaming from ear to ear.

“We pet a dog!” Eli yelled. “He was so big, mommy, like way bigger than me. Even bigger than Miles!”

Steve trailed behind them, clearly out of breath from trying to keep up with the boys. He stopped in front of you, hands on his hips, chest rising and falling deeply.

“Great Dane,” he muttered.

He’d offered to take the boys for a walk to get them out of everybody’s hair for a minute. They had been bursting with energy and sitting or standing nicely in the bookshop was not cutting it at the moment. You had been nervous they were going to cause a commotion if they didn’t get out of there for a bit.

“And we went to a playground!” Jeremiah added. “You should have seen it! It had everything and the monkey bars were so high but I did them anyway! I wasn’t even scared!”

“Yeah! And they had this swing that two people could sit on! It was like a circle and we sat on it and Daddy pushed us and we went so high!” Eli yelled.

“Wow, that’s incredible,” Jonathan replied, leaning down, hands on his knees. “How about we go get you both a cookie and some punch and you can pick out a book and sit and rest for a bit. I bet you could use some rest after all that excitement.”

“I sure could,” grumbled Steve, but his smile didn’t match his tone. The man might grumble and moan but he loved those boys with everything he had. And nothing made him happier than spending time with them.

“Aww,” you cooed, running your fingers through his hair, damp at the base of his neck from the heat and exertion, “did the boys wear you out, baby?”

“A bit,” he nodded. “They never stop, those two. They just have endless energy. I wish I could bottle up a fraction of it. It’s hard keeping up with them.”

“Well, you better get to training then,” Nancy teased, her eyes dropping to your stomach and then back up to Steve. “You’ve only got a couple months to get ready for an all new one. You think they’re exhausting now, do you remember Jeremiah at one and two and three?”

Yes, Eli was getting the sibling that you had always hoped for him to have but hadn’t expected to happen. After you were married, you had stopped birth control, the two of you deciding that if it happened, it happened. You weren’t stressing it. You would be content either way but when you realized in February that your period was a month late and that stick had shown two pink lines, you'd both been elated.

The idea of a little person that was a mixture of the two of you, a living, breathing testament to the love you shared, filled you both with more joy than you'd expected. It felt like a symbol of not only your relationship, but the blending of your two families into one. Beautiful splashes of color that collided to create the most beautiful piece of art. Because there was no doubt in your mind that this baby would be beautiful, especially if she got her dad’s lashes and that head of full, thick hair.

“Have you guys finally picked out a name?” questioned Robin for what had to be the twentieth time. “You know, I keep telling you that Robin is a pretty great name.”

“I would offer up Max but that’s already taken,” the red head shrugged. “Not that you couldn’t also name your child after me. I mean, I am obviously the coolest one here.”

El laughed, “While I agree, it would be very challenging to have two little ones running around with the same name. It’s already hard with you and my son.”

“Besides, Robin is the obvious choice,” Robin cut in.

“Why is Robin the obvious choice? Why not June?” her girlfriend asked. “I think it’s a very pretty name.”

“It’s a beautiful name for the most beautiful girl,” Robin said, “but I have been friends with Steve for fourteen years.”

“Well, if we’re going by the longest time knowing someone, then I should win,” Nancy argued. “I’ve known Steve for sixteen years and I am the mother of his other child. I think that gives me bonus points. Maybe the baby should be called Nancy.”

“I don’t know that Jere would want his little sister to be named the same thing as his mom,” Steve mused.

“Why not? Guys name their kids after themselves all the time.”

“While that is true,” you began, cutting off the conversation, “we have already settled on a name. She will be Peyton Robin Harrington.”

“Ohh!” El’s eyes went wide, her hands clasped to her chest. “I love Peyton. That’s such a cute name.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t lend itself to any weird nicknames,” Steve said, his arms coming around you, hands covering your round belly. “That was one of my biggest concerns. I didn’t want to pick anything that could be turned into something awful.”

“Like Pey?” offered Lucas, earning a glare from Steve.

“Oh! Peyday!” Max grinned.

“Or PeyPey,” teased Robin.

Nancy snorted, “How about Ton? Come here little Ton!”

“You all suck,” Steve snapped, rolling his eyes. “None of you will be calling my beautiful little girl any of those awful names.”

“I don’t know,” you joked. “Peyday has a certain ring to it.”

“Don’t you start, too,” groaned Steve.

“Oh! Or Peycheck!”

“Honey, seriously…”

“Peyroll! No! I got it. Peypaya.”

Steve’s hands rested on his hips, his face so unamused that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You guys are so funny. Leave my daughter alone.”

“Hey,” you protested, winding your arms around his waist, feeling him melt against you, his hands leaving his hips to come around you. “She’s my daughter too.”

“So stop trying to start off her life by traumatizing her. She’ll never live down a name like Peypaya.”

“While I think Robin should have been her first name, I guess I am willing to accept the middle name,” the blond huffed, folding her arms and rolling her eyes. “I guess it’s still a little recognition of how neither of you could function without me.”

“We really couldn’t,” you agreed. “I mean, who would keep this one in line for me?” You nodded your head toward Steve and he snorted, shaking his head.

“Seriously. This dingus thought doing the whole baby room without you as a surprise while you were visiting your parents would be a good idea.”

“Hey! I thought it would be nice for her to come home to a finished nursery. I was just trying to save my wife from extra work.”

“Yeah and then she wouldn’t have had a say in any of it. She would have smiled and thanked you and secretly hated it every single time she walked into the room and it wasn’t what she’d envisioned,” Max told him. “Robin was right. You cannot do home renovations without your wife’s opinion.”

“I asked Janice for input. She knows her better than anyone.”

It was true. Janice knew exactly what you would want. The sage green nursery, photos of zoo animals that your friend had taken for you adorning the walls, soft pastel orange bedding and pillows, cuddly stuffed animals propped throughout. It was perfect and Janice would have guided Steve to do exactly that.

The two of you had been ecstatic when you'd found out that you were having a girl. Janice’s daughter, Olive, was only eighteen months so the girls would be close in age. Both of you hoped your girls would be just as inseparable as their moms were, a built in life-long friend.

Max relented, “Okay. I mean, asking her best friend was a solid plan. If anyone would know what she wanted, it was her.”

“Exactly and what she told me is exactly what my wife wanted anyway. I could have done it and then she wouldn’t have had to stress.”

“Either way, the nursery is perfect. The boys had the best time helping us get everything ready. They even each picked out an animal for the room. Eli wanted an elephant because it starts with ‘e’ and Jeremiah went with giraffe because it has the same sound as his name, even if the letters are different. His words, not mine.” You laughed, remembering how excited the boys had been running through the baby store, helping you pick out things for the room.

“They were a little bummed that we didn’t go with a superhero theme,” Steve added.

“Well, of course,” chuckled Lucas. “What little girl wouldn’t want Batman and Superman?”

Max shrugged, “I mean, you could have gone with Catwoman and Wonder Woman. That would have been pretty kickass.”

Mike stumbled over into their aisle, looking exhausted but happy, a wide smile stretching his face. He leaned down to kiss El and then dropped down to the floor dramatically in front of the bookshelf.

“My hand is going to wither and fall off,” he groaned, shaking his fingers. “I don’t even know how many books I signed.”

“Oh please. You love it,” Lucas told him.

Mike grinned, “I do. I never thought this would actually be me. I mean, nothing Mike Wheeler, kid who was picked on by the assholes all through school, now a bestselling author. People actually line up just to meet me and get me to slap my signature on something I wrote. It’s insane, man, but so damn cool.”

“Dada!”

Little Max came racing over, Dustin rushing behind him, clearly having lost control of the situation. The little guy flung himself into Mike’s open arms and the guy who’d looked terrified at the thought of being a father, scooped him up, kissing the top of his hair that was the shade of midnight, just like his dad’s.

“Hey buddy.”

Max held up the cookie he currently had in his hand, the whole thing a mushy wet mess from where he’d been gnawing at it. He tried to put it in Mike’s mouth and he grimaced, shaking his head.

“No thank you. That’s Max’s cookie. You eat it, buddy.”

“And how many cookies is that, Dustin?” inquired El, the girl already having the mom look down, currently giving it to Dustin.

The boy shrugged, curls spilling out from under his ballcap, “I don’t know. Not too many…I mean…” He ran his hand over his mouth, mumbling, “Four.”

“Four! Did you say four?” El groaned, her head dropping back. “Dustin, seriously. I am going to make you deal with him when he’s running up and down the hallways of the hotel and refusing to go to sleep.”

“Okay. I don’t mind hanging out with the little dude.”

El’s eyes rolled up into her head as the adult Max patted her shoulder gently.

“Well, while he’s had four cookies, I’ve had nothing for the last three hours and I am starving,” Mike announced, one arm around his son as he rose up to his feet. “What do you all say we head out and get some dinner?”

“You buying?” asked Nancy.

“Yeah, with that big advance, you can afford it, right?” Lucas agreed.

Robin placed an arm on his shoulder, grinning, “Mr. Big Bucks over here these days.”

“Oh! If Mike’s buying, I am getting all the drinks,” June said.

“And dessert,” Max added. “Maybe we should order every dessert on the menu. You know, so we can taste everything.”

“Don’t forget appetizers,” Will stated.

Nolan nodded, “Yeah. I love to taste test things at other restaurants. Give me ideas for new recipes. I bet we could manage to order one of everything on the menu, for research, you know?”

“You guys are jerks,” Mike huffed.

“What, with that fancy Range Rover you drive now, I assumed you must have lots of expendable cash,” Jonathan said as he and the boys joined them.

“I mean, I’m doing okay,” Mike shrugged, his ears turning bright red. “I wouldn’t say I’m rolling in cash but I can buy dinner.”

They all whooped and cheered, heading out of the bookshop and onto the streets of Indy.

“But not one of everything on the menu!” he yelled after them.

“What?” Robin bellowed. “Sorry. Can’t hear you!”

“Yeah!” Lucas yelled. “Too busy imagining all the food I’m going to eat!”

Steve rolled his eyes at the group, his arm coming around your shoulder as you trailed behind everybody. His mouth dropped to your ear, lips brushing over the tender skin as he whispered, “Regretting getting mixed up with this crew? Rethinking your choices?”

“Never,” you said, and you meant it, because this guy right here and everyone that came along with him were the best choice you’d ever made. Two years ago you’d said you would never find something this amazing again. But never say never.

Taglist: @katethetank@roxiehorrorshow@sapphire4082@bakugouswh0r3@frostandflamesfanfic @mix-matchsocks @mushy-mushroom04 @palmtreesx3 @littlebookworm86 @eddies-trailer-babe @cheesewritings @emilyj444 @daisyhollyxox @angelbabyivy @the-fairy-anon @loritate7311 @k-k0129 @antiquecultist

And this brings this story to an end. Endings are always bittersweet for me. Thanks so much for taking the time to read my little story! 😊 And replies and reblogs are always appreciated if you enjoy it. I love to hear what you think! ❤️❤️❤️

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 20 days

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Timeline: Part 9 - December 1-10 2017

For earlier timeline posts: click here or here.

December starts out strong with a daily bombardment of tons of stories about Meghan and/or Harry. Their PR backs off in the middle of the month, but only barely. Luckily for us, there is salvation: Meghan gets her first, second, third, and fourth dose of royal criticism.

Like I mentioned in the November 2017 timeline, this month sees Meghan pulling her support from Star Magazine, US Weekly, and E Online. People Magazine begins to earn her loyalty instead.

Ok, apparently I exceeded the limit of links that can be in a Tumblr post. the December edition is going to be split up into smaller segments. I've got a solution for how to fix this going forward, but it's going to take some time to figure out how to implement it.

12/1/2017: Fleet Street has a fever and the solution is more Harkle coverage.

Doria is papped at a laundromat in California.

Another story about Ninaki's photos of Meghan.

Can Kate cope with Meghan Mania?

Harry and Meghan make their first appearance together at a royal engagement.

Meghan and Pippa look alike.

Meghan and Harry's engagement is straight from Love Actually.

Meghan's old men's magazine photoshoot resurfaces.

Replica of Meghan's ring is an instant bestseller.

Meghan merches her outfit.

Meghan's 1993 Nick at Nite appearance reserfaces.

Meghan is Best Dressed of the Week.

Meghan's resume will seriously surprise us.

Anything Kate can do, Meghan can do better: First Royal Engagement edition.

Meghan's royal style vs her old Suits style.

Meghan leaks intent to visit US and Canada after the wedding in her first official foreign royal tour.

12/2/2017: Meghan's "draw your own box" essay goes viral again, as does her old Larry King Show interview. The Markles sell more pictures of Meghan, Meghan once tried to hook up with Ashley Cole but failed, and she makes a dig at William and Kate with a story about her and Harry holding hands.

12/3/2017: Meghan merches the Botswana camp again. The Times writes about Meghan's old instagram account and Bogart and leads speculation about bridesmaids and pageboys. Et tu, Times?!

Note: December 2 is a Saturday and December 3 is a Sunday. How nice Meghan's PR gave us a break for the weekend. But don't worry...the bombardment is back!

12/4/2017: Harkle Mania continues

About Meghan's ring

Meghan once auditioned for Shakira

All about Thomas Markle

Meghan leaks her expectations of marital bliss.

Meghan leaks that Harry has asked William to his best man. (Note, in Spare, Harry argues that this leak came from Kensington Palace but the source is US Weekly...Meghan's magazine.)

Wedding dress designer predictions

Meghan Markle Under Fire: Why is the Future Princess the Subject of So Much Scrutiny? (From E News, a Meghan affiliate)

Let the Misogynistic Public Shaming of Meghan Markle Now Commence (From Vogue, part of the CondeNast empire, to which People Magazine also belongs...Meghan affiliate)

Meghan Markle the garden influencer

Meghan's photoshoot charity work in Rwanda resurfaces.

What's with Prince Harry, Meghan Markle, and Bananas? (I kid you not, that's the title of the article.)

Will Meghan's wedding be like Pippas?

Meghan and Harry love bananas some more - they merch a banana cake.

12/5/2017: New day, same shit. Senior royals attend the Diplomatic Reception at Buckingham Palace but Meghan and Harry skip it to attend the Henry van Straubenzee Memorial Fund carol concert (pssh...like they were even invited to the Diplomatic Reception in the first place).

Daily Mail promotes Suits

Meghan's style inspiration is Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy.

Meghan merches clothes from when she was a teenager.

Harry appears on Top Gear.

Meet Meghan's celebrity doppelganger.

Meghan wants to wear the Spencer tiara for the wedding.

Meghan merches her engagement ring again.

Meghan the beauty icon.

12/6/2017: (le sigh...)

Who does Meghan curtsey to?

Meghan manifests The Lover's Knots Tiara for the wedding.

Nobody told Meghan she was pretty as a kid. (But did they ask her if she was OK?)

Meghan leaks about Ninaki's betrayal.

Harry attends the London Fire Brigade Carol Service alone, and so does his ex, Cressida. Meghan is upset and leaks that she is in LA visiting her mother.

Meghan merches Strathberry.

Can Meghan rewrite the royal fairytale?

Meghan the fashion influencer

12/7/2017: Another story about Misha Nonoo being the royal matchmaker. Thomas Markle does a papwalk. Meghan merches a pilates workout and is "incredibly moved" by how much people love her.

12/8/2017: The Crown Season 2 is released on Netflix

Meghan's old home video of her driving around LA resurfaces.

How Meghan won over Harry's friends.

Doria gets papped in LA.

Meghan leaks that she and Harry are staying with William and Kate at Anmer Hall for Sandringham Christmas.

Meghan leaks that William is planning Harry's stag party.

Meghan manifests for Selena Gomez to play her on The Crown.

World Vision promotes Meghan's charity work again.

All about Nottingham Cottage and Meghan's interior design style

Kate takes style inspiration from Meghan

12/9/2017: Meghan merches her Toronto rental. Harry quits smoking.

12/10/2017:

Meghan's old Tig article waxing poetic on Ivanka Trump resurfaces.

Harry goes to Germany with friends for a hunting party.

Doria does a papwalk.

Kensington Palace announces that Meghan will attend Sandringham Christmas and that she is expected to attend the Windsor Christmas luncheon at Buckingham Palace.

Old photos from a 2009 TV appearance Meghan did resurface.

William and Harry choose a sculptor for Diana's Kensington Palace statue.

Meghan hailed as a royal fashion asset.

#brf #timeline #sussexes #pr shenanigans

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richincolor · 6 days

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We've found quite a variety of books being released today. There is romance, fantasy, music, murder, and more in the pages of these books. What will you add to your TBR pile?

Wild Dreamers by Margarita Engle Atheneum Books for Young Readers

In this stirring young adult romance from award-winning author Margarita Engle, love and conservation intertwine as two teens fight to protect wildlife and heal from their troubled pasts.

Ana and her mother have been living out of their car ever since her militant father became one of the FBI’s most wanted. Leandro has struggled with debilitating anxiety since his family fled Cuba on a perilous raft.

One moonlit night, in a wilderness park in California, Ana and Leandro meet. Their connection is instant—a shared radiance that feels both scientific and magical. Then they discover they are not a huge mountain lion stalks through the trees, one of many wild animals whose habitat has been threatened by humans.

Determined to make a difference, Ana and Leandro start a rewilding club at their school, working with scientists to build wildlife crossings that can help mountain lions find one another. If pumas can find their way to a better tomorrow, surely Ana and Leandro can too.

Saint-Seducing Gold (Forge & Fracture Saga #2) by Brittany N. Williams Amulet Books

The second book in the stunning YA historical fantasy trilogy that New York Times bestselling author Ayana Gray called “nothing short of spectacular”

There’s danger in the court of James I. Magical metal-worker Joan Sands must reforge the Pact between humanity and the Fae to stop the looming war. As violence erupts across London and the murderous spymaster Robert Cecil closes in, the Fae queen Titanea coerces Joan into joining the royal court while holding her godfather prisoner in the infamous Tower of London. Now Joan will have to survive deadly machinations both magical and mortal all while balancing the magnetic pull of her two loves—Rose and Nick—before the world as she knows it is destroyed forever.

Off With Their Heads by Zoe Hana Mikuta Disney Hyperion

Fans of Chloe Gong and Judy I. Lin will devour this Korean-inspired Alice in Wonderland retelling about two very wicked girls, forever bonded by blood and betrayal . . .

In a world where Saints are monsters and Wonderland is the dark forest where they lurk, it’s been five years since young witches and lovers Caro Rabbit and Iccadora Alice Sickle were both sentenced to that forest for a crime they didn’t commit—and four years since they shattered one another’s hearts, each willing to sacrifice the other for a chance at freedom.

Now, Caro is a successful royal Saint-harvester, living the high life in the glittering capital and pretending not to know of the twisted monster experiments that her beloved Red Queen hides deep in the bowels of the palace. But for Icca, the memory of Caro’s betrayal has hardened her from timid girl to ruthless hunter. A hunter who will stop at nothing to exact her On Caro. On the queen. On the throne itself.

But there’s a secret about the Saints the Queen’s been guarding, and a volatile magic at play even more dangerous to Icca and Caro than they are to each other…

Lush, terrifying, and uncanny, Zoe Hana Mikuta—author of Gearbreakers and Godslayers —takes a delicate knife straight through the heart of this beloved surrealist fairytale.

Kill Her Twice by Stacey Lee G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers

Los Angeles, 1932: Lulu Wong, star of the silver screen and the pride of Chinatown, has a face known to practically anyone, especially to the Chow sisters—May, Gemma, and Peony—Lulu’s former classmates and neighbors. So the girls instantly know it’s Lulu whose body they discover one morning in an out-of-the-way stable, far from the Beverly Hills mansion where she moved once her fame skyrocketed.

The sisters suspect Lulu’s death is the result of foul play, but the LAPD—known for being corrupt to the core—doesn’t seem motivated to investigate. Even worse, there are signs that point to the possibility of a police cover-up, and powerful forces in the city want to frame the killing as evidence that Chinatown is a den of iniquity and crime, even more reason it should be demolished to make room for the construction of a new railway depot, Union Station.

Worried that neither the police nor the papers will treat a Chinese girl fairly—no matter how famous and wealthy—the sisters set out to solve their friend’s murder themselves, and maybe save their neighborhood in the bargain. But with Lulu’s killer still on the loose, the girls’ investigation just might put them square in the crosshairs of a coldblooded murderer.

Punk Rock Karaoke by Bianca Xunise Viking Books for Young Readers

When life gives you guitars, smash them!

School is out for summer and Ariel Grace Jones is determined to make it one for the books! Together with their bestie bandmates, Michele and Gael, Ariel believes they’re destined to break into the music industry and out of Chicago’s Southside by singing lead in their garage punk band, Baby Hares.

But before Baby Hares can officially get into the groove, the realities of post grad life start to weigh on this crew of misfits. Ari begins to worry that it’s time to pull the plug on their dreams of making it big.

Just when all hope feels lost, a fellow punk and local icon takes an interest in their talent. It seems like he might be the only one Ariel can rely on as frustrations between bandmates reach at an all-time high.

Punk Rock Karaoke is a coming-of-age tale that draws upon the explosive joy of the underground scene, while raising questions about authenticity, the importance of community and what it means to succeed on your own terms.

Song of the Six Realms by Judy I. Lin Feiwel & Friends

Xue, a talented young musician, has no past and probably no future. Orphaned at a young age, her kindly poet uncle took her in and arranged for an apprenticeship at one of the most esteemed entertainment houses in the kingdom. She doesn’t remember much from before entering the House of Flowing Water, and when her uncle is suddenly killed in a bandit attack, she is devastated to lose her last connection to a life outside of her indenture contract.

With no family and no patron, Xue is facing the possibility of a lifetime of servitude playing the qin for nobles that praise her talent with one breath and sneer at her lowly social status with the next. Then one night she is unexpectedly called to the garden to put on a private performance for the enigmatic Duke Meng. The young man is strangely kind and awkward for nobility, and surprises Xue further with an irresistible offer: serve as a musician in residence at his manor for one year, and he’ll set her free of her indenture.

But the Duke’s motives become increasingly more suspect when he and Xue barely survive an attack by a nightmarish monster, and when he whisks her away to his estate, she discovers he’s not just some country noble: He’s the Duke of Dreams, one of the divine rulers of the Celestial Realm. There she learns the Six Realms are on the brink of disaster, and incursions by demonic beasts are growing more frequent.

The Duke needs Xue’s help to unlock memories from her past that could hold the answers to how to stop the impending war… but first Xue will need to survive being the target of every monster and deity in the Six Realms.

Blood Justice (Blood Debts #2) by Terry J. Benton-Walker Tor Teen

Cristina and Clement Trudeau have conjured the impossible: justice.

They took back their family’s stolen throne to lead New Orleans’ magical community into the brighter future they all deserve.

But when Cris and Clem restored their family power, Valentina Savant lost everything. Her beloved grandparents are gone and her sovereignty has been revoked—she will never be Queen. Unless, of course, someone dethrones the Trudeaus again. And lucky for her, she’s not the only one trying to take them down.

Cris and Clem have enemies coming at them from all directions: Hateful anti-magic protesters sabotage their reign at every turn. A ruthless detective with a personal vendetta against magical crime is hot on their tail just as Cris has discovered her thirst for revenge. And a brutal god, hunting from the shadows, is summoned by the very power Clem needs to protect the boy he loves.

Cris’s hunger for vengeance and Clem’s desire for love could prove to be their family’s downfall, all while new murders, shocking disappearances, and impossible alliances are changing the game forever.

Welcome back to New Orleans, where gods walk among us and justice isn’t served, it’s taken.

#new releases #young adult books #ya lit

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avacoleman · 3 months

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when the lights go out || a firstprince fic

summary: Henry Fox’s career is in crisis and his dating life isn’t faring much better either. After a chance encounter with a charming man becomes memorable for all the wrong reasons, Henry throws himself into his next assignment: writing the memoir of a beloved C-list actor. Henry, however, knows Alex best for the role he played as his random, awkward one-night stand. Henry enters their professional partnership keen on keeping their relationship just that. But after Henry confesses that their hookup was less than spectacular, Alex concots an arrangement that Henry is unable to resist. In addition to ghostwriting Alex’s life story, Henry will teach him a thing or two about satisfying a man. As they spend months out on the road together, they must decide if the connection between them is yet another story worth telling.

@strandtk my beloved. this one is for you 💜💕

chapter 1/8 || rated e || read on ao3 *updates every tues. and fri. *

I'm writing it down on the paper Making a record, like an archive of me and you So when we're reading it later, It'll all come back brand new

New York, NY

Henry marvels at the universe’s capacity for pettiness as he sits at the bar with his signed copy of a book he’s written that doesn’t actually bear his name

He downs the rest of his gin and tonic, his face tightening slightly at the burn of the alcohol coating his throat. He licks his lips, savors the last taste of his drink, and tries to map out in his mind where to go next.

In every sense, he thinks belatedly. His career, this specific night, it all seems to be up in the air and he worries about where he’ll be when it all comes crashing down over him.

Henry lets out a sigh, his index finger tracing the circle of the glass’s rim absentmindedly as he stares at the book he just purchased at the signing nearby.

The front cover seems to mock him. He stares at the wide grin of the latest internet gaming sensation with a rabid fanbase clamoring to have his story immortalized in written word. It’s the latest in a recent string of ghostwritten works Henry has penned that have sucked his soul more than nourishing it.

This wasn’t at all the future he imagined for himself when he graduated from university a few years ago with a degree in creative writing, ready to take on the world.

He glares back at the book, almost in defiance, before grimacing.

“Whatever it is you're reading, let me make a note not to add it to my TBR list. If it’s got you looking like that, I should steer clear at all costs,” a voice says to the left of him.

Given the relative emptiness of the bar and the specificity of the words, Henry knows this statement can only be directed at him.

He bites back saying that technically it’s his book, if only just not his life story. The NDA was ironclad, and spilling his secrets to a perfect stranger while in a slightly buzzed state is hardly the big finish to his career that he had in mind.

He turns toward the voice and startles for a moment, struck by just how good-looking the man seated two stools away is. He catalogs details of his new barmate: a mess of unruly curls, wire-framed glasses, and a frenetic energy that both intrigues Henry and puts him on edge. It crackles in the very air, making Henry instantly disarmed.

But it’s the man’s mouth above all else that Henry can’t seem to tear his gaze away from for more than a few seconds at a time, especially as the stranger smirks as if they’re old friends reuniting at random.

That most certainly is not the case.

Henry knows for a fact he’s never seen this man before. He’s got the kind of face and aura that no one would be unable to recall at once, the kind a person would never be able to forget.

“It’s expected to be an instant bestseller, but we’ll just have to wait and see the list next week,” Henry says, finally finding his voice.

The man lifts his brows, conceding the point. “I’ll put a pin in it for now, then, while the jury’s still out.”

Henry smiles softly and pushes the book aside, ready—in every measure—to be done thinking about the book and talking about it.

He’d much rather set his focus on this man he’s somehow had the fortune of ensnaring in conversation.

Henry perks up a little in his seat. He notices a lanyard around the man’s neck and points it out.

“I take it you’re visiting,” he says, gesturing to the lanyard that disappears under his jacket.

The man places a hand to his sternum, where the corresponding badge must be tucked away.

“Yeah, I’m here on business. I had an all-day convention, but this is actually my last night before I head back home tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Henry says, surprising himself by how this life update of a man he’s only just met hits him.

“You sound disappointed,” the stranger says, that knowing smile painting his lips yet again. Henry thinks it must be something of a trademark for this man. He can only imagine how many people he’s been able to lure in because of it, perhaps without even trying.

“I’m…I don’t know the word for it. Perhaps disappointed will have to suffice.”

The stranger’s face grows a bit serious. He moves over one stool, then the other, bringing them just that much closer.

Henry, for his sake, fiddles with his empty glass to keep himself busy. It strikes him then just how backwards this conversation has been so far.

“I’m Henry. And you are?” he asks, extending a hand.

It feels like such an old-fashioned, antiquated thing to do. He’s not at all surprised by the man’s hesitancy, but an almost skeptical look shimmers in the stranger’s eyes for a beat before he takes hold of Henry’s hand and shakes it.

“Javier,” the man supplies before letting go.

Something settles in Henry’s chest at finally having a name to put to this face he wants to see more of— and perhaps do other things with.

“Javier,” Henry repeats. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Javier smiles warmly at him, and Henry cannot believe how much a small thing like this is making his heart race. But this connection he feels to this man is so unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Certainly, he’s come across attractive people over the years, but there’s some kind of familiarity with Javier, an ease, that makes this feel right.

They pass some time chatting about surface-level things, cracking jokes over two more rounds of their respective drinks. Henry learns that Javier is from Texas and works in sales. He, in turn, reveals the not-so-secret fact that he’s from England, but also that he’s been living here for six years after coming to the States post-university and is a writer. Conversation seems to flow as easily between them as liquor does into a shot glass.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Javier asks after about forty minutes, abruptly curtailing their conversation.

Henry opens and closes his mouth, taken aback by Javier’s forwardness and intrigued all the same.

“I know, I know, that sounds like a total pickup line, but I truly do want to know if you’d like to leave this place and go on a mini-quest with me to find some other spot that serves real food. The kitchen’s closed here, which sucks for me, and my sad empty stomach.”

He rakes a hand through his hair before dropping it into his lap.

“I’ve had a crazy long day, and the thought of stale pretzels or peanuts that grubby, drunken hands have touched all night is not cutting it for dinner,” he continues, jutting his thumb towards an admittedly gross-looking bowl of bar snacks.

Henry’s nose scrunches a bit before he looks back at Javier.

“You might find yourself growing bored of me before long. Maybe my charm only exists within the confines of this establishment.”

Javier rests his arm on the bar, leaning his head against his propped-up hand.

“Did someone put a curse on you?” Javier jokes. “Somehow, I sincerely doubt that, but I’d be willing to take the risk. And besides, I think we could find plenty of ways to keep the night from getting dull.”

Javier grimaces and puts his hand to his forehead before running it down the length of his face and dropping it.

“Jesus, I really need to get better at not sounding like I’m trying to make a pass at you.”

Feeling a bit bold, Henry lets out a contemplative sound.

“That’s a pity,” he says, continuing to muster up the kind of confidence he doesn’t typically have. “It was actually working for you.”

Javier swallows hard, his gaze unmistakably drifting from Henry’s eyes to his lips and back again. Henry smirks and breaks away, reaching for his wallet and setting down a few bills to cover his drinks for the night. Javier flags down the bartender and closes out his tab.

“Now, what was this about an adventure?” Henry says as he gets off the stool and slips his jacket back on, hooking his tote bag on his shoulder. He crams the godforsaken book inside. Though, now that it’s responsible for striking up a conversation with this handsome man, he supposes he could be a bit nicer to the thing.

He leads Javier out of the bar, still clutching onto his false bravado. This is so unlike him, but for tonight, he figures he can be someone else.

“You’re the expert of this area,” Javier says. “What do you recommend?”

Henry thinks on it for a moment.

“Well, we’re in New York. Pizza seems like the most logical option, if not stereotypical,” he muses.

Javier laughs. “It’d be quick, hot, and good, so I’m not complaining.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.”

Javier barks out a surprised laugh and playfully strikes Henry’s arm.

“Oh, you're trouble. A damn deadly combination.”

“And what would that be?” Henry asks, lifting a brow.

“Funny, sharp, and handsome. One might call that being greedy. Save some for the rest of us, sweetheart.”

Henry scoffs as they walk down the street, two women around their age doing a double take at Javier as they go. They quickly turn to each other, talking fast.

“Yeah…I don’t quite believe you’re exactly hurting in that department yourself.”

Javier looks a bit tense, but he quickly relaxes and smiles. “Guess it all depends.”

Henry takes them to one of his favorite pizza shops, a real hole-in-the-wall spot. In Henry’s experience, he finds places like these have the best meals.

They order and grab a table near the back. The bright fluorescent lights are such a contrast to the dimly lit bar, and it only serves to highlight just how good-looking Javier truly is. Now that they’re seated, Henry can’t seem to get his fill of looking at him.

He’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact that Javier can’t stop looking at him either. It makes Henry suddenly very aware of himself, curious what it is that Javier sees when he looks at him.

As they eat, they continue talking, their legs somehow touching under the table, though neither pulls away. Henry isn’t sure who even initiated it, though he supposes it’s very likely they simply just gravitated towards each other. In all fairness, that seems to be the theme of the night with them, and Henry prays that will continue carrying over.

By the time they’re finished, Henry feels a sinking weight in his chest, knowing they’ll eventually have to call it a night and go their separate ways. He practically drags his feet as they leave.

Henry isn’t walking anywhere in particular, but he assumes it must be in the right direction, as Javier doesn’t protest. He thinks perhaps he should get the guy’s phone number or, at the very least, a social media handle, but to do so would feel like putting a definitive end to the night.

Their arms brush on every other step, and a light rain begins to fall. Henry ducks under an awning of a closed store. Javier leans against the grate on his shoulder.

In the light of the neon signs glowing from the storefront next door, Javier is backlit and practically glowing.

“Would I be completely overstepping here by saying that I really want to kiss you right now? That I’ve kinda been wanting to since the very second I saw you come into the bar?” Javier says quietly, his eyes latched onto Henry’s.

This shouldn’t be coming as a surprise, given how quickly Javier cozied up to him earlier. But to hear it so plainly like this is a bit jarring all the same.

“I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” Henry blurts out awkwardly. Why these words have decided to fly out of his mouth at this exact moment, he’ll never understand.

Javier’s eyes widen, suddenly looking unsure of himself.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I had a really great night either way. I shouldn’t have pressed it. I’m sorry.”

Henry reaches out a hand without thinking about it and gently grabs Javier’s jacket.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to. I’m merely highlighting the fact that it’s uncommon for me, and yet, with you, I…,” he trails off, shaking his head. “This is the very last thing I could have seen for myself tonight, but I’d be lying if I said I took issue with how it’s all playing out.”

Javier smiles up at him, swaying slightly as he rocks on his heels.

“I’m glad I could be a happy surprise.”

Henry inches closer, still maintaining his grip. It makes Javier stop moving at once.

“Hopefully, the surprises don’t end here,” Henry says, the words coming out almost like a question as his eyes lock onto the other man’s.

Javier tips his chin up, and Henry takes the leap, closing the small distance between them and pressing his mouth to Javier’s.

The man’s lips are soft and warm, inviting even in the tender way he kisses Henry. He’d been expecting a rushed, heated kiss, given the kindling that’s been burning between them all night, but Henry appreciates this speed even more.

He likes the way Javier takes his time, as if this night is somehow infinite. It makes Henry slow down and truly relish in the moment too.

For all his shortcomings, in the here and now, Henry’s finally managing to get something right.

Javier deepens the kiss, his left hand cupping Henry’s cheek, his body pressed flush against him.

They may be on a busy city street, but as far as Henry is concerned, no one and nothing else exists.

He’s never had a first kiss with someone like this before. It’s as if they’re both relying on each other for sustenance, as if they’re the air keeping the other alive.

When they pull apart, Javier’s eyes are still closed for a moment before he looks at Henry and speaks.

“I don’t want to say goodnight to you.”

Going back to a hotel with a guy he doesn’t know, not even his last name or whatever company he works for that brought him to the city in the first place, is so out of the realm of his typical life.

But looking into Javier’s soft eyes now, he can’t imagine he’d be put in any peril at his hands.

“How far is your hotel from here?” he asks.

Javier smiles a little.

“A few blocks over.”

Just a few city streets separate him from getting his hands on Javier in earnest. A thrill runs up the length of his spine at the thought.

“Let’s go there then.”

Javier’s smile grows, and he pecks Henry’s lips once before leading the way back to his hotel. They pass by a 24-hour pharmacy, and Javier points it out, veering toward the entrance.

“Pit stop. I fully did not expect to be hooking up with anyone on this trip, so we need supplies.”

Henry’s glad for the man’s foresight and pulls open the door for him before going inside, too.

A quick trip to aisle seven and a glorious option for self-checkout gets them back en route to Javier’s hotel.

Henry lets out a low whistle as they approach.

“Impressive,” he says.

Javier rubs the back of his neck. “My company put us up nicely,” is all he says as they head in.

The lobby, with its pristine floor and gold-plated fixtures, is quiet at this hour. The only real sound is their footfalls as they cross the lobby and head toward the bank of elevators.

As they step inside, Henry feels his body craving Javier’s touch at once.

In such a confined space, the urge to push Javier up against the wall is almost overwhelming but Henry fights it off. He’s glad for it, too, when they hear a voice call.

“Hold it, please.”

Javier quickly throws out his arm to keep the elevator doors from closing as Henry pushes the doors open button.

An older woman comes into view a few seconds later. She looks up at them and smiles warmly.

“Aren’t you two just the sweetest? Thank you,” she says.

Javier and Henry smile back at her before settling in again.

“What floor?” Henry asks her.

“Eight, thanks.”

He pushes for her floor, and as the elevator begins to ascend, Henry feels his eagerness climbing, too.

Javier is close enough for him to smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the rain from earlier, making Henry practically ache with want.

He steals a glance at Javier, but the man is staring straight ahead. It at least gives Henry a look at his gorgeous profile before he realizes belatedly that the elevator doors are reflective, and Javier can no doubt see Henry shamelessly gawking at him.

One look at the doors tells him as much as Javier smirks at him. What’s more, the woman seems to notice, too, as she smiles knowingly at him before dropping her gaze.

Henry suddenly becomes very aware of the pharmacy bag in his hands.

Could she possibly know what’s within the confines of it? Suddenly, it feels as if he has a giant neon sign flashing above his head, decrying that he’s about to get laid tonight.

He doesn’t have much time to truly dwell on it as the elevator stops on the eighth floor and the doors open. She wishes them a good evening.

“Have a nice night, ma’am,” Javier says as the woman leaves, and there’s an unexpected faint twang to the last word, an echo of his Texan roots sneaking out. Henry finds it sweet.

As the doors close, Henry lets out a breath when the elevator resumes its journey to the fourteenth floor. Javier encroaches his space suddenly, pinning his hips against Henry’s. He can feel how hard Javier is— a clear promise of what’s waiting for him in just a few moments.

Henry gets a hand in Javier’s rain-slicked hair and kisses him hard as they make their way to the fourteenth floor. He’s breathless by the time the doors open and they get out.

Javier takes a hold of his hand as he leads them to his room. Henry can’t stop himself. He kisses the man again, his back against the door as Javier fumbles with the keycard.

The door gives way, and they go stumbling over the threshold, laughing as they hold onto each other for balance. Henry very nearly loses his footing, but Javier catches him around the waist and keeps him upright.

They hastily slip off their jackets at the door, kicking off their shoes as well. In their haste, Javier’s head clunks back against the wall, and Henry trips over one of their shoes in the dark, tweaking his ankle a little. There’s a moment where Javier gets tangled in his lanyard as Henry tries to help him remove it.

All their smoothness and finesse from their kiss outside has seemingly fallen by the wayside.

“Maybe the room is cursed,” Javier muses, rubbing the back of his head.

“And you laughed off my warning at the bar,” Henry replies. “Maybe kissing each other is the antidote?” he continues, eager to feel Javier’s mouth on his again.

“Totally only kissing you now for research purposes and nothing more.”

“I can respect that. Purely academic, yes,” Henry echoes right before Javier gets him up against the nearest wall, grabbing a fistful of Henry’s shirt.

Henry kisses him deeply, his tongue slipping into Javier’s mouth as the man’s lips part. His hips jerk forward, and he whimpers feeling Javier’s cock against his hip.

One-night stands have never been Henry’s forte. But with such a tempting offer before him, this night from hell is taking a turn.

He walks them towards the bed and falls on top of Javier as the man tips backwards onto the mattress. They shift to the top of the bed, and Javier flips them over. Henry’s hands instantly fly above his head, and Javier takes it as the perfect opportunity to get his shirt off. Henry has zero qualms.

Javier turns on the bedside lamp, and his eyes seem to drink in every facet of Henry in the soft light. Javier reaches out a hand for a second before retracting it. Henry smiles reassuringly and takes hold of the man’s hand, guiding it to his chest.

Javier sucks in a breath, his fingers splayed against Henry’s left pec before gently sliding down his torso, along his abdomen.

“Shit,” Javier says softly under his breath as he stares.

“Why thank you,” Henry muses.

Javier laughs and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get cocky, sweetheart,” Javier quips, leaning over him.

Henry laughs but stops as he notices Javier’s chain. He hadn’t seen it earlier, the piece of jewelry once buried under layers of clothes, but it fascinates Henry now.

Henry toys idly with the key that dangles from Javier’s neck, his fingers slipping from the thin silver chain to the jagged peaks and valleys of the key itself.

“A piece of home,” the man says, answering the question Henry wasn’t sure he had a right to ask.

His eyes flicker back up to Javier’s face, their eyes locking as he continues to fiddle with the key.

“You travel so often that you require a keepsake?” Henry asks, feeling emboldened to do so.

Javier smiles, lips skewing to the left.

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s stupid, but it helps me feel grounded.”

It’s a candid statement, a level of sentimentality Henry wasn’t expecting but appreciates all the same.

There’s hardly much from his life back in England that he cares to hold on to, but with an entire ocean separating him from home, he can understand Javier’s token.

“It’s not stupid at all,” he assures. “Quite the opposite.”

Something changes in Javier’s eyes, though Henry can’t exactly name it. For a fleeting moment, he wishes he knew this man well enough to gauge his thoughts, to even be free enough to ask for clarity. But he swallows down the question and simply tugs Javier closer to him, their lips meeting in the center of the space between them.

Henry can feel the slight tremble in the other man's body against his. He finds it endearing and—admittedly— a bit of an ego booster. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt someone’s anticipation for him as a palpable thing. It only makes Henry all the more eager to make this night a good one— for the both of them.

Javier kisses him deeply, enough to steal the air from his lungs and make his mind go quiet in a way it hasn’t been able to in weeks. He pours back into Javier, giving just as good as the man gives to him.

He craves more, and his curious hands begin to wander, first at the small of Javier’s back, silently guiding the man to press further against him.

A moan fills the room, and Henry isn’t sure which one of them is responsible for the sound, but it hardly matters. Encouraged, Henry slips a hand under the hem of Javier’s shirt and is instantly rewarded with the feel of smooth skin and toned muscles beneath his fingertips.

He nips gently at Javier’s bottom lip and tugs, their kiss growing rougher, more carnal as their patience wanes, and he clamors to pull off Javier’s shirt.

Javier looks down at him, a few rogue curls sweeping against his forehead, his brows furrowed almost pensively.

Henry takes the opportunity to rein himself in, to get control of his breathing. The task becomes a bit difficult again as Javier runs a slow hand up from his stomach to his chest and settles at the base of his neck, his thumb softly brushing his throat.

Javier leans into him and kisses the journey his hand made in reverse, his mouth making its way from Henry’s neck to his collarbone, to his chest, to his abs. His breath is warm against Henry’s stomach as he exhales just above the waistband of Henry’s jeans.

Henry’s own breathing is heavy, though he doubts anyone would be able to blame him. His skin is still buzzing in every place Javier’s lips landed, and his cock is straining in anticipation of learning his touch too.

“Is it cool if I…,” Javier trails off, and sincerely, from the bottom of his heart, Henry would accept any conclusion for the question Javier doesn’t even ask.

He nods, not trusting himself not to all-out beg for whatever this man has in mind.

Javier’s cheeks seem to flush a little as he nods once, almost as if steeling himself, and undoes Henry’s jeans. There’s something vaguely bashful about it, but in the next breath, Javier’s eyes are focused like a man on a mission.

Needless to say, this bodes well in Henry’s mind. He gets comfortable still against the bed as Javier undresses him completely. He figures he should probably feel awkward being the only naked one now, but as Javier’s gaze roams his body in its entirety with a look of sheer want and hunger, being fully on display like this hardly seems like anything to feel insecure about.

“It’s actually kinda ridiculous how attractive you are,” Javier says.

Henry laughs. “High praise coming from you.”

Javier continues staring at him, his eyes jumping to different places on his body. Yet still, his hands remain at his sides.

“You’ve got me here. You can, in fact, touch me,” Henry prompts.

Javier’s face reddens ever so slightly.

“Yeah, for sure. Totally,” he murmurs.

Henry’s brows furrow. For all his smoothness this evening, Javier seems to be stumbling, his footing no longer secure now that things are well and truly underway.

He takes a tentative hold of Henry’s cock, his eyes widening. He lets go quickly before mumbling an apology. He clears his throat and touches him again, his back ramrod straight.

“Everything okay?” Henry asks after a moment when Javier’s hand trembles a bit but doesn’t move.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

Javier smiles unconvincingly but seems to get back to himself as he starts to stroke Henry.

It’s stiff and mechanical, with awkward fits and starts. Henry shifts against the mattress in an attempt to get a new angle. But he quickly discerns it’s not his placement on the bed that’s making this handjob unenjoyable.

Javier is simply ill-equipped to give one.

“Oh my god,” Henry mutters under his breath.

“You like that, hm?” Javier says, completely misinterpreting his words.

There’s no finesse to his movements; it’s all rudimentary at best.

Henry kisses him, and it’s enough to get Javier to stop his movements.

“I think I’m ready for more,” he says. Henry moves away then and roots around for their purchases.

He takes out the lube and box of condoms, handing the bottle over to Javier.

“I want you to open me up.”

A muscle in Javier’s jaw flexes as he accepts the bottle, their fingertips brushing. It sends a tingle of excitement through Henry, knowing he’ll get to feel them elsewhere in a few moments’ time.

“Cool, yeah,” Javier says, snapping open the bottle. He fumbles with it, and it drops to the bed. He quickly picks it up and squeezes out an obscene amount of liquid.

Henry doesn’t miss the way Javier’s hand shakes a little. He’s about to ask once more if the man is okay before Javier starts coating his entrance.

He squeezes more lube onto his fingers and rubs against Henry’s hole. Henry tries to get his body to relax, but he can practically feel himself leaking lube at this point. He supposes it’s better than the alternative of not having enough lubrication to ease him open, but nothing about this feels particularly sexy.

After a few minutes, Javier works a finger into him. Henry thinks finally, they’ll begin to get somewhere, but Javier fingers him in the most literal, basic sense of the action. His finger pumps in, slips out, then dips back in to repeat it all over again. There’s nothing skilled about it, no switch up even as he adds another finger. It doesn’t feel like he’s even trying to stimulate him by finding his prostate. By the time Javier adds a third finger, it’s clear he’s just completely neglected the idea or simply never had it to begin with.

“We’re good now,” Henry cuts in, keen to put an end to this horrendous fingering.

Javier nods and grabs a condom from the box Henry unearthed before and works quickly to get it onto himself.

Henry sighs and tries to clear his mind and stay optimistic. Maybe this time around, the third time will be the charm, and they’ll manage to get back in sync with each other.

Javier adds even more lube to Henry’s entrance, and at this point, the mental image of what the sheets must look like almost makes Henry burst out laughing. He bites his bottom lip, and above him, Javier does the same as he coats his cock, giving himself a few quick strokes.

Javier grips Henry’s hips as he aligns himself.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

Henry nods, holding onto Javier in turn. He breaks eye contact, staring at a point on the wall just past Javier’s ear as the man slowly enters him.

Javier shudders, and Henry can admit the slide of the man’s cock inside him feels good. It’s been far too long since he’s been intimate with someone, and Henry can’t help but cling to the familiarity of being physical like this.

He clutches Javier’s shoulders and brings them closer together. Javier’s breath catches, and he stays frozen for a moment. Henry rolls his hips forward, silently letting Javier know it’s okay to proceed.

Much like with his fingering, Javier’s thrusts leave much to be desired. Henry wonders if perhaps he might be nitpicking, but this all falls so flat. He tries to get a rhythm going for them, but it’s as if they’re both tuned into different frequencies, their bodies out of step as they move to different beats.

Above him, Javier moans, crashing their hips together.

“You feel so good,” he rasps.

Henry contemplates the ways it’s possible for two people to be experiencing the same moment but have such contrasting points of view.

It’s not that Javier necessarily feels bad. Objectively speaking, his cock fills him up nicely. It’s just that it doesn’t seem like Javier really knows how to use it fully to his advantage. A part of Henry thinks he should speak up and give some tips, but the thought of making this even more awkward keeps him quiet. He opts instead to make some convincing noises here and there.

“I’m so close,” Javier pants.

That makes one of us, Henry thinks tersely as he bucks forward, still holding out some small sliver of hope that Javier will find his groove.

Any potential for that is dashed as Javier finishes with a shudder, his breath raspy in his ear, moaning Henry’s name. Javier takes a few steady breaths before pulling out.

Henry doesn’t spare a moment in pulling the covers over himself, disguising the fact that he didn’t actually reach his end as Javier disposes of the condom and settles into bed again.

Beside him, Javier is looking up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looks thoroughly satisfied, and, if nothing else, Henry is glad to see he actually enjoyed himself.

“Are you okay?” Javier asks, turning suddenly on his side, searching Henry’s eyes. He looks so expectant, his brown eyes looking more like a puppy dog’s, and Henry sees very little point in voicing the truth but he doubts he can convincingly manage a lie.

He splits the difference and smiles, making a noncommittal sound before leaning in and kissing Javier.

This the man is spectacular at, and Henry clings to that to redeem the night. He gets lost in their kiss as best he can, but flashes of their encounter just moments ago keep springing to mind, shattering the illusion.

Javier pulls away first, stifling a yawn.

“Sorry. It really has been a day,” he says.

Henry shakes his head.

“It’s alright. You should get some sleep.”

Javier’s eyes look a bit unfocused as fatigue seeps in further.

“Night, Henry,” he says softly, pressing his lips to Henry’s one more time before closing his eyes.

His face is instantly softer with sleep, and the guilt that trickles throughout Henry for the fact that he cannot stay a moment longer than necessary is immediate.

Henry bides his time, waiting until Javier is in a deep sleep before gingerly climbing out of bed, careful not to jostle it and run the risk of Javier waking to find him scampering off.

When he’s on two feet again, Henry quickly moves about the room, retrieving his clothes and redressing.

He looks one last time at the bed and Javier’s sleeping figure.

This is for the best, he reasons, even as guilt taps on his shoulder once more.

He’s careful in closing the door, turning the handle all the way as he pulls it in behind him. It closes with a quiet click, and Henry holds his breath as he listens for any sounds on the other side of the door. After a few seconds, he feels assured that he’s in the clear.

It would be his luck to find a guy as interesting and attractive as Javier on a night like this, only for it not to end in fireworks but to go up in flames.

The universe truly has a vendetta against him, certain to get in one last laugh at his expense.

~*~*~

Pez HELLO?! Where is the confirmation you haven’t been beamed up to outer space?

Pez If the aliens are sexy then I suppose I can’t hold it against you for your silence

Pez Send proof of life or I am calling the authorities

Pez Drink lots of water, my love xoxo

Henry

Negative on the sexy aliens. However, I must confess to making contact with a very attractive man. Does that constitute as out of this world enough for you?

Henry sees three dots appear and vanish for the briefest of seconds before an incoming call from his roommate flashes across his screen instead.

He sighs, knowing full well he should have seen this coming.

He accepts the call and before he can open his mouth to greet his best friend, Pez is firing on all cylinders.

“I want a detailed recap of your night at once or, so help me, God, I will track you down and claw it out of you.”

“Easy now. No need for threats I know you’d make good on,” Henry says, heading into the kitchen.

He pulls down a mug and plucks a tea bag from the canister on the counter. He drops it inside of the mug.

“My night was…interesting,” he says, moving next to the kettle and adding water.

Pez makes a perplexed sound over the line, not that Henry can blame him.

“You don’t sound like a man whose life has been altered by mind-blowing sex despite the description of this mystery man. What exactly happened?”

Henry shudders a bit as the memory of Javier’s hotel room comes to mind. He can still feel the excessive amount of lube even though he’d showered thoroughly the second he got home.

He recaps the night just as Pez demanded while he makes his tea, not skimping on all the details even as his face burns as he recounts it all. Pez is aghast, gasping and shrieking right on cue as Henry describes the night and his early morning escape.

“Anyway, I still feel rather guilty for leaving while he was sleeping, but I couldn’t bear the thought of having to talk about it.”

“You worry too much. It was a one night stand. Staying the night is not customary nor is it mandatory. You got in, you got out. That’s standard protocol for an evening such as this. Especially as this handsome devil turned out to be a dud.”

Henry frowns. “Still. Some kind of acknowledgment would have been the decent, proper thing to do. I hope I didn’t offend him.”

Pez tuts twice.

“My darling Hazza, life is too short to waste it dwelling on mediocre hookups. All the same, I must say I’m particularly proud of you, young chap! Sowing your wild oats without much abandon! You’re like a brand new man. My little Henry, all grown up right before my very eyes.”

“Have I expressed lately just how much I loathe you?”

“Sweetie, don’t lie. It’s most unbecoming.”

Henry rolls his eyes and smiles to himself as he sets his mug to his lips and drinks. His phone buzzes and Henry pulls it away to see another call coming in from his agent.

“I’ve got to run. Shaan is ringing me, but I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Pez bids him farewell and Henry quickly switches over.

“Henry,” Shaan greets. “Are you busy today? Would you be free for lunch?”

“How sweet. Are you thinking about buying me a meal?” Henry muses.

He can practically hear Shaan’s eyes rolling.

“Hardly, but there are some people who are interested in doing such. An American actor just got acquired for his autobiography and he and his team responded quite well to your samples. They’d like to meet with you today.”

Henry freezes, surprised by the news.

“Wait, seriously?”

“He and his manager are leaving this afternoon, but they’d love to meet you if you’re able to make it for lunch. It’s a bit of a time crunch here.”

Henry eyes the clock. His afternoon is in fact free; he can certainly make the meeting but the question still remains, does he even want to? Last night’s borderline career crisis is still top of mind. He’d been so ready at the bar last night to throw it all away, to give up ghostwriting, to get back to telling his own stories instead of being the unknown voice behind others.

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose.

“If I go, it’s not a commitment, right?”

“It’s just an inquiry, a get-to-know-you for everyone.” Shaan pauses. “Is everything alright with you? I know things with that gamer guy didn’t go over so well, but from the pitch, it truly sounds like these guys are going to give you true access to Alex. They want this to be extremely collaborative.”

Henry purses his lips and stands up straighter.

“Alex. That’s the actor then?”

“Yes, Alex Claremont-Diaz. He was on that teen vampire show, I’m completely blanking on the name right now. The vampire craze a few years back really was hard to keep track of. Anyway, he’s been in a few made-for-TV movies and has made some guest appearances over the years. His fans love him. I think this could be a great opportunity for you and what they’re offering is pretty substantial. They’re putting their weight behind this one in a big way.”

Despite the man’s resumé, Henry hasn’t the foggiest idea who the guy is, but he figures it’s a better alternative than knowing him for negative reasons.

“Would you be up for taking the meeting?” Shaan asks. Henry can hear a bit of strain in his voice.

There’s no harm in at least going, Henry thinks.

“Of course, yes. Just text me the details and I’ll be there. Thanks for setting this up, Shaan. Sincerely, I appreciate it.”

He hangs up and looks around his kitchen, his mind racing. In an ideal world, he would do his due diligence and look up this actor and make sure he’s the kind of person he’d even want to get to know, let alone invoke on the page.

Instead, he’s only able to make a mad dash for another shower and throw together a presentable outfit before heading out the door. He checks the text that had come in from Shaan while he was getting ready to get the meeting details.

He makes his way into Manhattan and to the restaurant, giving the name Shaan told him the reservation was under, Zahra Bankston.

He’s led through the tastefully decorated restaurant and brought to a table with a woman with a no nonsense expression as she types furiously on her phone and a man who makes Henry believe he’s having either a stroke or some kind of psychotic break.

Though his head is down perusing the menu, it was only a few hours ago that Henry had a view like this: that head between his legs trying in vain to make him come.

There’s only a split second before the man looks up, confirming what Henry already knew. All the same, it still feels like a dagger to the heart seeing that face again.

“Ah, you must be Henry,” Zahra greets him, rising from her seat. “Thanks so much for squeezing in this meeting. But with us in town, it would have been crazy not to at least try getting some time together.”

Henry, to his credit, manages to function enough to smile and answer back. From the corner of his eye, he can see Javier—Alex—avoid looking at him and taking a sip from his glass.

“My pleasure, really. I’m glad I could come.”

Alex chokes on his water, quickly patting his chest twice and coughing.

Zahra looks over at him, a sharp perfectly groomed brow lifting.

Alex holds up a hand and gestures for them to continue.

Henry wonders how long it’ll take for Alex to actually utter a word.

“Your samples were incredible and that’s not me blowing smoke up your ass. You’ve got such a range. We’d love to see what you could do with Alex.”

Henry looks over at the man just then and their eyes meet.

Unlike last night, there are no glasses obscuring Alex’s face. He looks different somehow in the daylight, his features sharper– every bit the celebrity he’s now been revealed to be. Even how he carries himself is different. Henry chalks it up to Alex now having an air of professionalism. Last night as Javier, he didn’t have to be someone embarking on a meeting. He could let his guard down and be himself freely, even with a fake name and fabricated backstory.

Henry looks away and tries to get his head on straight, to exist right here at this table rather than being pulled back to retrace last night.

Zahra’s phone vibrates on the table, rattling her cutlery. She grabs it and looks at the screen, sighing.

“Crap, sorry. I have to take this,” Zahra says impatiently, removing her cloth napkin from her lap and putting it on the table before she bustles off.

Without her, Henry feels completely unmoored and the shockwaves of seeing the man next to him again shake him once more.

“Okay, well, this is awkward,” Alex says flatly.

He’d been so quiet this whole time, Henry was starting to think he’d lost his voice in the hours that separated their run ins.

“Understatement of the century. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Alex laughs. “Yeah, I kinda got that impression when I woke up alone.”

He says it lightly, but his words still land like punches to the gut.

Henry frowns. “I’m sorry. Everything last night…going back to your room, I told you, that’s not really me. You weren’t actually you either though. Here on business? Working in sales?”

Alex’s brows furrow. “I couldn’t be. Hell, I didn’t know if you might’ve known who I was or not. It was a risk so, yeah, I fibbed a little.”

“You fibbed a lot, Javier.”

Alex’s face is unreadable and Henry thinks perhaps he’s taken this a step too far.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Alex waves him off. “I probably deserved that, but for different reasons, I couldn’t be honest. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Henry imagines himself in Alex’s shoes, a man with a certain level of public notoriety. He can picture how difficult it might be to forge genuine connections with people when there’s an underlying fear that it’s merely seen as an opportunity for a quick fifteen minutes of fame.

“I can. I’m not actually mad. I’m just…God, the last twenty four hours have been some of the most confusing for me.”

Alex laughs dryly. “You’re telling me.”

Henry can sense there’s a backstory here, but he doubts he’s in a position to ask for details. Instead, he takes a cleansing breath.

“Had I known this meeting was with you, I wouldn’t have taken it. I’m clearly not the right person to have on this project. When Zahra gets back, I can let her know. Or I’ll have Shaan phone her later.”

Alex’s head snaps back a bit as if he’s been struck.

“Whoa, wait. Henry,” he says softly and instantly Henry’s brought back to last night, the way Alex rasped his name.

He squeezes eyes shut, blocks out the memory before pulling himself back into the moment.

“We’ve gone through so many freaking portfolios and yours really stood out the most. That doesn’t suddenly change just because of yesterday. We called you in on merit, on your talent. I still think you’d be the best person for the job. You don’t even know just how perfect you are for this. Please consider it? Whatever happened between us, we can just ignore it and start fresh.”

Henry searches his eyes trying to see if he can detect any underlying doubt but Alex’s face is completely earnest.

Before he can answer, Zahra comes bounding back to the table. Her presence is so commanding, people from other tables stare after as she passes by.

She either doesn’t notice or she simply doesn’t care. Either way, Henry is in awe of her.

“Okay. Where were we?” she says as she settles into her seat.

Henry still feels shaken by Alex’s plea and the curiosity he felt before is only amplified tenfold as Alex’s words play on a loop in his head.

Why would Henry of all people be the ideal candidate, even with their recent history?

“Right,” Zahra continues, clapping her hands together. “Alex will be hitting the con circuit in full force while the announcement goes live in two weeks. You’d go with him, getting complete access to panels and photoshoots, everything so you can shadow him for research.”

“The announcement?” Henry interjects.

“Crescent Valley will be doing a reunion special,” Alex answers. “It’s under wraps for now, but we’ll be breaking the news during this tour. It’s something fans have been asking for for years now. We know it’ll get a ton of great coverage. But when we start out at the first stop in Portland, you’ll be able to get the hang of what it’s like on the road before the madness kicks in.”

“And, uh, how many stops exactly?” Henry asks, his head already hurting at the mere thought of the costs.

Zahra must pick up on it as she says, “Ten-city tour this time around plus time in L.A for reunion-related filming. All your travel expenses and lodging will be covered. You’ll also receive a per diem while you’re on the road with Alex for these three months.”

She picks up her glass and takes a sip of her wine.

“You’ve got a damn good agent in Shaan. He negotiated for an advance as well. You’re practically robbing the publisher, but honestly, good for you. You’d be worth every cent.”

It’s a lucrative deal, far more than Henry could have imagined. A multi-city tour, an advance. It sounds too good to be true. Last night he’d had one foot out the door with this career. Now, it felt as if a red carpet was being rolled out at his feet.

“So, what do you say? Can we tempt you?” Zahra asks. Henry is quickly learning to appreciate how direct she is, even if it is slightly intimidating.

Henry can’t help it; he looks right at Alex then.

“I can honestly say you’ve already succeeded in that.”

He holds Alex’s gaze for a moment before he looks back at Zahra.

“I’m in.”

~*~*~

Henry spends the better part of the day after lunch falling down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos of Alex, everything from Entertainment Weekly interviews to fanvids. The content is bottomless and if there’s one thing to be clear, it’s that Shaan was right. Alex’s fanbase is devoted, the comments sections overrun with people making declarations of love for both Alex and his character. On more than one occasion, he’s seen oaths from people vowing they’d leave their current relationships if given the chance to date Alex.

From their ferocity, Henry doesn’t think they’re being hyperbolic.

He’s part way through Alex’s BuzzFeed puppy interview, because of course Alex has one, when he hears Pez coming home from his spot on the couch where he’s spent far too many hours stretched out with his laptop.

Pez enters with a tote bag of groceries on his shoulder and flowers, no doubt from his favorite stall at the farmers market.

“Have you ever heard of an actor named Alex Claremont-Diaz?” he asks Pez by way of a greeting.

Pez stares blankly at him and, for a moment, Henry worries something has happened to his best friend until Pez sets down the flowers and tote bag and plants his hands firmly on his hips.

Henry is sure the look he’s going for is stern or authoritative, but it's very hard to take Pez seriously when he looks more like a deer caught in headlights.

“Are you playing jokes on me? You know I could not shut up about Crescent Valley when we were uni! Of course I know who Alex Claremont-Diaz is, that delicious slice of apple pie.”

Henry snorts a laugh, keeping himself back from saying he’s actually had a taste firsthand.

“Why the sudden interest in him?” Pez asks, picking up his discarded items. Henry follows him into the kitchen.

“We had lunch.”

Pez turns back sharply from the cupboard he’s just opened.

“Pardon me? You and whom exactly? Certainly not Alex Claremont-Diaz! That simply cannot be. That is not news you just oh so casually drop like you’re giving me a weather update, Hen. Are you positive you didn’t meet aliens last night? Surely you’ve been possessed. One night stands and rubbing elbows with celebrities. I mean, my word.”

Henry smiles to himself. If only Pez knew the totality of it, of the way this all intersects.

“Paint the scene! But start from the beginning. How in the world did you end up on a lunch date with Alex Claremont-Diaz, the man I once believed was my destiny?”

Henry rolls his eyes at the latter part of Pez’s words.

“I will tell you, but only if you stop using his full name every two seconds. You can just say Alex.”

“Oh, well. Excuse me. Have I been replaced? Have you gone off and made a new best friend then? Your precious Alex,” he says, fluttering his lashes on the name.

Henry scoffs.

“I haven’t been able to cut you loose yet, so I’d wager you’ve earned your stay in my life, much to my dismay,” he teases before he starts to explain Shaan’s call and the snowball that his afternoon became as a result of it.

“This is unreal,” Pez says by the end of it, awe coloring his tone. “Where’s the first stop?”

“Portland.”

Pez claps his hands together.

“We must go shopping for flannel at once.”

Henry gives him a deadpan look.

“What? They’d probably bar you from entry into the state if you don’t look the part,” Pez jokes.

“You just want an excuse to dress me up like I’m a Ken doll.”

“But, I mean…aren’t you though? You strapping young lad you.”

Henry rolls his eyes and smiles.

“I’m going to miss you. It’ll be strange going weeks, months really, without having you around.”

Pez puts the back of his hand against his forehead and drapes himself dramatically over the counter.

“I suppose I’ll have to fend for myself. You can write me letters. Carry my photo in a locket to remember me by. Tattoo my name on your heart so that I know the love is real.”

“On second thought, perhaps I won’t miss you at all.”

#rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #firstprince fic #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #userthai #tusersonia #tuserpaige #ronenrubinstein #usernicholas #usersteen #kimmy writes

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reasonsforhope · 10 months

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Wonderful blog! Have you read the book Factfulness by Hans Rosling? It's from 2017 so the diagrams in it are a bit outdated, however there's the site Gapminder that he founded that keeps up to date. It's about using statistics to prove that things DO improve over time, and also how to process the constant influx of bad news and put it into perspective.

Thank you!

I have not heard of it, but it sounds extremely up my alley!

The book is here, for anyone else who wants to check it out!

#weiila #ask #progress #sustainability #good news #hope #books #book rec

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uwmspeccoll · 7 months

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Steamy Saturday

Spring Fire by Vin Packer, the pen name of American writer Marijane Meaker (1927-2022), was the first lesbian paperback novel and was published in New York by Gold Medal Books in 1952. It was an instant bestseller, outselling other popular titles of that year, including James M. Cain's The Postman Always Rings Twice and Daphne du Maurier's My Cousin Rachel, and its publication marks the beginning of the lesbian pulp fiction genre.

The story, based on Meaker's own experience, revolves around the relationship between the shy and awkward, freshman sorority sister Susan ("Mitch") Mitchell and her more experienced roommate Leda Taylor. Both play at heterosexual "normality," while engaging in and at the same time questioning their same-sex attraction. Unfortunately, because it's the early 1950s, the relationship had to end in tragedy, with Leda bound for an insane asylum and Mitch denying to herself that she ever loved Leda.

Meaker was always distressed about having to write that ending. When Cleis Press approached her to republish the novel, she was very reticent. But the project went forward, and according to Wikipedia, Meaker wrote about this in the introduction to that reissue:

"I still cringe when I think about it. I never wanted it republished. It was too embarrassing." Meaker explained in the 2004 foreword that Dick Carroll, her editor at Gold Medal Books, told her that because the book would be sent through the mail, no references to homosexuality as an attractive life could be portrayed or postal inspectors would send it back to the publishing house. He said that one character must acknowledge that she is not a lesbian, and the other she's involved with "must be sick or crazy."

Beside lesbian romances, Marijane Meaker also wrote mystery and crime novels, nonfiction books about lesbians (as Ann Aldrich), children's books (as Mary James), and young adult fiction (as M. E. Kerr), for which she received the 1993 Margaret A. Edwards Award from the American Library Association. The butch/fem cover illustration is by noted American artist and pulp-fiction cover illustrator Barye Phillips.

View more posts on lesbian romance fiction.

View more LGBTQ+ posts.

View other pulp fiction posts.

#Steamy Saturday #pulp fiction #romance fiction #romance novels #lesbians #lesbian romance novels #lesbian pulp fiction #LGBTQ+#Vin Packer #Marijane Meaker #Spring Fire #Gold Medal Books #homosexuality #UWM LGBT Collection

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jigyasallc · 1 year

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Playing with toys is one of the fondest moments of many childhoods. While toys are fantastic for pleasure, they can also be great for educational purposes. Many children begin learning during playtime. At that age, they have an intense curiosity and an endless sense of wonder. The biggest advantage of playtime is that it contributes to passive learning. By playing with their toys, children hone their observation and social skills. Below are some of the ways through which toys contribute to healthy development and a happy childhood:

#huggy wuggy plush toys #automatic instant pop up tents #Sivrock Electric Bike #poppits #Push Bubble Fidget Toys #Educational Posters #Learning Toys #Stress Anxiety Relief Gadgets #furry kids #Push Bubble Squeeze Toys #Fidget Toys #Puzzles and Learning #Novelty Plush Toys #Stress/Anxiety Relief #Furry Kids Hobbies #Remote Controlled Gadgets #Bestsellers

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geeklywhimsical · 5 months

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Here’s a look at my bestsellers for this year (combining sales from conventions & my online shops)!

The Skeletea print was new this year, but an instant hit. The others have been constant fan favs, so no surprise they made it into the top 5 this year.

But a big thanks to all those who bought something from my shop this year, it means a lot. And even if you couldn’t buy something, I’m still thankful to all the follows, shares, & likes throughout the year. ❤️🥰❤️

#bestsellers #art #fanart #illustration #vinyl stickers #artprint #motu fanart #skeletea #skeletor #dinosuar #unicorn #mythical creatures #stargate #stargate sg1 #sg1

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because-she-goes · 7 months

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cinnamon

warnings: bit of matty headrot, some enemies to lovers, old lady thinking they’re a couple trope, swearing, some pretentious music references. Enjoy!

With a click and a woosh, the document Rooney has spent the past month or so working on was sent to the editing team. For the past month, Rooney has spent every day thinking and writing solely about Matty. Glad to finally have every last one of her thoughts about him out of her brain and sent off for someone else to deal with, she decided to take Arlo for a walk before heading home to Bowness-On-Windemere. where she would begin the planning stages on her next piece for NME.

Grabbing her keys and Arlo’s leash and giving it a jangle, she awaits the puppy to come bounding to her. From the door, she sees her adorable companion come around the corner, and near her. Panting, barking, blissfully unaware of how Rooney has barely slept and is in desperate need for some fresh air and a fridge restock as she’s been living off of microwavable instant ramen the past week.

Clasping the leash on Arlo’s collar and stepping out into the world, she locks her door behind her and starts walking around Notting Hill. Passing the famous bookstore with teenage girls excitedly waiting to get inside the rather underwhelming building - she was once one of those girls. She too once thought it would be a wonderfully curated shop like in the movie only to find out that it truly only sold bestsellers and what she had seen on the glossy pages of magazines where publishers pay the company for the advertisement. Dreams of her local bookstore back home came to mind, bookshelves filled with Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau and Louisa May Alcott - real literature she thinks, the type that got her to want to be a writer in the first place. She soon became overwhelmed with how much she loved her life now and how amazed she was by it. If young Rooney could see herself now and how different her life was…

Smack, splat. Onto the ass of her jeans she falls - Arlo’s leash coming out of her manicured hand. Arlo jumps onto her hind legs and as luck would have it, a mop of curls come into her periphery. For fucks sake. He sticks a hand out to help her and she bats it away.

“Yikes, clover! Geez it’s just me, no need to get your panties in a bunch.”

“I’m fine and for the record, my panties are none of your business Healy.”

“We’ll see about that…anyways, who is this adorable creature?” Matty bends down to grab the leash and pat Arlo’s side softly.

“Arlo… after Guthrie.” That just about knocks Matty on his ass, who else would know about american folk singers - let alone enough and have enough passion about them to name their fucking dog after them. Matty’s own dog comes to mind and he really named Allen after the american poet Ginsberg. They were too alike, he thinks. He silently melts as he watches her fumble to her feet and bends to dust off her jeans, her crimson hair blowing in the London breeze. He looks away quickly when he spots a series of delicate ink lines dancing and swirling down her spine. It is like he is reading her teenage diary, something sacred and deeply personal, like another aspect of her life has been revealed to him. If only he could see the whole piece of artwork. if only he could see it fully, if only he could know Rooney fully. Truly know her, not just as a work acquaintance or friend. Matty immediately wants to know what side of the bed she sleeps on, what music she listens to while cooking, if she prefers scented or unscented laundry detergent. In an instant, he is even more enthralled by her. It is in that moment, while he takes her in and pets her dog that Matty Healy knows he is well and truly enraptured. He comes out of his spell when he feels Arlo brush against his knees a bit.

“May I join you and Arlo on your walk?” She looks into his eyes finally, they’re ocean deep and for the first time she feels like she can see Matthew. Not Matty Healy, the frontman or the guy trying to impress her in an interview, Matthew. The guy stood in front of her, petting her dog in his blue nike hoodie, sweatpants and sneakers. He looks like himself, not someone he is trying to be. She realizes she loves that about him. How comfortable he is in himself, how he can jus5 be Matty. She could only hope to have that level of confidence someday.

The rest of the walk is sublime, a picturesque day in her area of London. An ideal fall day, bright and sunny with still a nip in the air. They make their way to the Notting Hill Market. Matty still holding Arlo’s leash while Rooney scrolls on her phone to find some good walking music he may like. It is about a 15 minute journey to the market from where the two collided. Her iPhone begins to play No Matter What by Badfinger, one of her personal favorite bits of 70s music she would play while cooking. The harmonies, guitar riffs and percussion fill the air between them - Matty quietly whistling along to the tune. He always loved Badfinger and his dad would play it in their family car growing up - the fond memory of childhood planting a grin across his cheeks. Rooney continued selecting the music for their walk, not bothering with small talk since the two felt so comfortable in their quiet enjoyment of the afternoon together. Badfinger which turned into David Bowie then the Sex Pistols and The Clash finally finishing their walk with Supertramp.

Rooney made a note to herself to see if Matty liked her beloved Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Before she could ask, he had pulled her and Arlo towards a stall in the corner of the market.

“Hummingbird Bakery? I haven’t ever heard of this place, is it any good?” She quickly, albeit a bit nervously asks her companion.

“Best on Portabello Road, Sugar. Trust me.” He adds with a wink

“I never said I didnt, did I?” She adds with a smirk.

“Good. Hi Darling, A slice of the Halloween Batty Orange Chocolate Cheesecake and a pack of the assorted vegan cupcakes. Thank You!” Matty orders with a smile to the older woman working the stall.

“Here you go, dear and something for the adorable little munchkin down there. It’ll be 15 pounds.” The sweet woman informs, handing Rooney their treats as well as a pup cup for Arlo. Matty hands her some money and they thank her.

“Have a lovely rest of your outing , you two love birds!” She adds as they walk away.

“Oh we- we aren’t…. we’re not…” The pair stumble over each other frantically trying to correct her as Arlo eyed the pup cup ravenously hungry.

“Cute. Don’t worry, you’ll both realize it soon.” The woman winks and the two decide to just leave her be and enjoy the pastries at a bench nearby.

Matty takes a bite of the cheesecake and lets out what can only be described as a pornographic moan. He points at it, mouth full of sugar and hands it to Rooney. She mimics the action exaggeratedly throwing her head back.

“Fuckin hell, Healy! Who knew you had such good taste in sweets… and how did you know I loved chocolate oranges?” The redhead asks him once she’s passed the cheesecake slice back over and eaten her bite.

“You think my taste in sweets is good, you should see my dinner spots.”

“Not happening! Totally unprofessional, please I can’t be going on a date with the fuckin guy I’m writing an article about… are you mad?”

“Oh c’mon go on one date with me, Atkinson. I promise no funny business.” Matty says a silent prayer, he doesn’t miss the twinkle in her eyes when he says Atkinson. He takes another bite of the cake, humming in delight. He knows he is gonna win this. He passes her the pasty.

“Will it get you to leave me alone?” Please say no, please for the love of god let him say no. God, a date with him would rot her brain for good. God, why does this cheesecake have to be so good. She passes it back to him after her bite.

“Never. I'm addicted, sugar.” Another fucking wink, bite and pass. Jesus christ.

“Fine, Healy. Pick me up at 8pm, heres my London address.” She finishes the cheesecake, scrawls her address onto the wraper of the pastry and shoves it in his coat pocket roughly.

“Perfect. I’ll be counting the minutes.” He sings as she takes Arlo’s leash, her cupcakes and walks off. Fuckin hell, what has she gotten herself into.

#the 1975 #matty healy #drew’s writing :)#the lakes #matty x rooney #i love them sm #hope u guys like this :))#matty healy fanfic #matty healy x oc

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 month

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Async mugwump linkdump

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in ANAHEIM at WONDERCON: YA Fantasy, Room 207, 10 a.m.; Signing, 11 a.m.; Teaching Writing, 2 p.m., Room 213CD.

For 20+ years, I've processed all the information that came over my transom by blogging – mulling on why something I saw in the world caught my attention and trying to summarize it for strangers. This turns out to be a very powerful way to do a lot of different kinds of mental work:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

With Pluralistic, the solo blog I founded 4 years ago, I've moved into longer, more synthetic essays that try to connect the things that caught my attention today with all those things I've written about for the past two decades. That's also proven very fruitful:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

But this move to longer works has a downside: sometimes I'll arrive at the week's end and have a list of things that caught my attention without there being any obvious way to connect them, and when that happens, I devote a Saturday edition to a linkdump. There's been 15 of these so far:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Welcome, then, to the 16th Pluralistic linkdump, and a warning, this one starts with an obituary.

Ross Anderson was one of the heroes of the cryptographic revolution, a brilliant scientist and communicator, a fantastic activist, and a scorching curmudgeon. Ross died this week. He was 67, and had chronic heart issues as well as long covid:

https://www.lightbluetouchpaper.org/2024/03/29/rip-ross-anderson/

There's so much that's been written about Ross and his legacy already, and there's doubtless more to come, but I've picked out two pieces to point you to. The first is from Danny O'Brien, who was also the guy who talked me down off the ledge the first time Ross flamed me on a public mailing list, leaving me bleeding and furious:

https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=39868983

As Danny says, Ross was "the model of a politically and socially involved computer scientist," a man whose blazing intellect, fierce moral center and relentless curiosity inspired a generation of technologists to think about politics, and a generation of political activists to think about technology. Few of Ross's eulogizers (thus far) have mentioned how Ross's passion came out as fury, and – as someone who counted Ross as a friend and inspiration – I think this is a serious omission. It's hard to imagine Ross doing all that he did without understanding the anger that – along with his ethics – fueled his passion.

(Compare with @neil-gaiman's classic essay on the anger of Terry Pratchett:)

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/sep/24/terry-pratchett-angry-not-jolly-neil-gaiman

The other obit that I want to point you to comes from Bill Buchanan, one of Ross's closest collaborators. Buchanan's memorial for Ross does a superb job of rounding up Ross's technical contributions to the field of security engineering:

https://medium.com/asecuritysite-when-bob-met-alice/ross-anderson-rip-59233c75fadf

Buchanan embeds videos for some of Ross's best speeches, links to his key papers (including the classic "Programming Satan's Computer," on "programming a computer which gives answers that are subtly and maliciously wrong at the most inconvenient moment possible), reminiscences of Great Moments In Ross Anderson, and terrific, lay-friendly breakdowns of some of Ross's key mathematical work.

As an unreasonable, angry person, I take great inspiration from people who channel their unreasonable anger to socially beneficial conduct – like whistleblowers. After Baltimore's Francis Scott Key Bridge was totaled by the 95,000-ton cargo ship MV *Dali(, a vast cohort of instant experts in structural engineering, sea freight and shipbuilding has taken to the internet with a slurry of takes on the Meaning Of the Bridge.

Some of these are very stupid indeed, like the idea that somehow "DEI" caused the collision. But you don't have to be an expert in maritime issues or civil engineering to understand the importance of this report from The Lever about shipping giant Maersk's culture of retaliation against whistleblowers:

https://www.levernews.com/feds-recently-hit-cargo-giant-in-baltimore-disaster-for-silencing-whistleblowers/

Maersk is the company that chartered the MV Dali; Maersk is also a key player in the cartel that controls the world's shipping. Maersk was just sanctioned by the Labor Department for retaliating against a whistleblower who complained of unsafe conditions on the ships that Maersk chartered:

https://www.dol.gov/sites/dolgov/files/OPA/news%20releases/Maersk-Sec%20Findings%20-FINAL%20071423_Redacted.pdf

Maersk's policy required employees to bring concerns to their supervisors before alerting the Coast Guard or others. This is not how that stuff is supposed to work. OSHA called this policy “repugnant” and a “reprehensible and an egregious violation of the rights of employees,” which “chills them from contacting the [Coast Guard] or other authorities without contacting the company first.”

The whistleblower – chief mate on the Safmarine Mafadi – complained of "unrepaired leaks, unpermitted alcohol consumption onboard, inoperable lifeboats, faulty emergency fire suppression equipment, and other issues." We don't know (yet) what happened on the Dali, but it's obvious that a company that retaliates against whistleblowers, rather than heeding their warnings, is prioritizing covering its ass, not operating safely.

Which brings me (inevitably) to Boeing, and to poor John "Swampy" Barnett, the Boeing whistleblower who took his own life earlier this month. Barnett's suicide has stirred up similar low-yield online chatter focused on whether Boeing assassinated Barnett, a question that categorically cannot be answered through the method of arguing with internet strangers.

But there is a lot to say about Barnett: in particular, there's the substance of his whistleblowing, the specifics of his complaints about Boeing. For that, we can turn to the always-fantastic Maureen Tkacik, whose American Prospect piece "Suicide Mission" is definitive:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-03-28-suicide-mission-boeing/

Tkacik does a great job of painting a picture of Swampy as a member of the tribe of unreasonable and angry people who refuse to sideline principle in order to get along. More importantly, Tkacik shows us what made Swampy so angry: a company that was hell-bent on lobotimizing itself by forcing out any technical expert who might point out inconvenient truths about the safety risks of high-profit strategies.

As Tkacik writes, Boeing once thought about "knowledge" in terms of expertise that could be brought to bear on the unimaginably complex task of making reliable, airworthy jets. But under the "value-engineering" financialized culture that arose after the McDonnell-Douglas merger, the company viewed knowledge as "intellectual property, trade secrets, and data." In other words, the point of knowledge was rent-extraction, not safety.

At the root of this transformation was the Jack Welch protege Jim "Prince Jim" McNerney, the former 3M CEO who took the helm at Boeing. McNerney was openly contemptuous of the company's senior engineers, branding them "phenomenally talented assholes" and rewarding managers who found ways to force them out of the company. It was McNerney who decided to produce the 787 "Dreamliner" in non-union shops, far from Seattle and its phenomenally talented assholes. Instead of these engineers, McNerney turned to Boeing suppliers to do the major engineering work on the 787 – despite the fact that many of these suppliers "lacked engineering departments."

The 787 was, infamously, a $80b-over-budget boondoggle, haunted by technical failures. Swampy was part of the "cleanup crew" that tried to salvage the 787, and witnessed first-hand how the company purged all the engineers who managed to ship the 787 despite McNerney and his "value engineers" and retaliated against workers who tried to unionize the South Carolina facility.

In particular, it was safety inspector who came in for the most savage punishment. When the FAA decided to let Boeing mark its own homework – hiring in-house safety inspectors to replace government inspectors – they pretended to believe that these Boeing-payrolled inspectors would be able to operate independently of Boeing's leadership. The inspectors tried to operate this way (not least because they were criminally liable for oversights that occurred on their watch) and McNerney's Boeing came down on them like a ton of aviation-grade aluminum.

To further neuter these inspectors, Boeing management ordered the inspectors to outsource their work to the mechanics they were supposed to be supervising – that is, the FAA outsourced safety checks to Boeing inspectors, and the inspectors outsourced those checks to the mechanics themselves. Tkacik: "Swampy believed relying on mechanics to self-inspect their work was not only insane but illegal under the Federal Aviation Administration charter."

Swampy kept careful records of every way in which this system produced unsafe aircraft and an unsafe workplace – including the day he discovered that someone had removed 400+ defective parts from the rejects box and installed them in aircraft in order to meet deadlines. Swampy's reports were key to establishing that the company's much-trumpeted "improvements" in safety reports were down to a culture of "bullying" – not any improvement in safety itself.

When Boeing went to war against Swampy, they barely bothered to pretend that they were playing by the rules. He was told one day that he was four-weeks into a 60-day "corrective action" that no one had told him about. The "corrective action" paperwork had a blank for Swampy's comments. He wrote, "Leadership wants nothing in email so they maintain plausible deniability. It is obvious leadership is just looking for items to criticize me on so I stop identifying issues. I will conform!"

Shortly thereafter, he was forced out altogether. Managers who tried to bring him on their teams were told that no one was allowed to hire John Barnett. His name appeared on a secret internal memo entitled "Quality Managers to Fire." Meanwhile, the value of Boeing shares had tripled.

After Boeing's 737 Maxes started falling out of the sky, Swampy's painstaking documentation of the flaws in the 787's production took on a new urgency. A program of random inspections of 787s found major defects in all of them ("Boeing Looked for Flaws in Its Dreamliner and Couldn’t Stop Finding Them" –WSJ). An Aviation Week diagram of problem spots with the 787 marked red arrows over "every single section, from the tip of the nose to the horizontal stabilizers":

https://aviationweek.com/air-transport/new-boeing-787-fix-details-reveal-extent-gap-check-challenge

Boeing's war on "brilliance" did its work: after everyone who understood how to make a safe aircraft was forced out of the company, financialized CEOs were able to cut corners on safety, triple the share-price, scoop up billions in government subsidies and bailouts, all without those pesky "phenomenally talented assholes" pointing out that they were going get (lots of) people killed.

Tkacik closes by saying that Swampy's former work colleagues refuse to believe he killed himself. A former executive told her "I don’t think one can be cynical enough when it comes to these guys…It’s a top-secret military contractor, remember; there are spies everywhere." I confess that I don't know what to make of that, but I'll say this: if Boeing killed Swampy, that's just one of hundreds of murders they committed. Whether or not Swampy's death was their fault, the deaths of everyone who went down on the 737 Maxes that crashed is on their hands.

That's what "profits before people" means, after all: sacrificing human lives to make yourself richer. It's the foundational tenet of the conservative movement, though that impulse is often checked by other factors, like human decency. It's only when sociopaths get a sustained run at leadership that you see what they really want.

Which brings me to the UK, which has been governed by the Conservative Party for 14 years. The Tories are tipped to get destroyed in the next election, and a long article in the New Yorker by Sam Knight catalogs the many ways in which Tory rule has devastated the UK:

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/04/01/what-have-fourteen-years-of-conservative-rule-done-to-britain

The thing is, after 14 years, it's impossible for the Tories to blame anyone else for the state of the UK. With strong Parliamentary majorities, Conservatives were able to govern as they pleased – the only compromises they made were between their own internal factions. The ideological commitment to making the rich richer, privatizing everything, subordinating governance to market forces – that's all them.

It's all them: the worst period for wage growth since the Napoleonic Wars, on them. The catastrophic traffic, housing, jobs market, and precarity, on them. Plummeting health, on them. The austerity, on them. The withering of the country's courts and prisons and police, its wilderness, its programs for young people and pensioners, its public health, its diplomatic corps, its road maintenance – on them.

A country where the police can't afford to prosecute burglaries – on them (4% of burglaries are prosecuted). The 2.5 year delay between a rape arrest and its trial? On them. Mass closures of schools that are literally crumbling? On them.

43% of the countries courts have closed. On them. Cuts to prison funding, coupled with longer sentences? On them.

And of course, Brexit – on them. Every part of it. The referendum. The referendum question. The failure to negotiate a deal with the EU. All on them. The collapse in British living standards, all on them. The fact that the 20% richest households in the UK have been untouched by all this? Also on them. But you might not notice it in London, where people earn an average of 400% more than people in Nottingham.

The only growth sector outside of London are the Citizens Advice Bureaux, whose client rosters are growing even as their funding is cut. Where the CAB once primarily catered to people who couldn't make ends meet due to disability, unemployment and other reliable predictors of economic distress, today, CAB advisors are seeing homeowners, people working two jobs. Desperation is "like a black hole, dragging more and more people in,"

More Conservative growth: Tories presided over a doubling in the rate of NHS antidepressant prescriptions, and a 20% rise in long-term health conditions. No wonder Tory Britain had the world's worst pandemic outcomes for a wealthy nation – that's on them, too.

Knight's article closes with a Tory MP who believes that "the key thing for the Conservatives now is to be more conservative…Toryism must have its day again."

We can't count on oligarchs to rescue us from oligarchy – not even when oligarchy's failures push society to the breaking point. There's always a rationalization explaining why we just had to lean harder into oligarchy.

You hear echoes of this in the pro-monopoly choir, whose squeals of outrage at the rise of a new anti-monopoly movement grow louder even as monopolism's failures grow clearer. One of the more tangible expressions of monopoly's failures is the Ticketmaster/Livenation octopus, which controls the entire live music industry – key venues, promotions, and ticketing. Ticketmaster fucks over music fans, but it also cheats famous musicians, the kinds of people with big microphones, so we know a lot about how bad it is:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/20/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-will-eventually-stop/

Of course, the fact that Swifties hate Ticketmaster lets the pro-monopolists dismiss critics as foolish young girls, not Very Serious People Who Understand Economics and thus can see that Ticketmaster's monopoly is Good, Actually.

Last week, Congressman Bill Pascrell dumped a ton of litigation documents related to Ticketmaster's sleaze, and Matt Stoller broke them down:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/explosive-new-documents-unearthed

The docs reveal how Ticketmaster's system of (formerly) secret kickbacks let it choke out any competitor, so that it could charge fans more and pay artists less. The mechanics of the scam are beautifully laid out in Stoller's post – as is the many ways in which it violated both the law and Ticketmaster's numerous consent decrees arising from its previous lawbreaking.

This kind of scam breakdown is essential. It's easy to think that we, as mere normies, can't hope to understand the machinations of the corporations that prey on us. But once you pierce the veil of performative complexity, what's left behind is a set of crude tricks and transparent ruses.

Here's one of those transparent ruses: Discord's terms of service require Discord users to actively opt out of its "binding arbitration" system. Binding arbitration is when you sign a contract saying you can't sue the company no matter how much it harms you – instead, you promise to have your disputes heard by an "arbitrator" (a fake judge paid by the company that screwed you). Unsurprisingly, these fake judges are awfully tolerant of their employers' crimes.

Discord says that once you click through its garbage legalese novella, you have just a few days to opt out of this binding arbitration clause – if you happen to miss that fine print, you have "consented" to giving up your legal rights.

But every time Discord changes its ToS, the clock for opting out starts ticking again, and Discord has just changed (that is, worsened) its ToS again:

https://discord.com/terms

That means that if you send an email right now to [email protected] with "I am confirming that as of the date of this email, I am choosing to opt out of binding arbitration to settle disputes with Discord" in the body, you can escape this consent theater:

https://mamot.fr/@[email protected]/112175832989845038

Consent theater is a particularly galling corporate ruse – the idea that we chose to allow them to abuse us. Consent theater gets more outrageous by the day. Take Soofa, who operate streetside digital kiosks that identify you by grabbing your phone's unique wifi and Bluetooth identifiers:

https://gizmodo.com/digital-kiosks-snatch-your-phones-data-when-you-walk-by-1851368948

Soofa sells this data to advertisers – claiming that by walking down a public street, you "consented" to being tracked and sold.

The only reason this flies is that the US hasn't passed a federal consumer privacy law since 1988's Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video-store clerks from telling people which VHS cassettes you took home. Congress keeps on failing to pass a privacy law, despite garbage companies like Soofa.

But that hasn't stopped the administrative agencies from acting to defend your privacy! The FTC just dropped its latest Privacy and Data Security Update, a greatest hits list of the actions the Commission took while Congress failed:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/2024.03.21-PrivacyandDataSecurityUpdate-508.pdf

One of the best things about the current administration is the number of extremely competent regulators who know exactly how much power they have and aren't afraid to use it to help the American people:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

The new FTC report, which details how the Commission's existing powers let it go after the commercial surveillance industry from smart doorbells to review fraud, from kids' programming to medical data, from lax security to data-breaches, is a bright spot in an otherwise grim week.

One more bright spot, then, before I wind up this linkdump. All week, I've been humming a half-remembered lyric, "come on baby/you're a link in this chain/put your hands together/and get free of the pain." For the life of me, I couldn't place it.

Last night, I searched for it (using Kagi, the post-Google search engine I've been paying for for the past month, and which I'm loving) and discovered that I had somehow completely forgotten a whole-ass band that I once loved: Toronto's Bourbon Tabernacle Choir, whom I saw live on many occasions.

The mystery lyric came from "Death is the Great Awakener," a fucking banger of a post-gospel track that I've been listening to on nonstop repeat as I wrote this. It's a hell of a tune and I'm intensely grateful to have it back in my life:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6RUb63Tx3w

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/30/dewey-502/#rip-ross-anderson

Image: Waffleboy https://www.flickr.com/photos/waffleboy/28198395465/

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

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