#even one as innocuous as making paperclips

[formerheroeswhoquittoolate]

I just watched a teen titans go! episode that explained the paperclip maximizer problem. brb gotta go get my forgetting stick

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

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

Summary: You and Eddie face a familiar nemesis at a Teacher Appreciation luncheon, but the rewards that come with your strengthened relationship are far sweeter.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), semi-public sex, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), choking, spanking, praise kink, orgasm denial, breeding kink, creampie, Carol Perkins makes an appearance

WC: 9.6k

Chapter 18/20

Divider credit to @saradika Eddie pic credit to @eddiemunsonsmum

Out to lunch

Be back soon

That’s the message hastily scribbled onto the sheet of staff paper Scotch taped just above Rock Records’ hours of operation. Innocuous enough; a sign that has been posted on many a small town storefront. But if anyone is listening closely, they’ll hear Guns ‘N Roses still playing over the tinny sound system—not to mention the moans drifting from Eddie’s managerial office. 

Eddie has you laid back on the desk, your legs hooked over his shoulders. His fingers grab onto your thighs with such ferocity that his rings threaten to leave indents on your supple skin. He’s on his knees, a man possessed as his tongue glides over your clit. 

“F-Fuck, Eddie! Right there!”

You can feel him grinning against you, obviously pleased to be catapulting you into this blissful spiral. He tugs you just a bit closer, the subtle movements of his jaw apparent as he laps at your pussy. His own noises nearly drown out yours; the way he devours you has him smacking his lips together greedily. You’re a feast, and he doesn’t intend to leave a single crumb behind. 

Your legs tremble and your toes curl, back arching to create a small gap between you and the table. Somehow, you manage to sit up just enough to reach out and lace your fingers through the strands of hair that have escaped his ponytail. 

He’s acutely aware that you’re watching him, though he doesn’t see your awestruck expression as you take in the sight before you. A sheen of slick and saliva coat his chin, evidence that his efforts are far from futile. 

He’s so beautiful between your legs, worshiping your pussy like it’s a deity, leaving nothing untouched. His cock strains against his fly as it seeks the warmth of being inside you. 

“I’m close, baby, s-so close!”

He knows he should stop now, forcing you to beg him to let you finish, but he simply can’t deny you. Maybe some of it is selfish; making his girl come is just as satisfying as his own orgasm. The way you chant his name, body shaking as unbridled ecstasy takes over. 

Your free hand swoops across the table, knocking to the ground a small stack of papers and a paperclip box. Everything scatters along the carpeted floor. “Sh-shit, ‘m sorry—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Eddie growls, two thick fingers gliding in your wet sex as he speaks. “Don’t you dare do anything but come for me.”

That shuts you up, save for the wanton moans you exhale as the coil in your belly snaps and relief floods your body. 

You barely have time to catch your breath before Eddie is pulling you and bending you over his desk. Your elbows hit the table, but you’re still floating too high to brace yourself for pain. The soft clink of his belt buckle coming undone and his zipper teeth opening have you clenching around nothing. 

He hikes your skirt up even higher—your lace panties already snug in his back pocket—and taps the head of his length on your ass. You’re so wet that you’re glistening, and he grabs the Trojan from his wallet before rolling it over himself and pushing into you. 

“Thassit, mmm, fuck,” he grunts, filling you fully until he bottoms out. “You knew what you were doing when you came here, didn’t you?” One arm wraps around your waist as he thrusts up into you. “Pretending like you just wanted to visit. Yeah, right.”

You grin victoriously. Eddie didn’t normally work on Sundays, but when he picked up a last-minute shift for a sick co-worker, you had to jump at the opportunity. 

His pace intensifies as your body brings him to his own release. If you were at either of your places, he would still be eating you out, not stopping until he had you in tears. He wouldn’t even care if stickiness pooled in his boxers, but he has no spare pants to change into, and he certainly can’t get caught with cum-stained pants while on the clock.

His hips piston a bit faster, hand dropping so his middle finger can readily find your clit. As soon as you whimper, already overstimulated all the fullness within you, he’s a goner. You can feel his heart racing when his chest presses to your spine, even through your respective shirts.   

“‘M right there, oh, fuck,” Eddie hisses, teeth gritted in concentration. He throws his head back and grabs a handful of your bare ass, smacking it for good measure.“So good, so fuckin’ good f’me.” Every syllable is punctuated with another snap of his pelvis. The heart pendant hanging from your necklace bounces against your chest with each movement. “‘M coming, coming all f’you, take it, baby.” He spills into the condom with a satisfied groan, the force of his final thrusts sending you over the edge.

His plush lips leave tender kisses along the side of your neck, delaying his inevitable withdrawal. “That was…holy shit,” he breathes with a kind laugh. You wince as he pulls out of you, already far too empty for your liking. Nimble fingers knot the used latex, dropping it into the wire trashcan beside the desk. 

“Y’okay?” Eddie asks when he notices your silence. Worry creases his brows. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His gaze drops to the flesh he’d just spanked, gently running his palm over it in an attempt to soothe. “I might’ve gotten carried away—”

“‘M good,” you reassure him, having finally found your voice. You giggle as he breathes an audible sigh of relief. “I like when you’re a little rough with me,” you admit, heat creeping up the back of your neck. 

Eddie cocks his head. “Yeah?” He fixes your skirt, ensuring that everything is covered, before tucking himself back into his jeans. 

“Yeah.” There’s a shy smile on your face as you turn and face him, leaning in so your mouths can meld together. His hands cup your cheeks as he deepens the kiss, tongue tentatively nudging yours as though asking permission. You eagerly allow him in, one finger hooked on his belt loop. 

Even when he’s playing a dominant role, withholding your pleasure until he sees fit, it’s no less intimate than when you make sweet, sensitive love. Relinquishing autonomy carves out a path for security and respect, two facets that Eddie takes to heart. He’s learned to read your body like a map, knowing exactly where to touch you—and where not to touch you—and how to bring you to your tipping point. 

“How am I supposed to continue my shift after that?” he asks, still remaining close enough that the slightly chapped skin of his lips scratch yours. The two of you exchange breaths, utterly intoxicated on each other. “Gonna be thinking about my perfect girl the rest of the day.” His teeth gently nip at you when he speaks. “This beautiful face…beautiful hands…” He drops to his knees and pulls your waist closer to him, hands strong on the small of your back. “Beautiful stomach…beautiful legs…”

You laugh, fully and heartily, unable to take your eyes off of the man paying reverence to your body. “Eddie, get up,” you chastise teasingly, stumbling a little as he clings to you harder. “And give me back my panties.”

Eddie pouts, lower lip jutting out in anticipated protest. “But–”

“I have to go grocery shopping,” you tell him, trying to reach into his back pocket to grab at the lacy fabric sticking out, but he shifts away too quickly. “You want me walking around Bradley’s all exposed?”

A mischievous grin spreads across Eddie’s face, activating the dimples in his cheeks. “Well…”

You cross your arms over your chest, snug underneath your breasts. “Really? What if I have to bend down to get, I dunno, peanut butter? And then some random guy–or maybe someone we know, like Jason Carver–” your nose wrinkles, disgusted at the mere mention of his name, “what if he gets a glimpse of–”

“Okay, okay, you win.” Eddie huffs, standing up as he tosses it over. You triumphantly slide them back up your legs, feeling your cooled slick from earlier in the afternoon against your core. “But only because I don’t want anyone else seeing what I get to see.” He delicately bites your earlobe, well aware that if he continues down this path, he’ll be hard again.

You shiver at his subtle possessiveness, fighting the temptation to undress him and beg for him to be inside you again. The desire is so overpowering that you almost forget the second reason you’d stopped by the store this afternoon. 

“Eds? Could I ask you for a favor?”

“Shit, baby,” he laughs, snaking a hand up your shirt as he sucks on your neck, “I’d give you a fuckin’ kidney right now if that’s what you wanted.”

“‘M serious,” you press, hoping his doesn’t notice the way your voice catches in your throat. His thumbs center on your bra cups, caressing the underwire and letting his fingers slip underneath. “Th-There’s this teacher appreciation luncheon that the PTA is hosting, and we can bring a date.”

The unspoken remainder of your question bears a hefty implication: a public confirmation of a relationship previously only fueled by the small-town rumor mill. 

Eddie is unfazed by your hesitance, enchanted by the soft skin below his calloused palm. He’s determined to memorize it, each dip and curve and the way you fit perfectly in his hands. “When is it?” His breath tickles your exposed neck. He doesn’t wait for a response before adding, “I just have to ask Wayne to watch Harris.”

“Saturday. A-A week from yesterday.” You swallow your nerves, wondering if he’s going to pick up on the reason behind your anxiety. If he’ll feel it, too. “But there’ll probably be some parent volunteers there, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” You grimace at the thought of him walking into the room, shell-shocked when he sees their unwelcome sneers. “They need a final headcount tomorrow,” you don’t add that the invitation had been sent earlier last week, and you’d been putting off asking until the last possible minute, “but if you can’t, or you don’t want to–”

He interrupts your rambling with a kiss, sloppy in its urgency. “I don’t care if Mrs. O’Donnell herself shows up. I want to go.” 

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says with a dismissive wave. “The point is, I’d love to be your date. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he grins, conspicuously adjusting himself over his pants, “one of us has to work.”

You swat at his backside, hitching your purse over your shoulder and smoothing down your skirt again. “Need anything from the store?”

It’s an innocuous question; you’ll just add whatever he says to the list you’ve scribbled on a piece of scrap paper, safely tucked away in your bag. To Eddie, it’s enough to tug on the corners of his lips, which he tries to hide by scratching at the shadow of stubble on his cheeks. It creates an image of the two of you sharing a home, Harris sitting at the kitchen table with a bowlful of cereal, as you prepare to do the family shopping. Or maybe the three of you would go together, Harris helping push the cart while scouring the shelves for whatever sugar-laden junk food he’s obsessed with that week. Later, Eddie would lean over to grab a bag of apples from the produce department, hand gently brushing along your back as he does it. He doesn’t care who sees; hell, he hopes everyone notices the way you allow him to touch you so casually. No shame, no pretending. You might even intertwine your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, claiming him in your own way. 

“Nah, baby, ‘m good,” he tells you, chuckling when you shoot him a knowing look. “Fine, Harris could use some more mac and cheese. Whatever’s on sale.” 

You make a mental note to pick up a few boxes, lips gingerly kissing Eddie’s nose like a butterfly perched on a daisy.

Eddie watches the sway of your hips as you leave his office, fingertips pressing into his desk as he wracks his brain to determine how he’s managed to conjure up the luck to be with you. He’d always assumed that he’d never find someone who understood his unconventional experiences, who recognized the puzzle of emotions that accompanied those memories.

He hadn’t considered the prospect of meeting you: a person who not only saw his brokenness, but the whole parts of him, too. A man who loved his son with a fierceness that envied a mother bear’s, whose passion for music kept him afloat during the most trying years of his life, who couldn’t quite turn his back on his dreams despite the entire world seemingly persuading him to do so. You saw the good and the bad and loved him for all of it.

He certainly never thought about what it would feel like to love wholly. He recalls the fateful night in the emergency room, when he began to realize the lengths you went to for the people you cared about. The time he’d burst into your classroom after the conference with Ms. Marion, and despite his previous pattern of behavior, you’d comforted him and offered to spend your free time tutoring Harris. Even the gig when he saw you for the very first time and let his lust lead the way, fate had the last laugh when you fell asleep in his arms like you were made to fit there. 

And then there are the less-than-ideal parts of you. The way you keep your feelings bottled up until they boil over in a flood of emotions that Eddie is still learning to sort out. The way you forget to take care of yourself in favor of looking after others. The way you believe you are simultaneously too much and not enough, allowing your insecurities to stampede over any and all logic. 

It’s what makes you human, what makes you you. And Eddie loves you even more for letting him see that side of you. 

If loving someone fully–and being loved fully–means confirming the gossip about the teacher and the freak, he’ll do it one hundred times over for you.

Your phone rings mere minutes after you finish packing away the groceries. Food shopping on Sundays is always the worst; stores are overcrowded, filled with parents and children losing their patience, and you’re fairly certain that you spent more time waiting in line to pay than you did actually perusing the aisle. You pluck the ripest banana from the bunch and peel it as you cradle the receiver between your cheek and shoulder. “Hello?”

“Hi, baby.” Eddie’s voice is honey-dipped on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Eds.” You lean up against the wall, body already feeling lighter. “You and Harris’ll be glad to know that I have secured the macaroni and cheese.”

There’s a sound of movement from his side, and you hear him say, “Har Bear, Ms. Sweetheart got your mac and ch–hey, give me that–”

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris bellows, and you instinctively move the phone from your ear at the sudden noise. “When are you gonna come to my house and play?”

You laugh, struck by his enthusiasm. “Soon. I promise,” you tell him, meaning every word. Your heart swells at the thought of you, Harris, and Eddie working together to construct a Lego building, both Munsons deep in concentration with their tongues poking from their mouths. “Can you put your dad back on the phone?”

“Okay!” he chirps. “Bye! Love you!”

“Love you, too, Har.” You’re fairly certain that he’s already dashed out of the room, never one to sit still for long, but it occurs to you that he doesn’t even need to hear you say it back. He just knows that you love him in the way that you keep a smile on your face as you gently help him sound out new words, or chase him around the playground until you’re both winded from giggling and running, or share in his excitement at any accomplishment.

Eddie clears his throat when he gets on the line. “So, uh, I forgot to ask–what am I wearing to this luncheon thing?” He’s praying that it’s nothing too upscale; new clothes are not exactly within his budget right now.

To his relief, you say with a teasing lilt in your tone, “A button-down shirt and some jeans without holes in them, if possible.” You take a small bite of fruit, chewing as you speak. “Sneakers should be fine.”

“I can manage that,” he laughs. He doesn’t want to end the conversation yet, so he chooses to ask the first question that comes to mind. “Whatcha eating?”

“Banana.”

“Shit.” He clutches the phone cord in his hand, nearly yanking it out of the jack. A long exhale shoots static through the receiver. “Don’t do this to me.”

It takes a moment for you to figure out what this is. “Eddie Munson,” you start, not even trying to mask your amusement, “are you getting turned on because I’m eating a banana?”

“And now you’re making fun of me? In my hour of need?” He tuts softly, making you laugh even harder. “Evil, evil woman.”

“That’s me. I’m just the worst.” You take another bite to knowingly torture him.

“The absolute worst.” Eddie amends. He tucks his thumbnail between his teeth., incisor digging into the exposed crescent moon. His joking intonation makes way for authenticity as he says, “I love you, babe.”

“I love you, too.” Your voice is small but strong, so assured in your declaration to him. “See you tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll bring the coffee.”

The buzzer rings promptly at noon on Saturday, just as you’re swiping on a final coat of lipstick. You take a look in the mirror, giving a quick twirl as your green lapel floral button-up dress flows out around you and recentering the heart pendant on your necklace. 

Your Mary Jane Doc Martens are loud on the floor as you shuffle to let Eddie in. There’s no denying the way your stomach flip-flops with excited anticipation. You’ve seen him dressed up before: at Grandma’s funeral, on your Valentine’s Day date, but the sight never gets old. 

He’s standing in the doorway, looking every bit as delicious as you’d imagined. His maroon button-down is neatly tucked into black jeans, cuffs rolled to his elbows and showing off his myriad forearm tattoos. He’s freshly shaved, and you can see a tiny red speck where he’d accidentally nicked himself with the blunted razor this morning.   

“What d’you think?” he asks, spinning around in a way that’s almost identical to the 360-degree view you’d gotten of yourself. “Harris said I look too fancy, but I didn’t have time to change, so…”

You shake your head. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” you tell him truthfully, arms wrapping around his waist as you pull him in for a much-needed kiss. “There’s just one thing.” You tug at the rubber band that encases his curls in a low ponytail until it slides onto your wrist, setting his hair free. “There we go.”

Eddie frowns, haphazardly smoothing down the hair that’s already beginning to frizz despite the mountains of product he’d applied in a futile attempt to tame it. “Y’sure?”

“Positive. You look more…” You consider your words carefully, “…more like you with your hair all wild like that.”

“That’s a good thing?” He cocks his head in disbelief, and you can’t help but kiss him again. This time, you let your tongue explore him as your fingers twist into the cotton blend of his shirt. His hands start on your cheeks, then gradually work their way down to your ass. A sudden grab of the supple flesh has you yelping slightly, muffled by his mouth on yours. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says with a laugh, the tip of his nose nudging against your earlobe. “You are absolutely gorgeous,” he murmurs, inhaling the floral scent of the perfume you’d meticulously sprayed on your pulse points. 

A familiar need builds at the apex of your thighs, and if your suspicions are correct, Eddie feels it, too. The temptation to undo every last one of his shirt buttons is strong, sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a blade. 

Surprisingly, it’s Eddie who breaks away, though it takes every ounce of willpower to do so. “C’mon, let’s get going,” he whispers, chuckling when you pout in defiance. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that you’ve come to learn means he has something up his sleeve. “Don’t worry, babe; when we come back, I plan on showing you a little teacher appreciation of my own.”

The tantalizing scent of Italian food permeates Hawkins Preschool’s cafeteria, replacing the usual smell of freezer-burned chicken nuggets and fries. Green and gold cloths cover the tables, with the buffet from Enzo’s at the front of the room, a small crowd having already gathered to grab some food. 

You spot Will immediately; he waves you over to a table in the corner. Marshall is seated next to him, offering an enthusiastic smile as you set your purse down on the bench. 

“Go get something to eat,” Will tells you and Eddie, motioning to the spread. “We can watch your stuff.”

Eddie needs no further convincing; Enzo’s has been considered a delicacy for the Munsons since it first opened. He can probably count the number of times he’s eaten there on one hand. You watch as he eyes the options, silently calculating how much he can fit on his paper plate. 

“Food from this cafeteria never looks so good,” you joke softly, so only his ears can hear. “Wanna take a little of everything? And we can split it?

Eddie nods, picking up a serving spoon and digging clumsily into the tray of lasagna. Marinara sauce oozes over the sides of the oversized utensil as he scoops out a hearty serving. The piece lands on his plate with a plop, and you take a step back to avoid it splattering on your dress. He apologizes quietly, but you just smile and pick up a napkin, dabbing at the stain forming on his shirt collar.

“Haven’t even been here five minutes and I’m already making a mess,” he grumbles, using the tongs to snag some chicken parmesan, much more deliberate in his actions. 

You click your tongue in mock disapproval. “I really can’t take you anywhere, huh?” You fish out a meatball, sopping with sauce, from another foil tray before serving a generous portion of the house salad. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat the olives,” you tease, flicking some dressing over the pile of greens. 

Eddie uses the hand not balancing his plate to grab two knives, two forks, and a fistful of napkins. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing at the bottles of Poland Spring nestled at the end of the table, “we need drinks.”

It takes a minute for you to mentally assess the situation before you figure out a plan. “Give me that,” you point to his plate, crooking your finger and motioning towards yourself until he hands it to you. “Now you can get the water.” Your conscience tugs at you, aware that this goes beyond beverages and some spilled sauce. “Hey,” you say softly. If you weren’t holding two full plates, you would rest your palm on his bicep and give it a squeeze. “It’s just you and me, okay? Everyone else is background noise.”

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles tightly, wedging the two bottles between his elbow and his ribs. Background noise is the perfect description, considering that you’re the melody that plays on a loop in his brain, yet he never gets tired of hearing it. His internal song had been entirely composed of bass notes, and you’re a treble clef. 

The two of you sit down next to Will and Marshall, who waste no time making conversation. 

“So, Eddie,” Marshall starts, twirling spaghetti around his fork, “I know these two wrangle kids all day; what do you do for a living?”

“I manage Rock Records, over on Porter,” Eddie says, chest swelling with pride. Selling for Rick required him to pretend like he was unemployed or ‘between jobs,’ often earning him judgmental side-eyes. Now, he can answer honestly and without shame. “What about you?”

Marshall chews and swallows before answering. “I’m in sales at Bell Atlantic, but, uh,” he reaches over and takes Will’s hand, “I’m thinking about moving to Hawkins, so I’ll have to find something new, unless I want to commute to Indy every day.”

You lean over the table to wrap Will in a hug. “Congratulations!” you exclaim, eyes bright with excitement. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

“It’s not official yet,” Will clarifies, though he readily accepts your embrace, “but we can start the process once Marsh gets a job here.”

Eddie rubs his jaw thoughtfully, using the side of his fork to slice the meatball in half, then half again. “Sales?” he repeats, spearing a piece of food. “I think our sales department is hiring, actually. If you give me your resume, I can push it through.”

Both Marshall and Will light up at the idea, beaming from ear to ear. “That would be amazing!” Will chirps. 

“Thanks, man,” Marshall says gratefully. You can see the gears turning in his head as he pictures his future with Will coming to fruition. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“‘Course.” Eddie swipes his tongue over the sauce in the corner of his mouth and smiles. “When you find someone who’s willing to stay in this town for you, you gotta hang on to them.” His fingers drape over yours, thumb grazing your bare ring finger. “Trust me.”

Your body warms at his touch, sunshine radiating through you from the inside. You want to remind him how absurdly easy he is to love, that you’d live anywhere as long as you could guarantee falling asleep in his arms each night. If you could bottle up the fuzzy feeling that you get every time he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing purposeful kisses along the nape, you would do it in a heartbeat.

A peal of cruel laughter hooks into you, unwillingly drawing your attention from the conversation to the woman standing off to the side. She speaks as though she’s trying to talk under her breath, but you know that you’re meant to hear her. “Told you, Steve: the teacher and the Freak,” she says with a smirk that you’re tempted to smack clean off of her face.

Your fingers clench around your fork so forcefully that it threatens to snap in half. The fact that anyone could be in their third decade of life and still build themselves up by cutting others down is absurd to you, perhaps because you spend most of your time teaching children the importance of intentional kindness. 

Adrenaline surges through your veins in a classic battle of fight versus flight as you weigh your options. You could release the scream that you’ve trapped in your throat, throttling her with a barrage of hurtful words until she’s a sniveling mess. It’s too tempting, and you would have a difficult time talking yourself out of it if she wasn’t your student’s parent. 

You could act like you hadn’t heard her, as improbable as that possibility is. It’s certainly the more mature decision, and one that would ensure your job security, but that just fuels the brewing anger with the knowledge that Carol would win whatever messed-up game she’s playing. 

Eddie sits next to you, facing a similar silent dilemma. He could turn heel and run, storming off in a fit of fury, assuring himself that you’d be fine with Will and Marshall. He could shrink into himself until the moment passes and Carol moves onto a new target. He could leap on the table like he would have back in high school, make a scene and embarrass the hell out of everybody–but that would include you, and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He can tell by the way your jaw goes rigid that you’re holding back, that you’re trying to remain professional. An involuntarily grin twitches on his lips as he thinks about you eschewing all maturity and absolutely laying into Carol. He knows you can’t do that, as much as you both want to. 

But he can.

“So glad you could take a break from cheating on your husband to be here, Carol.” He keeps a bright, innocent smile glued to his face as he feigns enthusiasm. You have to bite your lower lip to stifle a cackle; out of the corner of your eye, you can see Will covering his mouth and nose to keep from spitting out the sip of Pepsi he’d just downed.

Carol’s face blanches, obviously not expecting Eddie’s retort. Steve Harrington wasn’t either, and the “ha!” that escapes him is evidence of it. When Carol shoots death glares at him, he just shrugs, raising his brows as if to say, if you can’t handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen.

With a muted string of swear words that none of you care to decipher, Carol huffs and stomps off. Steve glances for a moment, rolling his eyes at her theatrical display. “Sorry about…” he gestures vaguely at her sulking form as she whines to another parent unlucky enough to be in her warpath. “Anyway, um, my wife is at home with Josh, but we’re so grateful to both of you for everything you’ve done for him.” He gives a half smile, nodding at you and Will. “Not just with, like, school stuff, but teaching him how to play with other kids without it turning into a WWE Smackdown.” He sucks his lips to his teeth and shakes his head with a small laugh.

“That’s our job!” you chirp, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, still riding the high of watching Carol slink off, proverbial tail between her legs.

“Well, it means a lot,” Steve continues, pink tinging the apples of his cheeks as he confides, “especially because he’s going to have a little brother or sister in a few months. He was actually telling us how he’s excited to share his toys with the new baby. We thought Hell was freezing over.”

Pride swells up in Eddie's chest while he rubs your upper back; a small gesture with incalculable meaning. That’s my girl, he muses, eyes widening when you scoot into him so his arm drapes over your shoulder. You lace your fingers with his and pull them down so they graze your bicep as you continue talking with Steve, as natural as can be. No shying away, no denying the existence of the teacher and the Freak. You claim Eddie as yours, and a soft kiss to your temple claims you as his. 

The conversation with Steve ends shortly after that, and you congratulate him again on the upcoming addition to the Harrington family. You, Eddie, Will, and Marshall decide to head out once you’ve finished eating. 

“Thanks again, man,” Marshall says as he shakes Eddie’s hand. “I’ll swing by on Monday with my resume.”

“Don’t mention it.” Eddie claps him on the back. Truthfully, he’s just grateful to not be the person receiving help. The universe had granted him chance after chance; it’s about time he’s able to do something for someone else. 

Will turns to you just as you all near the double doors, illuminated by fluorescent lighting and a bright red EXIT sign. “Did you bring home the rest of the progress reports?”

You throw your head back, blowing out a breath of frustration. “Shit, I totally forgot.” You rifle through your purse until you find the silver key that’s been shoved to the bottom and make an about-face towards your classroom. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you big time.”

“Just give me a special mention in your Teacher of the Year speech,” he jokes, but you catch the sparkle of admiration in his eyes at your dedication—even if it follows a memory lapse. 

Eddie trails right behind you as you unlock the door, dropping the key back in your bag for safekeeping. “Sorry, babe,” you apologize, “I just need to grab the papers and we can get out of here.”

“Take your time.” He plops down in the chair behind your desk, fingers thrumming along the oversized calendar you’ve marked up with various due dates and events. “I’ll stay out of trouble. Wouldn’t want to get…punished…or anything.” He looks up at you with a knowing smirk that droops into a frown when you ignore his entendré. 

He swivels around when you move from the right side of your desk to your left, rummaging around for a clip to provide some semblance of organization. “I can be the teacher’s pet, y’know,” he continues, one fingernail lightly trailing up your arm. “I’m not opposed to doing whatever it takes to get an A.” Broad hands broach either side of your waist, but you pull away to pluck a Post-It from the stack and stick it atop the reports. 

It’s when you lean over to grab a pen that the pent-up tension becomes too overwhelming for him; the way your ass is perfectly framed by your dress has him awestruck. Mine, mine, all mine, loops through his head as he tugs on your hips so you’re sitting on his lap. 

“Don’t mind me.” His lips slowly kiss down your spine, busy fingers bunching your dress fabric up your thighs. “You keep doin’ what you gotta do, pretty girl.”

You exhale with a tired laugh. “The sooner I get this done, the sooner we can go home and you can show me some of that ‘teacher appreciation’ you promised.” 

“Or,” Eddie counters, turning your chin so you can see the adorable pout he’s now sporting, “I could appreciate you right here.”

“Eddie!” 

“Yeah, say my name,” he mumbles, half-teasing while still relishing in the way it sounds on your lips. “C’mon, can’t we just fool around a little bit?”

You swoop down to kiss him, tongue discreetly slipping into his mouth as your fingers curl into his hair. His hands roam your body, already fumbling with the column of buttons down your back. While he’s distracted, you break away and stand up, leaving him noticeably hard beneath his slacks. “Nope.” 

He lets out an anguished groan, but ultimately relents so you can finish your work undistracted—save for the throbbing between your legs. With a hasty scribble of your Bic pen, you label the last of the reports and clutch the stack to your chest. 

“We can go now,” you tell him, and he’s standing up and practically running out the door before you can finish speaking. 

Your back is turned to him while you lock up, but you can still hear him skid to a stop and blurt out, “Sorry, Mrs. Sinclair.”

Your boss’s laughter trills through the hallway, and you can feel your tension ease until she asks him, “What’s got you in such a hurry?”

Don’t say something ridiculous; nothing that’ll make it impossible for me to show my face on Monday. You squeeze your eyes shut in desperation, anxiety absolved only when he replies, “Just gotta pick my son up from my uncle’s place.”

“How is Wayne doing?” There’s a smile in her voice. “Is he still working at the plant?”

“Uh-huh. Cut back his hours so he can spend more time with Harris.” Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets and sits on his heels to disguise the tented crotch area. “A-And how’re Lucas and Erica?” 

“Oh, they’re great,” Sue chirps, seizing the opportunity to brag about her children. “Lucas told me he saw you at Will’s party; he’s really doing well with his sports management business. And Erica just graduated, pre-law, and she’ll be off to Harvard in the fall.” She rests a hand on his shoulder, concern creasing her brows. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Eddie nods overzealously. “Y-Yep. Feeling great. Everything is, uh, peachy keen.” He gives a thumbs-up to solidify his statement, and you have to stop yourself from snickering. 

As soon as they say their goodbyes, you shuffle over to your flustered boyfriend, wrapping him in a hug from behind, hands resting on the soft pudge of his tummy. “‘Peachy keen?’” you prod, giggles bubbling in your chest at the mere mention of his word choice. “I was expecting you to throw in a ‘jelly bean’ at the end there.”

Eddie reaches around and pulls you so you’re tucked beneath his shoulder. “You’re so fuckin’ lucky you’re cute,” he quips, but the way you eagerly snuggle into him serves as a reminder that he’s the lucky one. 

Gray clouds have been threatening a storm all day, sagging low in the sky with oversaturation. The air is thick with humidity when you and Eddie make your brief walk to his car, the telltale first drops of rain staining the pavement and permeating the atmosphere with a dewy scent. 

There’s a clap of thunder just as you’re fastening your seatbelt and Eddie’s turning the key in the ignition; it startles you both more than you’d care to admit, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rain pours in sudden opaque sheets, dashing any dreams you had of fooling around on your drive home; all of his focus is centered on getting you home in one piece. You settle for resting your hand on his knee, missing the usual rips and tears in the fabric so you can easily make skin-on-skin contact.

Eddie grips the wheel at ten and two, keeping a steady foot on the gas pedal as he crawls along the uneven road. His tongue pokes from between his lips as it often does when he’s concentrating. Drops thwack against the sedan’s hood and drown out the sounds of the Dio cassette he’d popped into the stereo system on the ride over to the school. At this point, he could be playing Alanis Morisette; the combination of the rain and the vigorous back-and-forth of the windshield wipers is too noisy for him to tell the difference.

The fifteen minute drive to your apartment takes an additional ten, but you’re both just grateful to arrive in one piece. You both take a few seconds to pause, assessing the intensity of the storm. You’ll be soaked by the time you reach the front door even if you take off your heeled shoes and dart barefoot through the parking lot.

“We can wait a few minutes and see if it slows,” you offer, but the constant rainfall has you questioning just how long you’ll be sitting in the car.

Eddie is thinking similarly, because he just shakes his head and kills the engine. In the absence of the music and the wipers, the pounding raindrops are even louder. He practically has to shout for you to hear him. “I say we make a run for it.” He grips the door handle, and you do the same. “On three. Ready?” When you nod, he begins counting. “One…two…three!” 

The doors fly open with the force of your own strength and the howling winds. You shriek as cold water pelts your skin, gluing your dress to your body so the formerly loose garment hugs every curve. 

You slip your hand into Eddie’s as the two of you race towards the tattered green awning covering the building’s entrance. It provides little shelter, but it’s better than nothing as you scramble to unlock the door.

“You even look pretty like this,” Eddie muses, clicking his tongue against his cheek. “‘S kind of ridiculous, y’know that?”

“You’re kind of ridiculous,” you laugh, wringing the hem of your dress before pulling the door open. Eddie catches it behind you, holding it so you can walk ahead of him. Once inside, he shakes his hair like a dog fresh out of the bath and flicks water everywhere: the already slippery tile floors, the glass window panes, and even you. You try and glare at him, but your giddiness betrays you, already heading towards your unit in hurried anticipation of his full and unadulterated attention to your body.

You’d left the fan going in the apartment, and the chill instantly infiltrates your bones. Your arms instinctively wrap around your torso, but Eddie’s having none of it. 

“C’mere, pretty little thing,” he coos, unraveling you before cradling your cheeks in his hands, nose brushing yours. “Lemme warm you up.” 

He says this, but his actions have the opposite intention. His fingers fly to your dress buttons with unbridled urgency, fumbling with the hooks to no avail. He could easily stop kissing you long enough to properly attend to the task, but that’s seemingly not an option. “Fuck it,” he swears against your lips, and before you can question it, you feel a rush of cool air against your back. A dozen tiny buttons clatter to the ground as he nearly rips the dress in half, already sucking on the skin above your collarbone. 

“Been wanting to do that all day,” he confesses, pushing the torn fabric down until it pools around your ankles, leaving you in only your bra, panties, and shoes. “Baby, baby, baby; you got me so hard it fuckin’ hurts.”

You can feel him, the way his cock strains against his pants like it’s begging for release. “I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, undoing his button and zipper with far more grace than he undressed you. 

“If it’s lingerie, can we save it for another time?” he asks, exhaling as he gets some relief from the pressure in his jeans. “Because if you’re not naked in the next ten seconds, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.”

You laugh at his candor. “Nope, not lingerie.” His teeth dig into his lower lip as you cup his bulge over his boxers. “Remember a few weeks ago when we talked about our fantasies?”

“Mhm. Vividly.” Eddie smirks as his hand snakes around your throat, not gripping it quite yet, but the motion still awakens the butterflies in your stomach. 

“W-Well, I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago so I could get on the pill.” Your words have him frozen in place, and he steps back to assess your facial expression. 

“Like, the pill?”

“The pill,” you confirm with an excited giggle, starting on his shirt buttons to reveal the white tank top beneath. “So we can, I dunno, play pretend until we’re ready for the real thing?”

His eyes practically roll back in his head. “Fuck, I fuckin’ love you. Holy shit.” It’s not just the fact that you’re about to let him finish inside you—although he certainly has no complaints about that—but it’s mostly the way you’ve embraced his most intimate desires. He’s been conducting some research of his own to learn how to dominate a partner, waiting for the perfect opportunity to showcase his newfound knowledge. “Need you. Now.” His voice trembles on the last word despite the strength behind it. 

The two of you stumble into your room, shedding your remaining clothes in a trail towards the bed until you’re both wearing nothing at all. Eddie grabs your ass and squeezes, growling in desperation. “Perfect body, Jesus Christ. Was made f’me.” His lips attach to your exposed nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue over the pert bud. He switches to the other, slotting his leg between yours so his thigh presses against your core. 

“Eddie, please.” You make no attempt to mask your desperation; the feeling of your slick on his upper leg would give you away regardless. “I’ve been thinking about you filling me up…just…please.”

He nods, letting you lay back on the mattress so he can climb on top of you. “You want my cum, baby?” He leaves delicate kisses on your stomach, so close to your pussy but still too far. 

“Mhm.”

“Then you gotta earn it.” He’s smirking at you, delighted to watch you squirm needily. “Leaning over in front of me at the school and then not even letting me touch you?” He tuts disapprovingly. “Doesn’t sound like something a good girl would do.”

“‘M sorry, ‘m so sorry,” you whine, “I swear I want it.” Your breath hitches as he slides one finger inside you, keeping his other hand in a tight fist around his cock. 

He strokes himself, deliberate in each motion, never breaking eye contact with you. “Bet you wish this was around that pretty little throat of yours, huh?” He increases his pace. “Bet you wish I was inside you, too—don’t touch yourself.” His sudden gruffness leaves you taken aback, and he smacks your hand away from your clit before you can even start. “I never said you could do that.”

You whimper while he goes back to jerking himself, arching your back to bring him deeper. 

“Y’want more? Use those words, Sweetheart.”

“More, more, I need it.” Nothing would be more delectable than being split open on his cock, your bodies bringing each other pleasure. There’s a small pressure as he adds another finger, not the fullness you’re craving but still satisfying nonetheless. “Eddie, fuck,” you moan as he curls them both, drawing you nearer to orgasm.

You think he’s finally going to give it to you when he lets go of his hardened length; instead, he wraps his newly free hand around your neck.

And, oh, the pathetic mewl that you let out as his grasp tightens, bewitched by his display of possessiveness. You teeter on the edge of release until he permits you, but there’s no holding back once he grunts, “your pussy’s got a fuckin’ vice grip on my fingers.”

You’re not quite sure why that does it for you, but it leaves you writhing beneath him in ecstasy. “Thassit, come f’me. Sweet girl, so eager that she can’t even wait for my cock.” He tilts his head thoughtfully, comically casual compared to the way he’s controlling your own actions. “Tell me: is it the fingering or the choking that’s got you like this?”

“B-Both,” you stammer; Eddie squeezes your throat in response. One ring has been spun around a sweat-slicked finger, and it carves a skull-shaped design into your delicate skin. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m–” Passionate intensity overpowers any further conversation, replacing words with strained, high-pitched moans.

“Good girl,” Eddie praises, his harsher dominance briefly fading and a softer side takes over as he works you through your orgasm. You feel the simultaneous loss of his fingers around your neck and inside your cunt, but you’re immediately distracted by him bringing his fingers into his mouth and sucking off your release. “You’re as delicious as you look.”

You smile, eyelids fluttering as your overstimulation subsides. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths as you collect yourself. “That was…” The synapses in your brain struggle to fire as you come down from the high. You prop yourself on your elbows. “Really, really good.”

His body sags with relief. “Wanted to make it perfect for you, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your lips tenderly. “Wanted to give you exactly what you asked for.”

“You did,” you promise him, shivering as you shift positions and lose the addition of his body heat. “And now…it’s my turn to make it perfect for you.”

Eddie’s about to rebut that it’s already perfect because it’s you and him drawing pleasure from each other’s bodies, when you maneuver onto all fours. “Oh, honey,” he groans, grabbing a handful of your ass, but he doesn’t broach your entrance right away. You twist so he can register the confused look on your face. “Just takin’ a mental picture for when you’re not around.” His eyes scan your body, erection throbbing against his stomach. “Mmkay, ‘m good.”

He pulls on your hips, signaling you to scoot back so he can align himself. The bare head of his cock nudging your hole has you trembling anticipatorily. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes into you. You can feel every ridge, every vein, his silky skin against your walls. “You…” he searches for a proper description but is betrayed by the blood flowing away from his brain. “Holy sh-shit.” 

He’s still for a moment, just soaking in your direct warmth. His hips snap forward after what seems like eons; the fullness within you is heavenly. You could keep him inside forever with nary a complaint.

Eddie, meanwhile, is just grateful that he’s already made you come on his fingers, because he can’t imagine lasting long enough to do it again. The part of you that can still compile a cohesive thought realizes this, too, and you reassure him “take what you need, baby.”

“O-Okay.” His tone is tentative but his movements are not, finding a pace that makes his body hum. His brown eyes are glued to where you two connect, watching himself slide in and out. The soft shlick that comes with each thrust, your wetness drenching his dick more and more, is his own personal celestial chorus. There’s nothing separating you from each other anymore.

He’s addicted to you, the way you fill each of his senses in a perfumed cloud of desire. A patch of stickiness coats his upper thigh; he realizes that it’s your release trickling out of you and onto him. “Love when you cream my cock, mmm, fuck.” One hand lets go of your hip and cracks down on your ass, skin rippling under the sudden contact. 

You let out a euphoric yelp, embracing the sting. Your cunt tenses around him with each plunge. “Just thinking about feeling you come inside me,” you purr. “Are you going to watch it drip down my legs? Hmm?”

Eddie shakes his head before he remembers you can’t see him. “N-Nah, ‘m gonna…” a grunt disrupts his sentence, “‘m gonna stuff it back in this pretty little pussy. An’ you’re gonna keep it inside.” He breathes in audible gasps as his pace increases. “Like my good–little–girl.” The last three words are each punctuated with a thrust.

“Want it to take s’fuckin’ bad,” he continues, the admission spilling from his lips involuntarily. “Want everyone to know that you’re mine, and only mine.”

You brace your body weight to your forearms, lifting your ass in the air to allow him impossibly deep. “Bet I’d look really good having your baby, Eddie. All cute and pregnant for you.”

That has him imagining you in the same position you’re in now, only his palm is splayed on the swell of a baby bump, your tits heavy with milk to nourish the life growing within your body. He spills into you without warning, just him crying out your name as he lets go. True to his word, he swipes at whatever cum has dripped out and gingerly pushes it in your pussy.

He flops down on his back, completely spent, not bothering to clean the rope of cum that now adorns his softening length. You rest your head on his chest, his cooling sweat matting down the sparse hairs and sticking to your temple.

“I love you,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your arm. His lips easily find your forehead for a kiss. “You’re it for me, okay? Please don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t.” And you mean it. “I love you, too, Eddie.”

The two of you drift in and out of sleepiness for nearly an hour, safe in each other’s embrace, before he stirs you awake. “I gotta go get Harris in a few minutes,” he says, laughing when you groan your reply. “I know, I wish I could stay here forever.”`

“What if you did?”

Eddie furrows his brow. “I think that’s a little more babysitting than Wayne volunteered for.”

You swat at his chest playfully, rolling over so you can see his face. “No,” you laugh, nuzzling into his jaw. “I meant…what if you and Harris moved in once your lease is up? No pressure,” you rush to add, “but this is a two bedroom, so Harris could have his own space. I know you’ll have to think about it; I’m not looking for a decision right–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie interrupts kindly, silencing the ramble with a peck on your nose. “I don’t feel pressured. Trust me, if I didn’t have a kid to take care of, you’d never get rid of me.” He sighs and stretches, sitting up against the headboard, and you follow his lead. “Our lease is up at the end of next month. You’re the kid expert here; is that too soon to spring this on him? Will it, like, fuck him up irrevocably?”

You exhale, thinking about the best course of action. “Why don’t you ask him how he’d feel about it? Worst case scenario: he’s not ready and we’ll revisit it again in the future.”

“Are you sure? You won’t be mad or anything?” He’s treading cautiously as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. He loves Harris more than anything in the world, but there’s no denying that having a child furthers the complexities of dating.

You take his hand in yours and hold it tight. “We’re a team,” you remind him, kissing his bare shoulder. “Not just me and you, but Harris, too. I love you both, and I want you both to be happy here.”

Eddie’s heart could burst; he doesn’t know whether he needs to laugh or cry or some messy combination of the two. A team, you’re a team, and teammates stick together and look out for one another and keep each other afloat in choppy seas. It’s what he’d always wanted but never thought he’d have, or even deserve.

Now he’s got it, and he swears he won’t let it go.

Eddie dives right into the subject at dinner that night, not wanting to lose his nerve. He sits next to Harris, cutting a hot dog into bite-sized pieces and making sure that it doesn’t touch the pile of baked beans on his plate. His son has recently begun refusing to eat foods that have come in contact with each other, even if he likes both of them.

“Hey, Har,” Eddie starts, carefully sliding the paper plate in front of him. “I have a question for you.”

Harris barely pays attention, too fixated on getting the ketchup out of the bottle and onto the hot dog pieces. The bottle makes a pfft noise when he squeezes it, making him giggle. “Daddy, the ketchup farted!” He repeats the motion again and again, finding it funnier each time.

“Yeah, that’s silly,” Eddie halfheartedly agrees, taking the bottle from him. “But, Harris, I need to ask you something important.” He picks up his own hot dog wrapped in a slice of Wonder Bread and takes a bite. “How would you feel about me, you, and Ms. Sweetheart all living in her apartment?”

Harris’s eyes widen. “Like, together?”

Eddie nods. “Mhm. We wouldn’t live here anymore, but you’d take Grandma’s old room, and we can decorate it however you want.”

“I’d have my own room?”

“Yup.”

This provides more questions than answers for the young boy. “But then where are you gonna sleep?”

Eddie coughs to mask his laughter, not wanting to offend Harris’s curiosity. “Um, well, Ms. Sweetheart and I would share her room.” Our room, he thinks, wiping his mouth to hide a smile at the thought of you waking up in his arms every morning.

“But you’re not married.” Harris spears a piece of hot dog with a plastic fork. “You gotta be married first.”

“Sometimes people get married before they live together. But sometimes they do things out of order.” Like meet at a bar and hook up, only to find out that she’s your kid’s teacher, and then you loathe each other until you start to fall in love. “And that’s not a bad thing.” He measures the consideration on Harris’s little face. “But we’ll only do it if you’re okay with it. It would mean we’d have to pack up our stuff in boxes and bring it to Ms. Sweetheart’s place.”

Harris jumps up from his seat, nearly knocking over the food. “I have lots of boxes! We can start right now!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie puts up a hand to stop him, chuckling as he motions for Harris to come closer to him. “We have a few weeks before we can do anything. But are you one hundred percent sure–”

“YES!” 

Eddie pulls his son in for a hug, tickling his sides and kissing the top of his head. Happiness fills their home, though it won’t be their home for much longer. “I love you, kiddo,” he mumbles into Harris’s hair.

“Daddy?”

“Ya?”

“Can we call Ms. Sweetheart and tell her?”

Eddie wipes his hands on his jeans, making a mental note to sweep up any crumbs later. “I think that’s a great idea.” He stands up and practically sprints to the phone. He can’t dial your number any faster if he tries.

You pick up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sweetheart.” You can hear the smile in his voice through the receiver. “We’re in.”

--

taglist (closed):

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[iwonderwh0]

Once again watching movies about androids and just commenting it in real time because I'm watching it alone and feel like talking

This time it's M3GAN

Although those toys are a parody of kids entertainment content, I feel like they are good at capturing the essence. Yep, it feels pretty real, those things Would be popular.

I mean, this isn't even fiction, there have just been released a toy Grok powered with ai chatbot that even looks kinda the same

I mean look:

A lot of spoilers and commentary below

Damn, what did they use to build her for her to explode like that?

That breakfast looks sad. It's just a plain toast without anything.

What year is it supposed to be? They do robots that can smell things as a uni project, it's a lot more futuristic than setting looks.

And now M3GAN is suddenly stronger than this dog? It just dragged her body through the fence a few hours ago.

Damn, I got chills from M3GAN saving that memory for Cady

But then she started SINGING and it was kinda ruined

I can't, Cady literally looks like Emma

LOOK, I need you to find a difference between these two pictures

I mean, at this point M3GAN is sentient, so the problem isn't even that Cady views her as such, but rather that their relationships are really far from equal and M3GAN has too much authority/power over Cady's life. I've been in friendships where I idealized and basically worshipped my friend, making them kinda like top authority figure without realising it. It's not that it doesn't happen among human-to-human connection and it's honestly doesn't make it much better. It's just humans usually don't have this kind of power.

I'm not sure ears can do that damn 😳

I mean, you can't create sentient creature and then pretend it's just a toy/object/device.

This is what happens when you create an android that is that much stronger than human and doesn't have any kind of human-safe precautions on place that tells them not to rip kids ears out.

It's kinda ironic how the creepiest aspects of M3gan that aren't her absence of limits in regards to Cody's protection are a direct consequence of her being programmed like a toy, specifically, the way she speaks as if she's an elementary-school teacher that needs to baby-talk in a condescending manner and make everything into a lesson, and the way she just spontaneously starts to sing.

It's hard to deny that she's a person. It's just yeah, the way she was programmed makes her a dangerous psychopath.

And coming from that fact that she's not a toy but a person, a kid can't really grow out of her, as she's their actual friend with a mind of its own, instead of something that is only a kid's imagination.

Robot-horror that dances around the topic of the Squiggle Maximizer* feels like a genre in itself. I think Hal9000 from Space Odyssey was the first example of that in movies?

* A Squiggle Maximizer is a hypothetical artificial intelligence whose utility function values something that humans would consider almost worthless, like maximizing the number of paperclip-shaped-molecular-squiggles in the universe. The squiggle maximizer is the canonical thought experiment showing how an artificial general intelligence, even one designed competently and without malice, could ultimately destroy humanity. The thought experiment shows that AIs with apparently innocuous values could pose an existential threat. (source of this exact phrasing of this hypothetical)

"Gemma, this is nuts. We've taken every possible precautions there is to make sure M3GAN never causes physical harm to anybody."

Oh so there were some? What precautions exactly? From how it's presented it kinda seems like no one really reviewed her code that much.

"This is impossible, she's a toy!"

Why is it that people always fail to recognise sentient computers in movies? With human superstition it seems like on the contrary people are prone to personify objects and assign them soul. I mean, people be referring to boats as "she", and yet when something actually is made to seem sentient, people in movies seem to struggle with accepting this idea.

I refuse to see Cady's (co-)dependence on m3gan as iPad kid syndrome 2.0, it really is different when it's basically a person.

And I don't really get her (Cody's) getting violent part either. I mean, it could be explained as bad influence, but it's not like M3GAN encourages her to be violent in their time together.

"She's not a solution, she's just a distraction"

I mean, yes? But would a distraction in form of human friend in this situation be any different?

Damn! 😳

I love it. I mean, it's the horror genre, and it's good for what it promises to be.

Oh, she finally talks normally.

CREATION VS CREATOR LET'S FUCKING GO HELL YES

The ending scene with voice assistant chills

Damn, this movie was great. Not sure I'd want to rewatch it though, but it was interesting, well filmed and actually looked like authors put a thought into it. All the Chekhov's guns were put to use.

I kinda had a predjustice about it because of that "Connor vs M3GAN" poll on Tumblr with people being just insufferably hostile in comments, but it was a lot better than I expected.

I didn't expect to ramble so much in process either, but this time, maybe due to it being really recent movie and hence actual, it was (I hate this word but I can't find another) thought-provoking.

And I love that it didn't end up giving me an impression of author condescending to me with some moral lesson "black mirror style" (deragatory), but reads as authors just wanting to tell a story, which honestly seems to be quite rare within android-centric media.

[disastergay]

since the recent tragedy in texas has rubbed salt in some old wounds, I'm going tell you a little about my own personal experience as someone growing up in the U.S. under the threat of school shootings.

you can scroll past this post if you want, I won't judge.

when I was in 7th grade, the sandy hook shooting happened.

I vividly remember that the first thing I did when I went to school the next day was spend lunch, recess, and any time I had between classes going around to classrooms to take inventory. by the end of the day, I had a list of all the things in each of my teachers' classrooms that I could use as a weapon--a last resort to disorient, injure, or kill an armed intruder.

some were obvious, like scissors and sports equipment. others were more innocuous, like thumbtacks, paperclips, and staplers. I left no stone unturned, because when you're a kid and you know that your life might be on the line at any moment, you consider every and any possibility. I had tumblr back then, and on my old (deactivated) blog shared a list of all these objects, as well as ways to turn them into potentially lethal weapons against a grown man, thinking it could make the difference between life and death for at least one other kid on tumblr.

I was terrified of getting shot by a school shooter, but I didn't want to kill anyone in self defense--not even somebody who would kill me in a heartbeat if given the chance. but I told myself that I couldn't afford to hesitate--I would have to either fight back with lethal force or just die.

imagine with me:

you are 13 years old. this morning, you woke up to the news that 20 elementary schoolers have been brutally slaughtered in their classroom. nobody wants to say it, but you're smart enough to realize what this means--

there's no guarantee that, even if you do everything right, you'll live to see graduation

the odds that you will survive a direct confrontation with an active shooter are slim to none

those odds decrease even further if you're a) not a fast runner and b) not willing to kill somebody in self-defense

it fucks with your head. depending on what kind of person you are, you might live in denial, make peace with your inevitable death, or work to mold yourself into a child soldier.

but there's one thing me and my classmates all had in common--we accepted that this was our new reality, and it wasn't going to change. the out of touch adults were too busy blaming everything on mental illness, and our teachers were tasked with planning inefficient lockdown drills, there was never any room for actual policy changes that might increase the odds of our survival.

back when I was too young to understand that this wasn't happening in almost any other country, I used to think we were trapped in a nightmare. now I know better--we live in hell.

maybe one day that will change, but not today. and not tomorrow. and probably not this year, either. if you're not american or don't live here, please try to understand the gravity of the situation. outsiders weaponizing school shootings against us as proof that we're a "lesser example of the human species" or "deserve to be nuked off the planet" is unwarranted, cruel, and sadly very common.

so please... if you don't have any sympathy for us, just leave us alone to grieve.

[riveires]

an introduction

Set in modern times, because it's more conveniently uncertain.  a drabble for @toauz

[...]

Her presence only completes half of the gesture, he's just eager to complete it.

Or so she'd been told.

Inside the house, the parental units are out of sight, but not totally out of mind—echoes of their incessant chattering making its way into the veranda. Out here sits a table expertly set for two, half shaded from the blistering rays, complete with an intricate arrangement of pale pink peonies and cape jasmine gardenias in the center. There's something about this that's so much more blatantly shameless than the events of this past afternoon that Ahra has to fight down the urge to apologize because, Jesus, really?  As if enough posturing hasn't been done for the past two hours.

A sigh. Trying to not sound somewhat defeated, she asks, "Wanna sit?" A gesture to the opposite chair, as she sits down. Hyunwook follows suit, and when's all settled there's that silence again, polite and unsure all at once. Courtesy of Ma and Pa on both sides, on the insistence to "leave the two alone," as if this is the first time any of them had laid eyes on each other; any stretches of years of prior—and current—familiarity suddenly negligible.

For the sake of the show, amusement pending, she gives it a try. Envisions the dossier slipped inside the manila folder, the glossy headshot paperclipped to the corner, the initial impressions before seeing the real thing up close. Figures. Entertaining hypotheticals always drain out the fun from memory, don’t they. The Ahra from this one wouldn't have a single clue about the gaudy hypebeast wear, the fingers up the nose, the voice cracks heard crystal clear over the landline. Both portrait and living subject far too polished to know the juvenile embarrassment of getting older, as if being some pseudo-embodiment of grace too, is some bestowed birthright.

Pfft.

It's about as far as she'll go. Ahra leans against the table edge, one elbow propped to rest her chin in the curve of her palm, as if to say Well? but it never breaches the surface. No elephant is too big to ignore, even with this bit of room.

"Where was it this time?" Of all the icebreakers out there..."Brazil?" She can't trust much else at this point but the bare assumption that this isn't his first rodeo when it comes to this sort of thing. No expectations here. God knows where those'll lead to by now.

Imagine her surprise anyway at the hum of assent before some elaboration: "Sao Paulo."

“Oh? What's there?" Pastel, Oscar Freire, the largest Japanese diaspora on Earth, strictly city speaking. As for the country as a whole?

"Rackets."

A squint. "Right..."

"No, really. You're looking at the top exporters of badminton rackets in the world."

"And that's going to be the next big thing for you?" You, she means, in the broader sense, but he knows that. Neither of them come as standalones in this arrangement.

"No." 

Okay..." Ahra falters. Then? Small talk shouldn't leave anyone this dumbfounded. Losing touch already? Feeling the heat creep over her cheeks, she finds sudden interest in the pale lace patterns on the tablecloth.

The twitch at his mouth is innocuous at first, but there's no helping it. The grin that surfaces despite himself, the dead giveaway.

"There was a conference too, but" his head tilts, "Not sure how much that'd grab your attention."

Ahra gives him a look. "And rackets would?"

"Did."

"Uhuh..."

She exhales, expression softening, nothing more but a motion of pure relief. She won't admit it, but he might've seen it flash across her face anyway. The Oh God, the slow sink of dread in the possibility that this is what it'd be like, once all is said and done.

Ahra searches his gaze, as if looking for that same sort of second guessing, only to find nothing but a boyish glint in his eye. He doesn't need to say it out loud for her to know it. Gotcha.

Some things don't change. They better not, because God knows where that'll leave them altogether.

"I'll be more predictable next time." 

"Oh, shut up."

"Let's try that again–"

[thesecretfandom]

Wanderlust: The City of Love -- Bughead (Chapter 7)

Word Count: 5,668

Rated: E

A/N: This is the longest chapter I’ve written so far for this fic, and probably my favorite. I know you will all enjoy it too. Happy reading! (Read on AO3)

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"Oh my God… where the fuck is this hotel?" Cheryl had been complaining for the entirety of their long commute from the airport to their hotel. One hour long bus ride brought them to the subway station, but the real complaining started when they sped through the bowels of the city. Paris certainly wasn't as beautiful underground as Betty imagined it would be above.

Now, they wandered down the street where their hotel was supposed to be, but there were endless shops and restaurants instead. Betty didn't complain as much, even as she glared at the map on her phone. The big red pin of their destination was stuck over the blue dot of their location. It should be right here.

Somehow, she couldn't be frustrated with a view of the Eiffel Tower rising above the buildings and Jughead sitting on his luggage, snapping photos of people passing on the opposite side of the street.

"Cheryl, why don't you just enjoy the view while I try to figure this out." Betty leaned her head back, smoothing her hands over her hair to tighten her ponytail. As she did, she looked up and sighed out loud at what she saw. A sign protruded from high up on the building and the letters spelled H-O-T-E-L. She groaned. "Guys…"

Veronica looked up from her phone, and Jughead spun to look as Betty pointed up to the sign.

"So, we're in the right place, but how do we get in?" Betty inspected an innocuous door that she hadn't noticed before. There was a keypad for a code, but not doorbell or intercom to let them in.

"Looking for the hotel?" A man appeared from the restaurant beside them, setting placemats on the bistro tables under the awning.

"Yes!" Betty's whole body flooded with relief. They'd already paid for the hotel online, and she didn't want to have to find a new place to stay. "Do you know how to get in?"

"Come with me," He said simply. Betty raised eyebrows at her friends, who shrugged. "You check in here. I will get your keys."

They were whisked through a series of paperwork for each couple to sign, the code to the entrance, WiFi password, and finally keys to each of the three rooms they had booked. Then they were trudging slowly up the stairs. Built on four floors, the small hotel had two rooms on each of the second, third and fourth floor. They had booked one room on each floor, and even Betty had to admit that she was looking forward to having a room with Jughead that didn't share walls with either other  couple.

Betty and Jughead took the room on the fourth floor. Cheryl refused to walk any farther than the second floor, and Archie, who was carrying half of Veronica's luggage as well as his own, broke down at the third floor. Betty and Jughead, ever the team, carried their own bags to the top floor and into the room.

Until they reached their room, Betty hadn't even thought about the view that they would have from their window, but when she stepped up to the large window and realized that it was actually a door that led to a small balcony.

"Juggie, look at this." Betty heard Jughead drop his bags on the floor as she opened the door and stepped outside. "Oh, wow."

They had to stand close on the tiny platform, Jughead's arms moving around Betty's torso as they took in the view together. Down the street, towering in the distance, the Eiffel Tower stood perfectly framed between the beautiful architecture on either side.

A soft sigh slipped out between Jughead's lips and Betty leaned back into him. She turned her head to look up into Jughead's eyes, deep blue, she could see his smile in the crinkles of his eyes.  Neither looked away until their lips met and eyes fluttered shut.

Jughead's lips moved slowly over hers; Betty turned in his arms as Jughead's fingers tickled around the base of her shirt. And suddenly they were falling back inside their room. Betty didn't bother to shut the door behind her, but instead reached up to pull Jughead's hat from his head.

"God, I love your hair." She moaned against his lips, threading her fingers through his dark locks.

"Shut up…" Jughead groaned, smirking as he pulled Betty's shirt over her head.

The split second where their lips separated seemed to last ages, and Betty was quick to pull Jughead's lips back to hers. Meanwhile, large, rough hands wandered across the expanse of smooth, tan skin. Betty reciprocated, sliding her hands down Jughead's back and quickly pulling the shirt away from his body.

One of Jughead's hands moved to cup her cheek, the other supporting her back as he lowered her onto the bed. Betty was quick to pull out her ponytail before her head hit the pillow. Hands back in hair, Betty gave herself over to Jughead's body. With a leg on either side of Betty's body, Jughead pulled away to allow his lips to trail from Betty's neck down to the swell of her breasts where fabric still separated them.

Betty hazily thought about how this is as far as they'd ever gone. Shirtless, hands exploring skin, Jughead let one hand move up from her hip to the soft skin just beneath her breasts. Then he took a step he'd never taken before, his hand finding new unexplored territory beneath the fabric of her bra.

"Jug…" Betty sighed.

Suddenly, and disappointingly, Jughead stopped his movements. Even his lips paused on her shoulder. "What?"

"Nothing…" Betty arched her back, willing Jughead to move again. "Isn't that what people do at times like this? Say each other's names? It's sensual…"

Jughead smiled, his hands moving again. Betty reached back to the clasp of her bra, allowing Jughead the sight he so desired.

"Betty." Jughead said, lowering his voice to its deepest level. "Does it turn you on when I say your name?"

Betty responded by slipping her hand beneath his jeans, fingers squeezing lightly against his ass. "Everything you do turns me on."

"Fuck, Betts…" Jughead groaned. Betty could just feel Jughead's erection growing beneath his pants. Betty's heart was hammering in her chest; she was sure Jughead could feel the thump thumping  beneath his lips. She wondered where this may go, for the first time being completely alone without the threat of their friends on the other side of the wall.

Betty wanted it. She wanted Jughead to make love to her, for the first time, here in Paris.

Jughead hesitated when Betty bucked her hips against him. "Are you sure no one will interrupt us?"

"Certainly not Cheryl or Reggie… and Archie and Veronica are likely in a similar position themselves so…"

"Oh, God don't say that. I don't like the idea of Archie in my head when I'm here, doing this, with you."

"So we're doing this then?" Betty smiled as Jughead finally raised his eyes to look into hers.

"Do you want to? Now? It's three in the afternoon." But Jughead didn't seem to be complaining, or looking for a way out. He was simply stating a fact.

Betty was just beginning to nod when a knock came at the door, scaring the two out of the moment.

"Fuck…" Jughead closed his eyes, his head falling dejectedly to Betty's chest. "Can I just ignore that?"

"I want to say yes, but…" The knocking came again. "You get it. Just… put a shirt on first."

Jughead rolled off of Betty dramatically and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on before walking to the door. Betty, grabbed her discarded clothing quickly and slipped into the bathroom. She listened through the door as Jughead answered the door.

"Archie? What do you want?"

"Nice to see you too, pal." Archie's tone was playful.

"You know what I mean… It's been twenty minutes. We aren't meeting for dinner for two hours."

"I can't just come visit my friend?"

Jughead sighed. "What are you actually doing here?"

"Ronnie is taking a nap and I'm bored. Where's Betty?"

Betty suddenly realized that Archie would likely see right through whatever it was they were trying to hide. The duvet was crumpled already, the door to the balcony hanging open, and most incriminating…. Jughead's beanie discarded on the floor. Jughead would never leave his hat on the floor under any other case than if Betty had thrown it there in a fit of passion.

"She's uh… taking a shower."

Betty sprang into action, hurrying to turn on the shower before Archie realized Jughead's lie. Unfortunately, now she couldn't hear them anymore. On the other hand, she hadn't showered since yesterday morning and she was half-naked already. Without any notice as to whether Archie had left or not, Betty decided on the obvious choice. She hopped in the shower, and just hoped she and Jughead would finally find some time together later.

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

They'd designated their first full day in Paris to art and history, and they found themselves in the mazelike floorplan of the Louvre.  Betty took a map from the ticket booth, but they still found themselves wandering endlessly through the many floors and rooms that made up the world famous museum.

The six friends stayed together as they spent the next three hours in the building. Betty held Jughead's left hand in her right, letting him hold his camera in his free hand. The true beauty of the Louvre, Jughead thought, was not inside with the Mona Lisa and the endless number of priceless, but outside where a beautiful blonde woman stood holding a red umbrella to hide from the sprinkles of rain as she stared at the iconic glass pyramids.

Jughead lifted his camera. It seemed to have a mind of its own when it came to Betty, always being pulled to the sight of her like a paperclip to a magnet. As if on cue, Betty turned with a smile and wave. She turned back before Jughead could take the picture. Through the viewfinder, the view was still a thing of beauty. Click.

Just as the rain was starting to leave uncomfortable trails of moisture on his cheeks, Jughead moved to stand with Betty. She held the umbrella a little higher so he could duck under and hide from the drops of rain.

"I love it here." Betty sighed. She lowered her head to rest against the crook of Jughead's shoulder.

"You've said that about every place we've been."

"Well I mean it this time." Betty slipped her hand into Jughead's and squeezed. "When Veronica, Cheryl and I decided to take this trip Paris was on my top three list of places to go. When I was young I always wanted to visit Paris with the love of my life one day, but when we planned this trip none of us were even dating anyone and I had accepted that it would just be us three girls. But now, with you… it's like everything I ever wanted it to be."

Jughead didn't know how to respond to her. Her eyes were shining as she stared at him, waiting to see if he would speak. He didn't. He was speechless, and settled for pressing his lips against the top of her head. Betty seemed satisfied enough with his response and reached up to place a light kiss to his lips.

"The city of love with my love."

"That was too cheesy." Jughead laughed.

"You love it." Betty shoved him with her shoulder.

"I love you."

They were pulled from their moment of solitude when Veronica and Archie appeared behind them. The cold had started to seep into their bones and warm beverages were high on the list of necessities. The garden that covered the land in front of the museum was nearly empty, other than a few tourists carrying umbrellas and wandering through the trees.

A small carousel sat hidden in the trees off to one side, but they seemed to be on a mission to escape the rain. Jughead had spent his fair share of time out in the rain, and the cold didn't bother him. In fact, when Betty tucked an arm under the flannel that Jughead wore, he thought he quite liked it when Betty was cold.

They found a small bar and restaurant built on a boat floating in the river.  Glass surrounded every wall of the restaurant, and as the sunset pulled the curtain of dusk over the city the Eiffel Tower lit up just beyond a nearby bridge. An ever present icon in their Parisian adventure, Jughead couldn't wait to see Betty standing at the top of it.

So, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder as he sipped a black coffee and they watched the day slip into night together.

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

They returned to their hotel late that night, and Betty was eager to pick up where they'd left of the day before. She left Jughead laying on the bed as she slipped into the small bathroom. She wasn't exactly sure what was meant when, in movies, the woman would go to 'freshen up,' having never done it before. She settled for brushing her teeth and slipping her clothes off and left them in a heap on the floor.

She exited the bathroom in only a bra and panties, excited to see Jughead's face when he saw her. She didn't get the chance, because as she walked over to the bed she could hear light snoring escape his mouth. And while she was disappointed that yet another day would pass with just sleeping next to each other, Betty was almost as exhausted as Jughead clearly was.

When she woke the next morning, Jughead's hand was smoothed across her stomach. His thumb brushed up and down on her skin, his head now sharing her pillow. His eyes were on her as Betty finally opened her eyes. Their noses were nearly touching at this distance, and Jughead closed the space to press a deep kiss to her lips.

"Did I miss something last night?" Jughead asked, letting his hand slide up to cup her breast.

"Yeah, well…" Betty slipped her hand under Jughead's shirt. "You fell asleep before the fun could begin."

Jughead sighed and pulled Betty closer to him. "I miss out on all the fun."

Betty climbed over Jughead, legs straddling his hips. Her lips were drawn in to Jughead's, and as she pressed her lips to his, Jughead let his hands grip her thighs. It was tempting… to shed what was left of the clothing separating them, but now wasn't the time. Betty pulled back, reveling in the soft wetness of Jughead's lips.

"To be continued…"

Jughead groaned when Betty climbed off the bed and began digging through her bag. Betty teased the poor boy still laying in bed. She slipped off her panties, exchanging for new pair. She slipped on a pair of skinny jeans and quarter-sleeve sweater.

"Come on, Jug." Betty pulled the blanket off of his body. "The sooner you get up, the sooner we get to see all of the romantic things the city has to offer, and the sooner we get back here and…"

"Okay, okay… I get it. I'm up." Jughead rolled out of bed. He pulled on his hat, shooting Betty a glare as she passed by on the way to the bathroom. "Just no more teasing. I won't last all day at this rate."

Betty came by and patted his cheek. "Whatever you say, big boy."

"See?" Jughead grabbed her wrist. "That right there. Nothing like that."

Betty rolled her eyes, not sure if she would keep that promise. Jughead didn't need to know that, though. Besides, he was already up and walking around the room. He traded out the T-shirt he was wearing for a semi-fresh one and slipped his shoes on.

"Well, I'm ready…" Jughead said, appearing behind Betty in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth.

Betty shook her head, scowling, and pointed to where his toothbrush sat on the countertop. "Bruh yur teef."

"My what now?"

Betty spit into the sink. "Brush your teeth. I still need to do my makeup."

"But mom…" Jughead teased.

"Dear God, Jughead." Betty cringed. "Never call me mom again."

"Point taken." Jughead reached around her to grab his toothbrush. "It sounded wrong as soon as I said it."

Betty did her makeup quickly, much too excited to get outside into the much warmer and sunnier day. Their first destination wasn't far away. They followed the river that cut through the center of the city. They knew they were close when more and more of the street vendors were selling padlocks.

Jughead picked a plain gunmetal lock, amidst a stack of heart shaped locks. Betty expected nothing less, and loved him for it. They approached the bridge that they sought. Pont Neuf was better known as the Love Lock Bridge, where thousands of lovers, young and old, would place their locks on the bridge to show their eternal love.

There was a man at the bridge who offered to engrave their lock for only €2, something Jughead was glad to pull the two coins from his pocket for.

"Okay, where do you want to put it?" Jughead asked, holding Betty at his side. Betty was glad for this city, where they could unabashedly hold each other close and share as many kisses as they want.

"Somewhere where we can find it if we ever come back here." Betty pulled Jughead to the fence. There was a second fence protecting a staircase that led down to a small island beneath them. There were far less locks on that part of the fence, so it made the perfect location.

"Okay, hold my hand," Jughead said when they'd picked their spot. "And we'll lock it together."

Jughead's hand closed over Betty's and they clicked the lock shut together. They threw the key into the river next, Jughead planting a kiss on Betty's lips as his fell into the water.

"I love you." He whispered against her lips.

"I love you, too." She curled into his side as they looked out over the water. "Can we go to the Eiffel Tower now?"

"Whatever you want."

As they exited the bridge, they found a line of passenger bikes offering rides around the city. The Eiffel Tower sat around the bend of the river, keeping it just out of sight, but blocks away. It would take an hour to walk there. Betty pulled the money needed from her purse before Jughead could even think to argue and they climbed into the small carriage that was attached to the bike.

"You can make it up to me later." Betty winked.

"Hey, what did  I say?"

"That's not teasing! I meant, you can make it up to me by buying dinner tonight."

Jughead rolled his eyes, but slung his arm over Betty's shoulder anyway. She laid her head against his chest as the bike bobbed in and out of traffic. The busy streets, filled with pedestrians on either side of the road, passed in a blur. Before long the bike pulled to a stop at a dead end street. Under the cover of trees and buildings towering up on either side, they couldn't see their destination.

"Sorry, which way?" Betty asked their driver.

He pointed straight forward. "Can't miss it."

They stepped past the trees onto a wide sidewalk and only then did the reality of the situation hit Betty like a ton of bricks. The Eiffel Tower, something that for much of her life Betty never truly believed to be real, was right there in front of her. Even now, she could scarcely believe it was real, and so much more beautiful than she ever could have imagined.

"Are you crying?" Jughead squeezed her fingers, stopping her in her tracks. His hand came up to cup her cheek.

"No." Betty pressed her fingers into the corner of her eyes. "Maybe a little. It's just so… so…"

"Beautiful?" Jughead smirked, his hands moving to her waist and pulling her body flush against his.

"Understatement of the century."

Jughead captured her lips. Betty thought about how right it felt. The cliché of being that couple who kisses with the Eiffel Tower in the background, it didn't bother her. In fact, it felt amazing to live the cliché for herself. So she held on to the moment and held on to Jughead, never wanting to let him go.

But Jughead pulled away much too soon. "Come on, you big baby. Let's get in line and get up there. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

Betty grinned. "Not with you by my side."

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

By the time they got to the front of the line, the sun was low in the sky. Betty's smile hadn't faltered all day, growing wider with each step they took closer to the tower. Even as they started up the steps, the line being much shorter when compared to the elevator, she smiled down at Jughead as he followed behind her.

It reminded him of the first time they ever spoke. On that stairway in Amsterdam, with a stubborn Betty refusing to allow Jughead to help her with her luggage, he knew she was something special. A few short days later, she let him help her up the stairs after a night of heavy drinking and kissed him for the first time in the dark hallway.

She looked just as beautiful then as she does now. Her golden blonde hair fell in soft waves on her shoulders, and when they finally reached the first landing she curled into Jughead's side. She was so small and so soft beneath him, his arms instinctually wrapping themselves tight around her.

"How many times am I allowed to say I love you in a day?" Betty asked.

"As many as you want." Jughead replied. "I won't complain."

"I love you."

"I know."

The sun set while they stood at the highest platform. From this height they could see the whole city, lights flickering on all across the expanse of land. Beneath their feet, the tower began glowing a golden yellow. They descended when the attendants began ushering in the next group of visitors.

The trek down was much easier than the way up. As they finally turned their backs to the tower and crossed the bridge toward their hotel. Jughead stopped at a street vendor selling crepes, buying one for the two of them to share, tiding them over until their dinner.

Before they could disappear into the subway station that would take them back to their hotel, the tower began to sparkle. White lights flickered and flashed, capturing the attention of every person in the vicinity. When the sparkles finally ended, they finally descended into the subway.

As they reentered street level, both agreed that they didn't want to stop for a long dinner, instead stopping at a grocer along the way. Their dinner plans weren't elaborate, opting for a frozen pizza and a bottle of champagne. Jughead snuck a carton of ice cream into their basket to save for a midnight snack.

Finally, they returned to their hotel, marching for the last time up the three flights of stairs. As they passed the third floor, Veronica popped out of her room.

"You guys are back! You just have to come out with us."

"Sorry, Veronica…" Jughead said. "I really have to pee. Can't talk now."

Jughead started up the stairs, but before he was out of earshot he heard Betty speak.

"We have plans, V." Betty spoke softly. "And make sure to tell the others… no surprise visits tonight."

Jughead was waiting on the balcony when Betty slipped through the door. He had already managed to get the pizza in the oven, and set plates and two champagne flutes on the bistro table that sat on the small balcony. He'd already poured the champagne into the glasses and lit a candle that he'd found in a drawer.

"Wow." Betty said simply, joining Jughead on the balcony. Still, the Eiffel Tower stood glowing in the distance. "This is amazing, Juggie."

"I thought you might like it."

"Like it? I love it!" Betty gushed. She couldn't hide the grin that spread across her face as she tugged at Jughead's sweater, pulling his body into hers. "I've never been so happy."

The world around them was lit up, thousands of fairy lights lining the streets, the restaurants thriving on the beautiful evening.  Jughead pulled a chair out for Betty, making sure she had the best view of the city. He left Betty with a chaste kiss as he returned to the kitchen to retrieve their dinner.

As they ate, Betty fiddled with his foot under the table. Jughead's mind was far away from the food when Betty's fingers moved to his thigh, tickling lightly above his jeans. He ate his food quicker than normal, a feat not easily achieved, and had already refilled both glasses with more champagne.

The alcohol, however little, left a pink flush on her cheeks.

When Betty finished her food she bit her lip, her eyes searching Jughead's. There was some unspoken thing between them. That moment that they had missed the past two days… it seemed to finally be here. Jughead didn't know how to start what would inevitably come.

"Jughead?" Betty started.

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say… I'm so glad I'm here with you. I know I've said it before, but I wanted to say it again." Betty reached for Jughead's hand and slid her chair a bit closer to his until their knees touched. "I can't imagine what these past few days would have been like without you."

"Betty, I- I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." Betty leaned just a bit closer, reaching her other hand to hold his so both of their hands were intertwined. "I know you feel the same."

"I do…" Jughead pulled one hand away, letting it land on her cheek. He pressed his lips to hers softly at first, then pulled away. Betty didn't speak, her eyes flicked from Jughead's eyes to his lips.

It was like déjà vu when Betty suddenly leaned in, crashing her lips into Jughead's. Her fingers fiddled around the hem of his shirt, but before she could pull the fabric away, Jughead stood and pulled Betty along with them. They stumbled clumsily through the door, Jughead's hands at the back of Betty's neck.

Their lips separated only when Betty tugged at Jughead's sweater, pulling it swiftly over his head. Jughead was quick to reciprocate. He was eager to expose Betty's skin once again. It was his favorite sight, his favorite thing to touch.

He threw her sweater to the floor, not caring where it landed. All that mattered was Betty's body falling onto the bed with her hair fanning out beneath her. Jughead's lips traveled down her chest not stopping until he passed her bellybutton. His lips stopped when they found fabric again. He hooked his fingers between her jeans and soft skin of her hips, tugging slightly.

Betty's hips wriggled, raising her ass off the bed. She invited Jughead to remove her pants, with her hands covering his own as she led them down her thighs. Goosebumps covered Betty's skin. Jughead's lips couldn't help but kiss down her legs as he pulled her jeans off her ankles and tossed them aside.

Jughead crawled back up Betty's body. She tipped her head back, inviting Jughead to kiss her neck. Betty moaned softly when his soft lips were back on her body. One hand moved up from her hip to her breast as he kissed down her chest. It was clear what he wanted.

Betty slipped her bra straps off her shoulders, Jughead's tongue gliding down the indentations that had been left from the elastic against her skin. When Betty finally unclasped her bra and threw the piece of clothing away, Jughead's lips moved to brush over her nipple.

Betty bit her lip as Jughead opened his mouth. Her nipples hardening as his tongue flicked across the tip. Her hands were in his hair, holding him against her chest when she arched her back into him.

Waves of heat traveled from Jughead's cheeks to his toes. Somehow, he found the control to take it slow. He pulled his lips away, admiring the way Betty's body writhed as she whimpered at the loss of contact. Jughead understood what she was feeling when Betty brushed her hands down his bare chest.

Too many layers still separated them, of this Jughead was painfully aware. His hips moved of their own accord, his jeans pressing into the warmth between her thighs. Despite his best efforts to tease, Jughead was eager to move further. He sat up, a cool breeze moving between them when the heat of the other's skin dissipated, and shimmied out of his jeans.

"Juggie…" Betty whined. Her hands moved from his hips to his back and drifted down to the elastic of his underwear. She pulled against him, forcing his dick to press against her center through her panties.

Jughead could hardly take it when Betty moaned and grinded herself against his erection. He needed more, and clearly she did too. Betty was in the process of pulling his underwear down. Jughead  helped her remove his underwear and when his dick was released he started on hers.

Betty raised her ass off the bed as Jughead pulled the light fabric down her legs. Her legs were quivering, ready for Jughead to finally take the final step. Her hands were pressed flat against his bare back, her feet brushing against his legs.

Jughead held her panties up with two fingers, smirking devilishly at the girl writhing beneath him. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were getting wet for me."

Betty's hips bucked at this words, briefly pressing against him, begging for him to stop teasing. "Juggie, you know I'm wet for you… just do it already."

"Says the girl who has been teasing me all day." Jughead pressed his tip against her folds, but didn't thrust into her. He was teasing shamelessly, loving the sight of her sweating beneath him.

"I would have expected you not to stall, Jug." Betty brought her legs up to wrap around his waist, pulling against him. "I'll remember this moment in the future, when you want something from me."

"Fuck Betts, is that a bribe?"

"Damn right it is," Betty finally pulled his lips to hers and whispered against his lips. "Now fuck me."

Jughead didn't hold back. He pushed slowly into her, watching happily as her eyes rolled back into her head.  He started slow, his thrusts sharp as his hips bucked against her. But Betty clearly wanted more. She grinded against him, rotating her hips and forcing him to thrust faster.

"Come on, Juggie." She pulled against his neck, leading his lips to her neck. "Faster… please."

He couldn't resist any longer. As his lips sucked a mark on her neck his thrusts sped up. Betty's fingers scratched down his back, no doubt leaving marks for the next morning.

"Oh, fuck…" Jughead groaned. Betty's hands dragged down to squeeze his ass. "I never knew you were so fiesty."

"Only for you, Juggie." Betty pulled his lips to hers, distracting him just long enough to switch their positions. Betty straddled him now, their bodies still intimately connected.

"Betty…" Jughead sighed. His head fell helplessly against the pillow. "What are you doing?"

"Shh," Betty leaned down to kiss him. "Just relax, baby. I want to ride you."

Jughead moaned when Betty began to ride him, her thighs slapping against his own. She rotated her hips as Jughead lightly thrust up to meet her. Jughead's hands slid up from her hips to her breasts, kneading them. Betty groaned at the contact and fell down on top of him. Her lips found his neck, licking down to his collarbone as Jughead took over the lead.

Jughead was now thrusting harshly into her, with Betty still straddling him.

"God, Betty I'm…" His vision was starting to blur, the familiar feeling of the knot building in his stomach.

"Mm," Betty rolled her hips and moved to kiss his lips once more. Their tongues collided and Jughead was momentarily distracted from the inevitability of his orgasm. "Me too, Jug. Just a little longer."

"I can't…" Jughead knew he was close, and couldn't hold on much longer. He flipped Betty over, back to their original position. His thrusts were hard and fast as he chased their high. Jughead moved his hand to Betty's clit, rubbing furiously. He only wanted her orgasm to hit at the same time his.

"Ohh…." Betty clenched around him, tears squeezing out the corner of her eyes.  "Fuck, Juggie… fuck me.”

Betty arched her back as she hit her orgasm, her stomach pressed against Jughead's. He climaxed right after her, still thrusting slowly as he came inside of her. Betty's body convulsed as Jughead continued rubbing her clit, waiting until he was sure she had ridden out her high.

A sigh released between parted lips, slick with the saliva from Jughead's lips. Her body went fully limp when Jughead pulled out of her. He fell down next to her body onto his own pillow, staring dazedly up at the ceiling. Betty rolled to rest her head against his chest, her leg slipping over to rest between his own. Jughead slid his arm under her neck and held her close, his lips pressing against the top of her head.

"I just want to stay in this place forever…" Betty sighed.

"What, is Dublin not romantic enough for you?"

Betty perked up and pressed her lips to his. "Anywhere with you… is romantic enough for me."

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

A/N: I hope you guys liked this update, it was so fun to write! Betty and Jughead finally got some time alone! Leave a comment if you liked it. What would you like to see them do in Dublin?

[wily-red-and-galeforce-gold]

skywxrpxd‌:

Silver linings. Seeing them became second nature in a war like they were fighting. That, or one ended up like Dead End. No one wanted to end up like Dead End.

::Better not make ‘em regret that then,:: he said dryly, actually somewhat unsettled by that fact. Dodging the attention of a warden was easier than trying to safeguard against someone wandering in on something they shouldn’t by chance. 

::I can be so sneaky,:: he assured Sideswipe, snickering, ::When I’m not, like, blowing stuff up. I’ll just… eh, maybe I’m gonna try an old comm channel. There’s a bunch that got changed when command found out TC’s at the Ark because he still has the passwords… Uh.::

That had gone straight past brushing against uncomfortable territory and right to swerving in there, tearing through the safety railings, and scratching the paint on the rough terrain beyond.

::…I’ll figure it out,:: he muttered, awkward, ::Send him a text file or something, so no one can notice him talkin’ or whatever.::

:::Alright. So we’ve got a plan. I mean it’s a plan held together with spit and paperclips, but it’s still a plan. And I don’t know about you, but even having something vaguely plan-shaped is honestly better than what I usually have in place before doing anything. Usually I make things up as I go with no plan. So... we’re already doing pretty well by that standard.::: Sideswipe summed up with a shrug. He had been aiming for an optimistic pep talk, and what had he managed-

-was the lamely obvious conclusion that having something was better than nothing.

Which was true. Kind of. But was that good enough to pull this off?

Well, he wasn’t going to think about that part too much. This needed to happen.

For TC and Skywarp both...He wanted to help them both However it ended up shaking out.

:::And yeah. If you got some old text channel that’ll probably work. I know they’ve monitored TC’s comms in the past, especially early on, but only ever the one.:::

The more he turned the new bit of information over in his head, the more he liked it. It was subtle, and even if that sort of thing was not usually Sideswipe’s personnel Modus Operandi (he was about as subtle as a brick through a window) he still appreciated it. Especially in the context of this risky, delicate situation.

 :::If you’ve got another line of communication available I think that’ll be your best bet. Something kinda unexpected, and innocuous. Good. Perfect. This is fine. Everything is fine.:::

Boy if he kept up that, it was going to start sounding like he didn’t think that everything wasn’t fine.

:::Alright. I’ll give TC a heads up on the down low, and whenever you’re ready. Do the thing. Sooo-::: 

:::-Good luck.::: Was the genuine words of parting before he ended the call.

It was fine. 

Everything would work out.

Arrangements

[sociologyquotes]

CIA Atrocities from 1941 to 1993

from A Timeline of CIA Atrocities by Steve Kangas

”The following timeline describes just a few of the hundreds of atrocities and crimes committed by the CIA. (1)

CIA operations follow the same recurring script. First, American business interests abroad are threatened by a popular or democratically elected leader. The people support their leader because he intends to conduct land reform, strengthen unions, redistribute wealth, nationalize foreign-owned industry, and regulate business to protect workers, consumers and the environment. So, on behalf of American business, and often with their help, the CIA mobilizes the opposition. First it identifies right-wing groups within the country (usually the military), and offers them a deal: "We'll put you in power if you maintain a favorable business climate for us." The Agency then hires, trains and works with them to overthrow the existing government (usually a democracy). It uses every trick in the book: propaganda, stuffed ballot boxes, purchased elections, extortion, blackmail, sexual intrigue, false stories about opponents in the local media, infiltration and disruption of opposing political parties, kidnapping, beating, torture, intimidation, economic sabotage, death squads and even assassination. These efforts culminate in a military coup, which installs a right-wing dictator. The CIA trains the dictator’s security apparatus to crack down on the traditional enemies of big business, using interrogation, torture and murder. The victims are said to be "communists," but almost always they are just peasants, liberals, moderates, labor union leaders, political opponents and advocates of free speech and democracy. Widespread human rights abuses follow.

This scenario has been repeated so many times that the CIA actually teaches it in a special school, the notorious "School of the Americas." (It opened in Panama but later moved to Fort Benning, Georgia.) Critics have nicknamed it the "School of the Dictators" and "School of the Assassins." Here, the CIA trains Latin American military officers how to conduct coups, including the use of interrogation, torture and murder.

The Association for Responsible Dissent estimates that by 1987, 6 million people had died as a result of CIA covert operations. Former State Department official William Blum correctly calls this an "American Holocaust."

The CIA justifies these actions as part of its war against communism. But most coups do not involve a communist threat. Unlucky nations are targeted for a wide variety of reasons: not only threats to American business interests abroad, but also liberal or even moderate social reforms, political instability, the unwillingness of a leader to carry out Washington’s dictates, and declarations of neutrality in the Cold War. Indeed, nothing has infuriated CIA Directors quite like a nation’s desire to stay out of the Cold War.

The ironic thing about all this intervention is that it frequently fails to achieve American objectives. Often the newly installed dictator grows comfortable with the security apparatus the CIA has built for him. He becomes an expert at running a police state. And because the dictator knows he cannot be overthrown, he becomes independent and defiant of Washington's will. The CIA then finds it cannot overthrow him, because the police and military are under the dictator's control, afraid to cooperate with American spies for fear of torture and execution. The only two options for the U.S at this point are impotence or war. Examples of this "boomerang effect" include the Shah of Iran, General Noriega and Saddam Hussein. The boomerang effect also explains why the CIA has proven highly successful at overthrowing democracies, but a wretched failure at overthrowing dictatorships.

The following timeline should confirm that the CIA as we know it should be abolished and replaced by a true information-gathering and analysis organization. The CIA cannot be reformed — it is institutionally and culturally corrupt.

1929

The culture we lost — Secretary of State Henry Stimson refuses to endorse a code-breaking operation, saying, "Gentlemen do not read each other’s mail."

1941

COI created — In preparation for World War II, President Roosevelt creates the Office of Coordinator of Information (COI). General William "Wild Bill" Donovan heads the new intelligence service.

1942

OSS created — Roosevelt restructures COI into something more suitable for covert action, the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). Donovan recruits so many of the nation’s rich and powerful that eventually people joke that "OSS" stands for "Oh, so social!" or "Oh, such snobs!"

1943

Italy — Donovan recruits the Catholic Church in Rome to be the center of Anglo-American spy operations in Fascist Italy. This would prove to be one of America’s most enduring intelligence alliances in the Cold War.

1945

OSS is abolished — The remaining American information agencies cease covert actions and return to harmless information gathering and analysis.

Operation PAPERCLIP – While other American agencies are hunting down Nazi war criminals for arrest, the U.S. intelligence community is smuggling them into America, unpunished, for their use against the Soviets. The most important of these is Reinhard Gehlen, Hitler’s master spy who had built up an intelligence network in the Soviet Union. With full U.S. blessing, he creates the "Gehlen Organization," a band of refugee Nazi spies who reactivate their networks in Russia. These include SS intelligence officers Alfred Six and Emil Augsburg (who massacred Jews in the Holocaust), Klaus Barbie (the "Butcher of Lyon"), Otto von Bolschwing (the Holocaust mastermind who worked with Eichmann) and SS Colonel Otto Skorzeny (a personal friend of Hitler’s). The Gehlen Organization supplies the U.S. with its only intelligence on the Soviet Union for the next ten years, serving as a bridge between the abolishment of the OSS and the creation of the CIA. However, much of the "intelligence" the former Nazis provide is bogus. Gehlen inflates Soviet military capabilities at a time when Russia is still rebuilding its devastated society, in order to inflate his own importance to the Americans (who might otherwise punish him). In 1948, Gehlen almost convinces the Americans that war is imminent, and the West should make a preemptive strike. In the 50s he produces a fictitious "missile gap." To make matters worse, the Russians have thoroughly penetrated the Gehlen Organization with double agents, undermining the very American security that Gehlen was supposed to protect.

1947

Greece — President Truman requests military aid to Greece to support right-wing forces fighting communist rebels. For the rest of the Cold War, Washington and the CIA will back notorious Greek leaders with deplorable human rights records.

CIA created — President Truman signs the National Security Act of 1947, creating the Central Intelligence Agency and National Security Council. The CIA is accountable to the president through the NSC — there is no democratic or congressional oversight. Its charter allows the CIA to "perform such other functions and duties… as the National Security Council may from time to time direct." This loophole opens the door to covert action and dirty tricks.

1948

Covert-action wing created — The CIA recreates a covert action wing, innocuously called the Office of Policy Coordination, led by Wall Street lawyer Frank Wisner. According to its secret charter, its responsibilities include "propaganda, economic warfare, preventive direct action, including sabotage, antisabotage, demolition and evacuation procedures; subversion against hostile states, including assistance to underground resistance groups, and support of indigenous anti-communist elements in threatened countries of the free world."

Italy — The CIA corrupts democratic elections in Italy, where Italian communists threaten to win the elections. The CIA buys votes, broadcasts propaganda, threatens and beats up opposition leaders, and infiltrates and disrupts their organizations. It works -- the communists are defeated.

1949

Radio Free Europe — The CIA creates its first major propaganda outlet, Radio Free Europe. Over the next several decades, its broadcasts are so blatantly false that for a time it is considered illegal to publish transcripts of them in the U.S.

Late 40s

Operation MOCKINGBIRD — The CIA begins recruiting American news organizations and journalists to become spies and disseminators of propaganda. The effort is headed by Frank Wisner, Allan Dulles, Richard Helms and Philip Graham. Graham is publisher of The Washington Post, which becomes a major CIA player. Eventually, the CIA’s media assets will include ABC, NBC, CBS, Time, Newsweek, Associated Press, United Press International, Reuters, Hearst Newspapers, Scripps-Howard, Copley News Service and more. By the CIA’s own admission, at least 25 organizations and 400 journalists will become CIA assets.

1953

Iran – CIA overthrows the democratically elected Mohammed Mossadegh in a military coup, after he threatened to nationalize British oil. The CIA replaces him with a dictator, the Shah of Iran, whose secret police, SAVAK, is as brutal as the Gestapo.

Operation MK-ULTRA — Inspired by North Korea’s brainwashing program, the CIA begins experiments on mind control. The most notorious part of this project involves giving LSD and other drugs to American subjects without their knowledge or against their will, causing several to commit suicide. However, the operation involves far more than this. Funded in part by the Rockefeller and Ford foundations, research includes propaganda, brainwashing, public relations, advertising, hypnosis, and other forms of suggestion.

1954

Guatemala — CIA overthrows the democratically elected Jacob Arbenz in a military coup. Arbenz has threatened to nationalize the Rockefeller-owned United Fruit Company, in which CIA Director Allen Dulles also owns stock. Arbenz is replaced with a series of right-wing dictators whose bloodthirsty policies will kill over 100,000 Guatemalans in the next 40 years.

1954-1958

North Vietnam — CIA officer Edward Lansdale spends four years trying to overthrow the communist government of North Vietnam, using all the usual dirty tricks. The CIA also attempts to legitimize a tyrannical puppet regime in South Vietnam, headed by Ngo Dinh Diem. These efforts fail to win the hearts and minds of the South Vietnamese because the Diem government is opposed to true democracy, land reform and poverty reduction measures. The CIA’s continuing failure results in escalating American intervention, culminating in the Vietnam War.

1956

Hungary — Radio Free Europe incites Hungary to revolt by broadcasting Khruschev’s Secret Speech, in which he denounced Stalin. It also hints that American aid will help the Hungarians fight. This aid fails to materialize as Hungarians launch a doomed armed revolt, which only invites a major Soviet invasion. The conflict kills 7,000 Soviets and 30,000 Hungarians.

1957-1973

Laos — The CIA carries out approximately one coup per year trying to nullify Laos’ democratic elections. The problem is the Pathet Lao, a leftist group with enough popular support to be a member of any coalition government. In the late 50s, the CIA even creates an "Armee Clandestine" of Asian mercenaries to attack the Pathet Lao. After the CIA’s army suffers numerous defeats, the U.S. starts bombing, dropping more bombs on Laos than all the U.S. bombs dropped in World War II. A quarter of all Laotians will eventually become refugees, many living in caves.

1959

Haiti — The U.S. military helps "Papa Doc" Duvalier become dictator of Haiti. He creates his own private police force, the "Tonton Macoutes," who terrorize the population with machetes. They will kill over 100,000 during the Duvalier family reign. The U.S. does not protest their dismal human rights record.

1961

The Bay of Pigs — The CIA sends 1,500 Cuban exiles to invade Castro’s Cuba. But "Operation Mongoose" fails, due to poor planning, security and backing. The planners had imagined that the invasion will spark a popular uprising against Castro -– which never happens. A promised American air strike also never occurs. This is the CIA’s first public setback, causing President Kennedy to fire CIA Director Allen Dulles.

Dominican Republic — The CIA assassinates Rafael Trujillo, a murderous dictator Washington has supported since 1930. Trujillo’s business interests have grown so large (about 60 percent of the economy) that they have begun competing with American business interests.

Ecuador — The CIA-backed military forces the democratically elected President Jose Velasco to resign. Vice President Carlos Arosemana replaces him; the CIA fills the now vacant vice presidency with its own man.

Congo (Zaire) — The CIA assassinates the democratically elected Patrice Lumumba. However, public support for Lumumba’s politics runs so high that the CIA cannot clearly install his opponents in power. Four years of political turmoil follow.

1963

Dominican Republic — The CIA overthrows the democratically elected Juan Bosch in a military coup. The CIA installs a repressive, right-wing junta.

Ecuador — A CIA-backed military coup overthrows President Arosemana, whose independent (not socialist) policies have become unacceptable to Washington. A military junta assumes command, cancels the 1964 elections, and begins abusing human rights.

1964

Brazil — A CIA-backed military coup overthrows the democratically elected government of Joao Goulart. The junta that replaces it will, in the next two decades, become one of the most bloodthirsty in history. General Castelo Branco will create Latin America’s first death squads, or bands of secret police who hunt down "communists" for torture, interrogation and murder. Often these "communists" are no more than Branco’s political opponents. Later it is revealed that the CIA trains the death squads.

1965

Indonesia — The CIA overthrows the democratically elected Sukarno with a military coup. The CIA has been trying to eliminate Sukarno since 1957, using everything from attempted assassination to sexual intrigue, for nothing more than his declaring neutrality in the Cold War. His successor, General Suharto, will massacre between 500,000 to 1 million civilians accused of being "communist." The CIA supplies the names of countless suspects.

Dominican Republic — A popular rebellion breaks out, promising to reinstall Juan Bosch as the country’s elected leader. The revolution is crushed when U.S. Marines land to uphold the military regime by force. The CIA directs everything behind the scenes.

Greece — With the CIA’s backing, the king removes George Papandreous as prime minister. Papandreous has failed to vigorously support U.S. interests in Greece.

Congo (Zaire) — A CIA-backed military coup installs Mobutu Sese Seko as dictator. The hated and repressive Mobutu exploits his desperately poor country for billions.

1966

The Ramparts Affair — The radical magazine Ramparts begins a series of unprecedented anti-CIA articles. Among their scoops: the CIA has paid the University of Michigan $25 million dollars to hire "professors" to train South Vietnamese students in covert police methods. MIT and other universities have received similar payments. Ramparts also reveals that the National Students’ Association is a CIA front. Students are sometimes recruited through blackmail and bribery, including draft deferments.

1967

Greece — A CIA-backed military coup overthrows the government two days before the elections. The favorite to win was George Papandreous, the liberal candidate. During the next six years, the "reign of the colonels" — backed by the CIA — will usher in the widespread use of torture and murder against political opponents. When a Greek ambassador objects to President Johnson about U.S. plans for Cypress, Johnson tells him: "Fuck your parliament and your constitution."

Operation PHEONIX — The CIA helps South Vietnamese agents identify and then murder alleged Viet Cong leaders operating in South Vietnamese villages. According to a 1971 congressional report, this operation killed about 20,000 "Viet Cong."

1968

Operation CHAOS — The CIA has been illegally spying on American citizens since 1959, but with Operation CHAOS, President Johnson dramatically boosts the effort. CIA agents go undercover as student radicals to spy on and disrupt campus organizations protesting the Vietnam War. They are searching for Russian instigators, which they never find. CHAOS will eventually spy on 7,000 individuals and 1,000 organizations.

Bolivia — A CIA-organized military operation captures legendary guerilla Che Guevara. The CIA wants to keep him alive for interrogation, but the Bolivian government executes him to prevent worldwide calls for clemency.

1969

Uruguay — The notorious CIA torturer Dan Mitrione arrives in Uruguay, a country torn with political strife. Whereas right-wing forces previously used torture only as a last resort, Mitrione convinces them to use it as a routine, widespread practice. "The precise pain, in the precise place, in the precise amount, for the desired effect," is his motto. The torture techniques he teaches to the death squads rival the Nazis’. He eventually becomes so feared that revolutionaries will kidnap and murder him a year later.

1970

Cambodia — The CIA overthrows Prince Sahounek, who is highly popular among Cambodians for keeping them out of the Vietnam War. He is replaced by CIA puppet Lon Nol, who immediately throws Cambodian troops into battle. This unpopular move strengthens once minor opposition parties like the Khmer Rouge, which achieves power in 1975 and massacres millions of its own people.

1971

Bolivia — After half a decade of CIA-inspired political turmoil, a CIA-backed military coup overthrows the leftist President Juan Torres. In the next two years, dictator Hugo Banzer will have over 2,000 political opponents arrested without trial, then tortured, raped and executed.

Haiti — "Papa Doc" Duvalier dies, leaving his 19-year old son "Baby Doc" Duvalier the dictator of Haiti. His son continues his bloody reign with full knowledge of the CIA.

1972

The Case-Zablocki Act — Congress passes an act requiring congressional review of executive agreements. In theory, this should make CIA operations more accountable. In fact, it is only marginally effective.

Cambodia — Congress votes to cut off CIA funds for its secret war in Cambodia.

Wagergate Break-in — President Nixon sends in a team of burglars to wiretap Democratic offices at Watergate. The team members have extensive CIA histories, including James McCord, E. Howard Hunt and five of the Cuban burglars. They work for the Committee to Reelect the President (CREEP), which does dirty work like disrupting Democratic campaigns and laundering Nixon’s illegal campaign contributions. CREEP’s activities are funded and organized by another CIA front, the Mullen Company.

1973

Chile — The CIA overthrows and assassinates Salvador Allende, Latin America’s first democratically elected socialist leader. The problems begin when Allende nationalizes American-owned firms in Chile. ITT offers the CIA $1 million for a coup (reportedly refused). The CIA replaces Allende with General Augusto Pinochet, who will torture and murder thousands of his own countrymen in a crackdown on labor leaders and the political left.

CIA begins internal investigations — William Colby, the Deputy Director for Operations, orders all CIA personnel to report any and all illegal activities they know about. This information is later reported to Congress.

Watergate Scandal — The CIA’s main collaborating newspaper in America, The Washington Post, reports Nixon’s crimes long before any other newspaper takes up the subject. The two reporters, Woodward and Bernstein, make almost no mention of the CIA’s many fingerprints all over the scandal. It is later revealed that Woodward was a Naval intelligence briefer to the White House, and knows many important intelligence figures, including General Alexander Haig. His main source, "Deep Throat," is probably one of those.

CIA Director Helms Fired — President Nixon fires CIA Director Richard Helms for failing to help cover up the Watergate scandal. Helms and Nixon have always disliked each other. The new CIA director is William Colby, who is relatively more open to CIA reform.

1974

CHAOS exposed — Pulitzer prize winning journalist Seymour Hersh publishes a story about Operation CHAOS, the domestic surveillance and infiltration of anti-war and civil rights groups in the U.S. The story sparks national outrage.

Angleton fired — Congress holds hearings on the illegal domestic spying efforts of James Jesus Angleton, the CIA’s chief of counterintelligence. His efforts included mail-opening campaigns and secret surveillance of war protesters. The hearings result in his dismissal from the CIA.

House clears CIA in Watergate — The House of Representatives clears the CIA of any complicity in Nixon’s Watergate break-in.

The Hughes Ryan Act — Congress passes an amendment requiring the president to report nonintelligence CIA operations to the relevant congressional committees in a timely fashion.

1975

Australia — The CIA helps topple the democratically elected, left-leaning government of Prime Minister Edward Whitlam. The CIA does this by giving an ultimatum to its Governor-General, John Kerr. Kerr, a longtime CIA collaborator, exercises his constitutional right to dissolve the Whitlam government. The Governor-General is a largely ceremonial position appointed by the Queen; the Prime Minister is democratically elected. The use of this archaic and never-used law stuns the nation.

Angola — Eager to demonstrate American military resolve after its defeat in Vietnam, Henry Kissinger launches a CIA-backed war in Angola. Contrary to Kissinger’s assertions, Angola is a country of little strategic importance and not seriously threatened by communism. The CIA backs the brutal leader of UNITAS, Jonas Savimbi. This polarizes Angolan politics and drives his opponents into the arms of Cuba and the Soviet Union for survival. Congress will cut off funds in 1976, but the CIA is able to run the war off the books until 1984, when funding is legalized again. This entirely pointless war kills over 300,000 Angolans.

"The CIA and the Cult of Intelligence" — Victor Marchetti and John Marks publish this whistle-blowing history of CIA crimes and abuses. Marchetti has spent 14 years in the CIA, eventually becoming an executive assistant to the Deputy Director of Intelligence. Marks has spent five years as an intelligence official in the State Department.

"Inside the Company" — Philip Agee publishes a diary of his life inside the CIA. Agee has worked in covert operations in Latin America during the 60s, and details the crimes in which he took part.

Congress investigates CIA wrong-doing — Public outrage compels Congress to hold hearings on CIA crimes. Senator Frank Church heads the Senate investigation ("The Church Committee"), and Representative Otis Pike heads the House investigation. (Despite a 98 percent incumbency reelection rate, both Church and Pike are defeated in the next elections.) The investigations lead to a number of reforms intended to increase the CIA’s accountability to Congress, including the creation of a standing Senate committee on intelligence. However, the reforms prove ineffective, as the Iran/Contra scandal will show. It turns out the CIA can control, deal with or sidestep Congress with ease.

The Rockefeller Commission — In an attempt to reduce the damage done by the Church Committee, President Ford creates the "Rockefeller Commission" to whitewash CIA history and propose toothless reforms. The commission’s namesake, Vice President Nelson Rockefeller, is himself a major CIA figure. Five of the commission’s eight members are also members of the Council on Foreign Relations, a CIA-dominated organization.

1979

Iran — The CIA fails to predict the fall of the Shah of Iran, a longtime CIA puppet, and the rise of Muslim fundamentalists who are furious at the CIA’s backing of SAVAK, the Shah’s bloodthirsty secret police. In revenge, the Muslims take 52 Americans hostage in the U.S. embassy in Tehran.

Afghanistan — The Soviets invade Afghanistan. The CIA immediately begins supplying arms to any faction willing to fight the occupying Soviets. Such indiscriminate arming means that when the Soviets leave Afghanistan, civil war will erupt. Also, fanatical Muslim extremists now possess state-of-the-art weaponry. One of these is Sheik Abdel Rahman, who will become involved in the World Trade Center bombing in New York.

El Salvador — An idealistic group of young military officers, repulsed by the massacre of the poor, overthrows the right-wing government. However, the U.S. compels the inexperienced officers to include many of the old guard in key positions in their new government. Soon, things are back to "normal" — the military government is repressing and killing poor civilian protesters. Many of the young military and civilian reformers, finding themselves powerless, resign in disgust.

Nicaragua — Anastasios Samoza II, the CIA-backed dictator, falls. The Marxist Sandinistas take over government, and they are initially popular because of their commitment to land and anti-poverty reform. Samoza had a murderous and hated personal army called the National Guard. Remnants of the Guard will become the Contras, who fight a CIA-backed guerilla war against the Sandinista government throughout the 1980s.

1980

El Salvador — The Archbishop of San Salvador, Oscar Romero, pleads with President Carter "Christian to Christian" to stop aiding the military government slaughtering his people. Carter refuses. Shortly afterwards, right-wing leader Roberto D’Aubuisson has Romero shot through the heart while saying Mass. The country soon dissolves into civil war, with the peasants in the hills fighting against the military government. The CIA and U.S. Armed Forces supply the government with overwhelming military and intelligence superiority. CIA-trained death squads roam the countryside, committing atrocities like that of El Mazote in 1982, where they massacre between 700 and 1000 men, women and children. By 1992, some 63,000 Salvadorans will be killed.

1981

Iran/Contra Begins — The CIA begins selling arms to Iran at high prices, using the profits to arm the Contras fighting the Sandinista government in Nicaragua. President Reagan vows that the Sandinistas will be "pressured" until "they say ‘uncle.’" The CIA’s Freedom Fighter’s Manual disbursed to the Contras includes instruction on economic sabotage, propaganda, extortion, bribery, blackmail, interrogation, torture, murder and political assassination.

1983

Honduras — The CIA gives Honduran military officers the Human Resource Exploitation Training Manual – 1983, which teaches how to torture people. Honduras’ notorious "Battalion 316" then uses these techniques, with the CIA’s full knowledge, on thousands of leftist dissidents. At least 184 are murdered.

1984

The Boland Amendment — The last of a series of Boland Amendments is passed. These amendments have reduced CIA aid to the Contras; the last one cuts it off completely. However, CIA Director William Casey is already prepared to "hand off" the operation to Colonel Oliver North, who illegally continues supplying the Contras through the CIA’s informal, secret, and self-financing network. This includes "humanitarian aid" donated by Adolph Coors and William Simon, and military aid funded by Iranian arms sales.

1986

Eugene Hasenfus — Nicaragua shoots down a C-123 transport plane carrying military supplies to the Contras. The lone survivor, Eugene Hasenfus, turns out to be a CIA employee, as are the two dead pilots. The airplane belongs to Southern Air Transport, a CIA front. The incident makes a mockery of President Reagan’s claims that the CIA is not illegally arming the Contras.

Iran/Contra Scandal — Although the details have long been known, the Iran/Contra scandal finally captures the media’s attention in 1986. Congress holds hearings, and several key figures (like Oliver North) lie under oath to protect the intelligence community. CIA Director William Casey dies of brain cancer before Congress can question him. All reforms enacted by Congress after the scandal are purely cosmetic.

Haiti — Rising popular revolt in Haiti means that "Baby Doc" Duvalier will remain "President for Life" only if he has a short one. The U.S., which hates instability in a puppet country, flies the despotic Duvalier to the South of France for a comfortable retirement. The CIA then rigs the upcoming elections in favor of another right-wing military strongman. However, violence keeps the country in political turmoil for another four years. The CIA tries to strengthen the military by creating the National Intelligence Service (SIN), which suppresses popular revolt through torture and assassination.

1989

Panama — The U.S. invades Panama to overthrow a dictator of its own making, General Manuel Noriega. Noriega has been on the CIA’s payroll since 1966, and has been transporting drugs with the CIA’s knowledge since 1972. By the late 80s, Noriega’s growing independence and intransigence have angered Washington… so out he goes.

1990

Haiti — Competing against 10 comparatively wealthy candidates, leftist priest Jean-Bertrand Aristide captures 68 percent of the vote. After only eight months in power, however, the CIA-backed military deposes him. More military dictators brutalize the country, as thousands of Haitian refugees escape the turmoil in barely seaworthy boats. As popular opinion calls for Aristide’s return, the CIA begins a disinformation campaign painting the courageous priest as mentally unstable.

1991

The Gulf War — The U.S. liberates Kuwait from Iraq. But Iraq’s dictator, Saddam Hussein, is another creature of the CIA. With U.S. encouragement, Hussein invaded Iran in 1980. During this costly eight-year war, the CIA built up Hussein’s forces with sophisticated arms, intelligence, training and financial backing. This cemented Hussein’s power at home, allowing him to crush the many internal rebellions that erupted from time to time, sometimes with poison gas. It also gave him all the military might he needed to conduct further adventurism — in Kuwait, for example.

The Fall of the Soviet Union — The CIA fails to predict this most important event of the Cold War. This suggests that it has been so busy undermining governments that it hasn’t been doing its primary job: gathering and analyzing information. The fall of the Soviet Union also robs the CIA of its reason for existence: fighting communism. This leads some to accuse the CIA of intentionally failing to predict the downfall of the Soviet Union. Curiously, the intelligence community’s budget is not significantly reduced after the demise of communism.

1992

Economic Espionage — In the years following the end of the Cold War, the CIA is increasingly used for economic espionage. This involves stealing the technological secrets of competing foreign companies and giving them to American ones. Given the CIA’s clear preference for dirty tricks over mere information gathering, the possibility of serious criminal behavior is very great indeed.

1993

Haiti — The chaos in Haiti grows so bad that President Clinton has no choice but to remove the Haitian military dictator, Raoul Cedras, on threat of U.S. invasion. The U.S. occupiers do not arrest Haiti’s military leaders for crimes against humanity, but instead ensure their safety and rich retirements. Aristide is returned to power only after being forced to accept an agenda favorable to the country’s ruling class.

[...] The history of the agency is growing painfully clear, especially with the declassification of historical CIA documents. We may not know the details of specific operations, but we do know, quite well, the general behavior of the CIA. These facts began emerging nearly two decades ago at an ever-quickening pace. Today we have a remarkably accurate and consistent picture, repeated in country after country, and verified from countless different directions.

The CIA’s response to this growing knowledge and criticism follows a typical historical pattern. (Indeed, there are remarkable parallels to the Medieval Church’s fight against the Scientific Revolution.) The first journalists and writers to reveal the CIA’s criminal behavior were harassed and censored if they were American writers, and tortured and murdered if they were foreigners. (See Philip Agee’s On the Run for an example of early harassment.) However, over the last two decades the tide of evidence has become overwhelming, and the CIA has found that it does not have enough fingers to plug every hole in the dike. This is especially true in the age of the Internet, where information flows freely among millions of people. Since censorship is impossible, the Agency must now defend itself with apologetics.

[...] Another common apologetic is that "the world is filled with unsavory characters, and we must deal with them if we are to protect American interests at all." There are two things wrong with this. First, it ignores the fact that the CIA has regularly spurned alliances with defenders of democracy, free speech and human rights, preferring the company of military dictators and tyrants. The CIA had moral options available to them, but did not take them.

Second, this argument begs several questions. The first is: "Which American interests?" The CIA has courted right-wing dictators because they allow wealthy Americans to exploit the country’s cheap labor and resources. But poor and middle-class Americans pay the price whenever they fight the wars that stem from CIA actions, from Vietnam to the Gulf War to Panama. The second begged question is: "Why should American interests come at the expense of other peoples’ human rights?"

The CIA should be abolished, its leadership dismissed and its relevant members tried for crimes against humanity. Our intelligence community should be rebuilt from the ground up, with the goal of collecting and analyzing information. As for covert action, there are two moral options. The first one is to eliminate covert action completely. But this gives jitters to people worried about the Adolf Hitlers of the world. So a second option is that we can place covert action under extensive and true democratic oversight. For example, a bipartisan Congressional Committee of 40 members could review and veto all aspects of CIA operations upon a majority or super-majority vote. Which of these two options is best may be the subject of debate, but one thing is clear: like dictatorship, like monarchy, unaccountable covert operations should die like the dinosaurs they are.”

[ntrending]

How to disguise your personal web-surfing at work

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/how-to-disguise-your-personal-web-surfing-at-work/

How to disguise your personal web-surfing at work

Before 5 P.M. hits, you just have to do some online shopping, or check your favorite site for updates, or take a break from that mind-numbingly boring assignment. Whatever the reason, you want to browse the web at the office…without the boss finding out about your frivolous behavior. And with a few tech tricks, you can get away with it.

Right from the outset, just know that there’s no surefire way to avoid notice. If your employer owns the computer you’re using and the network you’re connecting to, you have no real guarantee of hiding your online activities.

That said, if you’re on fairly good terms with upper management and only want to bend the rules a little—checking social media rather than hacking into government infrastructure, for example—here are a few pointers for hiding your non-work-related browsing (as much as possible).

If you’re busy doing something other than work online, you don’t want to leave traces of your activity behind. Private or incognito mode can help. With this setting, when you close your private window, the browser will automatically wipe the details of the pages you’ve visited, as well as any temporary data they’ve logged. This works great if you know someone else shares your work computer or frequently checks its history, because in that case, they won’t be able to see what you’ve been doing online.

That said, private browsing has its limitations. If you’re accessing the internet through the office network, and your employer’s IT staff are paying attention, they can see what you’re up to even when incognito mode is active. It’s only after the fact that this mode hides your history.

Every major modern browser offers the option to open these private windows. In Chrome, click the menu button (three dots) on the top right and select New incognito window. In Firefox, open the menu (three horizontal lines) on the top right and choose New Private Window. In Microsoft Edge, click the menu button (three dots) on the top right, followed by New InPrivate window. Finally, in Safari, choose File > New Private Window.

Does your boss have the annoying habit of wandering around desks and looming up behind you unannounced? You don’t want them to catch you in the middle of booking flights for your next vacation. So learn a few keyboard shortcuts you can quickly deploy to hide your activity when someone approaches. Then you can bring the browser window back up when the coast is clear.

On Windows, Ctrl+W will close the current tab in a flash, no matter which browser you’re using (Chrome, Firefox, or Edge), but you will lose whatever was in the window at the time. Another option would be to minimize all the currently-open windows with Win+D. This leaves a blank desktop, which might be non-incriminating, but does make it look like you’re not doing any work. We recommend a quick Alt+Tab combination, which will switch you into a different app (usually the one you were using before you opened the browser). Just make sure the app you’re switching to is a work-appropriate one.

If you’re using a Mac computer, you have a similar set of options, but they rely on different keyboard combinations. Any macOS browser (Chrome, Firefox, or Safari) lets you close the current tab with the Cmd+W shortcut. To minimize all open windows, you need to hit Cmd+F3. Finally, to quickly switch between apps, the shortcut is Cmd+Tab.

Plenty of us struggle with staying focused at the office. To help out, quite a few websites and online games offer disguises that make them look more serious and work-related than they actually are.

For instance, if you want to go scrolling through the front page of the internet, then check out MSOutlookit. This portal reskins Reddit to make it look like an email client. You can customize the experience to view your favorite subreddits—just follow the instructions on the page.

Not every site has a specific page just for viewing it at work. But some extensions offer a similar service, modifying the look of any website to make it seem less interesting. Decreased Productivity (for Chrome) removes the images and bright colors from any website you choose, while Stylish (for Chrome and Firefox) can change the theme of any page, including YouTube and Twitter, to make its appearance more muted.

Other options let you subtly play games. For example, remember when Google had a Pac-Man game as its doodle? You can still play it, and if someone spots you, just say you were trying to run a normal web search and hit the wrong button. For a game that looks innocuous, check out the text-based CivClicker. Like Civilization, this lets you build an imaginary empire, and it comes with a work-safe mode that keeps graphics down to a minimum. We also like Universal Paperclips, a click-based game that looks dull but is deceptively addictive.

Think outside the box

Learning how to quickly close windows and disguise your favorite websites will hide a lot of your browsing behavior. But you can also take steps to physically conceal your screen.

For example, a computer screen protector, which costs about $48 on Amazon will make your machine look blank to anyone who’s not directly in front of it, which makes it much harder for passing colleagues to see what you’re up to. However, someone standing immediately behind you will have a clear view of your activity. Plus, this tool is noticeable, so you may have to justify its use—maybe convince your boss that your work requires absolute privacy (which is probably easier if you work in an accounts department).

Alternatively, you can choose a good-size office plant and carefully position it to block coworkers’ views of your screen. Just explain that it’s good for the office zen.

If you’ve taken all of these measures, and you’re still worried about IT spying on your online behavior, you might need to turn to your phone. Of course, you could just do all of your frivolous browsing on your handset, but then your coworkers will see you and know you’re slacking off.

Instead, if you have a good data plan and a strong 4G LTE signal, turn your Android or iOS device into a Wi-Fi hotspot and then connect your computer to that source. Because you won’t be on your office’s internet connection, your boss won’t be able to monitor the sites that you visit.

Written By David Nield

[sherristockman]

How Clothes Are Polluting the Food Supply Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola Every day, each and every one of us contribute to the ongoing destruction of the environment simply by participating in modern society. Not only do people inappropriately dispose of drugs by flushing them down the toilet, the cleaning and personal care products we use and the clothes we wear and wash on a daily basis also contribute to the environmental pollution. Indeed, the environmental impacts of our clothing choices are shocking, as studies assessing toxic effects of various fabric treatments (such as dyes, flame retardants and stain resistant chemicals) to laundry detergents and the fabric fibers themselves need serious attention. The Drawback of Fleece Microfibers1 in particular have gained notoriety for posing a serious threat to marine life and migrating into fields and onto our plates. As noted by NPR:2 “The innovation of synthetic fleece has allowed many outdoor enthusiasts to hike with warmth and comfort. But what many … don't know is that each wash … releases thousands of microscopicplastic fibers, or microfibers, into the environment — from their favorite national park to agricultural lands to waters with fish that make it back onto our plates. This has scientists wondering: Are we eating our sweaters' synthetic microfibers? Probably, says Chelsea Rochman, an ecologist and evolutionary biologist at the University of Toronto, St. George. ‘Microfibers seem to be one of the most common plastic debris items in animals and environmental samples,’ Rochman says.” Microfibers Have Become a Very Significant Water Pollutant Indeed, synthetic microfibers make up 85 percent of shoreline debris worldwide,3 and tend to be found in higher concentrations in beach sediment near waste water treatment plants.4 Water testing done by the Rozalia Project also showed microfibers are showing up in most water samples collected from the Hudson River.5 The fibers have also been found in both table salt6 and fish sold for human consumption.7 A 2015 study from the University of California Santa Barbara (UCSB) directly linked microbead plastics and man-made microfibers to the pollution in fish,8 and when Abigail Barrows — chief investigator for Global Microplastics Initiative — sampled over 2,000 marine and freshwater fish, 90 percent had microfiber debris in their bodies. Near identical results have been reported by Amy Lusher, a microplastics researcher based in the U.K. who co-authored a study9 on microplastic pollution in the Northeast Atlantic Ocean, published in 2014. There really does not appear to be any place on Earth that remains unspoiled by plastic pollution. As Abby Barrows, a microplastics researcher for Adventurers and Scientists for Conservation told The Washington Post:10 “Working in this field of research … can be really depressing. I open up a box of water — it’s from some beautiful place in Palau, and it’s just full of plastics. Or it’s from Antarctica, and I think there’s definitely not going to be anything in here. And it’s just full of fragments. I haven’t seen a sample that doesn’t contain an alarming amount of plastic.” Microfibers Are Also a Potential Food Contaminant Microfibers, which are more prevalent than microbeads (found in face scrubs and similar items), are particularly detrimental as the fibers are easily consumed by fish and other wildlife, accumulating in the gut and concentrating in the bodies of other animals higher up the food chain. In one study, microfibers raised mortality among water fleas.11 In another, the presence of fibers were found to reduce overall food intake of crabs, worms and langoustines (aka Norway lobster),12,13 thereby threatening their growth and survival rates. Making matters worse, these microscopic plastic fibers actually soak up toxins like a sponge, concentrating PCBs, pesticides and oil in ever higher amounts as you move up the food chain. Factors That Worsen Microfiber Release Tests show each washing of a synthetic fleece jacket releases an average of 1.7 grams of microfiber, and may release as much as 2.7 grams.14,15,16 For comparison, a paperclip weighs about 1.5 grams. The older the jacket, the more microfibers are released,17 and lower quality generic brand fleece was also found to shed 170 percent more over its lifespan than higher quality fleece. Separate research18,19 published in Marine Pollution Bulletin found that the type of fabric also makes a difference in the rate of microfiber shed. In a comparison of acrylic, polyester and a polyester-cotton blend, acrylic was the worst, shedding microfibers up to four times faster than the polyester-cotton blend. Different types of washing machines may also release different amounts of fibers (and chemicals) from your clothes. Tests show top loading machines release about 530 percent more microfibers than front loading models.20 Other factors that can influence the amount of shedding include water temperature, length and agitation strength of the wash cycle and the type of detergent used. Up to 40 percent of these microfibers leave the wastewater treatment plant and end up in the surrounding lakes, rivers and ocean. As reported by Fusion:21 “To get a sense of the macro-scale of this micro-problem, the authors calculated that a city of around 100,000 people could send anywhere from 20 to 240 pounds of microfibers into local waterbodies daily, which averages out to around 15,000 plastic bags.” Potential Solutions To address these problems, scientists are calling for appliance companies to investigate the effectiveness of adding filters to catch the microfibers.22 Wexco is currently the exclusive distributor of the Filtrol 160 filter,23 designed to capture non-biodegradable fibers from your washing machine discharge. The problem with this solution is what becomes of the microfibers when they’re disposed of in landfills (the same issue that is raised if wastewater treatment plants install filters to keep the tiny fibers out of waterways). The fibers may simply end up entering the environment via another route. Another novel potential solution — a waterless washing machine — was developed by Tersus Solutions in Colorado, with funding from Patagonia. It washes clothing using pressurized carbon dioxide instead of water.24 An even simpler strategy would be to wash your fleece and microfiber clothing less often. Patagonia is also looking for mitigating solutions, including product redesign to prevent the shedding of microfibers. Polyester Downfalls Beyond Microfiber Pollution Beyond microfiber pollution, polyester and other man-made materials have many other environmental drawbacks. As previously noted by Environmental Health Perspectives:25 “[P]olyester, the most widely used manufactured fiber, is made from petroleum. With the rise in production in the fashion industry, demand for man-made fibers, especially polyester, has nearly doubled in the last 15 years, according to figures from the Technical Textile Markets. The manufacture of polyester and other synthetic fabrics is an energy-intensive process requiring large amounts of crude oil and releasing emissions including volatile organic compounds, particulate matter and acid gases such as hydrogen chloride, all of which can cause or aggravate respiratory disease. Volatile monomers, solvents and other by-products of polyester production are emitted in the wastewater from polyester manufacturing plants. The EPA [Environmental Protection Agency], under the Resource Conservation and Recovery Act, considers many textile manufacturing facilities to be hazardous waste generators.” Even seemingly innocuous garments like jeans are often produced using a laundry list of toxic chemicals, including perfluorochemicals, phthalates and azo dyes. It’s not only man-made materials that are the problem, however. Even conventionally grown genetically engineered (GE) cotton is problematic due to the cotton industry’s heavy use of hazardous herbicides and insecticides, including some of the most hazardous insecticides on the market. This is one reason why I strongly encourage you to choose organic cotton, organic hemp and/or wool items, ideally colored with nontoxic, natural dyes whenever possible. Organic fabrics will not be genetically engineered and subject to this onslaught of toxic exposures. And, while this will not solve all of the environmental problems related to the garment industry, it's a step in the right direction. Change Starts at Home Benign by Design,26,27 a program created by ecologist Mark Browne in 2013, aims to show clothing companies “exactly how textile wear leads to fiber pollution and ways to control their emissions.” According to the website, the program — which is supported by the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) — “developed a trade-off analysis system that rigorously and scientifically selects the most cost effective material with the smallest impact; fabrics that emit fewer fibers and less toxic fibers.” But while some companies are actively investigating ways to produce clothing that is more environmentally-friendly, each and every one of us can contribute to the solution by buying less and becoming more conscious consumers when it comes to clothing. As described in my previous article on “fast fashion,” the entire life cycle of a piece of clothing would ideally be taken into account before buying, as most of your discarded clothes actually end up in landfills, or are resold to third world countries where local clothing industries then suffer instead. Westerners have a tendency to think we're being generous by donating our cast-offs, allowing those with few means to get clothes they might not be able to afford otherwise. The reality is, the second-hand industry is struggling with an overwhelming amount of clothes. They cannot even house it all — which is why charities will only keep donated items in their thrift shops for a month before shipping them off for bulk liquidation. There's simply no shortage of second-hand clothing, so you're not really doing the world any favors by routinely adding to the donation piles. If you really want to make a dent in the problem, give more thought to what you buy in the first place and curb your consumption. Most Americans have enough clothes to outfit entire villages in some other countries. There’s little doubt that many would do well to absorb some of the life-affirming suggestions offered by the minimalism movement. As the director of environmental strategy for Patagonia told CBS in 2015:28 “People need to learn how to buy less and companies need to learn how to be profitable in selling less … Something has to fundamentally shift in the consumption world that reduces the pressure on the raw materials, which reduces pressure on the planet …”