#Latest Product Recalls

[omgellendean]

So, Sacha Baron Cohen recently endorsed Kamala Harris in a fittingly racist islamophobic manner, by bringing back his character Borat. Yes, it's 2024.

Anyway, here's a 2022 investigation of SBC's vile Zionism and connections to the USA and Israeli intelligence, as well as an insight into the role of the US-American cinema as a propaganda tool.

Article: https://www.mintpressnews.com/closer-scrutiny-reveals-close-state-power-sacha-baron-cohen-really/279355/

Archived link: https://archive.is/7dSTL

Some quotes:

When asked about the national security state’s role in shaping pop culture, the former intelligence officer [John Kiriakou] said that it is “far more cynical” than most people realize, explaining:

” There is a branch inside the CIA’s Office Of Public Affairs whose job is solely to work with Hollywood Studios. This is something that the FBI has been doing since the 1940s. They’ll cooperate and give the red carpet treatment to any Hollywood studio that’s willing to make the CIA look good. “ [...]

In the end, “Brüno’s” production company did interview someone they claimed was a terrorist (in the Letterman interview, Baron Cohen described the man as such eight times in the space of three minutes). However, the person in question – Palestinian grocer and NGO worker Ayman Abu Aita – vigorously denied he was a terrorist at all. He claimed that Baron Cohen had told him the interview would be about his peace activism and that his life and business had been destroyed as a result. Abu Aita sued for nearly $100 million. The case was settled for an undisclosed sum in 2012. [...]

Even from an early age, Sacha was reportedly obsessed with the Jewish state. “He was very Zionist, very involved in Habo,” recalled one friend, referring to Habonim Dror, a left-wing Zionist group of which he was a member. Others remembered him as “a very nerdy, very funny, Israel-oriented guy” who went to live on a kibbutz in his youth. He appears to idolize Shimon Peres, traveling to meet him in 2012 and sharing quotes from the former Israeli president on his social media accounts. Peres, of course, oversaw the genocide of Palestinians in 1948, attempted to sell nuclear weapons to Apartheid South Africa, and carried out the ethnic cleansing of the Galilee region. [...]

Unsurprisingly, Baron Cohen has also campaigned fiercely against the Boycott Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement, presenting it as viciously antisemitic. “Boycotting? Yeah, fantastic. As long as they are Jews, it is alright. I’m not a racist, but keep the Jews out,” he said, in an attempt to satirize their position. [...]

Much of the movie is actually spent “on location” in “Kazakhstan,” where Borat takes the viewer around an unimaginably poor-looking village, making fun of how backward “his people” are. There are no Western egos or ignorance being punctured here. In fact, it was shot in a gypsy encampment in Romania, where locals were paid around $3 each to be humiliated by a man who spoke to them in a language they did not understand. The villagers were told they were appearing in a sympathetic documentary highlighting their lives. “Borat” made over $262 million at the box office. [...]

The racism was further amplified with the 2020 release of “Borat Subsequent Moviefilm.” Within the first two minutes of the sequel, Borat informs us that Kazakhstan has canceled their traditional event, “the running of the Jew,” but fortunately his country still has Holocaust Remembrance Day, “when we commemorate our heroic soldiers who ran the camps.” Borat also received an award, which he stated will be “put in our national museum along with other treasure we have confiscated from Jews.” [...]

In actual fact, as many have pointed out, Kazakhstan was a haven for Jewish people during the Holocaust, not a perpetrator of it, saving thousands of Jewish lives by taking in people from Eastern Europe and other states of the U.S.S.R. Today, the country is commended by Jewish groups as a model of tolerance. It is also, notably, not a helplessly sexist nation; Save The Children ranked it higher than the United States in its list of best countries to grow up female.

This is a rather inconvenient truth for the Israeli state-building project Baron Cohen supports. Ironically, perhaps the most shocking and newsworthy case of exposing bigotry Baron Cohen has documented has never been revealed. While in character as Brüno in Jerusalem, Baron Cohen was beaten nearly to death by an enraged crowd of homophobic Israelis, who, angered by his camp and sacrilegious attire, started stoning him, on camera. Baron Cohen was reportedly “nearly killed.” Kiriakou told MintPress that Baron Cohen told him that a rabbi even spat on him. It was the only time in his career that he broke character and desperately yelled that he was an Israeli Jew, not a homosexual foreigner. The comedian fled for his life and found refuge in a nearby store bathroom. This footage has never seen the light of day. Perhaps it sends the “wrong” message.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Autoenshittification

Forget F1: the only car race that matters now is the race to turn your car into a digital extraction machine, a high-speed inkjet printer on wheels, stealing your private data as it picks your pocket. Your car’s digital infrastructure is a costly, dangerous nightmare — but for automakers in pursuit of postcapitalist utopia, it’s a dream they can’t give up on.

Your car is stuffed full of microchips, a fact the world came to appreciate after the pandemic struck and auto production ground to a halt due to chip shortages. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story: when the pandemic started, the automakers panicked and canceled their chip orders, only to immediately regret that decision and place new orders.

But it was too late: semiconductor production had taken a serious body-blow, and when Big Car placed its new chip orders, it went to the back of a long, slow-moving line. It was a catastrophic bungle: microchips are so integral to car production that a car is basically a computer network on wheels that you stick your fragile human body into and pray.

The car manufacturers got so desperate for chips that they started buying up washing machines for the microchips in them, extracting the chips and discarding the washing machines like some absurdo-dystopian cyberpunk walnut-shelling machine:

https://www.autoevolution.com/news/desperate-times-companies-buy-washing-machines-just-to-rip-out-the-chips-187033.html

These digital systems are a huge problem for the car companies. They are the underlying cause of a precipitous decline in car quality. From touch-based digital door-locks to networked sensors and cameras, every digital system in your car is a source of endless repair nightmares, costly recalls and cybersecurity vulnerabilities:

https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/quality-new-vehicles-us-declining-more-tech-use-study-shows-2023-06-22/

What’s more, drivers hate all the digital bullshit, from the janky touchscreens to the shitty, wildly insecure apps. Digital systems are drivers’ most significant point of dissatisfaction with the automakers’ products:

https://www.theverge.com/23801545/car-infotainment-customer-satisifaction-survey-jd-power

Even the automakers sorta-kinda admit that this is a problem. Back in 2020 when Massachusetts was having a Right-to-Repair ballot initiative, Big Car ran these unfuckingbelievable scare ads that basically said, “Your car spies on you so comprehensively that giving anyone else access to its systems will let murderers stalk you to your home and kill you:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

But even amid all the complaining about cars getting stuck in the Internet of Shit, there’s still not much discussion of why the car-makers are making their products less attractive, less reliable, less safe, and less resilient by stuffing them full of microchips. Are car execs just the latest generation of rubes who’ve been suckered by Silicon Valley bullshit and convinced that apps are a magic path to profitability?

Nope. Car execs are sophisticated businesspeople, and they’re surfing capitalism’s latest — and last — hot trend: dismantling capitalism itself.

Now, leftists have been predicting the death of capitalism since The Communist Manifesto, but even Marx and Engels warned us not to get too frisky: capitalism, they wrote, is endlessly creative, constantly reinventing itself, re-emerging from each crisis in a new form that is perfectly adapted to the post-crisis reality:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

But capitalism has finally run out of gas. In his forthcoming book, Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism, Yanis Varoufakis proposes that capitalism has died — but it wasn’t replaced by socialism. Rather, capitalism has given way to feudalism:

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451795/technofeudalism-by-varoufakis-yanis/9781847927279

Under capitalism, capital is the prime mover. The people who own and mobilize capital — the capitalists — organize the economy and take the lion’s share of its returns. But it wasn’t always this way: for hundreds of years, European civilization was dominated by rents, not markets.

A “rent” is income that you get from owning something that other people need to produce value. Think of renting out a house you own: not only do you get paid when someone pays you to live there, you also get the benefit of rising property values, which are the result of the work that all the other homeowners, business owners, and residents do to make the neighborhood more valuable.

The first capitalists hated rent. They wanted to replace the “passive income” that landowners got from taxing their serfs’ harvest with active income from enclosing those lands and grazing sheep in order to get wool to feed to the new textile mills. They wanted active income — and lots of it.

Capitalist philosophers railed against rent. The “free market” of Adam Smith wasn’t a market that was free from regulation — it was a market free from rents. The reason Smith railed against monopolists is because he (correctly) understood that once a monopoly emerged, it would become a chokepoint through which a rentier could cream off the profits he considered the capitalist’s due:

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

Today, we live in a rentier’s paradise. People don’t aspire to create value — they aspire to capture it. In Survival of the Richest, Doug Rushkoff calls this “going meta”: don’t provide a service, just figure out a way to interpose yourself between the provider and the customer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don’t drive a cab, create Uber and extract value from every driver and rider. Better still: don’t found Uber, invest in Uber options and extract value from the people who invest in Uber. Even better, invest in derivatives of Uber options and extract value from people extracting value from people investing in Uber, who extract value from drivers and riders. Go meta.

This is your brain on the four-hour-work-week, passive income mind-virus. In Techno Feudalism, Varoufakis deftly describes how the new “Cloud Capital” has created a new generation of rentiers, and how they have become the richest, most powerful people in human history.

Shopping at Amazon is like visiting a bustling city center full of stores — but each of those stores’ owners has to pay the majority of every sale to a feudal landlord, Emperor Jeff Bezos, who also decides which goods they can sell and where they must appear on the shelves. Amazon is full of capitalists, but it is not a capitalist enterprise. It’s a feudal one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is the reason that automakers are willing to enshittify their products so comprehensively: they were one of the first industries to decouple rents from profits. Recall that the reason that Big Car needed billions in bailouts in 2008 is that they’d reinvented themselves as loan-sharks who incidentally made cars, lending money to car-buyers and then “securitizing” the loans so they could be traded in the capital markets.

Even though this strategy brought the car companies to the brink of ruin, it paid off in the long run. The car makers got billions in public money, paid their execs massive bonuses, gave billions to shareholders in buybacks and dividends, smashed their unions, fucked their pensioned workers, and shipped jobs anywhere they could pollute and murder their workforce with impunity.

Car companies are on the forefront of postcapitalism, and they understand that digital is the key to rent-extraction. Remember when BMW announced that it was going to rent you the seatwarmer in your own fucking car?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers

Not to be outdone, Mercedes announced that they were going to rent you your car’s accelerator pedal, charging an extra $1200/year to unlock a fully functional acceleration curve:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/11/23/23474969/mercedes-car-subscription-faster-acceleration-feature-price

This is the urinary tract infection business model: without digitization, all your car’s value flowed in a healthy stream. But once the car-makers add semiconductors, each one of those features comes out in a painful, burning dribble, with every button on that fakakta touchscreen wired directly into your credit-card.

But it’s just for starters. Computers are malleable. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing Complete Von Neumann Machine, which can run every program we know how to write. Once they add networked computers to your car, the Car Lords can endlessly twiddle the knobs on the back end, finding new ways to extract value from you:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

That means that your car can track your every movement, and sell your location data to anyone and everyone, from marketers to bounty-hunters looking to collect fees for tracking down people who travel out of state for abortions to cops to foreign spies:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7enex/tool-shows-if-car-selling-data-privacy4cars-vehicle-privacy-report

Digitization supercharges financialization. It lets car-makers offer subprime auto-loans to desperate, poor people and then killswitch their cars if they miss a payment:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U2eDJnwz_s

Subprime lending for cars would be a terrible business without computers, but digitization makes it a great source of feudal rents. Car dealers can originate loans to people with teaser rates that quickly blow up into payments the dealer knows their customer can’t afford. Then they repo the car and sell it to another desperate person, and another, and another:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#looking-for-the-joke-with-a-microscope

Digitization also opens up more exotic options. Some subprime cars have secondary control systems wired into their entertainment system: miss a payment and your car radio flips to full volume and bellows an unstoppable, unmutable stream of threats. Tesla does one better: your car will lock and immobilize itself, then blare its horn and back out of its parking spot when the repo man arrives:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Digital feudalism hasn’t stopped innovating — it’s just stopped innovating good things. The digital device is an endless source of sadistic novelties, like the cellphones that disable your most-used app the first day you’re late on a payment, then work their way down the other apps you rely on for every day you’re late:

https://restofworld.org/2021/loans-that-hijack-your-phone-are-coming-to-india/

Usurers have always relied on this kind of imaginative intimidation. The loan-shark’s arm-breaker knows you’re never going to get off the hook; his goal is in intimidating you into paying his boss first, liquidating your house and your kid’s college fund and your wedding ring before you default and he throws you off a building.

Thanks to the malleability of computerized systems, digital arm-breakers have an endless array of options they can deploy to motivate you into paying them first, no matter what it costs you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Car-makers are trailblazers in imaginative rent-extraction. Take VIN-locking: this is the practice of adding cheap microchips to engine components that communicate with the car’s overall network. After a new part is installed in your car, your car’s computer does a complex cryptographic handshake with the part that requires an unlock code provided by an authorized technician. If the code isn’t entered, the car refuses to use that part.

VIN-locking has exploded in popularity. It’s in your iPhone, preventing you from using refurb or third-party replacement parts:

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

It’s in fuckin’ ventilators, which was a nightmare during lockdown as hospital techs nursed their precious ventilators along by swapping parts from dead systems into serviceable ones:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/3azv9b/why-repair-techs-are-hacking-ventilators-with-diy-dongles-from-poland

And of course, it’s in tractors, along with other forms of remote killswitch. Remember that feelgood story about John Deere bricking the looted Ukrainian tractors whose snitch-chips showed they’d been relocated to Russia?

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

That wasn’t a happy story — it was a cautionary tale. After all, John Deere now controls the majority of the world’s agricultural future, and they’ve boobytrapped those ubiquitous tractors with killswitches that can be activated by anyone who hacks, takes over, or suborns Deere or its dealerships.

Control over repair isn’t limited to gouging customers on parts and service. When a company gets to decide whether your device can be fixed, it can fuck you over in all kinds of ways. Back in 2019, Tim Apple told his shareholders to expect lower revenues because people were opting to fix their phones rather than replace them:

https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/

By usurping your right to decide who fixes your phone, Apple gets to decide whether you can fix it, or whether you must replace it. Problem solved — and not just for Apple, but for car makers, tractor makers, ventilator makers and more. Apple leads on this, even ahead of Big Car, pioneering a “recycling” program that sees trade-in phones shredded so they can’t possibly be diverted from an e-waste dump and mined for parts:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks

John Deere isn’t sleeping on this. They’ve come up with a valuable treasure they extract when they win the Right-to-Repair: Deere singles out farmers who complain about its policies and refuses to repair their tractors, stranding them with six-figure, two-ton paperweight:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

The repair wars are just a skirmish in a vast, invisible fight that’s been waged for decades: the War On General-Purpose Computing, where tech companies use the law to make it illegal for you to reconfigure your devices so they serve you, rather than their shareholders:

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

The force behind this army is vast and grows larger every day. General purpose computers are antithetical to technofeudalism — all the rents extracted by technofeudalists would go away if others (tinkereres, co-ops, even capitalists!) were allowed to reconfigure our devices so they serve us.

You’ve probably noticed the skirmishes with inkjet printer makers, who can only force you to buy their ink at 20,000% markups if they can stop you from deciding how your printer is configured:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty But we’re also fighting against insulin pump makers, who want to turn people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/10/loopers/#hp-ification

And companies that make powered wheelchairs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/08/chair-ish/#r2r

These companies start with people who have the least agency and social power and wreck their lives, then work their way up the privilege gradient, coming for everyone else. It’s called the “shitty technology adoption curve”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Technofeudalism is the public-private-partnership from hell, emerging from a combination of state and private action. On the one hand, bailing out bankers and big business (rather than workers) after the 2008 crash and the covid lockdown decoupled income from profits. Companies spent billions more than they earned were still wildly profitable, thanks to those public funds.

But there’s also a policy dimension here. Some of those rentiers’ billions were mobilized to both deconstruct antitrust law (allowing bigger and bigger companies and cartels) and to expand “IP” law, turning “IP” into a toolsuite for controlling the conduct of a firm’s competitors, critics and customers:

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

IP is key to understanding the rise of technofeudalism. The same malleability that allows companies to “twiddle” the knobs on their services and keep us on the hook as they reel us in would hypothetically allow us to countertwiddle, seizing the means of computation:

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

The thing that stands between you and an alternative app store, an interoperable social media network that you can escape to while continuing to message the friends you left behind, or a car that anyone can fix or unlock features for is IP, not technology. Under capitalism, that technology would already exist, because capitalists have no loyalty to one another and view each other’s margins as their own opportunities.

But under technofeudalism, control comes from rents (owning things), not profits (selling things). The capitalist who wants to participate in your iPhone’s “ecosystem” has to make apps and submit them to Apple, along with 30% of their lifetime revenues — they don’t get to sell you jailbreaking kit that lets you choose their app store.

Rent-seeking technology has a holy grail: control over “ring zero” — the ability to compel you to configure your computer to a feudalist’s specifications, and to verify that you haven’t altered your computer after it came into your possession:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/30/ring-minus-one/#drm-political-economy

For more than two decades, various would-be feudal lords and their court sorcerers have been pitching ways of doing this, of varying degrees of outlandishness.

At core, here’s what they envision: inside your computer, they will nest another computer, one that is designed to run a very simple set of programs, none of which can be altered once it leaves the factory. This computer — either a whole separate chip called a “Trusted Platform Module” or a region of your main processor called a secure enclave — can tally observations about your computer: which operating system, modules and programs it’s running.

Then it can cryptographically “sign” these observations, proving that they were made by a secure chip and not by something you could have modified. Then you can send this signed “attestation” to someone else, who can use it to determine how your computer is configured and thus whether to trust it. This is called “remote attestation.”

There are some cool things you can do with remote attestation: for example, two strangers playing a networked video game together can use attestations to make sure neither is running any cheat modules. Or you could require your cloud computing provider to use attestations that they aren’t stealing your data from the server you’re renting. Or if you suspect that your computer has been infected with malware, you can connect to someone else and send them an attestation that they can use to figure out whether you should trust it.

Today, there’s a cool remote attestation technology called “PrivacyPass” that replaces CAPTCHAs by having you prove to your own device that you are a human. When a server wants to make sure you’re a person, it sends a random number to your device, which signs that number along with its promise that it is acting on behalf of a human being, and sends it back. CAPTCHAs are all kinds of bad — bad for accessibility and privacy — and this is really great.

But the billions that have been thrown at remote attestation over the decades is only incidentally about solving CAPTCHAs or verifying your cloud server. The holy grail here is being able to make sure that you’re not running an ad-blocker. It’s being able to remotely verify that you haven’t disabled the bossware your employer requires. It’s the power to block someone from opening an Office365 doc with LibreOffice. It’s your boss’s ability to ensure that you haven’t modified your messaging client to disable disappearing messages before he sends you an auto-destructing memo ordering you to break the law.

And there’s a new remote attestation technology making the rounds: Google’s Web Environment Integrity, which will leverage Google’s dominance over browsers to allow websites to block users who run ad-blockers:

https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity

There’s plenty else WEI can do (it would make detecting ad-fraud much easier), but for every legitimate use, there are a hundred ways this could be abused. It’s a technology purpose-built to allow rent extraction by stripping us of our right to technological self-determination.

Releasing a technology like this into a world where companies are willing to make their products less reliable, less attractive, less safe and less resilient in pursuit of rents is incredibly reckless and shortsighted. You want unauthorized bread? This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:

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

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

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

[Image ID: The interior of a luxury car. There is a dagger protruding from the steering wheel. The entertainment console has been replaced by the text 'You wouldn't download a car,' in MPAA scare-ad font. Outside of the windscreen looms the Matrix waterfall effect. Visible in the rear- and side-view mirror is the driver: the figure from Munch's 'Scream.' The screen behind the steering-wheel has been replaced by the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.']

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

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

[tachvintlogic]

The Pitstop

It was a normal day at the Justice League Watchtower Satellite. Heroes were milling about, Batman was monitoring Earth from the deck, there was an astronaut tapping on the glass, Flash was joking with Martian Manhunter...

What, what was that 3rd thing?

Batman looked up and saw in front of his view of Earth was an astronaut, wearing NASA's latest suit design. He stood up which alerted Flash and Martian Manhunter to the strange sight.

He tensed as the astronaut began to phase through the walls and entered the deck. Batman was able to activate the intruder alarm when the astronaut removed their helmet.

The astronaut was a caucasian male approximately in his early forties. There were bags under his blue eyes like many of his own cohorts, and he had black hair as well.

"We need to dock."

"Excuse me?"

"Who are you?" asked Martian Manhunter.

The astronaut's face brightened immediately upon noticing Martian Manhunter. "Oh! I'm part of the manned Mars mission! We just launched and were on our way, but something is making a weird noise, and we don't know what it is. Since we're so close, can we just dock one of your garages so we can figure out what it is and fix it?"

Batman recalled that NASA had launched less than a few hours ago.

"How did you get through the glass?" asked Flash.

"I'm the token metahuman crewmember. So can we dock or not?"

"Of course," said Martian Manhunter, looking at Batman. And what was Batman supposed to say? No?

In the parking garage, Martian Manhunter was talking the other crewmembers while the Watchtower's engineers and the metahuman astronaut, who they learned was named Danny Fenton, inspected the space shuttle and tried to figure out what was making the strange noise.

Batman watched from the sidelines as the others bustled about. They had been at it for an hour, and Batman wondered if he should ask Tim to come by and help. He had informed Tim of the development while the astronauts were docking. After all, he had been involved in some of the designs of this particular spacecraft that were done by Wayne Aerospace.

He was doubtful that Tim could help that much. After all, in all likelihood it wasn't something he designed that was the problem.

Then, one of the engineers fiddled with something and Batman suddenly heard loud rattling.

A crewmember who was listening to Martian Manhunter startled and their eyes widened. "That's it! That's the sound!"

"What it that?" asked Batman.

The engineer pulled out a piece of equipment that had the Wayne Enterprise logo on it. "This module is broken," she said, "it could be repaired but honestly," she inhaled sharply, "this thing is a hot mess."

Mr. Fenton jumped and landed on the ship like the artificial gravity didn't affect him. When he saw the logo on the broken equipment, he shook his fist at the sky.

"Of course it's something by Wayne Industries! We give them half our budget hoping they're share some cool alien inspired technology like whatever they did to build this satellite and instead we get half-assed garbage!"

Batman made a point to not share the latest gadgets with the US government (he didn't trust them), but he wouldn't call their products that weren't built using alien tech garbage. That seemed a little harsh.

"Seriously, was the person who designed this sleep-deprived when they made this?" Suddenly Batman found the walls and floor to be incredibly interesting and looked away.

"Oh that's par for the course when it comes to the stuff they give us."

"I am so sorry."

As they discussed how to improvise a replacement for the equipment quickly enough to avoid drastically altering the astronaut's flight path, Batman got a text from Tim.

So I'm free now. Did the astronauts figure out what was wrong or do they need me? - RR

He texted back.

They figured it out. The engineers have it handled. - B

[rosewaterandivy]

girl crush

Summary: there’s more than two beds, but of course you sleep in his.

W.C.: 2.5k

Warnings: y’all know me - it’ll be the usual! Smut, idolatry, devotion, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), pussy drunk Steve— I don’t make the rules 😤‼️

a/n: aka your first time with Steve, who may or may not be your boyfriend?

🎶 I’ve got a girl crush, I don’t get no sleep, I don’t get no peace, thinkin’ bout her 🎶

“Wish I could babe,” his voice sounds distant over the phone, wind whipping every other word through the mic, “But we just started production out here, we won’t wrap for a while yet.” You’d caught him during a break in filming, miraculously.

Several dates in LA after an introduction from Eddie, and here you are trying (and failing) to plan another. He’s back in California after a press tour and you were fresh off of recording your latest album.

“Well,” you drawl out, “I could come to you?” The question is rushed, breathless, you screw your eyes close in fear of fucking it all up.

A pause.

“You sure?”

“S’easier than dealing with your schedule, Harrington,” you say lightly, “Palm Springs is doable enough.”

He’s working on some indie picture out in the desert, you were murky on the details. You hear shuffling from his end and ‘psst’s trying to get someone’s attention.

“Rob… Rob! Can you– yeah, the address?”

A moment later your phone dings with a notification.

“So,” you say, throwing clothes haphazardly into a bag, “What’ve you got planned for us?”

Three or so hours later finds you in the desert and absolutely ecstatic about it. Dressed down in cut-offs and an old merch tank–or, as dressed down as you could get–you breathe in deep, thankful to be out of LA. Little to no paps and tabloids to be worried about–or worse, Deuxmoi acolytes–so you could finally relax.

Steve met you out front with the fattest joint you’d seen in years, he nearly dropped it when you all but tackled him to the ground. You were so happy to be with him again.

“Little soon to be proposing, no?”

“Think I’d do better than some hydro from Arglye,” he grouses, but you take it from him anyway with a deep inhale, “Says ‘hi’ by the way.”

“Tell him I accept and we’re registered at Tiffany’s,” you say finally, exhaling slowly.

He rolls his eyes, “Okay, Material Girl,” he helps to hoist you back up, “Tour time.”

After the grand tour, which was impressive–“Holy shit, do you have Robin on retainer? ‘Cause if not...”--Steve entertained you in the kitchen, making what he called the ‘secret sauce.’

“Oh, that?” you scoff, pouring some wine, “Had that on date number two, if you’ll recall.” You take a sip and continue with a waggle of your brows, “My compliments to the chef, as ever.”

Steve blushes at that, recalling how pretty you had looked with your glossed lips around his cock, all warm and soft under the dim light from the setting sun. A groan rumbles from his chest as he braces himself against the countertop, knuckles turning white.

“You’re a menace,” he said, voice low and gravelly, before he turned his attention back to the pots and pans on the stove.

You shrug and drink some wine, savoring the crisp tart taste against your tongue. Steve flits from one spot to the next while he cooks, stirring the sauce one moment and blanching veggies the next; all the while, remaining loose enough to pour a second glass of wine for you and another for himself.

Infuriatingly attractive that.

The sun had gone down in the desert while Steve finished with the pasta. You’d assigned yourself the task of setting the table and doing the dishes after dinner. Plates and cutlery arranged, you helped yourself to some salad while Steve served the pasta.

You mouth had already been watering at the mere scent of whatever was bubbling away on the stove, and all it took was one bite to have you audibly moaning at the dinner table. His eyes met yours, mischievous and curious, as he sipped his wine.

“Fuck me, that’s good,” you say with closed eyes, savoring the taste.

Steve laughs quietly across the table.

Dinner goes on, you try to reign in your vocal appreciation of the meal. He fills you in on some details of the shoot, set gossip, and the like. You offer up the scant information you have about the upcoming tour and album release. Clearing the table is easy enough between the two of you, knocking hips every so often as you washed and he dried the dishes.

You ended up in his bedroom, collecting the duffle you’d packed from the guest room down the hall. It was a kind thought, that you would opt for a separate room and your own space; he was hesitant like that, never wanting to assume.

Electing to change in the ensuite bathroom, you step out of the denim cutoffs and fold them neatly on the counter. Shoes had been kicked off at the front door earlier in the evening, leaving you now in an ancient Corroded Coffin shirt that had seen better days. He’s sat on the bed, looking all soft and sweet–tousled hair and wire rimmed glasses framing his face nicely, skin flushed from the wine.

He bit his lip when he saw you come out, hair a mess and legs, legs, legs, but a vision nevertheless. He can’t help himself as you step between his splayed knees at the edge of the bed, his hands coming to rest against he curve of your hips.

“Hey honey,” he murmurs as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hey Steve,” you greet in return, lips pulled tight in an embarrassed smile.

Gently, he tugs you closer to him, the fabric of the shirt rucking up against your skin. His finger skirts against the back of your thigh, the skin shivering involuntarily. “Missed you,” he says, voice raspy and low.

His soft gaze lingers on you, warm hazel eyes looking up through long lashes. “Missed you too,” you say quietly.

“Yeah?” he asks, fingers grasping at the flare of your hips before he leans back on the bed, “C’mere then.”

As you clamber onto the bed, he lays back against the cool cotton of the duvet pulling you down with him. Substantively seated in his lap, you rest your head against his chest and let out a sigh.

“Comfy?” he says, a hand trailing lazily up and down your back. You nod, fingering the fabric of the shirt between your fingers. Softened by time and wear, paint and lettering disintegrating each time you wore it. It smells comforting like you–cardamom and sandalwood with a hint of something boozy–smells like home.

“I’ll keep you close then.”

His other arms falls against your hips while he continues to trace shapes against your back. You feel his lips leave at the crown of your head before his head falls back against the mattress. It’s quiet and he can tell from the rhythm of your breathing that you’re a few minutes from falling asleep.

The nation’s favorite spitfire in his bed, face nuzzled into his chest, bit by bit chiseling your way into his heart.

Steve lets his teeth worry his bottom lip, willing his nerves not to get the best of him. “Y’know, I really like you.”

“Mmm,” your drowsy moan comforting, the lazy smile tugging at your lips setting off the butterflies in his stomach. “I really like you too.”

Fuck, he hadn’t been this nervous in a while. And yeah, you’d been seeing each other for a minute but not long enough to have the ‘what are we’ conversation.

His hand tangles in your hair, loose and windswept from the drive, fingers scratching lightly at your scalp. A muffled moan pours from your lips and vibrates his chest.

“Sorry, sorry” you slur sleepily, “M’not normally such a lightweight.”

Steve, for his part, doesn’t think anything of it. You’d had, what, one glass of wine at dinner— maybe two? But you could be tired from the drive.

Maybe he’s misreading this thing entirely. A brief flicker of panic licks up his spine; maybe it’s too soon, maybe you just want to sleep—

“Can hear you thinkin’ up there,” you mumble and pull him from his downward spiral. A brief movement as you settle your chin to his chest and glance up. Your eyes are half-lidded and sultry, lips pulled in an enticing fashion.

He grunts when you shift your weight until you’re practically sitting on his chest to keep him breathless. He’s smiling up toward the ceiling, one side of his lips curled upward, jaw slack, easy and yielding because Steve offers himself to everything like this: headfirst and wide-open.

It’s be infuriating if he wasn’t crashing headlong toward you. It’d be irritating if he wasn’t so damn earnest about it.

After a while of feeling out each other's atmosphere, eyes catching every so often before flitting away to focus on something else, Steve arches up to request a kiss, all warmth and need.

You lean down to touch your lips to his gently, brushing your nose with his along the way— a wholly delicate gesture he never would’ve expected from you, but has grown to adore.

“We can go slow,” you breathe against his lips. “Don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Steve’s stomach swoops. He reaches up to cradle the back of your neck, drawing your forehead to his. “That so?”

You're smiling— so big and beautiful it hurts. And his heart is so loud he thinks you must hear it.

The kiss was clumsy, you chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your lips to his burned down his throat, like whiskey and joy— warm and smooth and cataclysmic as his hand cupped your face. You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush in excitement because you’re not letting go, so he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning all the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it lights him up. “Steve,” you say again, and his eyes slip shut. Even now, he’s crushed with longing.

You press the heat of your core into his groin, grinding your hips into his.  

When your tongue touches him again, he thinks he might go blind. His eyes flutter open as much as they can, to savor the moment of your face so close to his. Your eyes, shut. Your skin, flushed. Your hair, a silky, folded curtain against his chest.

You are straddling Steve’s thigh now, sitting on your knees and moving against his thick limb in slow orbits. The underwear sitting against your hips is still there but does nothing to keep the slickness between your legs at bay. His thigh is moist from it, and it catches a shine in the fading light.

“Need you, baby,” you plead. “Any way you want.”

You glow like a full moon in the night, divining his animal desires with phosphorescent eyes.

Too eager now with permission. Too eager now with the fiercest kind of lust—of love—he lets it go. All for you, and you all for him. He nips at your collar, drowning deeper and deeper. Fingers meandering to hook into the gauzy and damp fabric hiding you from him and pulls. Wants you bare and shuddering beneath him. Hip bones against hip bones, the noises you make—ragged and hoarse—sending tremors down his back.

Steve grips your waist and moves you from his leg. A whimper escapes before it turns into a gasp as he turns you around, back meeting the cool of the sheets. “You call it, sweetheart.” Comes his husky voice in your ear. You know he means it completely.

A moan slips forth when he dives into the back of your shirt and tears it off, does the same with his. He wants to hear that noise again. The two of you are entwined like real lovers, pulling apart only to breathe and whisper to each other.

He falls onto his forearms, touching foreheads together, noses together, lips hovering until you meet him in a sloppy half-kiss, tongue slipping over his, spit and sweat shimmering across your mouth.

Steve doesn’t bother taking his boxer-briefs off completely, crumpling them down just below his cock is enough for him to slide in like he was created for you. He tells you as much, as you whimper and cry out beneath him.

“Look at me,” He prompts, tilting your face so you see where he’s connected to you. He’s searing hot as he thrusts upwards. “You were made for this.” He’s delirious with it, the heavy thrum that flows through the union of your bodies, “You were made for me.”

Like a prayer, he repeats your name.

Inside of that deafening miasma, Steve is still awake and a part of him knows that this is what he’d been longing for. His cock is throbbing inside of you and every time he pulls out and thrusts back in, your cunt wipes any shred of doubt from his mind.

Your head tips backwards and he catches the base of your skull in one giant hand. “So good,” you praise, “You’re so good, Steve.”

God, he’s so hard. Cramming himself inside your body, torso to torso, as close as he can get because he needs it—he needs it so bad.

He’s blind with it, drunk off it, beginning to rut like he’s in heat, surprised at the confessions he burns into your neck g’na marry you, fuck— that have you gasping and clenching in equal measure. Catalogues and litanies of honey, baby, fuckfuckfuck, god—growling devotions sinking into your throat, your shoulder, your chest. Sucking inscriptions in the common tongue of love as they slip past his lips.

You take all of him again and again, matching his pace, eyes squeezed shut, opening briefly but dazed. Panting and pleading his name, sudden waves of orgasm making you shake and shiver. Then he starts again— easier, kinder, letting the beast work its way back through his skin. Tongue sweeping lines. Canines pulling flesh.

You sigh and smile. A sacred dream of flesh and blood wrapped around him. “Wanna see you, baby,” you say, “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

So he does, blinking through the darkness and finds you like a beacon, as you always are, as you always will be. His hair falls to one side, lighter from the summer sun, suspended and rocking along.

“’S that good? Like this?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he babbles, “Wanna give you everything.”

“Come with me, Steve—come on, baby.”

And it’s all so fast. Your words. His words. Your hands. His hands. Hips moving in heavy thrusts and hair falling over his face and endless moans of god, fuck, 'm gonna come at the last minute before his eyes roll back behind his lids.

Steve buries his face into your neck, groaning. “Mine,” he whispers finally coming back to himself. Raspy and slow and again when you gasp. Your nails dig into his back reflexively, thighs squeezing him tight.

He’s smiling like an idiot because he doesn’t know what else to do about it. His heart is fluttering and filling up. He looked at you for too long, thought about you too hard even though you’re right here and his, and maybe that’s what launched itself into his dizzy head.

A hard kiss that makes you whimper. Mine. Another to the line of your open jaw. Mine. Your throat. Your collar. Your chest. Mine. Mine. Mine.

You smile into his temple, rubbing your cheek on him, too. 

“Keeping me all to yourself?”

He nods eagerly, heart full, then overflowing. “Keeping you forever.”

[leafington]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙞 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙣, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙜𝙚𝙩. - kento n.

content warning !! - enemies to lovers w nanami (i caved), blackfem!reader, ngh modelceo!reader, ceo!nanami, me putting my business and entrepreneurship knowledge to use, light intoxication, suggestiveness at the end

a/n - IM BACK YALL WOOOOOO, sorry for making u wait @jellicatty 🙁

For years, Nanami has held himself to competition with you and your company. If he had a tier-list of all the people he hated, you were a close second to Gojo. To say he hated your guts was an understatement, some thought he just had some sort of lingering grudge, others assumed you two just got off the wrong foot but they couldn't be far from wrong. That man practically wanted you dead, and that's a hard call to make from someone who was raised well.

His mother was nothing short of a good woman, she taught his son to do great things—respect elders, women, and children alike, offer up his seat to those who needed it more than him, never pray upon someone's downfall no matter how hard they made his life. Each and every time he comes across your presence, he closes his eyes and mentally apologizes to his mother.

Your being insinuates such hatred within him. The way you arose to popularity out of nowhere due to what? Daddy's money? Your looks that earned you sexiest woman alive four years in a row? He wasn't accepting that 'model starting their own company' bullshit, not that he didn't believe one couldn't, just not you.

He recalls the very first moment he met you, three years ago when you made his life hell. 'Japan's Top Model, L/n Y/n, announces her official clothing line.' Who knew a simple headline could turn his future upside down? At the time, he'd only heard of you once or twice over a news article or a random scandal that just so happened to sneak into his algorithm. But this was different, it effected him in every way possible.

Suddenly, he has competition. 'LVS' stocks had reached a pinnacle point within just a few weeks of launching, he'd never seen those abbreviations before, the next, his own business was constantly being compared to by this new threatening company. All things after that basically consisted of Nanami fighting for his top spot. You can't even describe how upset he was when he first met you. A beautiful woman, buttering up the chairman into letting you attend the business meetings that he [Nanami] went to, pretty tits bouncing when introducing yourself to the other members of the council, and that gleam of something in your eye when you finally met with Nanami.

"So you're the one hogging No. 1?"

He doesn't give a damn how many of the other pervs fell for your charm, to him, you were the devil in disguise.

Nanami Kento despised you with every fibre of his person. Even at this formal event.

"Sexiest woman alive"? Damn right you were. He can see how easily the others fell for you, if he didn't have his head screwed on tight, he would've been the next one to take you in the office.

That black sleeveless maxi dress kept him on his toes the entire night, curves and assets prominent. The way you held your glass of sparkling rosé, chatting it up with whoever that unfortunate soul was that thought they would get you in their bed after this was all over. Nanami held his own drink, a good amount of scotch that'd get him through the remainder of the event without bashing someone's head in. He's trying to listen to his colleague brag about his latest product of his work that's been selling well, but you being in his line of sight smiling and giggling seemed way more appealing.

In no way is Nanami a man who occupied himself with women, until he found a good place to settle and retire, a relationship didn't have any room in his life. To the best of his abilities, he ignores the now reciprocated exchange of stares, only sipping from the modern glass whenever he felt he needed the extra loosening.

And loose he was.

You look good. Too good. He turned his head to avoid indulging, not with the woman who's downfall he's prayed upon. Though it's far too late because that scotch is getting it's moneys worth having already downed three glasses and bringing him closer and closer to the woman he claimed he loathed.

His compliments were unlike anything he's ever thought of you. "You look stunning tonight." "Your stylist did an amazing job." "The pictures do you no justice." Drunk words are sober thoughts as they say. His eyes were telling more than his words, he wanted you bad.

Compared to any other elderly male he knew what to say to have you feel won over, even if you were well aware of his hatred towards you. So.. though it was just for a night, you returned the favor. Addressing his compliments with your own, insisting that the media makes such false claims about his person, feeling him up, and eventually dragging him to the bathroom to show him exactly how you shot to the top.

"You minx." He hisses as your kisses trail lower from his jaw. "Oh? What happened to all that talk you were doing?" You effortlessly tug his tie off, allowing it to hang from his neck. "Do you do this with every man you want to surpass?" He grits, fighting his natural urges to give in. "Very few, only the ones that act uppity and look good in a suit."

"Fuck... I hate you so much."

©2024 leafington dont steal please!! :)

[theforgottenmcrmy]

For the Love of Candied Lemons (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: absolutely none, this is purely fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Summary: Princess Rhaenyra's latest craving results in a rather embarrassing incident for you, and a frightening one for Harwin.

A/N: I most fucking embarrassingly am a citizen of the “democracy” that is the US. I hope you can find some enjoyment in this product of my coping, however small. I put enough context in here that you hopefully don’t need to have read it, but this is a one shot idea from a larger story of mine called Growing Strong, the master list of which can be found HERE.

“Seven hells- Princess Rhaenyra’s message said I would find you here.”

Feeling slightly betrayed, but mostly embarrassed, you let out a frustrated huff. “I did not mean for her to send for you.”

“I have no doubt that the Princess’s intent was genuine. She only wants to ensure that you are well,” Harwin placated soothingly. He took another slow step in your direction, glancing about your shared chambers with a look of mild interest as he did so. “Though I am curious as to why you were brought here. Wouldn’t the Maester’s chambers have been more sufficient?”

“Grand Maester Mellos was a rather unfortunate witness to the … incident,” you replied carefully. “He rushed to assist me at once, and our chambers were far closer than his office.”

The maester in question, who had been gathering up the last of his supplies, hummed thoughtfully to himself. Sparing you a small smile, he chimed in, “All things considered, Lady Tyrell, the injuries you sustained could have been far, far worse.”

“But?” you prodded with a smile of your own, not bothering to hide the hopefulness in your tone.

“But, apply this salve a few times a day, ensure the cuts are kept clean, and all shall heal just fine.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Harwin thanked him sincerely. Sneaking in a teasing glance your way, your husband added, “I shall personally ensure that the Lady Tyrell heeds your advice faithfully.”

Grand Maester Mellos bobbed his head in silent acknowledgement, before rising to his feet and leaving the room. As soon as the door your shared chambers closed, Harwin was upon you at once.

“Let me see,” he pleaded, though you knew it was not a demand, but rather a request for your permission. Whenever it came to you, Harwin never acted without it.

You begrudgingly met his inquisitive gaze, and allowed yourself to be subject to his thorough scrutinization of your current state. His careful hand slowly rose alongside your face, and you allowed your head to tilt backward with his gentle guiding, giving him full visibility of the multitude of scrapes that now marred your chin.

After a moment, Harwin dropped his hand, and turned his attention to yours. You presented your palms openly towards him, allowing him to pour his eyes over the additional cuts that littered the otherwise smooth skin. 

Your husband slowly traced one of the more visibly angry gashes, and you flinched involuntarily.

Harwin immediately offered a hushed apology. “What happened, My Love?”

You broke away from his loving gaze, looking down at your palms with shame. “It’s all rather embarrassing… And the truth of it is, I’m still not precisely sure what happened.”

Harwin reached for your hands once more, mindfully grasping at the uninjured sides of them. As you allowed yourself to take some comfort from the gesture, he suggested, “Perhaps it is best you start at the beginning, then?”

“Your sisters and I were strolling the gardens with Princess Rhaenyra,” you recalled. “Suddenly, she wished for some candied lemons.”

Harwin’s expression shifted from one of curiosity to sudden understanding.

As a lady in waiting for Princess Rhaenyra, who had recently discovered herself to be with her first child, you had been adamant in seeing to her every need and whim. While it would have been expected of you, given your official position, Harwin knew that you had placed additional pressure upon yourself to see that Princess Rhaenyra was well looked after. Though your time in King’s Landing had been short in comparison to others, in that time you had quickly developed a genuine kinship with and affection for Rhaenyra, sentiments that Harwin believed were reciprocated.

“The kitchens are so far away from the gardens, as you know,” you continued to explain. “By the time we would have sent word, and then waited for the candies to be prepared… I thought it would have been futile. I volunteered to go to the kitchens myself.”

“And so you did.”

“And so I did,” you confirmed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes once more. “I was on my way from the kitchens, headed back to the gardens. And as I was descending the stairs outside of the Small Council Chambers, I could not see my feet. I think my skirts may have gotten twisted perhaps, and…”

“...And?”

“Before I knew it, my feet were above my head, candied lemons went flying through the air, and I went tumbling down the stairs.”

Despite the situation, you could have sworn the corners of Harwin’s pursed lips flinched upwards.

“I managed to break my fall on the very bottom step with my hands, but not before my chin got a good go of it. Grand Maester Mellos saw everything, naturally. The Seven weren’t so kind as to spare me an audience for this grand mishap. He whisked me away at once to see to these cuts… And, now that things have calmed and some clarity has returned, I believe he also sent a page to inform Princess Rhaenyra of what had transpired. Given your presence now, I assume she in turn sent for you.” You paused briefly, feeling embarrassment overcome you once more. “I still cannot believe you rushed all the way back to the Red Keep from Flea Bottom solely on my account.”

Harwin’s patrols as a Gold Cloak of the City Watch kept him busier more often than not. You had never faulted him for it; copious amounts of your own time was spent carrying out your duties to Princess Rhaenyra.

“Judging by the ominous look on the messenger boy’s face, I did not feel as though I had much of a choice.” Your husband sighed tiredly, his eyes flickering over your various abrasions once more.

Suddenly, he placed a quick, firm kiss on your cheek. You felt them grow hot once more, although this time it was not with embarrassment.

“It pains me to see you injured, even in these small ways,” Harwin confessed. “Though I cannot deny that it brings me great relief to see that these cuts are all you have to show for a ‘tumble down the stairs’... It did not take great effort on my part to imagine the worst.”

You reached for his hands then, ignoring the stinging sensations in them that rapidly followed. “Truly, I shall be quite alright, Dearest. The only thing that was gravely injured today was my pride. A lady of House Tyrell, tripping and bumbling down a staircase like a waddling child? … Gods, I hope my brother never hears of this. He will not let me live this down.”

Harwin rolled his eyes, but the gesture was without annoyance or malice. “Between jousting and tournaments or simply training out in the yard, I am certain Lord Tyrell has taken more than a few falls of his own. An accident was all that this was, My Love. And an accident is certainly nothing to be ashamed of.”

You blushed. “You are kind- too kind, perhaps. While I appreciate your concern, I truly did not wish for you to permanently abandon your post for the day. I will not keep you to myself; go on and return to the city. I shall see you later tonight.”

Harwin scoffed. “Surely you jest. The Commander gave me leave to see to it that you are well. It seems only fair that I should ensure your wellness continues for the duration of the day.”

You smiled. “You wish to spend the day with me?”

Between Harwin’s patrols with the City Watch, and your own duties to Princess Rhaenyra, the opportunity to spend any significant time with one another during the day was seldom found.

You shook your head, attempting to quell your rising hopes. “As much as I love the thought, Dearest, I did promise Princess Rhaenyra those candied lemons…”

“I would not keep you from your duties, either.” Harwin held out a hand to you, standing fast; he was not going anywhere. “Mayhaps you will allow me to accompany my Lady Wife to retrieve more candied lemons from the kitchens?” 

Grinning, you took his hand. As you carefully rose to your feet, you offered him a teasing smile. “How could I ever refuse such a generous and noble offer?”

Harwin winked. “I was hoping you’d be agreeable to it.”

“And why is that, Dearest?”

You intertwined your arm with his, daintily resting your scraped hand on the crook of his elbow. As you leaned into him, and rested your head on his upper arm, Harwin gently turned and began to lead the two of you over to the door. The pace was leisurely, the moment calm and intimate. The realm existed outside the closed chamber door, but for now, the world was comprised entirely of just the two of you.

As Harwin reached for the door handle, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Lemon candies are replaceable. But you, My Love, are not.”

[bugs1nmybrain]

Fruity Drinks: L x Reader - Drunk Sex (Minors Don't Interact)

Writer's Notes: Can you tell that I'm running out of ideas? First Shigaraki's stoned smut and now L's drunk smut. I don't encourage substance use!! It's just funny to write about with my favorite characters.

Warnings: VERY ooc L, silly L, fem reader, alcohol use, drunk sex (L and reader are both drunk), the reader is described as a young adult, oral sex (m and f receiving), 69, no penetrative sex, comedy smut sorta, lame and cheesy but kind of fluff ending

How L ended up agreeing to this little arrangement was beyond him. It wasn't that he had never consumed alcohol before. There were a few times when he'd buy a sweet drink from a nice restaurant when he went out. Drinking enough to get drunk, though? L couldn't recall ever doing that. He hated the idea of his judgement and self-control being impaired.

However, he had recently solved a very internationally significant case. You insisted that he and you should celebrate. L didn't really understand the point, he solved cases left and right all the time. He had so many under his belt that it didn't necessarily add to his notoriety anymore. In actuality, though, you simply wanted a night where you and L felt like two typical young adults, wanting to have some fun and loosen up. His solving his latest case was merely an excuse, a poor one in L's opinion.

So you and him sat in one of his more cozy rooms at his house. The room was big and decorated nicely. You questioned if L had chosen the interior design or if it was how the room was before he purchased the house. Or maybe a product of Watari's doing? Themes of white and gold rained prominent throughout the room, which added to the novelty. In front of you and L were many drinks, accompanied by juices and soda that you thought would make the drinks more tolerable. L expressed to you that he could hardly bear the taste of alcohol, so you made sure to accommodate him with some easier options.

"So, it must feel nice to have gotten that case out of the way," you comment.

A part of L was agitated by that question, perceiving it as petty small talk. "Yes, it is. Admittedly, every time I solve a case, I feel disappointed knowing there's no more to uncover from said case; that the war has been won. The satisfaction from my victory is more to compensate for it, though. I'll just have to go searching for another, now."

"Mhm. Did you have any ideas on what drinks you were interested in?" you asked.

"Hard to say. Something sweet, for sure."

"No need to over-explain yourself. I'm sure it'll be perfectly fine."

You chuckle at his very obvious statement, "I could've guessed that. I heard that vodka cranberries were sweet, so I chose stuff for that, if it's alright. I will warn you that I am not someone who mixes drinks often. I kind of don't even know what I am doing, but I tried coming prepared."

So you continued to pour L a drink, mixing vodka and cranberry juice like an amateur bartender. You also made yourself one, hoping that the matching drinks would provide some nice bonding between the two of you. When you were done, you handed your lover his drink and he held the glass with his pointer and thumb, eyeballing it for a moment.

"This would have been nice with some cherries," he comments.

"I'll remember that for next time," you chuckle, taking a sip from your drink.

L began drinking his beverage as well, furrowing his brows at the sting of the alcohol in his throat. You eyeball him, finding his face of discomfort adorable.

"Are you alright?" you ask.

"Yes, love. It's not as bad as I thought. I think the cranberry juice dilutes the taste of the alcohol, but there's still a burning sensation."

"Makes sense."

"Why exactly are we doing this again?"

"To have fun. Loosen up a little."

"Ah, I see. You know that I'm not one to do this sort of thing. Especially not anything that would impair my reasoning abilities."

"I know. Is it okay? We can stop if you'd like."

"I didn't mean that, exactly. Honestly, I'm a little curious to what you are like while intoxicated. Is that strange of me to say?" he questions, giving you an engaged expression.

"That's true, though. Perhaps I should indulge your curiosity. You deserve the privilege for being such an outstanding girlfriend, " he eyes you with a neutral expression.

You blush and laugh a bit, "No. I don't mind that."

Honestly, L being nosy was something that was a surprising turn on often.

"I actually wanted to see how you'd be, honestly. I've never seen you drunk or high or anything like that and I was curious on how your behavior would shift."

"You're the perfect psychologist."

You chuckle abruptly in response.

You laugh at his compliments, feeling a sense of comfort in knowing his admiration for you. L continues to drink his vodka cran, watching you as you drink yours as well.

------------

About an hour rolls by and you and L are absolutely hammered. This was a surprise for sure. L had never submitted to this kind of lack of cognitive control, and you had surely never seen this side of him.

The two of you hadn't simply sat there and drank. You had turned on some crime documentary and sat side by side, with your form leaning onto his shoulder. L seemed to really be enjoying his drinks, as he downed one after the other. It was actually very concerning. In truth, he just really liked the taste of them and you two hadn't gotten snacks.

It seemed that L could hold his liquor quite well, and he did when he was simply watching TV. Until now. You sat as the documentary began to give the viewers options as to who they thought the suspect was in the series of murders. L went from dead quiet to deeply and prominently vocal, so much so that it startled you.

"It's him. How..? A seven year old could guess who the murderer is...that one-uh-guy."

Your eyes shot wide open and you tried your hardest to hold in a laugh.

"I'm shutting this off," L announces, clumsily reaching for the remote. He grips it sluggishly and flicks the tv off, slouching back onto the couch. He still sat in his typical position but with his head titled to the side, looking as though he was about to fall over.

You hadn't exactly processed your own intoxication up to this point. It was terribly difficult not to hold back your laughter, and ultimately, you failed. You let out the most uncensored laugh, and L shot his face your way with his finger pressed to his lip.

"What's funny?"

"You. You're cute."

"Oooooh. Yes, you tell me that very often."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh no need..my love. You're, quite "cute" yourself. Did you know that?"

Your flustered face beams a glow, both from the alcohol and your embarrassment. You continue to chuckle for way too many seconds. You sat rigidly in response, thighs pressed together and hands on top of them.

"You..."L begins. You could tell that him never being drunk before contributed to his very apparent intoxication.

"You're so pretty. Your hair,,, and your eyes...you're..how did I manage to end up with such a beautiful lady?? You're so gorgeous, Y/N."

He was plastered. This was hilarious. You thought he was lying but when you looked at him and saw his cheeks flushed and eyes heavy, along with his finger teasing his lips, you could tell he was genuine. He was cute, so much so that you couldn't control more flustered laughter escaping your lips.

"Am I funny?" L asked. You couldn't tell if he was insulted or not. You hoped that it wasn't the case, as your laughter was far from out of a malicious nature.

"Yeah. I think you're the funniest person I know. You make me laugh without even meaning to, like all the time."

"Hmm...you like me that much? Do I have really have that affect on you?"

Even though you were very drunk, you could hear the tone of his voice become rather flirtatious, though uncoordinated.

"I've noticed, Y/N. You're rather addicted to my attention. And when you look at me, your face lights up. Your body tenses. Your speech becomes stammered. I'm not referring to the alcohol, nuh uh. You love me."

"Yes, of course, I love you. Why wouldn't I?"

You felt hurt a little, so you held your head down. It made you upset, because yes, he was a rather sneaky and occasionally manipulative partner. He wasn't harsh or anything, or trying to corrupt you, at least you thought. But he would try and pry out information and reactions from you, and get you to say things that would help him understand your tricks and own manipulation tactics.

"Because I am a treacherous, inhumane liar. Who's to say..I'm not lying right now? About how pretty you are, hm?"

L is always a thousand steps ahead of you, easily picking up on your suspicions of the genuineness in his compliments.

"Lovee...don't frown. I didn't meaan that. I actually, have proof. That you're pretty."

"Huh?"

"Yes. Do you want to see the evidence?????"

The drunkenness of yourself and his slurred speech confused you and so you cocked an eyebrow and let out another, "Huh?"

"Come here..Sit right here, next to me."

So you complied. You scooched directly next to L. He reaches to cup your shoulder and presses you close to him. He takes your hand carefully and sets it down over his crotch. Your heart jumps at the touch of his stabbing bulge, straining against his jeans.

"You see, do you see my point?"

You could feel his point, for sure. An unexpected moan escapes your lips, and you can feel yourself become wet instantly from the knowledge of his attraction to you. It didn't help that you loved his cock, either. You feel incredibly embarrassed at the noise you made uncontrollably, and bury your face into your hands.

"No, don't do that, my love." He takes your hand and sets it on his bulge again. "I want you. Would you be willing to indulge me? In your beauty?"

"Mmmmm...yea. Yea, I'd..like that a lot," Your verbal communication has gone out the window and you are unable to manage your composure at all. "Y-yes..yes please..."

"You're so cute," without much warning, L crawls on top of you, fumbling as he does so. He hovers over you and looks you in the eyes for a moment as his hair falls downward. With lustful, lidded eyes he makes his way to kiss the nape of your neck. Even intoxicated, he manages to maintain his romantic and calculated movements, even if they are a little sloppy.

"Mmm!"

"That's it..."

L's desperate need for stimulation encourages him to grind his clothed cock on your thigh for relief. He groans as he kisses your neck, lightly nipping at it. Your gasps cause him to twitch in his pants and he yearns out in painful arousal.

"Mmm, you're soooo pretty. Can I see your breasts? They're so nice. I want to see them."

It was a little humorous when L would talk about your body. He hardly used slang terms, such as tits. His use of clinical language was cute, though awkward. You nod with an eager, "mhm."

It took him a bit to remove your shirt and unhook your bra. Surprising for him, L is usually so good at coordinated actions. Once you were exposed for him, he merely stared at you for many seconds, cock pulsing at the sight of you.

"Oh my goodness," he comments, making you embarrassed.

You can feel your face flush and grow hotter and hotter, as well as your cunt. You couldn't help it when you began squirming your thighs together in arousal, and L let out a sigh at the impact of your movements against his erection. His penis was painfully sensitive, perhaps caused by blood flow from the alcohol.

You gripped his pants, pulling the hem to release his member so you could touch him. You tuck your hand under his waistband and wrap your fingers gently around him. He sighed heavily as you stroked him clumsily. His hips rocked himself into your hand, basking in how good it felt.

"Are you,, do you feel good?" you ask with a slurred tone.

"You have no idea."

He continues nipping at your neck. His hands were relentless, searching for any part of your body to squish or tease.

"Are you turned on?" L asks with a tone of voice that makes him almost sound guilty. He knew full well he was losing control of his gravitation toward you and perhaps wasn't being the most romantic or courteous.

"How about you look for evidence?"

"Hmm.."

L did just that, hand slipped into your pants to feel your pussy. When he discovered you had a hot, wet secretion that drenched you, he slowly plunged two fingers inside out you. You whimper in tension, but once he began rubbing your special spot, your body relaxed to his touch.

His fingers pulled out, making sure to rub your clitoris a bit. The lubricant from your pussy made his motions much more fluid. Fuck, even while he was hammered he was so precise. Sloppier than usual, but still knew exactly what they were doing.

"I...i want to taste you so badly right now," he yearns as he stops fingering you. He begins moving his way down to your crotch but you grip his hair before he can make it.

"I want to..to make you feel good, too. Let me do it to you."

"What? No. I want to bury my face in you, like right now. I don't have time for your mouth."

wow.

"I think people do like, 69? Right?"

"I'm not extremely educated in that department. But...that could be nice.."

You and L exchange a few more lusty kisses until he pushes you to lie on top of him. "You should turn the other way, right?"

Without a response you turned your body so that your ass was facing him. Your cunt hovered above him, to which he glanced at for a few moments. He cupped his hands around your ass and pulled you down so that your heat was pressed against his mouth.

You yelp quietly at the contact. You hadn't ever tried 69 and the position was rather vulnerable. However, the way L was devouring your cunt made it clear he wasn't bothered in the slightest.

He lied down with his legs crunched so that his knees were bent. You took his cock in your hand, giving it a few tender strokes and finally stuffing it in your mouth. L moaned against your pussy, enhancing the stimulation. He sucked on your clit vigorously while holding you in place.

L was interesting in that he adored eating you out. You felt bad as if you were a burden for wanting that kind of pleasure. He never objected, though. He had a pretty significant oral fixation, and running his tongue along your cunt was strangely soothing. Plus, the added bonus of the pride he felt when he made you cum was incredibly rewarding.

Blowing him was kind of difficult right now. Your mouth had a hard time coordinating, but you managed to bob your head along him. He must've been enjoying it by the muffles he made against your cunt. L's cock was a bit long, which made taking his whole length tricky. His hips jolted forward on impulse, gagging you a little.

"Shit! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"It's..okay," you said in between kisses along his cock. L wanted to chuckle at how you were treating his length, but he was far too concentrated on making you cum. You were taking a little longer than usual, but it was alright. L simply thrust his fingers inside of you for a bit and rubbed your G-spot.

He could feel himself building slowly, and he wondered if he could make the two of you orgasm at the same time.

"Mmfm...you taste incredible," he comments. "You're so pretty down here, too."

L's praise always made your heart jolt a little. Sometimes you questioned his sincerity, but he seemed to want you to feel good about yourself for whatever reason. It still made you feel validated nonetheless.

You hummed on his dick in a pleasant response. L kept running his tongue along your clit in consistent motions, and you can start feeling your cunt quiver. L knows, recognizing the way your pussy twitched in his mouth. A smirk grazes his face as your cunt spasms in convulsions and you have to pop your head up for air as you mewl uncontrollably. L allows himself to let go as well as his cum spurts out onto your face while you gave him a mess as well.

You and L both were panting, absolutely overwhelmed by your sensations. An instant exhaustion washed over and you collapsed on top of him.

"Come here," L requests. You pull yourself to face him and L kisses you deeply, not caring about the swapping of genital fluids. "Tonight has been very pleasant, wouldn't you agree?"

"Hehe...I suppose. That felt very, very good."

"I thought so, perhaps we should do that more often."

"What about the drinking, should we do that more often?

"Honestly, I'm not the biggest fan. I feel very out of control of my inhibitions," he admits. Tonight was surely fun, though.

"That makes sense."

"I liked tonight though. And I'm happy I got to spend time with you."

"Me too," you fall on L's chest, and if he wasn't so drunk, he'd probably leave once you fell asleep. But he let himself drift along with you this time, enjoying your warmth. You were already sleeping, but he planted a kiss on your temple and allowed himself comfort in your love for him.

[littlebitsalt]

Lies

Yandere (former) friend x reader

Summary: you meet your school friend again.

You write for a living. You travel across the world and make stories out of them. You had enough money to do what you want, enough friends to keep company, enough readers to keep you motivated.

You worked in a company a few years ago. You woke up early and got ready for a hard day's work back then. Work was stressful, and the people around you were a burden. You had no one to express your feelings back there.

So you stopped working for the company after 4 years. You decided to pursue your dreams as a writer. Your friends and family were worried that you weren't going to make a living out of writing, but you succeeded. Your work wasn't the best out there, but you appreciated your life as a writer.

You finished a sequel for your first book a week ago. Your friends called you for celebration. You and your friends had fun, singing, drinking, and chatting about some personal stuff.

One of your friends, Jamie, brought up middle school while talking.

"Hey, do you guys remember Ray from middle school?"

You nodded. You remember him very well.

"I heard that he is a son of a well known company's owner!"

Your friend said.

"So the rumor was right all along?"

Your other friend, Alex, was surprised.

"Yeah, those rumors were true! Didn't you work for the company Ray's father owns?"

Jamie asked.

"I did, but I've only seen him in the elevator or hallways. We were in different departments. How did you know about this anyway Jamie? I haven't seen this in news."

"Well... I work in a magazine company.. and a friend of mine told me."

You picture Ray walking around, alone. He was never with someone. He isolated himself from everyone. People from the company often tried to start a conversation with Ray, but they never got his attention. It wasn't that Ray couldn't communicate with others. Ray didn't need anybody. Doing something without any company was possible for him. In fact, Ray was good at it.

You didn't have any interactions with him. You didn't even try to. Plus, he is too busy to hang around with people.

You woke up from your recall and focused on the conversation.

"Is he still a loner?"

Alex asked.

"I think he is. But he does his work very well, that's for sure."

"He wouldn't be Ray if he wasn't the best, and alone."

Alex snorted.

"Hadn't Ray and you have something going on in middle school? You were basically Ray's stalker in middle school."

Jamie smirked at you. Jamie was always well informed with the latest news, even in middle school.

"What do you mean? You know that I talked to almost everyone at that time!"

"Jamie has a point. You literally followed him everywhere in middle school. I'm surprised Ray hadn't reported you."

"Just tell us the truth!"

Jamie looked at you with sparkling eyes. You knew that Jamie wasn't going to lose this chance.

"Just admit it, it was more than 10 years ago!"

"Okay! Well.. Maybe I had feelings for him. But it was just a phase."

You blurted out how you felt. Your face got red, and your friends all laughed their head off. It was quite embarrassing. People turned their heads to see what made two friends laugh.

Your friends went on teasing you. Jamie knew all your crushes' names and was excited enough to call all their names out. Even Alex, who was relatively calm teased how you fall in love very easily. You tried to explain that your number of crushes wasn't that much, but your friends didn't listen.

You parted with your friends when alcohol kicked in a little. You went into a nearby convenient store to buy something to eat next morning.

You bought finished products and a icecream cone. You sat down on a bench just outside the convenient store.

You thought about Ray.

At first, you asked questions to Ray and tried to talk to him out of curiosity. But as time passed, you began to really enjoy time with him.

Ray didn't talk much. He just listened, and that did help you. He listened attentively to your words. He didn't measure you like others did.

You were upset when Ray left without a word. You felt devastated when you realized you didn't even have his phone number. You hadn't doubted your friendship(maybe a little more...?) with him, but after him disappearing without a trace, you figured that the friendship was one-sided.

You assumed this unpleasant feeling would go on forever, but you realized these kind of feelings fade off surprisingly fast. You had other things to consider in your life, and thinking about Ray wasn't as important as before. As time went by, Ray become somebody who would be mentioned only when your friends and you had time recalling middle school days.

"Are you (y/n)?"

Someone asked.

You looked up. A familiar face looked at you.

"Do you remeber me? I'm Ray."

"Oh.. of course!"

An awkward silence began. You didn't know what to say. You didn't want to go on rambling about random stuff like you used to.

"Do you live close to here?"

Ray asked.

"Yeah, I moved here after I left the company. Do you live here too?"

"Not really, but I live close."

"That's great! It's nice having a friend that lives close."

"Remember when we were close in middle school?"

Ray asked. You were quite surprised. 'Close' was not a word that you expected.

"I remember. I hope you had a great time with me. I was a burden back then, right?"

Ray was definitely saying you were close to him just to be nice.

"I enjoyed conversations with you. You were fun to hang out with."

"That's a good thing to hear, thanks. I think I should go home now, I have work to do tomorrow. Deadline is close."

You lied. Feelings for him faded off years ago, but talking to him gave you an unpleasant feeling.

You also had this kind despicable mind off lying and leaving him on a conversation. You wanted to give back what he done in spite of knowing that it would be a rude thing to do.

Maybe you were lying to yourself when you thought about Ray and realized Ray wasn't as important.

You still were conscious of him.

"Oh.. okay. Can I take you home? It's getting late."

"No. I'm sorry, but I'd be better alone. We could talk sometime later."

"Alright."

You got home, and went straight to sleep.

After that day, you met him often in your town. He didn't even try to hide that he was solving his everday life in your town to meet you.

"Hi again (y/n)"

You met him at a grocery store.

"Oh, hi. Nice to see you again."

Ray joined in with noticing.

Casual conversations went by like middle school days. But now Ray was the one talking eagerly. You weren't quiet like Ray in middle school, but Ray now was more invested into this small talking. It was very unlike of him.

"(y/n), do you have plans this Sunday?"

"No, I'm free on Sunday, why?"

"I was wondering if you can have dinner with me."

"Okay, do you have any restaurants in mind?"

"I do. I'll pick you up at 6"

You were convinced Ray was asking you on a date. You didn't have feelings for him, but you decided it wouldn't hurt to go on a date with him.

It was Sunday morning, and you got a call from your friend, Jamie.

"(y/n), do you have time? I really need you today!"

Jamie sounded desperate.

"What's the problem?"

"I have a date today. A colleague introduced him.. But I can't go today!"

"Why? He couldn't be that bad.."

"I have a important thing to do today. My favorite singer actually drops his album today, and I have to go buy the album to see him. He is coming to the bookstore today! I can't miss this chance. I'm very sorry, (y/n), I'll do anything if you ask me to."

You knew you had promised Ray for dinner today. You also know that Jamie has other people to go on a date instead of her.

You knew certainly that Ray would be upset. His expressions directed he was looking up to this dinner.

"Alright. I'll do it. But you'll have to pay for our meal if we hang out again."

"Of course I will! Thanks! I really needed someone to go on a date with this.. what's his name..? Oh, Liam. You can meet him at 4. I'll text you the details."

"Okay."

You hung up the phone. You texted Ray right away you couldn't have dinner with him. You texted him you had to help out your friend, which was technically not a lie. You felt bad, intentionally hurting him. But it really didn't matter.. You had no means of dating him. Surely.

It was childish of you to treat someone like this. You knew this very well. It was okay though. It was better than making someone feel one sided in a relationship.

You felt you were putting too much energy in thinking, so you slept until it was time for a date.

Dressed decently, you waited for Liam in front of the restaurant Jamie texted you. After a few minutes, Liam arrived.

"Hi? You are (y/n), right?"

"Yes. Is it okay if I'm here instead of Jamie?"

"Well.. It's disappointing that Jamie couldn't come. But meeting someone like you is luck to me."

Liam was very out forward and energetic guy. His words were very honest, and he made you feel comfortable.

"What are your interests?"

Liam asked.

"I like writing.. I never knew I had fun writing when I was is school. I found my hobby just a few years ago."

"That's a cool interest. I travel when I have the chance. I watch a lot of traveling channels..."

"Can.. can I go to the bathroom real quick?

You saw Ray walking into the restaurant you were in, alone.

You ran straight to the bathroom, hoping Ray didn't see you. After a few minutes, you scanned the restaurant and found Ray sitting at the opposite side. Relieved, you went back to Liam.

You finished your dinner with Liam. Liam wanted to spend more time with you, but you declined. You wanted Ray to not notice you hanging out with Liam.

You bought some snacks at the convenient store and sat on the bench. You nibbled on a chocolate bar you bought. You felt the breeze touching your skin. Feeling the wind is a good thing to do when you're mind is full of useless thoughts.

"(y/n)"

You instantly knew it was Ray.

"Oh Ray.. Hi."

"I didn't expect you to be here."

"I finished helping my friend.. so.."

"Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

"I don't mind! You can sit here."

You could hear your heart thumping.

Did he find out?

You could tell by his face that he wasn't feeling good.

"(y/n), did you miss me when I left?"

Ray asked. You couldn't answer.

You told yourself you forgot about Ray, and it was right, you actually nearly forgot Ray and you were a thing.

But that was until Ray entered your life without your will. You told yourself that you weren't conscious of him although your actions told otherwise.

"No... umm.. I was busy studying and doing other things, so I didn't miss you, that much. "

"Oh"

Ray didn't talk for a while.

"Do you want to know why I left without a word?"

You wondered if you should focus on the word "left" or "without a word".

"Well um... Everyone in school was curious about your disappearance at that time. People asked me where you've gone. All I could say was 'I don't know either'.. In fact, I was the one who wanted to know why you left the most!"

You tried to brighten the mood. It didn't work.

"Nothing special.. I left because my parents had business in other cities."

"That explains your disappearance. I guess it would've been better if you told me."

You felt awkward. You desperately wanted to leave.

Ray didn't say anything. He looked at the ground.

Silence began. You couldn't handle the long silence anymore.

"Ray, I should go. I'm really tired today."

You stood up and tried to leave, but Ray grabbed your hand.

"I love you."

"I don't think this is the time for jokes."

"It's not a joke."

Ray grabbed your hand harder.

"I.. don't know what to tell you."

You quickly set your hand free from him. You walked away as fast as you can.

You didn't come out of your home after Ray's confession. Ray could be anywhere you go, and you weren't ready to answer him.

Liam tried to text you, but you didn't respond. You didn't feel like meeting someone new. You just wanted time alone.

You focused on writing your next book to pass time. You weren't planning to, but you had nothing else to do. Your friends can't hang out with you all the time, your connection with Liam has practically ended, your family lives far away, and you most definitely did not want to meet Ray.

What was he thinking when he confessed? Did he really think you'd say it back? You were confused. You thought you gave him hints by answering his questions in a cold way and even cancelling a date.

You knew very well you were thinking of him more than anyone in your life, but that doesn't mean you have to be in an intimate relationship with him.

Ray wants to be a special someone to you. But you don't.

It would be a nuisance to both you and Ray if you accepted Ray. Your emotions sway a lot. An hour ago, you would think of Ray as a person that creates a great impact on your life, and an hour after, you behave in a cold way to Ray.

You prefered organizing your emotions to one. But with Ray, organizing was hard. Emotions can't go on forever, it changes, and you couldn't stand your complex emotions. What's so different about Ray that causes you to feel complicated emotions?

Now you wanted to leave. It was foolish of you to live close to a company you got out from.

You contacted your family. Since you aren't working in a company, you didn't have any reasons to stay in a crowded town. Not hanging out with Jamie and Alex would be a shame. It didn't matter though. You wanted your mind off of this town.

All of this might be a rush of emotions. You might regret this. But your desire of leaving was bigger.

You went to a small restaurant you liked to go. Since you would leave soon, you thought visiting your favorite restaurant was a good idea.

You sat at the corner, where many can't see you. You ordered your favorite dish and called you mother while waiting.

"Mom, I was wondering if I can live with you and dad. I hope to see (sibling name) if it's vacation."

"Why? I thought you were good there."

"Uhh... I want a break.. I guess. I don't have anything to do here either."

"Alright then. If you want. We always have a spare room. But think more carefully! What about your friends? Or Ray.. did I say his name right? You said Ray was in the same company as you."

"Oh... Alright. I'll call you later."

You finished the call.

A familiar voice called out your name. It was Ray, as expected.

"(y/n)! I didn't know you knew this restaurant too."

You felt irritated.

"I didn't know you had an interest in stalking people."

"It's a coincidence, I swear. I'm friends with the owner of this restaurant and I come here often to visit my friend."

"Oh.. okay."

"Did you think about it?"

"I did."

Ray was pretending he didn't listen your call. You knew it.

"I'm leaving. I don't know what I'm doing here, wasting money, time, and emotions. I'm going home."

Ray was quiet.

"I'm sorry Ray. For treating you badly and .. uh.. lying to you. I ordered something.. you should eat it. I really don't feel well and I should just go home."

"Can you think about it again, please?"

Ray looked like he was going to cry, or go mad.

"You shouldn't go cling on to one person.. you know.. I know there's a ton of people who wants to be friends with you. We .. uh.."

You paused for a second. Was this right? It would've been better if you ran straight to your house.

"You can text me though. I'm pretty much jobless .."

You ran out of the restaurant.

You ran to your home, and noticed men outside of your house.

You turned back. Your instincts told that those men would only cause harm.

You headed to the convenient store. The store would be safe. There are people there.

Unfortunately, the store was closed. You headed for another store close by.

It was no use. A man waiting for you hiding grabbed you.

"Be quiet!"

The man pushed you into a black car. After that, you could see only pitch black.

After some time, you woke up somewhere unfamiliar.

A voice welcomed you.

"Ray, what are you doing here?"

"This is my house, (y/n)"

"Did you really kidnap me?"

"I just wanted you to realize you're lying to yourself."

Ray came close. Your heart wouldn't stop thumping out loud.

"What do you mean I'm lying to myself?"

"You're lying to yourself. You wouldn't admit I'm important to you. I know that feeling, (y/n). When we were in middle school, I only thought you as a classmate who has a big interest in me. I didn't realize what you meant to me when I left."

"I need to go home."

Ray ignored you and went on.

"I lied to myself all this time that I don't need you. But I do.

"You're the only one who could truly be with me. Others don't want anything from me. They just want to use me.. But you aren't. You're kind (y/n). You've never really hated me. You always listen to me..

"I'm just sad that you're lying to yourself like I did all these years.. But it's okay. I love you, and I'll help you."

"That's such a misunderstanding."

"Either way.. you can't leave.. until you stop lying to yourself."

Ray didn't care what you said. Ray hugged you and whispered how much he missed you and needed you in his life.

Ray is mad. You're now just regretting spending time thinking of him.

You couldn't assume the time you would spend with Ray from now on. You wanted this whole thing to be a lie.

[idv-sunsxin3]

Hello! Im the anon who asked if r1999 are open, can you do a scenario or a headcanons of click (with a fem reader) who finally meet his lover again?

They been together back then since 1940's when Click was alive. reader knows click 's death. But then when vertin asked reader to join her journey, reader finally see their lover.

Click // Back in the 40s with you

Note// fem! Reader. She is 19yo like Click. angst to fluff long oneshot,,, thank you for requesting 🥺

---

It was unexpected- really.

It was not even the right time, too.

You and Click were lovers before the world conflict became very notable... You were both happy together until you had to acknowledge that it's you guys' turn to serve for the country as well...  help write the history and the legacy alongside the others. So you both started to barely see one another as you do your respective jobs.

You were one of the million women who worked as a factory worker in defence production during the 1940s, the years dominated by the war...

He was a photographer from the army who had to stay on the battlefield. You know very well how bad the war is as you have a friend who lost her husband by the war. So everyday you were always afraid, knowing how Click has to linger in places that obviously have slim chances of surviving...

Even sadder when this time, the photographer doesn't always live after, through these circumstances.

All you could do was pray and write letters to him as you contribute to the workforce...

The letters were sometimes not so long, it gets shorter as the days go by, and the war going through its climax and more problems happening on the way as well. Yet, knowing that each letter is safely delivered is enough for you to reassure you that Click is still alive.... Until one day.

By the time you came back to work- the manager suddenly motioned you to come talk with her, having a letter in her hand as they have... this look, the look of bad news.

You just... You just couldn't believe it.

As you both find themselves in the office from anyone's sight, you find yourself slowly shattering the seconds of reading the letter report given to you.

He died... Click died in action.

...You crumbled in your hands as your boss gave you small pats on your back.

.

.

.

.

'Back in the 40s...'

An old letter, the latest you wrote to Click, said,

'It was one of the happiest times of my life... Until I lost you to them."

That's what the letter started. There was more to say in that letter. Every single word carrying a huge meaning to Click.

Vertin handed it to him so he could read it. She happened to find it somewhere, noticing the letter addressed to his name abadoned in the middle of nowhere during the patrols.

"Y/N" was written as the sender's name.

'I'm not sure when I will see you again, but I'm just hoping that in our next life, we won't be as miserable as we were... And live together as much as we desire, my love.'

These words bring a familiar, tender feeling he haven't recalled for a while.

'I miss you, Click.... I always do.'

'I just hope you're out there and find this. Read this with your heart. Prove them that you're not dead.... Just as you promised me to come back home.'

He holds these words close to his soul... Even while he's not alive.

'I love you... and I'll find you if I can.

Still yours, Y/N.'

"My Rosie..."

That’s the first thing he muttered once he finished reading. His eyes dull but longing in spirit.

.

.

.

.

.

It's evening...

time to clean up.

You mentally note as you notice the items needed to be put away.

The war is over now, you were just about to pack your tools and head home by yourself.

Unfortunately, no one is going to welcome you at home. Because you already know he's gone... He did well. He was the most bravest man you have ever met and love.

Now you have to move on... How will you do that exactly?

That.. You'll have to ask that yourself later. First, you're going to need to walk back to the house safely before more accidents nay happen-

Strangely, the streets seem less crowded than usual... where are the people? Why aren't the cars moving? The sky seems to turn grey than normal - it looks like it's going to rain.

You heels quickly click on the cement floor as you hurry yourself, gripping on your purse and toolkit-

But suddenly, you notice someone from afar... A lady with light hair, wearing a suit.

I. Interesting...? It's rare to see a woman dressing this way these days.

You stopped in your steps once you start to clearly notice that she's now few steps away from, facing you, AND not seeming to intend to let you go around her.

However... she seems to not intend to harm anyone. She even has another girl beside her, ginger with sophistication, eccentric clothes that resemble an italian writer.

"Greetings," The lady says politely, fixing her calculative eyes on you, "Cloudy day, isn't it?"

By the sound of it, this lady seems to be from the UK... she must have been here for a visit.

"It is, indeed." You nod calmly, not sure what else to do other than thinking about just going home and mourning... Your eyes can notably tell they barely have any sleep, your hair tangled and unkempt from the long hours of work and questionable times to wake up and be called up for duty.

"I'm Vertin," She introduces as you both give each other a handshake, "this is Sonetto, my friend and assistant."

"Hello, Verti, Sonetto..." You lightly lift your eyebrow, wondering who are even these strangers exactly... they seem to need something from you. Noticing closer, they seem to have mature appearances of 16-yeard old girls. About 3 years younger than you.

"Good evening, miss..." Sonetto mindfully greets with a smile, "Excuse us for suddenly appearing... We need your help."

H. Help?

"Help? Oh, sweeties... What's the concern? Sadly, I really need some rest- work has been quite something." You half-heartedly apologize with a sorry smile. They seem to tell how your state doesn't seem to be in a good condition. You then remember you haven't told them your name. So you added along with a light smile at the ginger-haired girl.

"Please, call me Y/N."

That name.

That name seems to ring on Vertin once again.

Yes, this is the woman. The woman Vertin was looking.... The one Click was looking for.

The Timekeeper seem to have arrived at the right time.

"But miss Y/N- this is an emergency... I'm afraid something is going to happen--" Sonetto attempts to asks calmly, despite wearing this quite alarmed look that makes you feel almost worried... almost.

"Oh...? Right when the war have just ended...? What else are they going to do now..." You rub your chin gently as you look down at the pair in thought before your eyes morph into a horrified ones,

"...launch more missiles?"

"Ah- not exactly as we try to convey.." Sonetto shakes her head as seeming unsure of your statement, oh.

"An abnormal storm is going to arrive here anytime soon-" Vertin starts explaining, "Another war is going to happen between humans and arcanists- We need mechanics like you to help us with machinery."

"A... War? You got to be....- How do I know if you're telling the true?"

Sonetto suddenly then quietly gasps, grabbing on Vertin's hand and quickly pointing at what she's looking through your shoulder- You and Vertin followed her gaze only to see... creatures emerging one by one - Fluffly creatures???

Oh- and who are these people with strange helmets??? Are they even humans???

You seem hesitant about it, but noticing the strange anomalies in your surroundings.  You seem to tell that these kids aren't really joking as they still have seious looks on their expressions--

A part of yourself wished to live in a more peaceful place, where you would have to sacrifice much just for the people that seem to be suffering the most... why can't you just live comfortably with everyone?

But then, if you decline on joining them- what if that means you have to go back to follow under these women roles this society has been putting you and the others on? Getting married.. get married, being a housekeeper and mother- you don't want to do that, not after you have  lost your lover- and losing the reason to dream about a future with him...

You... you honestly don't want to leave your job as a riveter.

As if managing to read your mind, Vertin adds more, "...You'll get to live comfortably with us."

"...?"

"We have friends who have experienced losses as well, You'll get to do whatever you want and live peacefully as long as you get along with everyone."

'Whatever you want'...

...This is new.

It took you some minutes to think, before you eventually accepted Vertin's hand. Shaking it to seal the deal.

You'll get to have more freedom in what you do after that... while trying to move on from him.

.

.

.

Little did you know, it happened to be the contrary.

Just as you tried to start getting used to the suitcase's environment and the wide map of the Ark- there were also lots of people in it... some lingering around portraits, wearing familiar and unfamiliar clothes, people from different accents and places...

You have never thought this many people with such eccentricity would desire to seek shelter in here... but then, you admit, the domain is stylish and cozy for the warm/rainy days.

Vertin instructed you to just stay comfortable at your now new residence. So you comply, sitting on the couch after managing to find an appealing book from one of the shelves.

You were not sure why the young female pair seemed to start acting more suspicious by the time you three arrived - is there something they're hiding from you? What are their plans? Oh dear, there are so many questions you just want to ask today. Making it almost hard to read a book and concentrate on its context.

.

.

.

"Click, I need your time for a moment," Vertin calls out calmly to the ghost at the room he is in after knocking.

"...." He slowly turns back to Vertin in question before floating begrudgingly towards, wearing the same spooked look in his lifeless orbs.

"I have something to show you... someone who you would like to see." Vertin further explains as she starts to walk while the ghost follows her clueslessly.

"Someone...?" The photographer mutters a bit, puzzled by the sudden arrival of some new recruit- but then why is it him who has to be called to see them..? Would this person be willing to see him?

He doesn't think much before sighing, his camera in a slightly tight grip by the foreign feeling of being seen by someone new... He honestly hasn't moved on from his sweetheart... The person who is willing to see him.

He just doesn't want to, even if he's now a dead man, and you probably have already moved on - well, that's what he tends to believe.

Meanwhile, a kind girl dressed in a bunny outfit, "Bunny Bunny," appeared and served you a drink, which you hesitantly but kindly accepted it - meeting her was pleasantly unexpected... You were just trying out the cool drink - so far, it's pretty refreshing and flavorful.

Just as Bunny Bunny left with her tray, you kept sipping on your drink and take a look on the book... You slowly realize this book is a documentary with pictures...

Some of these pictures are familiar, like that one first picture of a tree with a cat...

You softly furrow your eyebrows before you search something from your pocket- a picture.

The picture Click took and sent you. It looks exactly like the one in the book.

You blink lightly before seeing more pictures as you flip on the pages, some familiar, and some seem to be newer ones.

The more pages of pictures you look, the more your thoughts are starting to connect-

You then immediately flip the book to the last page for any source.

'Pictures taken by Click'

Wait- this is not a typical book-! It's your boyfriend's portfolio report!

These... some of the recent pictures are dated but- the year is quite twitchy....

Your mind is going confused as you close the book carefully, looking at the cover, wondering if Click is missing.... or has been here.

...Is... he here?

Wow, the new design of the cover looks sharp nonetheless. You're so proud of him...

If only... If only he's still here with you.

...

Your silent thoughts were now no longer in your head once you thought that part. You smiled... but that smile seems to not reach your eyes, which seems to be on the verge of tearing up.

...

"Oh Click..." You trembly whispered with your late lover's name, slowly wiping your tears as you laugh quietly, "You really were serious about putting that picture of the tree cat;;;"

"...I was serious." A voice can be heard clearly. Quietly.

...Before the sound of a camera is heard from your right-

You suddenly jumped by the sudden noises before turning around to see who's beside you. The moment your eyes landed on the speaker, your eyes widened as tired, dull eyes staring back at you.

"...Y/N."

"...Click?" You replied back as your breath hitches.

Shocked, you slowly and unsteadily reached your hand out to his transparent face- which... notably seems to penetrate through his cheek, barely sensing something solid other than the chilliness of the room.

"Y/N..." Click seems to leaned down the moment your hand fails to make contact with him.

Nonetheless, he lightly hovered your hand with his as he closed his eyes, trying to imagine the familiar feeling of your soft hands as he sensed the warmth radiating out of you. "You're here."

"Click...,,," You teared up as you look up and down, your mind going crazy as you wonder why you can't even touch your lover-

"He's dead..." Vertin admits as she can be found appearing by the doorway, having a sorry look. "But he surprisingly remembers you ever since the time he came here."

You faced Vertin as she stated that your eyes showed multiple emotions before shifting them towards Click. Who is still busy nuzzling into your warmth. "How long have you been here?"

"A couple of months ago..." Click answered before finally looking up at you. His eyes are dead, but the same love they tend to hold when seeing you.

"Oh, baby.." You breath out, "What have they done to you."

"...A lot of things." Click simply answered as he fiddled with his cameras to look at the picture he took of you in your shocked expression from before, "I miss your pretty face..."

"Now now... - don't go all lovey dovey just yet,,,-" You sobbed softly but still lean your forehead on his lightly, staying closer to him. At least spiritually and visibly.

Your gaze on him softens more by the time you calm yourself, as your dear ghost lover wraps you in his arms loosely. You gently try to brush over Click's lower lip with a thumb despite being unable to feel it, looking at it silently before speaking your heart away.

"Keep loving me, I'll never stop loving you even if it means i can't kiss you now...-"

"...H...Honey..." Click quietly whispers to you, his face unfaltered, but his voice fails to not sound like he's on the verge of tearing up.

*sighs* "Lovebirds..." Vertin can be heard saying this with a hint of amusement.

"We gotta figure out how to make them kiss." Sonetto suggests.

"Good idea."

"G.Girls????"

[carionto]

Humans and Boredom II

The planet cracker.

A devilish name that somehow still does not do this type of Human ship justice. Arrays of massive gravity hooks capable of tearing out kilometers wide and deep chunks of mass from any celestial object one of them decides to settle in orbit of.

The process is slow and tedious and, luckily, unsuitable for any practical military application, but unimaginably rewarding nonetheless. Once a chunk has been lifted, a fleet of harvester drones meticulously tears it further apart and separates into individual minerals and any other categorizable substances. From there the internal refineries of the planet cracker process them further into more usable metals, alloys, resins, and countless other resources. Finally, another fleet of transport ships ferry those back to where they are needed.

The land based production capacity of an entire (small) planet, with a single (albeit metropolis sized) ship, crewed by no more than a hundred Humans and thousands of drones.

One of these immense beasts - The Hardy Gal - was stationed around one of Saturn's moons - Epimetheus - that was recently voted out of the global popularity contest "Who's Even Heard of This One?" and thus sentenced to become part of the Dyson Ring.

The drone fleet that was supposed to be tearing up the unfortunate little moon, however, was recently recalled for refitting after a report showed a key part was manufactured using an outdated guideline by a suspiciously licensed corporation, that was also caught up in an unrelated embezzlement scandal.

Suffice to say that chief Gravity Master Boris Fruischtyen didn't have much to do. Laws and regulations do not permit any unsupervised extraction results to just be left in orbit. Oh no, can't preemptively arrange chunks for processing later, nope, "efficiency? what's that?". *sigh* Lift, hold, harvest, repeat.

Boris would have nothing to do, except the gravity hook arrays were a set of fifty per array, and The Hardy Gal had eight arrays. Four hundred individually aim-able and moveable chunks of matter.

While his day job was not very productive for now, his social media activity shot through the roof. There's a lot you can draw with four hundred "pixels" and the literal cosmos as your canvas and backdrop.

His personal favorites were water features and creatures set against the blue of Saturn, and he arranged quite a few of the extinct whales and penguins too. Additionally, every day he would fulfill one of the audiences top ranking requests.

Through these he discovered he has a fascinatingly good sense for flower compositions, especially from unusual angles. It's odd. He's only ever seen flowers in images and videos, perhaps lacking actual real life flowers to compare to allows his imagination to fill in the gaps in a way referencing factual knowledge would limit him. Who knows.

Despite having access to a three dimensional canvas, he preferred to keep things flat.

"What can I say, 2D is better. *chuckle*"

However, that doesn't mean he keeps things simple. The gravity hooks are quite good at selective manipulation, they have to be to target certain spots beneath a whole lot of other matter (which is then raised alongside the "elevator" matter). He demonstrated how the same image can look wildly different if you just change the "pixels" from squares to spheres, or how certain material compositions change color when squeezed more densely.

His personal favorite part is the finishing touch. After he's had a drone go out and stream his latest piece from plenty of angles for the viewers, he gives the whole image a simultaneous and gentle push back towards the moon. After a few touching hours of people in chat saying farewell, sharing personal stories and just asking questions Boris is always happy to answer, the image impacts the surface where the majority of parts were extracted from in a spectacular show of minor impacts and a shower of debris. Too bad it doesn't have an atmosphere, just imagine how cool it'd look burning up on reentry.

[mariacallous]

If there is a depth to which U.S. presidential candidate Donald Trump cannot sink when attacking his opponents, we are yet to see it. His latest salvo came at the convention of the National Association of Black Journalists in July, when he asked of Vice President Kamala Harris, “Is she Indian or is she Black?” The gasps, reportedly, were audible.

His question was meant to undermine her authenticity, of course, and it deserved the opprobrium it received. But it also proved that even with President Joe Biden out of the running, age is still an issue in the upcoming election. Trump’s politics of categorization belongs to a time that younger Americans have never known, when the demographic landscape of the United States couldn’t have been more different.

Consider that Trump was born in 1946, two decades before the nationwide lifting of anti-miscegenation laws, which prohibited interracial marriage. In his formative years, Black Americans were living under Jim Crow policies. For the first half of the 20th century, immigration from Asia had been kept to a bare minimum, first under the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 and then the Immigration Act of 1924, both passed with an eye to maintaining the United States’ whiteness.

Trump was the product of  a time in which people really were expected to occupy fixed racial boxes, kept discrete by law, “when the walls of race were clear and straight,” as sociologist W. E. B. Du Bois put it. An American could be legally Black by virtue of a single Black great-grandparent. Never multiracial or racially ambiguous, as they might be in most other countries—only Black. So, when Trump demands of Harris that she be one or the other, Indian or Black (assuming that his question is sincere), perhaps it is beyond his imagination that anyone might be both.

Harris, on the other hand, reflects the United States as it is now: a tapestry of racial and ethnic diversity in which few can pretend that they are easily defined. She was born in 1964, a few months after the Civil Rights Act was passed. The Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 would enable a substantial increase in Asian immigration in that same decade.

When Harris was a teenager, those of South Asian heritage living in the United States still numbered fewer than half a million. They were practically invisible to most other Americans. There was such uncertainty about their racial identity that in one national opinion poll conducted by the National Opinion Research Center in 1978, 15 percent of respondents believed that Indians were Black, and another 11 percent saw them as white. Today, though, Indians are the second-largest immigrant group in the United States, after Mexicans and just before Chinese. They have their own demographic checkbox in the census.

Far more significantly, Americans are less likely than ever to identify with a single race or ethnicity. In 2000, in response to demands to accommodate those of mixed heritage, the U.S. Census Bureau gave people the option to tick more than one racial box for the first time. That year, almost 7 million Americans reported belonging to more than one race (interestingly, 823 of these respondents claimed six races). A decade later, that number had gone up by almost a third.

In the most recent census, conducted in 2020, partly because of improvements to how data was collected, that number went up again—this time by 276 percent. Unsurprisingly, younger Americans are the most likely to report being multiracial.

So, with his obsession over categorization, Trump couldn’t sound more out of date. He is trying to force people into the kinds of boxes that defined lives when he was a child. He is telling Americans that there is only one way to be white, or Black, or Indian, when they already know this isn’t true. It is a politics that dares to put others in their place, yes, but also fails to see them as they are.

Coincidentally, his ill-judged remarks about Harris happened to come just days before the centenary of the birth of one of the United States’ most brilliant social critics, James Baldwin, who himself gloriously embodied the contradictions of identity. In his 1949 essay “Everybody’s Protest Novel”—as fresh now as the day it was written, in sharp contrast to Trump’s desperately tired ideas about race—Baldwin cautioned against succumbing to the fallacy that it is “categorization alone which is real and which cannot be transcended.”

It is perfectly possible to live within and between cultures and maintain an authentic sense of self. it is not just Harris who proves this, but the millions of Americans who have enriched the nation by mixing, marrying, and building a more integrated society. They have changed the country for the better.

When Trump casts aspersions on Harris’s racial background, he does the same to countless others. He questions the pluralistic society that the United States has become—one in which race has already come to matter less than it used to.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Don’t Be Evil

Tonight (November 22), I'll be joined by Vass Bednar at the Toronto Metro Reference Library for a talk about my new novel, The Lost Cause, a preapocalyptic tale of hope in the climate emergency.

My latest Locus Magazine column is "Don't Be Evil," a consideration of the forces that led to the Great Enshittening, the dizzying, rapid transformation of formerly useful services went from indispensable to unusable to actively harmful:

https://locusmag.com/2023/11/commentary-by-cory-doctorow-dont-be-evil/

While some services have fallen harder and/or faster, they're all falling. When a whole cohort of services all turn sour in the same way, at the same time, it's obvious that something is happening systemically.

After all, these companies are still being led by the same people. The leaders who presided over a period in which these companies made good and useful services are also presiding over these services' decay. What factors are leading to a pandemic of rapid-onset enshittification?

Recall that enshittification is a three-stage process: first surpluses are allocated to users until they are locked in. Then they are withdrawn and given to business-customers until they are locked in. Then all the value is harvested for the company's shareholders, leaving just enough residual value in the service to keep both end-users and business-customers glued to the platform.

We can think of each step in that enshittification process as the outcome of an argument. At some product planning meeting, one person will propose doing something to materially worsen the service to the company's advantage, and at the expense of end-users or business-customers.

Think of Youtube's decay. Over the past year, Google has:

Dramatically increased the cost of ad-free Youtube subscriptions;

Dramatically increased the number of ads shown to non-subscribers;

Dramatically decreased the amount of money paid to Youtube creators;

Added aggressive anti-adblock;

Then, this week, Google started adding a five-second blanking interval for non-Chrome users who have adblockers installed:

https://www.404media.co/youtube-says-new-5-second-video-load-delay-is-supposed-to-punish-ad-blockers-not-firefox-users/

These all smack of Jenga blocks that different product managers are removing in pursuit of their "key performance indicators" (KPIs):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

We can think of each of these steps as the outcome of an argument. Someone proposes a Youtube subscription price-hike, and other internal stakeholders object. These objections fall into two categories:

We shouldn't do this because it will make the product worse; and/or

We shouldn't do this because it will reduce the company's earnings.

Lots of googlers sincerely care about product quality. People like doing a good job, and they take pride in making good things. Many have sacrificed something that mattered in the service of making the product better. It's bad enough to miss your kid's school play so you can meet a work deadline – but imagine making that sacrifice and then having the excellent work you put in deliberately degraded.

I have been around Google's orbit since its early days, going to the odd company Christmas party in the early 2000s and giving talks at Google offices in cities all over the world. I've known hundreds of skilled googlers who passionately cared about making the best products they could.

For most of Google's history, those googlers won the argument. But they didn't do so merely by appealing to their colleagues' professional pride in a job well-done. For most of Google's history, the winning argument was a combination of "doing this bad thing would make me sad," and "doing this bad thing will make Google poorer."

Companies are disciplined by three forces:

Competition (the fear of losing business to a rival);

Regulation (the fear of legal penalties that would exceed the expected profits from a given course of action);

Self-help (the fear that customers or users will change their behavior, say, by installing an ad-blocker).

The ability of googlers to win enshittification arguments by appealing to the company's bottom line was a function of one or more of these three disciplining factors. The weakening of each of these factors is the reason that every tech company is sliding into enshittification at once.

For example, when Google contemplates raising the price of a Youtube subscription, the dissent might say, "Well, this will reduce viewership and might shift viewers to rivals like Tiktok" (competition). But the price-hiking side can counter, "No, because we have a giant archive, we control 90% of searches, we are embedded in the workflow of vloggers and other creators who automatically stream and archive to Youtube, and Youtube comes pre-installed on every Android device." Even if the company leaks a few viewers to Tiktok, it will still make more money in aggregate. Prices go up.

When Google contemplates increasing the number of ads shown to nonsubscribers, the dissent might say, "This will incentivize more users to install ad-blockers, and then we'll see no ad-revenue from them." The pro-ad side can counter, "No, because most Youtube viewing is in-app, and reverse-engineering the Youtube app to add an ad-blocker is a felony under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. As to non-app viewers: we control the majority of browser installations and have Chrome progressively less hospitable to ad-blocking."

When Google contemplates adding anti-adblock to its web viewers, the dissent might say, "Processing users' data in order to ad-block them will violate Europe's GDPR." The anti-adblock side can counter, "But we maintain the fiction that our EU corporate headquarters is in the corporate crime-haven of Ireland, where the privacy regulator systematically underenforces the GDPR. We can expect a very long tenure of anti-adblock before we are investigated, and we might win the investigation. Even if we are punished, the expected fine is less than the additional ad-revenue we stand to make."

When Google contemplates stealing performers' wages through opaque reshufflings of its revenue-sharing system, the dissent might say, "Our best performers have options, they can go to Twitch or Tiktok." To which the pro-wage-theft side can counter, "But they have no way of taking their viewers with them. There's no way for them to offer their viewers on Youtube a tool that alerts them whenever they post a new video to a rival platform. Their archives are on Youtube, and if they move them to another platform, there's no way redirect users searching for those videos to their new homes. What's more, any attempt to unilaterally extract their users' contact info, or redirect searchers or create a multiplatform client, violates some mix of our terms of service, our rights under DMCA 1201, etc."

It's not just Google. For every giant platform, the threats of competition, regulation and self-help have been in steady decline for years, as acquisitions, underenforcement of privacy/labor/consumer law, and an increase in IP protection for incumbents have all mounted:

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

When internal factions at tech companies argue about whether to make their services worse, there's a heavy weight tilting the scales towards enshittification. The lack of competition, an increase in switching costs for users and business-customers, and broad powers to prevent users from modifying the service for themselves all mean that even when a product gets worse, profits can still go up.

This is the culprit: monopoly, and its handmaiden, regulatory capture. That's why today's antimonopoly movement – and the cases against all the tech giants – are so important. The old, good internet was built by flawed tech companies whose internal ranks included the same amoral enshittifiers who are gobbling up the platforms' seed corn today. The thing that stood in their way before wasn't merely the moral character of colleagues who shrank away from these cynical maneuvers: it was the economic penalties that befell those who enshittified too rashly.

Incentives matter. Money talks and bullshit walks. Enshittification isn't due to the moral failings of individuals in tech companies. It's possible to have a good internet run by flawed people. But to get that new, good internet, we have to support technologists of good will and character by terrorizing their venal and cynical colleagues by hitting them where they live: in their paychecks.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/22/who-wins-the-argument/#corporations-are-people-my-friend

[natlacentral]

The cast of Netflix’s adaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender knows they can’t please everyone.

It’s a difficult life lesson that many of the show’s young actors have come to learn since they were chosen to star in a live-action reimagining of one of the most beloved animated series of all time.

Like any great saga, the latest iteration of Avatar has taken a circuitous route to the small screen. In 2020, two years after Netflix announced that it was developing a remake, original creators Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino departed the project over creative differences. A year later, former Nikita and Sleepy Hollow writer-producer Albert Kim officially assumed the role of creator and showrunner, intending to honor the Asian and Indigenous roots of his source material.

Since the debut of the new Avatar last Thursday, longtime fans have remained divided over the many changes that were made to turn a 20-episode half-hour children’s cartoon into an eight-episode serialized drama that has multigenerational appeal. But by maintaining the essence of the original while expanding the world that Konietzko and DiMartino have created, the new creative team is hoping to recapture some of the magic that transformed Avatar into a cultural phenomenon.

Every diehard fan can recite the basic premise by heart: The four nations — Water, Earth, Fire, Air — once lived in harmony, with the Avatar, master of all four elements, keeping the peace between them. But everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked and wiped out the Air Nomads. A century later, Aang (Gordon Cormier), a 12-year-old Air Nomad frozen in an iceberg, reawakens to take his rightful place as the next Avatar. With his newfound friends Katara (Kiawentiio) and Sokka (Ian Ousley), siblings and members of the Southern Water Tribe, Aang sets out on a quest to save the world from the onslaught of Fire Lord Ozai (Daniel Dae Kim) while avoiding being captured by Ozai’s tempestuous son, Crown Prince Zuko (Dallas Liu).

Almost every Zoomer who grew up watching Nickelodeon seems to have their own relationship with the original Avatar. Kiawentiio, whose older siblings would always have the show playing in their house, recalls being drawn to its depiction of a young Indigenous girl, at a time when there was scant representation of Native Americans. Ousley credits Avatar and Star Wars: The Clone Wars for inspiring him to take up martial arts. Liu has a vivid childhood memory of watching a restless Zuko and his tea-drinking uncle Iroh’s first scene together on a boat. Cormier, as the youngest of the bunch, admits that he had not watched the show prior to auditioning. But by the time he entered production, all he could do was live and breathe Avatar.

Daniel Dae Kim, who watched the original with one of his sons when it first aired, tells Teen Vogue that he held a kind of family meeting with his now-adult children and some of his nieces and nephews after receiving an offer from Albert Kim (no relation) to star in the new version. “I called all of them, and I said, ‘What do you think about me doing a part in Avatar?’ And they were like, ‘You should do it!’ without hesitation. Then I asked the next question: ‘Well, I’m playing Ozai. He’s a bad guy…’ They paused for a second, and then they all screamed, ‘You should still do it!’” he says with a laugh.

Once the cast was assembled, the creative team began the seemingly gargantuan task of trying to breathe new life into each of the characters. While the animated series dealt with weighty issues such as genocide, war and imperialism, there is an added human component in live-action storytelling that requires a more grounded approach to depicting real-life reactions and emotions. “We were all definitely allowed to look into the darker sides of each of our characters,” Cormier says. In Aang’s case, he is tasked with a responsibility that he doesn’t necessarily want but feels obligated to assume after discovering that he is the last living Airbender of his kind.

Aang is “naturally a really fun-loving, goofy 12-year-old, so to be hit with something so serious like a genocide [affecting] all of his people, it really affects him badly,” Cormier says. “We see in the first episode where I blow Katara and Sokka off the mountain how badly it’s affected me. It hurt me so much [that] I blasted into the Avatar state and started destroying my home. I think it just shows how serious and traumatic it is for Aang, but slowly, he’ll get through it and become the Avatar.”

The themes of loss and grief remain prevalent across all eight episodes, with each of the young characters being forced to confront their own unresolved trauma.

Katara is forced to reckon with how her memory of her mother’s death has affected her ability to become a full-fledged Waterbender. “Another thing that I feel like impacted her so much, without even really explicitly touching on it, is being the last Waterbender of her tribe,” Kiawentiio says. “She really feels so deeply connected with that part of [herself], even though it’s something that she can’t really access [at first], and she feels this sense of, ‘This is what I should be doing.’”

After his father left years ago on a mission to fight the Firebenders, Sokka was forced to grow up quickly and protect his tribe, especially his younger sister, from the waterbending abilities that had caused them so much pain. “Sokka is a perfect example of somebody that is not healed, is pushing stuff down and won’t let it come out, is putting on different masks to the point where he doesn’t even know who he is when we first find him,” says Ousley, who insisted on finding a way to bring out a more serious side in Sokka without losing his signature sarcasm in this adaptation. “I think the trauma that he has is covered up by humor often and covered up by acting silly, and he will have lots of moments where he actually discovers who he is.”

Zuko, however, may have the most compelling arc of the first season. Having been banished by Ozai from the Fire Nation, Zuko has effectively lost one father but gained another father figure in his Uncle Iroh (Paul Sun-Hyung Lee), who takes it upon himself to look after Zuko on his journey to capture the Avatar. In the first season, viewers see Zuko’s Agni Kai — or traditional Firebender duel — with Ozai, who was responsible for giving Zuko his prominent facial scar.

While Ozai “may not have the tools to do it the right way,” Kim understands that his character “is trying, in his own way, to shape his children into what he feels is necessary to secure the future of not only his family, but of the entire Fire Nation.” That kind of tough love, unfortunately, has done irreparable damage to his children.

In a dramatic departure from the original series, the writers decided to introduce Elizabeth Yu as Princess Azula earlier than in the original series. In doing so, the family dynamics between Ozai, Zuko and Azula become even more complicated. “Since Zuko’s away on his ship in the first season, you get a glimpse into, while he’s away, what is going on in the Fire Nation and who’s pulling all the strings,” Yu says. “For Azula, Zuko is very much more like a roadblock than anything else. You see that sense of family is not really there.”

“I think the writers did a good job of showing a rivalry between the two fighting for the father’s approval and attention without us directly interacting or speaking with each other,” Liu adds. “Zuko is just trying to prove he is worthy of his father’s love and attention just as much as Azula is. I think people will really come to root for Zuko because of everything that he’s been through.”

The production team was also keen to honor and recreate the costumes of the original series in a way that was not only beautiful but practical for the actors; Kiawentiio and Ousley had to wear heavy coats made of suede and fur, while Kim, Liu and Yu wore layers upon layers of corseted material with large shoulder pads.

“They really helped me complete the character because there was something about when I put on the wardrobe that made me walk [and] feel a certain way,” Kim says, “and it turned my character into someone more regal and powerful.”

It’s almost fitting that the most regal character is played by Hollywood royalty among Asian Americans. For the better part of the last three decades, Kim has been at the forefront of the movement to increase the visibility of Asian Americans in film and television. “The fact that I’m still working and able to see [the change] and be a part of it makes me feel very grateful, because success is not guaranteed to anyone in this business,” he reflects.

Kim believes the new Avatar is a reflection of today’s changing landscape in Western entertainment for more diverse stories that center Asian and Indigenous communities. “I don’t think it’s any secret to say that a live-action version has been done in the past, but it wasn’t done this way,” he says, referring to M. Night Shyamalan’s disastrous The Last Airbender film, which whitewashed many key characters. “I don’t think that it would have been done this way even five or 10 years ago because there wasn’t the same emphasis on proper representation and real diversity [that there is now].”

“I feel like we fought hard for the progress that we’ve made, and at the same time, I acknowledge that there need to be others outside of those of us in the community to push things forward,” he adds. “It takes a community working together along with allies.”

As the most accomplished actor of the group, did Kim have any advice for his younger castmates? “I don’t feel like it’s necessarily my place to be giving advice where it’s not needed or wanted, but it was nice of them to ask me about my experiences and how they could chart their own path forward in a business that’s very difficult,” Kim responds. “I can tell you that I really have been impressed by all of them, and I’m so excited to see the next generation of Asian American actors in particular come in with this attitude, with this opportunity. I would really love nothing more than to see them succeed beyond what we’ve seen in generations previous.”

The first season ends with Aang, Katara and Sokka successfully helping the Northern Water Tribe fend off a vicious attack from the Firebenders. Rather than following the advice of past Avatars, who stressed that he would have to bear the burden of his title alone, Aang realizes that he needs his friends to master all four elements.

“The Avatar still has to learn other elements, so we had to get the ball rolling on water and earth. If we did reach Season 2, I believe that we’ll find Aang already practicing water just because in the group he has quite the master to teach him,” Kiawentiio says with a smile, alluding to her own character.

But the last minutes of the finale also reveal that the attack on the North was actually a decoy for the Fire Nation. Ozai, as it turns out, had his sights on the Earth Kingdom — and his daughter, Azula, has taken over the Earth Kingdom city of Omashu with her own army. Aang’s old friend, King Bumi (Utkarsh Ambudkar), has now been taken prisoner.

“You have this idea of the prodigal son and you put all of your attention to someone who, in Ozai’s eyes, is failing him,” Kim says of the state of Ozai’s relationships with his two most powerful children at the end of the season. “So when there’s another child that you are not looking at in the same way that ends up surprising you, it’s a pleasant surprise, and it changes the way that you see the future. I think Azula was a surprise to him, and it brings him some joy, and he may have overlooked her in the past, but now he sees her as a real heir apparent.”

The revelation that his father has passed him over for his sister, at least for now, shakes up Zuko’s entire world, Liu says. “He feels a weird sense of betrayal because even though it is his sister and his father working against him, they are part of the Fire Nation, and his loyalty towards the Fire Nation was something that we know he was very persistent about, even though he was banished.”

Going forward, Kim would be interested in deepening the portrayal of Ozai’s relationships with his children, as well as his older brother, Iroh. “What is the relationship between the two of them when the second son supersedes the first? And how does Iroh feel about all of that? We never really see that explored,” he remarks. “I’d also like to see what happened to Zuko and Azula’s mom. These kinds of things are crucial to deepening the character, and I would love to see a little bit more of his history and how that informs who he is now.”

While the show has yet to be renewed for a second season, the young actors all have their own hopes for future seasons. Ousley would like to see Sokka “pick up the pieces” emotionally after the beautifully tragic end of his first love, Princess Yue (Amber Midthunder). Yu is ready to “do some of the really iconic Azula lines and scenes that we all know,” especially the Agni Kai in Season 3. Cormier is most excited to potentially adapt “Appa’s Lost Days” and the final fight scene between Aang and Ozai. “Throughout the show, I feel like he's going to learn more and more about why he has to be the Avatar,” he says.

[u2fangirlie-blog]

Good Omens Still Belongs to Terry Pratchett

Deadline announced on Sept., 9, 2024, "Good Omens Production Paused on Amazon Drama from Neil Gaiman."

Good Omens season 3 production is delayed. That's an obvious and natural consequence given the allegations of SA against Neil Gaiman.

(See Sept. 11, 2024 update below.)

Since the first week of July 2024, when the allegations came out in the news, Good Omens fans have been ripping each other to shreds over how to respond. Fans are being horrible to one another. They argue over what to think, how to feel, whether or not to boycott everything Gaiman ever wrote or produced or had his name on, or if fans should destroy their books and delete their Tumblr blogs and unpublish their fanfiction on AO3, or whether or not the artist can be separated from the art. In the court of social media, you can't still like a work of art or literature if the creator is an alleged sexual predator.

YES. ALLEGED. THAT'S CORRECT. Saying someone is guilty of a crime before they are found guilty in a court of law can lead to legal consequences for writers.

Other than denouncing SA perps and saying it's objectively terrible and wrong, I don't know how to respond to allegations of Gaiman committing SA for decades. Does anybody know?

But I will say my piece about Good Omens. Neil Gaiman didn't create it by himself. Terry Pratchett co-wrote it with him. Everyone is overlooking the most obvious reason that Good Omens season 3 might continue - Pratchett's estate is involved in production. Narrativia is the company started by Pratchett, and it continues with his daughter Rhianna Pratchett at the helm. Rob Wilkins, Terry's representative on Earth, also works with Narrativia.

So before everyone throws up hands and yells and throws out season 3 of Good Omens because it's got Neil's name in it, remember: One person didn't write Good Omens. Terry and Neil wrote it together. Decades before Terry died, he and Neil worked out the conclusion to Good Omens. They planned a sequel called 668: The Neighbor of the Beast. Terry's finale deserves to be told.

It's possible for Amazon and Narrativia to finish season 3. Look at the writing credits for seasons 2: John Finnemore, Cat Clarke, Jeremy Dyson, and Andy Nyman. It's possible to complete the series without Gaiman. Before July 2024, Gaiman said he wrote the final episode and had worked out the plot for everything. I don't recall how many episodes he finished before he vanished from the public. Michael Sheen and David Tennant both said they read the final episode script.

Remember that without the Good Omens series, Michael Sheen and David Tennant might never have met or worked together. The world could have been deprived of the greatest real life best friends forever relationship. Together with their wives, they might never have formed an ersatz polycule that everyone loves to see on social media.

We know how much David and Michael love Good Omens fans. That love is real! We know they would continue with the series to conclude the story for the fans.

In conclusion, before you take a dump all over fans because they still want to see season 3 of Good Omens, take all these facts into consideration. It's still Terry Pratchett's story. It deserves to be told.

UPDATE: Reported by Deadline on Sept. 11, 2024. Here is the inevitable news: "Gaiman has made an offer to Amazon and producers to take a back seat on the latest season so that it can continue amid crisis talks over the Terry Pratchett adaptation’s future."

Actually, this is good news for Good Omens fans and the future of season 3. As I previously posted, Good Omens was co-written with Terry Pratchett and his estate's production company is involved with the Good Omens series. It's what's right for the people who work on the series - including all the amazingly talented crew members who deserve to keep their jobs. And it's what's right for the fans. This is a smart move.

[jisforjudi2]

THE FAITHFUL SECRETARY

Chicago Tribune

UPDATED: August 10, 2021 at 12:23 a.m.

Before the women’s movement, back when Father knew best and network TV made room for Daddy, when Mary Tyler Moore was Laura Petrie, not Mary Richards, actress Barbara Hale was playing a single working woman on TV.

Hale, now 71, remembers what appealed to her about the role of Della Street, secretary to lawyer Perry Mason on the series that was based on the mysteries by Erle Stanley Gardner.

“When we started (in 1956), it was the beginning of women not working at home. I liked that she was not married. My husband didn’t have to see me every week married to another man, and our children didn’t have to see me mothering other children.

“When (my son) Billy was in the 1st grade, we went to school for the first parent meeting, and on his desk were little projects he’d made-pictures of Daddy and Mommy and his sister and his animals. And underneath my picture-I wish I had it now, but the teacher kept it-he’d written in inch-high block letters, `This is my mom. I love her. She is a secretary.”‘

On Friday, the latest Perry Mason two-hour movie, “The Case of the Telltale Talk Show Host,” will air on NBC, one of seven productions that will carry the courtroom stalwart and his unflappable Girl Friday into 1994.

“I guess I was just meant to be a secretary who doesn’t take shorthand,” she quips. “My assistant wants you to know I’m a lousy typist too-33 words a minute!”

The Emmy award-winning actress is a Hollywood survivor-going into her second half-century in a profession she never dreamed of pursuing. A veteran of the old studio system and of television’s infancy, her co-stars in those early years were household names-Sinatra and Cagney and Stewart and Mitchum-when she was the ingenue.

RKO Studios was her “paid education,” as she puts it, her training ground. She met her husband, actor Bill Williams (who died several months ago), over coffee at the studio commissary.

Today, she still offers ample evidence of the effervescent beauty she was in the ’40s and ’50s-and even earlier, in Rockford High School, when her buddies entered her in a May Queen contest and she won. “I still know them, dear, and we 15 get together every three years. It takes three years to get over the three days we spend together!”

Her career seems to have evolved from being on the right Chicago street corner at the right time.

The daughter of a Rockford horticulturist and a homemaker, Hale (born in DeKalb) was studying at the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts, living at the Harriet M. McCormick branch of the YWCA and planning a career as a commercial illustrator and portraitist.

One day, as school let out for the summer, she was standing at the corner near the Drake Hotel with a girlfriend who’d come to town for a couple of weeks to look for modeling work. While they were waiting for the bus taking them to the North Side, a car drove up and someone tossed a card at them. It referred them to a modeling agency.

“A couple of weeks later, I went to see my buddies, and I told one of them the story about the card,” she recalls.

“She said, `Barb, you’re kidding! I was sitting in the little coffee shop at work this morning, and a lady came in and sat next to me, because it was the only seat left. She was pouting. I asked if she had a problem, and she said, “Yes, darn it. I have a model agency and I saw this kid on a corner, in a red coat, and can’t track her down. She’s exactly what one of our ad agencies is looking for.” Barb, what coat did you have on that day?

“I said, `My red coat-it’s the only coat I have.’ And she said, `Barb, I think that card was meant for you.”‘

It was. Hale went in to the Seaman Agency, and stopped Connie Seaman in her tracks. “She said, `Oh, my God-honey, don’t move! Al, get over here quick!’ Al came in and said, `It is her! Let’s see-we’ll shape her eyebrows, put on a little more lipstick, pull her hair back … ‘ and I said, `Just a minute, sir-what are we talking about?”‘

Hale was “a green 19” when she began fashion modeling, and after about a year and a half, RKO offered her a six-month tryout. The day after she arrived in Los Angeles, she visited the studio and its casting director, Dick Stockton.

“As I was shaking hands with him, the phone rang. He took the call, and as he listened, he started looking at me. `Yeah, yeah, yeah, just a minute.’ He turned to me and asked, `Honey, can you say a line?’ I said, `I don’t know.’ He said into the phone, `There’s a kid in the office right now. I think she’ll work. I’ll send her right over.’ He told his assistant, `Take her to wardrobe, take her to makeup, take her to Stage 6. One of the kids is sick. We’ve got to have a girl there immediately.’

“It hit every paper the next day. Cinderella story. First day on the lot, she gets-of course they said a starring part. I had one line, but you know about those things.”

Apart from that walk-on, in “Gildersleeve’s Bad Day,” she made her debut in 1944 in “Higher and Higher,” opposite Frank Sinatra.

Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, Ginger Rogers and Jane Russell were all at RKO then. So was Burr-who would be her TV series co-star about a dozen years later.

Hale studied dancing and singing at the studio. She began to appear on screen regularly-four movies in 1944, two in 1945-and eventually won leads in such movies as “The Boy With Green Hair,” “The Window,” “Jolson Sings Again” and “The Jackpot,” performing even while pregnant.

“I told Billy (her son, actor William Katt, who starred in the television series “The Greatest American Hero”) he should put on his resume that he was in `The Jackpot’ and `Lorna Doone,’ and he said, `Mother, I wasn’t,’ and I told him, `Oh, yes, you were!”‘

She continued her movie career and was a mainstay of television dramas until 1956, when a producer offered her the Della Street part in the pilot of what turned out to be a 9 1/2-year run. Hale went on to win an Emmy for best dramatic actress for the role in 1959.

“We did 36 shows that first year,” she says. “And we’re still doing it!”

She says that Della “was-and still is, to a great degree-a woman who knew what everybody was thinking. She was informed, and very observant of everything that went on. That was my challenge as an actress-to be a necessary part of the office without being too aggressive. Della was quietly overpowering: She knew when to speak and when to keep her mouth closed.”

Hale sees Della as having remained constant, to an extent. Her task is basically the same. But there have been some subtle emotional changes.

“I think she’s a little more at home, relaxed, showing her knowledge not only of the case, but also of her boss. In the early days, it was all business. Today there’s more of a camaraderie between them, a little more humor and more sensitivity to each other, which comes with years of being side by side.

“She’s trying to see that he stays healthy,” she says. “She’s taking him off coffee.

After nearly 300 episodes, “Perry Mason” folded in 1966.

In the mid-1970s, the show returned briefly with other actors and faded quickly. During the ’70s and early ’80s, Hale worked sporadically. She was in the original “Airport” in 1970, and appeared opposite her son in a 1978 surfing movie, “Big Wednesday.”

In 1985, producer Dean Hargrove asked her what she thought of the idea of a “Perry Mason” reunion show. She told him, “it would be divine, but we are 25 or 30 years older than we were then.” He said the intention was to use them as they were and to bring in a few new young actors to replace cast members William Talman, Ray Collins and William Hopper, who had died.

“Dean said, `There’s a young blond kid in town. I want to talk to him, not his agent. He’s done a series-“The Greatest American Hero.” But I can’t reach him.’

“I said, `Oh, well, that young man is in Kansas City doing “The Music Man” right now, and I can get you in touch with him if you want.’ And Dean asked, `You know him?’ I said, `Dean, I changed that boy’s diapers!’ Billy played in the first nine (Perry Mason) movies, then went on to another series of his own.”

“Perry Mason Returns” in 1985 was a Nielsen triumph, and with Perry stepping down from a judgeship to defend Della against murder charges in the first episode. From then on, the Mason bunch have visited America’s living rooms every few months.

After nearly four decades, Hale says the role of Della still offers unexpected moments.

“This week, at the end of the show, very quietly and very surprisingly, Perry plants one on Della,” Hale says. “It’s a first!”

Originally Published: May 16, 1993 at 1:00 a.m.

www.chicagotribune.com/1993/05/16/the-faithful-secretary/