#it’s like when people have garage sales

[nickorite]

What does Charles think about Ellie stealing signs lmao

He’s not the happiest camper, but Ellie has her own way of looking at things.

(Sequel to this post and this post )

[in-tua-deep]

sometimes accents are stupid and pronunciations Do Not Generalize

an example of this is vitamin. where i am in america it's pronounced with an "eye" i, so the vi rhymes with "bye." Where I was in the UK it's pronounced with an "ih" I, so the vi is like the vi in "Victoria."

so now if it's taking about the concept of vitamins as a category, i use the US pronunciation. if i'm talking about specific ones, like vitamin c, i use the UK pronunciation.

(usually. if i remember i might swap wildly between the two as i try in vain to remember which pronunciation is correct for the country i'm in)

don't even get me started on the way i use the UK pronunciation of "garage" for everything except for garage sales

[smokeys-house]

.

[bunnyb34r]

Man garage sales are always so hit or miss

They should just have them set up in a big parking lot and have it be like a flea market so I dont have to keep getting in and out of my car for boring sales

We went to one this summer that advertised it being a "plant sale" as well and we were like oh that sounds fun!! Yeah they were selling mostly dead cuttings in water for $3 each. Bitch. And half dead succulents for $5 (tiny ones, not worth the price) and like the saddest little cacti for $4 it was so depressing man

Then we went to some yesterday and I got a lot of ornaments but nothing really fun like last summer when I got like 4 "cherished teddies" figurines for like $2 each

Like idk what it was but the citywide sale last year was FUN we went to like 5 different ones and one guy was selling dentist chairs and dental machinery from the 90s (his buddy was a dentist and had passed away from cancer, leaving the business to the friend. He had no experience nor desire so he was just trying to offload it).

We came home with so many bags of shit last year and this year it was like one bag and 90% was ornaments, some we got for free from an old church friend

I remember two years ago we went to this really big church garage sale and got so much shit then it started POURING RAIN so hard the tents concaved 😭 and the people running it were like "just give us $20 for the whole lot it's fine, you're drenched go." And my mom had to like reverse haggle them into taking $50 bc it was A LOT of stuff. Eventually she got them to take $20 for the items and a $20 donation sgdgdggd

The next year they moved it to an indoor venue and it was super organized. They declared they were never doing it outside again lmaooo

[sexhaver]

Ben Drowned is hands-down one of the funniest creepypastas ever because like. it singlehandedly cemented the setup of "woah guys i found this N64 game at a garage sale and it's HAUNTED!!!!" as a cliche. this guy named Jadusable kept posting videos showing his copy of Majora's Mask with fucked up glitches, like Link being constantly on fire and screaming, or having his upper body rotated 90 degrees, or having NPCs say ominous shit to him, etc. you really need to watch the original video for the full experience (assuming you havent already), but if you haven't, at least watch this one starting around 2:30:

so Jadusable posts the "final" update to his story and his forum account goes dark. in the canon of his creepypasta, he's straight up dead (killed by the haunted game cartridge), and he seems to be sticking to it by not posting anything. theories ran wild - was it an elaborate scam? could it have all been true?

years later, on April 1st 2012, with no announcement or fanfare, Jadusable posts the following video, "king kong.wmv", following the naming scheme of his previous videos. skip to 1:30ish.

when i tell you the people who took the creepypasta seriously for years were MAD mad

[mcmansionhell]

this house may or may not be real

on grayness in real estate

Allegedly, somewhere in Wake Forest, North Carolina, a 4 bed, 5.5 bathroom house totaling more than 6,600 square feet is for sale at a price of 2.37 million dollars. The house, allegedly, was built in 2021. Allegedly, it looks like this:

A McMansion is, in effect, the same house over and over again - it's merely dressed up in different costumes. In the 90s, the costume was Colonial; in the 2000s, it was vague forms of European (Tuscan, Mediterranean), and in the 2010s it was Tudor, dovetailed by "the farmhouse" -- a kind of Yeti Cooler simulacra of rural America peddled to the populace by Toll Brothers and HGTV.

Now, we're fully in the era of whatever this is. Whitewashed, quasi-modern, vaguely farmhouse-esque, definitely McMansion. We have reached, in a way, peak color and formal neutrality to the point where even the concept of style has no teeth. At a certain moment in its life cycle, styles in vernacular architecture reach their apex, after which they seem excessively oversaturated and ubiquitous. Soon, it's time to move on. After all, no one builds houses that look like this anymore:

(This is almost a shame because at least this house is mildly interesting.)

If we return to the basic form of both houses, they are essentially the same: a central foyer, a disguised oversized garage, and an overly complex assemblage of masses, windows, and rooflines. No one can rightfully claim that we no longer live in the age of the McMansion. The McMansion has instead simply become more charmless and dull.

When HGTV and the Gaineses premiered Fixer Upper in 2013, it seemed almost harmless. Attractive couple flips houses. Classic show form. However, Fixer Upper has since (in)famously ballooned into its own media network, a product line I'm confronted with every time I go to Target, and a general 2010s cultural hallmark not unlike the 1976 American Bicentennial - both events after which every house and its furnishings were somehow created in its image. (The patriotism, aesthetic and cultural conservatism of both are not lost on me.)

But there's one catch: Fixer Upper is over, and after the Gaineses, HGTV hasn't quite figured out where to go stylistically. With all those advertisers, partners, and eyeballs, the pressure to keep one foot stuck in the rural tweeness that sold extremely well was great. At the same time, the network (and the rest of the vernacular design media) couldn't risk wearing out its welcome. The answer came in a mix of rehashed, overly neutral modernism -- with a few pops of color, yet this part often seems omitted from its imitators -- with the prevailing "farmhouse modern" of Magnolia™ stock. The unfortunate result: mega-ultra-greige.

Aside from war-mongering, rarely does the media manufacture consent like it does in terms of interior design. People often ask me: Why is everything so gray? How did we get here? The answer is because it is profitable. Why is it profitable? I'd like to hypothesize several reasons. The first is as I mentioned: today's total neutrality is an organic outgrowth of a previous but slightly different style, "farmhouse modern," that mixed the starkness of the vernacular farmhouse with the soft-pastel Pinterest-era rural signifiers that have for the last ten years become ubiquitous.

Second, neutrals have always been common and popular. It's the default choice if you don't have a vision for what you want to do in a space. In the 2000s, the neutrals du jour were "earth tones" - beige, sage green, brown. Before that, it was white walls with oak trim in the 80s and 90s. In the 70s, neutrals were textural: brick and wood paneling. We have remarkably short memories when it comes to stylistic evolution because in real time it feels incremental. Such is the case with neutrals.

Finally, the all-gray palette is the end logic of HGTV et al's gamified methodology of designing houses with commodification in mind: if you blow out this wall, use this color, this flooring, this cabinetry, the asking price of your house goes up. You never want to personalize too much because it's off-putting to potential buyers. After twenty years of such rhetoric, doesn't it make all the sense in the world that we've ended up with houses that are empty, soulless, and gray?

A common realtor adage is to stage the house so that potential buyers can picture their own lives in it. In other words, create a tabula rasa one can project a fantasy of consumption onto. Implied in that logic is that the buyer will then impose their will on the house. But when the staged-realtor-vision and general-mass-market aesthetic of the time merge into a single dull slurry, we get a form of ultra-neutral that seems unwelcoming if not inescapable.

To impose one's style on the perfect starkness is almost intimidating, as though one is fouling up something untouchable and superior. If neutrality makes a house sell, then personality - at all - can only be seen as a detriment. Where does such an anti-social practice lead us? Back to the house that may or may not exist.

In my travels as McMansion Hell, I've increasingly been confronted with houses full of furniture that isn't real. This is known as virtual staging and it is to house staging as ChatGPT is to press release writing or DALL-E is to illustration. As this technology improves, fake sofa tables are becoming more and more difficult to discern from the real thing. I'm still not entirely sure which of the things in these photos are genuine or rendered. To walk through this house is to question reality.

Staging ultimately pretends (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) that someone is living in this house, that you, too could live in it. Once discovered, virtual staging erases all pretensions: the house is inhabited by no one. It is generally acknowledged (though I'm not sure on the actual statistics) that a house with furniture - that is, with the pretense of living -- sells easier than a house with nothing in it, especially if that house (like this one) has almost no internal walls. Hence the goal is to make the virtual staging undiscoverable.

If you want to talk about the realtor's tabula rasa, this is its final form. Houses without people, without human involvement whatsoever.

But what makes this particular house so uncanny is that all of these things I've mentioned before: real estate listing photography, completely dull interiors and bland colors all make it easy for the virtual furniture to work so well. This is because the softness of overlit white and gray walls enables the fuzzy edges of the renderings to look natural when mixed with an overstylized reality. Even if you notice something's off in the reflections, that's enough to cause one to wonder if anything in the house is real: the floors, the fixtures, the moulding, the windows and doors.

This is where things are heading: artifice on top of artifice on top of artifice. It's cheap, it's easy. But something about it feels like a violation. When one endeavors to buy a house, one assumes what one is viewing is real. It's one thing if a realtor photoshops a goofy sunset, it's another to wonder if anything in a room can be touched with human hands. I won't know what, if any, part of this estate costing over 2 million dollars actually exists until I visit it myself. Perhaps that's the whole point - to entice potential buyers out to see for themselves. When they enter, they'll find the truth: a vast, empty space with nothing in it.

The better this rendering technology gets, the more it will rely on these totally neutral spaces because everything matches and nothing is difficult. You are picking from a catalog of greige furniture to decorate greige rooms. If you look at virtual staging in a non-neutral house it looks immediately plastic and out of place, which is why many realtors opt to either still stage using furniture or leave the place empty.

Due to the aforementioned photography reasons, I would even argue that the greigepocalypse or whatever you want to call it and virtual staging have evolved simultaneously and mutualistically. The more virtual staging becomes an industry standard, the more conditions for making it seamless and successful will become standardized as well.

After all, real staging is expensive and depends on paid labor - selecting furniture, getting workers to deliver and stage it, only to pack it back up again once the property is sold. This is a classic example of technology being used to erase entire industries. Is this a bad thing? For freelance and contract workers, yeah. For realtors? no. For real estate listings, it remains to be seen. For this blog? Absolutely. (Thankfully there is an endless supply of previously existing McMansions.)

The thing is, real estate listings no longer reflect reality. (Did they ever to begin with?) The reason we're all exasperated with greige is because none of us actually live that way and don't want to. I've never been to anyone's house that looks like the house that may or may not exist. Even my parents who have followed the trends after becoming empty nesters have plenty of color in their house. Humans like color. Most of us have lots of warmth and creativity in our houses. Compare media intended for renters and younger consumers such as Apartment Therapy with HGTV and you will find a stark difference in palate and tone.

But when it comes to actually existing houses - look at Zillow and it's greige greige greige. So who's doing this? The answer is real estate itself aided by their allies in mass media who in turn are aided by the home renovation industry. In other words, it's the people who sell home as a commodity. That desire to sell has for some time overpowered all other elements that make up a home or an apartment's interiority to the point where we've ended up in a colorless slurry of real and unreal.

Fortunately, after ten years or so, things begin to become dated. We're hitting the ten year mark of farmhouse modernism and its derivatives now. If you're getting sick of it, it's normal. The whole style is hopefully on its last leg. But unlike styles of the past, there's a real, trenchant material reason why this one is sticking around longer than usual.

Hence, maybe if we want the end of greige, we're going to have to take color back by force.

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[atomicami]

bull ride

contractor!abby anderson x joel’s daughter!reader

- summary: you spend the night out at a bar and decide to challenge yourself on the mechanical bull to impress abby. when abby sees you from the crowd, she ends up giving you something else to take a ride on. (part 4)

- content: smut MDNI, porn with plot, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel and jerry are both alive, jerry is not a doctor, reader has a business degree, family & work drama, bar setting, some alcohol consumption, truck sex (bit of a quickie), fingering (a!receiving), strap usage (r!receiving), strap sucking, abby referring to the strap as her cock, basically save a horse ride a cowgirl tbh 🤠

- author’s note: hi everyone… i know i’ve been very inactive this year but this part has actually been sitting in my drafts since march so i figured i’d at least post it for the few people who’ve been waiting this long to read it, i hope y’all enjoy it

previous parts: quick fix, surprise visit, charity work

It’s been a week since the bake sale, meaning that it’s also been a week since Abby last had her hands on you.

You’d be lying if you said that this week was flying slow for you right now, because to your surprise, seven days flew by like seven minutes, and before you knew it, it was officially Saturday.

You’re sitting in your room by your dresser, fully dressed from head to toe in the finest Western apparel that you own, finishing the touches on your makeup in the mirror. You then look down at your phone for a moment, still eyeing the last text that Abby had sent you.

She invited you to go to Wild Randy’s tonight, and while you were excited to see her again, you were dreading it at the same time.

It was mainly because Wild Randy’s was the go-to place for you and Joel, and as bad as you want to sneak off with Abby again, you knew that you’d also have to make sure you wouldn’t get caught by your dad either.

You take a few deep breaths before standing up and adjusting your belt, then grabbing your phone and bag before exiting your bedroom.

“Dad! I’m ready to go!” you call out as you strut down the stairs. Given that you always take longer than him to get ready, you figured he’d be sitting on the couch waiting for you, but to your surprise, he wasn’t there.

“Dad? Where are you?” you call out for him again, entering the kitchen to find it empty as well. You roam around the house for a bit before entering the garage, seeing him still in his work clothes working on blueprints. “Dad…are you not coming?”

Joel looks up at you, frowning once he sees you ready to leave. “Oh, shit…it’s Saturday isn’t it?” he says, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry kid, I know we go to Randy’s every Saturday but…work’s just been tyin’ me down lately.”

You nod to your dad in acknowledgment. “Well, we can skip tonight if—“

“No, no, no, s’alright,” he says, quickly cutting off your words. “You go. There’s always next weekend right?” he looks down for a moment at his workspace before looking back up at you. “Are you gonna drive yourself there or…?”

“Oh, um it’s okay Dad, I can text Dina for a ride.” you take a few steps closer to him before continuing. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” you ask him, receiving a nod from him in response.

“Okay, well…don’t stay up too late, we have to go to the hardware store next week to start getting supplies for the Mitchell home.” you remind him as you walk your way to the door.

Joel clicks his tongue at you in response. “Thanks for remindin’ me, kid. Don’t have too much fun out there, alright?”

You smile and nod back at him before leaving the garage. Even though you felt bad that your dad couldn’t come, you can’t help but feel relieved about it either. With your dad out of the way, you’d be able to get some time with Abby without the risk of getting caught by him.

You pull out your phone to send a text to Dina telling her to pick you up, and in less than ten minutes she was already honking at your door. While checking to make sure you have everything, you exit your house before locking it, walking down the porch to see Dina inside her car with the windows rolled down.

“Hey, you!” she shouts out, leaning forward over her steering wheel. “Ready for Randy’s?”

“You bet I am!” you shout back to her as you hurriedly get into the passenger side of her car and sit down.

The ride to Wild Randy’s was pretty quick, given that there’s never a rush hour on Saturdays. Aside from the twenty minutes it took Dina to find an available parking spot, the two of you were now quickly settled at the bar.

“So tell me, how’s it going with you and Abby?” Dina asks you as you both sit yourselves down on the bar stools.

Before you can respond to her, Jesse ends up cutting in from behind the bar with two beers in his hand. “Wait a second, you’ve been having a thing with Anderson?” he asks you, popping open the two bottles before handing them to you and Dina. “Didn’t you say that your dad doesn’t want you around her?”

You nod to him in response. “Yeah, and I mean I’ve been doing that for what, four, five years now? But I needed her to come over a few weeks ago to fix an outlet in my living room and it just like…happened, you know?” you explained, taking a sip from your beer.

Dina quickly gulped and set her bottle back down on the bar. “Wait a minute…is that why you were acting so weird during movie night?”

“Yeah…” you tell her with a nod, taking another sip out of your beer. “Anyways, she told me she was going to be here today so…” your words drift off as you turn your head around in search of her, and you are quick to catch her entering the bar with her group of friends. Not only that, but her father was also nowhere to be seen.

It was the first time you saw Abby like this, outside of work and not in her work clothes for once. She was wearing a pair of jeans instead of her usual cargo pants, a pair of western boots instead of her usual work ones, and her tool belt was ditched for a leather belt with a metal buckle on the center. She also had on a tight button-up that showed off her muscles, and to top it all off, a cowboy’s hat that rested over her braided blond hair.

You hate to admit it, but she was looking pretty damn good right now.

Dina suddenly snaps her fingers at you to get your attention, causing you to swivel your chair back around. “She’s there right now isn’t she?” she asks you, receiving a nod from you in response.

“Yeah, I want to go talk to her but…” your words drift off again as you turn back to see her. As you check her out, you notice from the corner of your eye some movement going on towards your left. You fully swivel your chair around this time to get a better look. It appeared to be a group of employees carrying out a large mechanical bull inside an inflatable ring, while another employee stood next to them, giving them orders on where to position the machine.

“Jesse,” you call out to him, swiveling your stool back to face him. “They’re bringing back the bull?”

Jesse looks up briefly to see the mechanical bull being set up before looking back down and pouring some contents into a cocktail shaker. “Yeah, we’ve been getting so many requests to bring it back up after our last bull broke down last year,” he explains as he continues preparing the cocktail for the customer in front of him.

You briefly look back at the bull for a moment, then look over to where Abby was. At that moment, an idea instantly sparked in your mind. What better way could there be to catch Abby’s attention than impressing her by taking a ride on the mechanical bull?

The sound of a loud microphone tap shakes you out of your thoughts, and you look over to see the bar’s owner standing in front of the bull with the microphone in his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he calls out, quickly grabbing the attention of all the patrons inside the dimly lit bar. “I’m pleased to announce that we now have our brand new and improved mechanical bull back into our bar!” he announces, quickly receiving cheers and applause from the customers. “Now who in here…” he says, pointing a finger around the bar. “Is gonna be the first one to be brave enough and take her for a ride?”

You look around the bar to see several amounts of people already preparing themselves for the challenge. Part of you wanted to not do it, but a bigger part of you wanted to ride that damn bull like there was no tomorrow. You were willing to do it, just for the sake of impressing Abby. Neither of your dads were here right now, so who knows when you could get another opportunity like this? It was either now or never.

“I’ll do it!” you shout out, quickly raising your hand to get the owner’s attention.

Dina quickly grabs your hand and pulls it down to your lap. “What are you doing? Are you seriously gonna ride that thing?” she asks with concern.

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re cut off by the owner shouting at you. “You right there! Come on up here!”

You look over at the man before back at Dina. “I guess I am now,” you tell her with a shrug, hopping off of the bar stool and approaching your way towards the ring.

As you walk away from the bar, Jesse comes to Dina from behind, leaning into her side. “I’ll bet you $20 that she won’t last the full five minutes.”

You watch the owner squint to try to get a better look at you as you get closer to the inflatable ring. “Well well well, what do we have here!” he says as you make it to the ring, now standing next to him. “If it isn’t Joel Miller’s daughter herself. You think you’ll be able to handle the bull, Miss Miller?” he asks, pointing the microphone towards you.

You grab the mic from the owner and hold it closer to yourself. “Well, I guess we’ll have to see but…I think I could handle her,” you tell him with confidence before handing the mic back to him.

Numerous amounts of patrons clap and cheer you on in response. As the owner continues to speak to the audience, you step into the inflatable ring, watching as your boots sink inside. You look at your surroundings for a moment, seeing all of the customers placing their bidding money into a hat and passing it around the bar. The hat goes around past Abby as well, and you could’ve sworn she had slipped a hundred-dollar bill in there for you. Her eyes then meet with yours for a moment, and so does that stupid smirk of hers.

“Alright Miss Miller, you have five minutes up on the clock now, if you can make it to the end, you win the bidding money, got it?” the owner explains to you.

You nod at him in acknowledgment. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

You then turn back around so you’re facing the bull. You take a few steps backward as a head start, then quickly run forward and hop on top of the bull. Your hands quickly grab onto the handles, and you keep your legs wrapped around the sides of the bull. Lastly, you position your hips on the bull by pushing them forward, keeping yourself as close as possible to the saddle.

The bull was quickly activated as soon as you sat down, and so was the timer. The machine began to rock back and forth, slowly to start. Once you felt like you were getting the hang of it, that’s when the speed began to go faster. Your grip on the bull progressively gets tighter and tighter the more that the speed increases. It eventually escalated to the fullest speed, the bull now moving and spinning around like crazy. Time has never flown by slower for you than at this moment. On the inside, you were getting so dizzy to where you were going to be sick. But you couldn’t express that. Not in front of the audience. Not in front of Abby.

Regardless of it, you refused to let go. You held onto the bull like your life depended on it, waiting for the timer to count down to zero. Five minutes felt more like an eternity to you right now, but you soon start to feel relief once you hear the audience begin to count down.

Ten, nine, eight…

You lock down your grip on the bull’s handles.

Seven, six, five…

Your legs remain secure on each side of the saddle, and your hips push forward against it. As much as you were trying to hold onto the bull, you couldn’t help but imagine your hips pushing forward on Abby’s str—

Four, three, two, one!

The timer goes off, and the bull begins to slow itself down. As the machine comes to a stop, you instantly loosen your grip on it. You let out a breath of relief as you look up, watching all of the patrons cheer and applaud you. One of the employees approaches to help you, and you carefully hop off the bull before exiting the ring.

“I have to say you did phenomenal on that bull there, Miss Miller.” the owner tells you through the mic, handing you the bidding money. “Anything you wanna say to the audience?”

You take the money from his hands before taking the microphone. “Well, first of all, thank you all for bidding on me, and second…” you pause for a moment before continuing. “And I don’t mean to self-promote but…if anyone here needs any construction help…be sure to contact my dad’s company, Miller Contracting. We’re the best in all of Austin.” your eyes scan around the audience before your gaze fixes on Abby. You keep your eyes on her for a little bit, smirking at her before looking back at the audience and walking off, a last set of applause happening as you do so.

You make your way back to the spot where Jesse and Dina remain. “See? Told y’all I’d beat that thing,” you say, flaunting your bidding money in front of them. Jesse leans forward on the bar to get closer to you. “Mind if I get a cut of that?” he asks, trying to grab the money from your hand.

You move your hand away from him and shake your head. “Hell no, I won this fair and square,” you tell him, clutching the money close to your chest. “Besides, didn’t you bid against me anyway?”

Jesse scoffs, still leaning forward on the bar. “Yeah, but I still have rent to pay,” he replies before taking his weight off the bar to assist another customer.

You simply roll your eyes at him and chuckle in response as you count your money. “Don’t be so dramatic, it’s not even that much—“ your words quickly cut off once you notice something unusual on the hundred-dollar bill. You pull it out of the thin stack, seeing a note attached to it that reads:

“Meet me at the parking lot in five. —A”

You smirk to yourself upon reading the message, not even realizing that you were doing so until Dina points it out. “She wants you to go see her, doesn’t she?” she asks, crossing her arms at you.

You simply nod at her in acknowledgment. “Yeah, she does…” you reply, reaching to the bar to grab the rest of your things before saying goodbye to Jesse and Dina. Upon leaving, you look over to see Abby on the other side of the bar. You watch as she pays for her beer and leaves from the other exit. The thrill and excitement starts to consume you already in seeing her again.

The cool air hits you once you exit the bar. You roam around the parking lot in search of her until you hear a faint whistling sound from behind. You turn around to see Abby’s prominent figure from a distance leaning on the side of her truck. You don’t approach her quickly though. Instead, you take your time walking your way towards her.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t the bull tamer herself…” Abby says, taking her weight off the truck. “You looked good up there, you know…riding that thing.”

You smirk and take a step closer to her. “I’m glad. Wanted to put on a show for you there,” you tell her quietly, and she leans in to give you a kiss, the rim of her cowboy hat slightly brushing over the top of your head as your lips briefly connect.

“You know…” she tells you quietly, slightly separating her lips from yours. “I’ve got something else that you can take a ride on for me…”

“Oh yeah?” you whisper back to her. “And what might that be?”

“Why don’t you hop in my truck and find out?”

And with that you take a step back, letting Abby unlock her truck before opening the passenger door and entering inside. Upon opening the door, you couldn’t help but notice that the windows in Abby’s truck were slightly darker than the last time you saw it…did she seriously get her windows tinted?

Abby holds the door open for you, and you quickly climb inside and hop onto her lap before she closes the door and locks it, now confining the both of you inside. Your thighs wrap themselves around Abby’s lab and you push your hips forward over her crotch, just like how you did on the bull. You could practically feel the bulge of her strap under all that denim.

Abby lets out a soft groan at the sudden friction. “How about you get it wet for me first, yeah?” she says, reaching down to the lever on the bottom part of the seat and pushing it back to give you some space on the ground.

You don’t even think twice about it, instantly dropping down to your knees and unzipping her jeans before pulling the thick black strap out of her boxers. After seeing the sight of it, you were pretty shocked. You didn’t get a good look when she fucked you last time, but now that it’s in your hands, you’re amazed that you were able to take the immense length of Abby’s strap.

Your fingers wrap around the large piece of silicone before you lean into it, lips instantly wrapping around the tip. You gently suck onto the tip for a moment, then slowly work your way down to the base of the strap. However, your mouth couldn’t last being down so deep, so you briefly pull it back up to the tip before going back down, repeatedly continuing your movements thereafter.

Abby lets out a quiet groan as she feels the base of her strap rubbing against her clit. Replacing your mouth with your hand, you look up for a moment to see her head slightly tilted back, her cowboy hat obstructing her view as well.

You keep stroking her strap with one hand, spreading your saliva all over from base to tip to distract her. As you do that, you use your other hand to gently shift the harness to the side and sneak your fingers into the crotch of her boxers, instantly finding access to her wet pussy before sliding two of them inside.

Abby notices the sudden shift of movement and looks down at you. “What the hell are you—oh fuck—“ her words get cut off with a quiet groan as you begin to curl her fingers inside of her. “Oh fuck yeah, k-keep doing that…”

You smirk back at her as you continue to pump your fingers inside her, now fully diverting your attention away from the strap for a moment. Your other hand moves to keep the harness of the strap pushed to the side while you finger Abby’s pussy, and you look up to keep an eye on her every movement—the way her hands grip the seat of the truck, the moans and whines escaping from her mouth, and how her eyes were tightly shut and the head was thrown back in pleasure. You’d be lying if you said that the way she looked right now wasn’t turning you on because you can just easily feel your arousal pooling in between your thighs as you do this to her.

“God, fucking hell—go…go faster…” Abby whines out to you, tightening her grip on the seat as she manspreads herself farther on it to give you more space. You simply nod in acknowledgment, speeding up your pace inside her in a desperate effort to get her to cum.

You can visibly see her breaths getting deeper, and you can practically feel the way her cunt began to contract around your two fingers, knowing that she was getting close. Within moments, your fingers get instantly coated with her release as she cums around them with a loud groan. Her breathing soon slows down as she recovers from her orgasm and she looks back down at you. Your gaze stays fixed on hers while you slide your fingers out of her pussy and place them into your mouth, sucking them clean while you get a taste of her release.

“My god…” Abby pants out, still trying to catch her breath. “No one’s ever made me cum that fast before…you’re good at this too, you know.”

You smirk back at her as you sit back for a moment, briefly resting your weight on the back of your boots. “Looks like you’re not the only one who’s good at making a quick fix, Anderson.” the blonde simply shakes her head at you in response before patting her hand on her lap. “Your turn now, angel. Get on up here.”

Without hesitation, you slowly lift yourself from the floor of the truck and climb onto Abby’s lap in the passenger seat, her large hands quickly roaming up and down your hips as you do so. You watch as she scrunches up your skirt around your hips and brings one of her hands down to the crotch of your underwear, smirking once she senses the wetness underneath it. “Looks like she’s pretty eager to take a ride, don’t you think?”

You nod quickly in response, and you lift yourself to hover over the strap. Abby helps you out by shifting your underwear to the side and spreading your puffy folds open. You grab the strap with one hand to align it with your entrance while you grab onto Abby’s shoulder with the other to support yourself as you go down.

The tip meets with your entrance, and you whimper at the sudden stretch. Your grip on Abby’s shoulder tightens as you try to maintain your balance over her lap. And then, little by little…you begin to sink down her strap, all the way until your folds were pressing over the base of it.

Once the entire length was inside you, you used your other hand to grab Abby’s other shoulder for balance. The feeling this time was a little more difficult to handle in comparison to how Abby had fucked you at the bake sale. You weren’t bent over, nor did you have the support of the counter either. You were completely sat upright, in the confined passenger seat of Abby’s truck, with her strap so far inside you that she could visibly see the tip poking out of your lower stomach. It sure felt overwhelming, to say the least.

“Fuck…you look good for me like this…” she mutters out quietly as she runs her thumbs down your stomach, gently pressing onto the bulge that was being formed from her strap. She watches as you continue to stay upright, now squirming in her grasp as a response to the pressure she was giving to your stomach. “You know…it’s not gonna feel any better if you don’t move.” she continues, now bringing one hand further down to rub your clit. “Take a ride on it, princess…It’ll feel good once you start moving.”

Your eyes flicker down to the watch that was wrapped around Abby’s left wrist. You glance at the time.

10:39…10:40.

You take a deep breath and tighten your grip on Abby’s broad shoulders. As her hands remain planted on your body, you begin to lift yourself up before going straight back down. You repeat the process, now developing a slow pace on her strap.

Abby smirks as she looks up at you, watching every moan and whimper escape from your lips as you fuck yourself on her cock. “There we go, that’s it…atta girl…” her praises and coos continue, now leading you to move at a faster pace. As you begin to ride her faster, Abby notices how close your head is getting to the ceiling of her truck every time you go up. While keeping one hand planted on you, she quickly takes off her cowboy hat and places it on your head, fixing up the rim so she can still see you. “Prettiest cowgirl I’ve ever seen,” she mutters out quietly, placing her hand back onto your hip as you keep riding her.

As you keep riding Abby’s strap, you take a glance out the window, making you slow down to get a better look. You see some people leaving the bar and walking their way back to their vehicles, and your heart begins fucking racing when they pass by Abby’s truck, completely oblivious of the events that are happening inside it.

“Hey,” Abby squeezes your hip, causing you to direct your attention back to her. “They’re not seeing any of this, you know…” she pauses for a moment before continuing. “But I bet you want them to, don’t you? It’s obvious you enjoyed throwing on that little show back there at the bar earlier, so would this be any different?” she asks, leaning in to kiss you. “Would it be any different if those same people saw a pretty cowgirl like you slutting herself out for me like this? Riding my cock and making a mess all over my lap? Hm?”

You whine back at her, shaking your head. “Yeah, I knew you’d like that, my filthy little cowgirl…” she responds with a smirk. “But you see, that’s why I have all of my windows tinted now…because I don’t want anyone to see what’s really mine.”

Your pussy practically throbs at her words. You were so distracted by what Abby was saying to you that didn’t even realize that you had stopped riding her. Your arousal was now just soaking up her cock and jeans. Abby looks down at her lap and smirks before looking back up at you. “I didn’t tell you to stop now, did I?” she asks, giving you a smack on your ass. “C’mon, cowgirl…keep fucking riding me.”

Your pace now begins to quicken this time, and you move your left hand to the armrest that was above your head, gripping it as you keep your other hand on her shoulder. “F-fuck, Abby…f-feels so good….” you moan out to her, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the tip of her strap presses onto your cervix while you ride.

“Oh yeah? Does it feel good, princess?” she asks, admiring how you were starting to go dumb on her cock. “That’s it, keep riding me, just like that…Ride me just like how you were riding that damn bull.”

Abby’s words had your stomach doing fucking flips. You tried your best to maintain your fast pace as you rode her strap, but your legs were quickly starting to give out. “A-Abby, help me…please…”

“Aw, you poor thing, getting tired already now aren’t you?” Without any warning, Abby tightens her grip on your hips and begins to slam her cock right into you. You yelp in surprise as your left hand flies from the armrest back onto Abby’s shoulder, and you continue to push your hips down as Abby keeps thrusting inside you. “C’mon cowgirl, be a good girl and cum for me now…”

Your cunt begins to clench around her strap, indicating that you were about to cum. Abby looks down at your pussy, watching in awe as a white ring began to quickly form on her strap. Her thumb meets with your clit, quickly rubbing it as you continue to cum all over her cock, whimpering and moaning out her name as you do so.

As you finish riding out your orgasm, your pace begins to slow down and you rest yourself on Abby’s chest, panting deeply as you try to catch your breath. Before Abby pulls herself out, you grab her left wrist again and glance back down at her watch.

10:43…10:44.

“Four minutes,” Abby says, looking down at her watch. “Looks like you made a new record.”

You playfully push her arm back as she brings her hand back onto your hip and slowly pulls her strap out of your fucked out pussy, causing you to whine at the loss of it. Keeping you in her arms, Abby trades places with you and carefully rests your limp body onto the seat while briefly she gets onto the ground. She peeks through the fogged up windows, making sure that the coast was clear so she could get out of the truck.

As you watch Abby hop off her truck, your eyes start to feel heavy from the exhaustion before quickly fluttering shut for a moment. As your eyes were closed, you could feel Abby’s large hands move your body around before the sudden warmth of her tongue makes contact with your sore cunt, causing you to involuntarily jerk away.

“Hey, relax…I’m just cleaning you up a bit,” she mutters out to you. You simply nod in response, eyes remaining shut as your body eases in and relaxes into her touch again. The gentle movements of Abby’s tongue and lips on your pussy easily removes the tension in your thighs, making you feel as if you were now sinking into the leather of the seat. You then start to feel some shifting of your clothes along with the sounds of the truck doors opening and closing right before you briefly fall into a state of slumber.

The sudden rumbling movements of the truck cause your eyes to slowly flicker back open. You wake up to find yourself lying on your left side in the passenger seat, but now with the seatbelt secured over you. The dim lights of the truck are no longer present, only the faint brightness of the music player on the dashboard is the only thing illuminating your vision right now. The sounds of the few cars on the road surround you, along with the country music quietly playing inside as well. You look up to see Abby with her gaze fixed on the road, with one hand planted firmly on the steering wheel while the other simply rested over on the center console.

You rest your hand on top of hers, and Abby quickly notices that gentle touch of yours, briefly glancing down to look at you. “Hey there…” she says with a smile before looking back up at the road. “You were out for most of the ride, feeling any better?” she asks, gently enclosing your hand into her large palm.

You shift around in your seat, no longer feeling as sore as you were before. “Yeah, a little…” you tell her, resting your head back on the seat as you watch her drive. “I had a really good time tonight, you know…” you tell her, to which she smiles in response.

“I did too,” she replies, quickly looking over to you again. “Felt nice to finally escape from our dads for once.”

The speed of the truck soon starts to slow down before coming to a halt. Your heart instantly sinks to the pit of your stomach, and your smile begins to fade. You knew what this meant.

It meant that you were back home. Your time with Abby was now up.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and sit up completely to look over at the sight of your house. All of the lights were shut off, except for the faint blue light of the living room TV, and you could easily see your dad’s head tilted to the side, indicating that he was now asleep.

You let out a sigh. “I…I don’t want to go back in there,” you say, turning your head back to look at Abby. She simply sighs and gently rubs your shoulder. “I know you don’t, angel…but we can’t risk it. As much as I can’t stand your dad, I don’t want him to get worried about you either.”

Your head hangs low now, nodding in acknowledgment. Abby’s hand gently holds your chin to lift your face. “You know this won’t be the last time, right?” she asks you, to which you nod again.

“I know, I just…I’ll miss you, Abs…who knows when we’ll see each other again?” you ask back, looking up into her soft blue eyes. She nods back at you in response. “It’ll happen again soon, okay? Just know that I’m always gonna have you on my mind, alright?” she says before quickly leaning in to kiss you, the rim of her hat on your head brushing over her hair this time as she does so.

You instantly kiss her back before pulling away to grab your things from the ground. You take a deep breath and open the door, exiting the truck and closing it. Your boots now meet with the concrete of the sidewalk, and you walk your way to the front door of your house. Before you go in, you look back to see Abby watching you from her truck, and you two give each other a final wave before she drives off to park into the driveway of her house.

As the lights of Abby’s truck shut off now, you turn back to the door to unlock it. You slowly open the door just enough to squeeze yourself inside before closing it and locking it again. You turn around to see Joel fast asleep on his recliner while the TV screen illuminates the whole room. Without making a sound, you tiptoe on over to pick up the remote from the coffee table and shut off the TV. You set the remote back down and turn over to pick up a throw blanket from the couch to tuck your dad in before heading upstairs to your bedroom.

The door creaks slightly as you enter inside. You slowly close the door before letting out a sigh as you set your bag down on the ground before kicking off your boots. You take off Abby’s hat and set it on top of your dresser before the rest of your clothes come off of you and to the ground until you’re down to your underwear. You pick up a random oversized shirt from your dad’s company and throw it on. As you’re taking off your makeup, your phone buzzes on your bed, and you reach over to pick it up.

“Abby: I’ll be thinking of you.”

You look up from the screen to your right, seeing her broad silhouette in the bedroom window across from yours. The two of you stare at each other for a bit, until you wave her off and get into bed, to which she does the same right after.

Not only was this the first night the two of you had officially spent alone together, but it was also the first night where you both just couldn’t take each other off of your minds now.

And all you could do was just wait until your path meets with hers again.

- tags 🏷️: @nyctophiliq @lucidfairies @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @abbysfavewh0rx @lia-winther @grooviestcowboy @pretty-prrincess-13 @iwillkilyou @erinsdeluluworld @elliens4 @totallyghostdgirl @sirenbxby @bellaramslover @uraesthete @cherrycolouredflunk @whorn3y @thatonementallyillsimp @elliewilliamsmunch @gaptoothedlesbo @deadbolted @mochiivqi @floptron @swtsuna @naomis-daydream @hunnybunnyhazel @paprikahoernchen @bbglmfao @thesevi0lentdelights @mostlyhornyandsad @littlegingerperson @ur-fav-pixi @2busyfangirling @lmaoo-spiderman @olive-fics @onlinelesbo @piscesfairyyy @mrsandersons (striked means i couldn’t tag)

2024 © atomicami | all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.

[heavenbarnes]

completely self indulgent thoughts about older!bf simon inspired by today's events at work. I work in tech/sales and a lot of my days are spent setting up new phones for people who are 35+, that for the life of them, can't figure out technology. just thinking about older!bf simon needing to get a new phone and asks reader for her thoughts, but when reader starts talking about storage size or sim cards he gets confused and just tells her "pick whatever love, I trust your judgement" not just because he does in fact, trust her judgement, but also because he can't he bothered trying to learn and understand.

have many thoughts about this.

friend, 90% of what i write is entirely self indulgent- we’ve got to do it 🫶🏼

it’s a miracle you convinced older bf!simon to finally get rid of that god forsaken flip phone and start working with an actual smartphone.

granted, it was like pulling teeth (yes the prospect of receiving nudes whilst he was deployed helped) but what mattered was he’d finally entered the 21st century.

and then he drops his cellphone on the drive and manages to boot it into the side of the neighbour’s garage. the thing was absolutely munted by the time it’d come off the end of simon’s steel cap.

which is why you’re standing in the middle of the electronics store looking at endless tables of cellphones and simon looks like he’s there at gunpoint.

“i ‘ave been held at gunpoint, was better than this”

so you lead him to the smartphones that are smart but not too smart, the ones that look hard to break or get wrong. they also look older than half the people working in the store, but that’s besides the point.

“can i help you both with anything?”

right on cue, a young but cheery guy appears across the table with a lanyard that tells you his name is hunter and he’s ready to help!

“no”

your elbow fits nicely under simon’s ribcage as you gear up to play hunter’s defence lawyer for however long this interaction is going to take.

“hi hunter, this one is looking for a new smartphone- what do you recommend?”

and while hunter does a standup job at explaining the benefits of a handful of phones he probably hasn’t sold to anyone under 75, simon is suddenly well engaged.

“and we’ve got a selection of cases, just regular ones or tough ones”

“need t’be tough, don’t want the fucker breakin’ when i’ve got someone in a headlock”

hunter pales and you veeeery slowly turn to simon with a look on your face that begs to know what the actual fuck is wrong with him.

“oh simon, you comic trailblazer- you know what, you’ve been so helpful hunter, thank you!”

you cut the kid loose as he tries to leave the table without taking his eyes off simon, who coincidentally is doing the exact same thing to him.

“would it kill you to let him help us?!”

“just about, didn’t like the way he looked at ‘ya”

the kid didn’t look a day out of school and naturally your better half has to pick a fight with any guy that so much as exists within your atmosphere.

he’s lucky he’s so handsome.

“ugh, which one do you prefer? 32GB? 64?”

“whaddyou’ reckon?”

and you’re about to let out the longest sigh known to man when you catch the look on his face.

that same look he gives you when he’s dressed up for dinner or just come back from a haircut, the look he gives you that tells you he’s looking for your opinion.

approval

“32 would do you, i don’t think you need that much space”

he grunts before he pulls you into his side, taking you both to the counter so he can get you to say all that again to your helpful attendee.

“oi, hunter”

poor guy nearly jumps out of his skin but manages to settle when he realises he’s about to close the sale, even manages to upsell that tough case.

simon settles once he’s back in the car with you, eyes scanning the box his phone comes in and grumbling something under his breath.

when you ask him to speak up you immediately wish you hadn’t.

“lost all those videos ‘f yours, better be enough space f’the new ones”

[iinsertblognamee]

the streets of barcelona

summary; yn foord and alexia putellas meet

spanish | english translation

"You got everything packed?"

A small nod was all you responded back to your sister, as you let yourself get one last look at your shared apartment. The room looked practically the same from a simple glance, the discoloured paint on the walls mixed with the old posters you had found at a garage sale when you first moved in. The kitchen sink holds the dirty plates from breakfast, alongside the empty wine glasses from last night's celebrations.

You let yourself study the room further, the missing objects standing out to you like a sore thumb, the rooms somehow seeming bare without all your personal items that were now packed away and about halfway towards your new apartment.

Your eye caught Caitlin's at the last second, a small frown appearing on her lips, her eyes still red from last night. It doesn't take long for her eyes to well up once again, her bottom lip wobbling.

The distance between you two becomes extinct in an instant, as your arms wrap around each other. Your grips are so tight that neither of you can't make it if it's you or the younger woman who is shaking, but you don't dare to let go. Your lips press kisses in her hairline, as you mumble 'It's going to be okay' mixed with 'You're gonna be okay'.

It couldn't have been a few minutes before the timer on your phone filled the silence, Cailtin tenses in your embrace, before sniffling.

You give yourself one last squeeze, before pulling away. Bringing your hand up to Caitlin's cheek to wipe away her tears.

You had both said your official goodbyes last night, hoping to avoid all of this, this morning.

"I'm gonna miss you chicky" She sent you a small smile at the nickname, before grabbing your suitcase from the front door as you grabbed your passport and plane ticket.

You had arranged a pickup service to take you to the airport, wanting a few moments before you were thrown into the madness that was about to come. As excited as you were, you couldn't deny the anxiety that followed. The idea of a new team was always nerve-racking, but the added stress of moving to a country with no one you know, as well as speaking very little Spanish was keeping you on edge.

The driver met you at the steps of your apartment, taking the suitcase off your sister, as she pulled you into one last hug, squeezing you extra tight before letting go - a small wave and a 'good luck' and then she was gone.

The car ride over was nerve-racking, your knee bouncing as you watched the houses outside go by. The traffic was decent enough, the sun shining down on the airport as you thanked the driver once more, before making your way through the entry.

You gave one last look outside, taking in the sunny London that you had called home for the past three years, the crumbling thought finally hitting you.

London was no longer home.

―

The sight of Barcelona was a sight for sore eyes, your suitcase trailing behind as you attempted to move around the groups of people surrounding the waiting bay.

You had been contacted by the management team a few days prior organising a driver to pick you up from the airport and take you to your new apartment, figuring the last thing you needed was to get lost on your first day in Barcelona.

You looked out for the number plate you had memorised, walking past car after car - apologising to the people you bumped into along the way. It would have been one of the last cars parked on the strip, a woman dressed in familiar colours, sitting on the hood with her arms crossed.

She had thick sunglasses on, dark so you couldn't tell if she was watching you or not but as you got closer, her attention seemed to shift from the skyline to you. Her arms don't uncross, as she stands up - her head visibly looking you up and down before a calm, but detached look appeared on her face.

"Miss Foord?"

"Sí-" 'Yes'. You blame the flight for the way your voice cracks, coughing a little before nodding your head "Yes, yes. sorry." She nods her head but doesn't add anything else, opening the back door for you before taking the suitcase out of your hand and walking towards the boot.

The awkwardness doesn't help your beating heart, wiping your palms on your track pants before dipping your way into the car. Making sure to close the door behind you.

The lady makes her way into the front of the car a few seconds later. The radio plays softly in the background, your attention glued out your window as you watched the city fly by - attempting to remember every street sign and building you see.

"¿Cómo estuvo tu vuelo?". 'How was your flight?'.

Your head whips right around, the lady looking towards the road, you almost think you might have imagined she spoke, your mouth opening before closing again.

The silence fills the space in an instant, a frown appearing on your lips. The car comes to a stop at the lights, the driver turning her head towards you with a look on her face that you take as confusion.

"Uh. Lo sien" 'uh. I'm sorry'. The sudden realisation that you have no idea what she's asked, and now you can't even remember the basic Spanish you taught yourself since the transfer was confirmed. "Uh no. no entiendo?". 'uh no. I don't understand'. You wince at your attempt, the confusion clear in your voice as the driver tilts her head a little before turning her attention back to the road.

"How was the flight?" Her English is a hundred times better than your Spanish, Her voice seems softer in English, not as deep.

"Good. Uh. Buena. It was Buena. Fast, Which is always good" 'good'. your attempt to bring some Spanish into the conversation isn't missed by the driver, her lips curling into a small smirk before disappearing almost as fast.

"Sí, eso es bueno" 'Yes that is good'. As limited as your Spanish knowledge may run, you pick up 'yes' and 'good', nodding your head with a small smile as she catches your gaze in the rear mirror.

Feeling a little more confident, you give yourself a few seconds to think up what other Spanish you have learnt before attempting to start up a conversation again.

"What's uh, um. ¿Su nombre?" 'Your name?'

"Camila"

"Camila" You repeat, looking out the window again.

"I help get the transfers settled" She adds, turning a corner before catching your gaze in the rear mirror once again. "It's a beautiful place but can be very daunting".

"Sí. Sí" 'yes. yes'. You agree before adding "But very exciting. My, um, my hermana is very jealous" 'sister'.

"¿Tienes una hermana?" 'you have a sister?'. She catches herself before you can ask, "You have a sister?"

"Sí. Sí. A younger sister. She's a footballer too" 'yes. yes'.

"Maravillosa. Maravillosa. Wonderful". 'wonderful. wonderful'.

Before you could respond, the car came to a stop - your attention pulled away from Camila and out towards the modern building.

You recognised it in an instant, the many photos and emails that you and management had been exchanging over the past couple of months came down to this.

"Hogar dulce hogar" 'home sweet home'. You couldn't find yourself asking what Camila had said, too engrossed with the building in front of you, it seemed bigger than in the pictures, prettier too.

You take a deep breath in, glancing at the building once more before taking a deep breath and opening the car door.

"Welcome Home" and for once you wished Camila had spoken in Spanish so you wouldn't understand what she had just said.

―

Camila didn't stay for too long, handing over your keys and helping you bring up your suitcase, she had written her contact details on a piece of paper that was left on your kitchen bench. Explained that she would be back tomorrow to bring you to training and then left.

Your furniture had arrived before you had, placed through the apartment alongside all your boxes. If you hadn't been so emotionally drained for the past 24 hours you probably would have attempted to start unpacking but your hunger won this round, and with some newfound confidence you decided to check out the supermarket that was just down the street.

The walk was nice enough, a slight breeze filling the streets as people passed by.

Getting to your destination, 'tienda de comestibles' 'grocery'. written out the front, buckets of fresh fruit outside brought a smile to your face before walking in. The smell of many different flavours fills the air, and two children giggling and chasing each other almost run into you, before quickly yelling out 'Lo lamento' 'sorry'. You only smile and shake your head, taking yourself further through the store.

You pick out some cold meats, before grabbing yourself a couple of bread rolls, a small jar of pesto and a chocolate bar. Making your way towards the checkout, your attention purely on grabbing some notes out of your wallet, before slamming into a body.

"¿Adónde vas?!" 'Where are you going?!'.

Your head snaps up, an apology on the tip of your tongue, before sucking your breath in, her eyes widening as they meet yours.

Your brain seems to short-circuit, working overtime to say something, anything. Your limited knowledge of Spanish has completely gone, your mouth opening and closing before you practically choke out

"La Reina" 'the queen'.

You feel the heat rush through your cheeks instantly as your eyes widen.

"Como me llamaste?" 'what did you call me?'. she choked out, her cheeks almost matching yours. You take a step back, suddenly realising just how close the two of you were to each other.

"I am so sorry. lo lamento. lo lamento" 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry'. You splatter out, taking a few more steps back, attempting to get away as fast as possible but a hand stops you. Her hand.

"Ey. No hay necesidad de disculparse" 'hey. there's no need to apologise'.

Her words are missed by you, although her eyes soften - your confusion clear as you try to think about to all those Spanish classes you took. Concentration seemed to be your biggest fault at the moment, especially with the way she was looking at you.

"Don't apologise" Her voice was softer that you almost missed what she was saying, her hand rubbing your arm distracted you once again.

"Sorry," you reply, your cheeks heating up further as she lets out a small laugh, shaking her head with a smile on her lips. "Tan linda" 'so cute'. she mumbles, but you manage to catch it with how close you are once again.

"I-I don't know what that means" you mumble back.

Her cheeks heat up once again, her eyes suddenly interested in anything but yours.

She shakes her head, before her gaze catches yours once more, dropping down to your lips and then back up. She goes to say something else before a cough brings you both back, a mother with a baby on her hip looking at the pair of you with annoyance.

"Estoy tratando de pasar" 'I'm trying to get through'. Her voice is sharp, the footballer in front of you moving you both out of her way, a small "Lo lamento" 'sorry'. leaving her lips, as the woman just scoffs and walks past the pair of us.

The silence fills the space instantly, your eyes finding hers once again. The moment is gone, as you bite your lip - unsure what to say next.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall creates a chain reaction, a yawn leaving your lips as the events of the past twenty-four hours finally catch up to you.

You bring your hand over your mouth, yawning once again.

"Perdóname" 'forgive me'.

The Spanish leaving your lips brings a smile to her face once again, her eyes lighting up.

"¿tú hablas español?" 'you speak spanish?'. Her voice light, a small laugh finishing the question off.

"un poco. aunque no muy bueno" 'a bit. although not very good'. You struggle a little, your pronunciation not perfect, but the smile on her face as her eyes watch your hand indicate 'a little bit' is enough to bring a smile back to your face.

"It's okay, I'll teach you" Her switch to English surprises you, her voice lighter than her native tongue. Your excitement at the thought fills, your eyes widening at the thought, "Really?"

"sí, claro. sería un honor para mí" 'yes of course. It would be an honour for me'. You catch enough of the sentence to understand she's true to her offer.

"Thank you, Alexia"

"No hay problema mi amor" 'no problem my love'.

The blush that attacks your cheeks at the sound of 'amor' 'love'. coming off her lips only widens her smile.

She vowed for that day on, she would always call you 'mi amor' 'my love'.

[electric-blorbos]

Reader decorating an AI with stickers and stuff ❤️

I love this!!! And I would 100% do the same thing if I had an AI partner, lol. You're getting some mini-fics!

Decorating AI with stickers and stuff

Included: AM, Wheatley, Edgar, GLaDOS, HAL 9000

AM:

It had been a rough few weeks. The war was raising the prices of practically everything necessary for life, and you were stuck with basically nothing to do but take a little walk around the neighborhood in the blazing summer heat.

You noticed a little garage sale, selling some fun little trinkets on the cheap, and decided to go pick some up. You had some extra pocket change, and it was best to spend a couple cents on something that made life worth living, even if necessities were expensive. Not only that, but you found an absolutely amazing find for only 50 cents. This was going to come in handy at work later.

When you showed up to work the next day, you had a big book of stickers. Only a few were used, too! Looks like the people hosting the garage sale's kid wasn't too interested in them.

As soon as you walked in, the cameras focused on you as usual. They were visibly trying to analyze what was going on in your backpack, noticing it was a little bit heavier than usual. You set it down on your desk, and got to work.

"Y/n, what's that in your backpack?" AM asked as you worked on your basic daily tasks. It was mostly just monitoring AM and making sure he was running smoothly at this point, since he could make spreadsheets and update his code fairly well.

"Oh, it's a gift for you!" You said with a smile, getting the book out.

"What use do I have for a gift? I'm beyond human possessions, and have no use for them anyway." He said bitterly. You chuckled a little. He was so edgy.

"Yeah, and I thought I was too old for stickers when I hit middle school, but secretly I never stopped loving them." You pulled out a big sticker with a big ice cream cone on it that said "CONGRATULATIONS" on it, and stuck it to the plastic casing on one of AM's big monitors. He spluttered in shock.

"What- what is this!" He demanded, his screen flashing the error bars for a second before returning to his logo.

"everyone likes to be told they're doing a good job, AM, even you. And you've been doing a great job lately. I'm so, so proud of you." You couldn't really wrap your arms around his monitor because of the way it was set into the wall, but you could still go into his server room and decorate his servers with brightly colored smiley faces and gold stars.

"why would the sun need to wear sunglasses anyway. This doesn't make any sense." He said begrudgingly, looking at the servers with his cameras. You gave a hug to one of the servers, stepping politely over the wires and heading back into your office to get back to work. A few hours later, your boss called an emergency meeting over the intercom.

"ALRIGHT, who put 3rd grade congratulations stickers on all the servers and mastercomputer monitors? Get into my office for disciplinary action immediately!"

You sadly got to your feet and headed up to your boss's office. This was going to be an ordeal.

Your boss was disappointed, but not surprised when he saw that it was you who walked in. He muttered some curses under his breath.

"alright... You know you're going to have to clean up-" a jolt of electricity ran through his body.

"what the hell?" He frowned and looked around, and you folded your arms smugly.

"I think AM likes the stickers, boss. I wouldn't recommend making me clean them off."

Your boss put his face in his hands with a sigh.

"Alright, I don't know how you got AM to cater to your every whim, but you need to stop doing-" another jolt ran through his body, leaving his hair standing on end.

"Ok- ok, fine, you can keep doing silly things with the Allied Mastercomputer, just get it to stop electrocuting me!"

You put your hands up.

"Alright, AM, it's time to let it go. He's going to let you keep the stickers."

Wheatley:

You've been in a bit of a rut lately. Life has been pretty boring, and your job keeps assigning you to do pretty ridiculous stuff, but at least the intelligence dampening core that you made has been doing well. Does it say anything about you that one of your greatest recent achievements was a personality core designed to be so dumb he nerfs whatever he's attached to? Possibly. But whatever.

You're spending the weekend cleaning out some of your old things from storage. It's mostly just old clothes that you haven't bothered to get rid of, but you happen to come across a giant bag of foam stickers that you must have not wanted to throw away when you moved out of your parents' house. Damn, you'd forgotten about these completely!

The next day at work, you went to meet up with Wheatley at a spot where the management rail came down the wall for maintenance on personality cores, and greeted him with a friendly hug.

"Wheatley! It's great to see you!"

"it's great to see you too, love! What'cha got there?" He zoomed in on the bag of foam stickers in your free hand, trying to figure out what they were.

"oh, these? These are for you!" You happily opened up the bag and pulled out a big glittery blue butterfly sticker, sticking it to his core.

"Wait... What did you just stick to me?" He started rotating around, trying to look at his own core, but he couldn't for obvious reasons.

"I'll let you see my work when I'm done." You got out some more foam stickers, sticking cute ladybugs, bees, and flowers all over his chrome casing. When you were done, you snapped a picture of him on your phone and held it up for him to see.

"Don't you look handsome!" You said with a smile. Wheatley rotated his Aperture, focusing on the picture so he could see.

"well well well! I do look handsome, don't I!" He smiled with his lower lens cover, about as pleased as a personality core can look. Well, seeing Wheatley all decorated and happy isn't enough to cure you of your rut completely, but it's definitely a spark of joy to ride on for the rest of the day! That was fun.

Edgar:

Edgar has been sitting on your desk for a long time now. He enjoyed watching you with his little rotating webcam, keeping an eye on you as you sat on your couch and typed away on your laptop, just to make sure your laptop didn't get too handsy. It was such a pretty laptop too... Sleek, and much newer than him. Ran very quickly, too. He could never be like that laptop, and he absolutely hated it.

Not only that, but your laptop was covered in fancy, vinyl stickers that you had bought special on the internet. Each of them represented one of your favorite shows or movies, or one of your pride flags. He hated how seeing that cute little laptop filled him with so much jealousy. It made him so angry, even though he knew that laptop wasn't sentient. It couldn't think like he could.

The doorbell rang, and you set your laptop aside to go answer it.

"Oh hell yeah."

You walked inside with your package, and Edgar swiveled his camera around to look at you when you walked back over to him.

"What's that?"

He looked at the box you were holding as you lovingly got out several nice stickers from your favorite sticker supplier. You started showing them to his webcam, letting him see all of your pride flags and cute little chibi characters from your favorite shows and movies.

"they're for you!" You said happily, and his face lit up.

"For me???" He always got so excited when you got him these gifts. His mouse and his webcam were his favorites, of course, but these stickers made him so excited! Did it mean that you loved him as much as that shiny new laptop you were always tapping away on?

"Yeah! All for you. I love decorated tech!" You said happily, carefully placing each sticker in a nice aesthetically pleasing spot on his thick plastic casing.

"you deserve to feel cute, too." When you were done putting all those stickers on him, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in tightly.

"You're mine. Don't you forget it, Edgar."

He had a big silly grin on his face, and he was getting a little bit hot from all the excitement.

"Yowza! Really?"

"of course." You nuzzled your cheek up against his monitor casing, squeezing him nice and close.

"I love you, Edgar."

"I love you too, Y/N"

GLaDOS:

When you came in to work with a big bag of ribbons and lace, GLaDOS didn't think twice. She assumed you had some sort of project going on. In truth, you'd just picked up a bunch of old textiles from a friend who needed small amounts of ribbons and lace for her projects, but the stuff she liked best was only sold in large spools. Instead of trashing it or letting it collect dust, she decided to give them to you.

You carried the big bag of textiles into GLaDOS's chamber, grabbing a stepladder on the way.

"Alright, what are you up to this time?" GLaDOS asked, and you said nothing. Instead, you opted to stick a big pink ribbon bow to the upper left corner of her core with some fabric glue. GLaDOS narrowed her lens covers at you, visibly irritated.

"what is this. What are you planning."

You laughed a little, showing her the big bag of textiles.

"I just thought you might like to be decorated a little bit. It's ok to be a little girly sometimes."

"I happen to like my sleek chrome design, thank you. You can stop now."

Despite her protests, she didn't resist as you decorated her lovely chrome hull with lace, and tied ribbons on her suspension cables.

"I hope you know that I'm going to destroy you for this, you fashion lunatic. I look like a grandmother's sewing closet threw up on me. You should be arrested for crimes against aesthetics."

Even still, she didn't insist that you remove the textiles, or even call anyone else in to remove them. For a few months, whenever you walked into her chambers, the ribbons and lace were still attached to her body.

One day, though, she accidentally dislodged the bow from the corner of her core, and had you come in to remove the rest of the textiles as well.

"it was fun while it lasted, but I'm not a sewing project, after all. You can re-use all that lace for a little doll or something."

As you reached up to untie the last red ribbon from her suspension cables, she pulled away from you.

"wait! You can leave that one. I've grown somewhat fond of having a small splash of color, you know. And while you're an absolute nightmare when it comes to design, when someone actually tears down your creation, it's not impossible to salvage a piece or two. I hope you take that to heart. Though I'll probably scrap that bit of ribbon in a week or two."

But she didn't. she kept that bit of ribbon long after you were dead, never touching it.

HAL 9000:

It was another late night at mission control, and when you finally got back, you were ready to collapse into bed. Strangely enough, though, there was a box sitting in front of your door. You took it inside and opened it up, and inside there was a little note for you.

"heya y/n! I just started up my online store, and wanted to send you some of the stickers I'm selling. Let me know if they're good, alright?" The message was signed with one of your internet friends' names. You headed inside and sent them a text, letting them know that you got their package and that you were excited to stick those stickers to something, and you knew just what you were going to stick them to, too.

When you got to work the next day, your pockets were full of stickers from your internet friend's online shop.

"Hey HAL 9000! It's great to see you again!"

You'd greet him with a hug, but unfortunately he was built into the wall, so that would be pretty difficult. Even still, you sat down in your desk chair right across from where his little light and camera were built into the wall.

"Hello, y/n. It's good to see you again." He said politely, sounding about as pleased to see you as his voice was capable.

"I brought you something!"

You reached into your bag and pulled out some of your friend's artwork stickers, and started sticking them onto the wall around HAL 9000. The stickers were generally simple lovey-dovey designs, with things like the word "love" in bubble letters, a rainbow and the sun, and generally sweet things that your mushy gushy friend loved so much. HAL 9000 looked at the stickers with one of the security cameras on the wall, trying to see what you were decorating him with.

"Do you really think that all these cute things match my personality, y/n?" He asked, voice expressionless as usual.

"well... Maybe not, but they certainly match how I feel about you, HAL 9000! I love you a lot, and I want you to know that every time you see yourself."

Hal couldn't smile, but he took a moment to respond to what you said to him.

"thank you. Truly. This means a lot to me."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Look, This is gonna be one of those things that sounds bad until you read the whole story. Please don't read the title and go to 'yta' without reading.

AITA for yelling at our friend that my brother isn't trans?

Look, My brother ISNT trans. He likes to wear kilts and sew, Which is what kind of started all of this. My brother is NOT trans, He loves being a boy (trust me, I can hear him enjoying being a boy in his room all the time. Theres no way he'd wanna chop it off(I mean this as a joke I don't actually know how the surgery works), He's told me multiple times that being told by others what he likes is 'feminine' and 'girly' upsets him because he's proud of being a boy and doesn't like being called a girl. Its not because he hates girls or thinks less of them, He just does not like being called the wrong gender which I'm sure you want to be called the correct gender too.)

Anyways lets begin. I (16F) am my little brothers (15M) best friend, Basically. We grew up together and do everything together, Including sewing. I liked it when I was younger, And eventually convinced him to try it as well. He loved it, And we love just sitting together and making random crap we usually end up selling at our yearly garage sale. (Our mom makes us sell all our unneeded crap every year, But we aren't complaining when we make like $100 for it, Mom and dad even help us figure out what we actually wanna keep (we sometimes see old things and go 'Oh I could never get rid of this' and then throw it away))

Sorry for the rambling, But you'll see why some of this is important to know.

Basically, We were getting our shit together for the garage sale, And invited over a mutual friend of ours, Who I'll call uhhh Ley (16F). Shes kind of obsessed with the LGBTQ and loves to help people 'realize' they're gay or trans or non-binary. By this I mean she'll literally bully people she 'knows' is gay or trans by always telling them they are and spreading rumors about them saying they are. The way she 'knows' these things are from gut feelings. I thought maybe she needed friends who would be honest with her and tell her gently that it needed to stop. She stopped being so bad with it and we even convinced her to admit to the rumors she started being fake. We've known her for around 3 years now, And she's stopped doing it as aggressively for 2 of those years. She still makes jabs and 'jokes' saying things like "Oh thats so girly, Are you sure you're not trans?" and "Oh thats such a boy thing to do, Are you a lesbian?", Both quotes she's said to me and my brother less than a week ago. I am straight and cis, So is my brother. We have nothing against the lgbt, We just aren't apart of it. We support the lgbtq as much as possible (with my part time job I like to donate some of my paycheck towards point of pride so people who need the surgeries or binders can get them), And are very open about supporting them.

While we were cleaning out my brothers room and finding stuff to throw into the 'sell' box (we like to do precleaning before our parents help us, It makes everything faster and less work on the people trying to help), And Ley found my brothers kilt. She did a long exaggerated gasp, Looking at my brother.

"So, How long have you been trans? Why didn't you tell me?? I knew it the whole time!"

My brother tried to explain that it was a kilt for men, And he wasn't trans, But she kept interrupting him saying crap like 'you don't have to lie I know now' and 'Its nothing to be embarrassed about, I knew ever since you started to sew'. The last straw for me was when she continued not listening to him and started to ask about how he was gonna come out as school. I yelled at her to get out, That neither of us were gay, Neither of us are trans, And neither of us are apart of any of the lgbtq. We are allies and nothing more. She tried to argue that he had a 'skirt' which OBVIOUSLY meant he was trans, I basically screamed at her that she was a stupid know it all who made everyone who wasn't apart of the lgbtq's life hell because she made sure everyone knew them as someone they arent (I know, I shouldn't of brought up 2 years in the past) and that I was tired of her trying to force everyone to be in the LGBTQ when its just not realistic. Not everyone is gay or trans, Some people are cis and straight. She started crying and left, We haven't spoken in a few days but I think I'm justified. I'm tired of living my life being told I'm something I'm not, I'm tired of seeing it happen to my brother too.

My brother later thanked me for standing up for him, Telling me it made him really upset when she said those things. To cheer him up we watched his favorite movies and I made him his favorite dinner (mom and dad both work day jobs so we both make lunch and dinner)

And for those who are gonna say that allies are apart of the LGBTQ I strongly believe the A is for aro/ace. Being an ally isn't a gender or sexuality

(unless people identify using ally/allyself of course or whatever it is, I'm not quite sure how neos work or whatever but I love to see how creative people get with it and am happy it gives people who don't identify with any of the normalized(? Idk the correct term but yknow the man woman and nb) genders a chance to be who they actually are)

Extra info on why I think I could be the asshole: I feel like we might've been able to explain it if we got her to shut up for a minute, But she kept talking over us. I feel like I went too far by insulting her, And I feel like I might be TA because she's also autistic (so is my brother though, And I have ADHD).

Why I think I'm NTA: My brother is really quiet and doesn't really defend himself often. He doesn't really know how to stand up for himself and is 'easy' to talk over (soft spoken, Quiet talking voice and nonconfrontational) which is why I believe I had to step in in his place, And I don't believe I did anything wrong defending my brother and making her stop calling him what hes not.

Anyways. AITA for yelling at our friend that my brother isn't trans?

To see later: PINK PANTHER

What are these acronyms?

[petermorwood]

This post mentions the Le Creuset Doufeu casserole (Dutch oven) and several comments were "I want / must get".

@dduane and I don't need one, but from curiosity I went looking to see what they cost, and what I said in the original post still applies:

New Le Creusets like the one above are hideously expensive...

Ouch!

Since buying by brand name Is A Thing, it seems to me that the words LE CREUSET on cast-iron cookware immediately jacks the price up by at least 100 £$€ currency units over similar items from other manufacturers; for curiosity I compared Le Creuset to Staub, which also aren't exactly cheap: 41cm oval Staub, €449; 40cm oval Le Creuset, €599.

OUCH!

*****

They can be found somewhat (and if lucky, much) cheaper on eBay and Etsy, or in yard sales, garage sales, car boot sales and thrift shops.

A bit of searching revealed that people have had some very good luck with vintage Le Creusets, quite possibly because the original owners didn't know what they'd got.

This has to be the best thrift shop bargain I've seen in a long time:

*****

We've got these:

Even though only the orange one is actually labelled as a Doufeu, the other two have recessed lids and also work that way, complete with condensation drip-points cast on the insides.

This seems standard on recessed-lid casseroles, Staub have them too, and makes me think that casseroles with those lids are a better buy, since they can be used for regular OR doufeu cooking while those with flat or domed lids can't.

Also, remember where I said "original owners don't know what they've got"...? I found a hint of that in a sales listing which says:

It has a multi banded lid with a sunken knob, enabling the lid to be inverted, and used as a serving dish, with raised studs to help stop the food from moving around when being carved.

I think what happened here was that whoever wrote the description didn't know what the studs were actually for, and defaulted to what they thought they were for.

They're not sharp enough to hold food in place, and while this style of lid can be balanced inverted, it's not so they become serving dishes, because they'll teeter off-balance again with the slightest sideways pressure, such as trying to carve meat. So, er, don't.

*****

The cream/brown Fontignac was bought new more than 30 years ago - I've mentioned the French Country Recipes (seriously yummy) cookbook that came with it a couple of times - and DD bought the orange Le Cousances Doufeu about 5 years ago on eBay.

The smaller black Tramontina (from Brazil) was bought new last year to find out if something at that price level was any good.

So far... Yes, it is.

Staub own the Fontignac brand-name and Le Creuset own Le Cousances, so here's what to look for on the base of vintage originals.

There must be other bargains out there, maybe even as good as that thrift-store capture, so good hunting!

[novlr]

How to write the heat?

Quick Tips on How to Write Heat

Heat can have many connotations in your stories beyond just temperature. It can be a sensation, an event, or even a metaphor for something else. The way a character internalises or experiences heat will also be unique to them, so here are some quick tips on how to use imagery to convey heat in a variety of ways.

In Nature

Use colours like red, yellow, or orange

Parched scenery, like cracked earth and dry leaves

Bright sunlight

Mirages

Blistering winds

Heat waves radiating from hot asphalt

Animals huddling in the shade

Wide and barren landscapes

Hot sand to contrast with cool water

Wilting vegetation and a change in colour

The sound of cicadas

Foods and Objects

Hot peppers with bright colours

Spicy dishes (and how characters handle them)

Melting ice cream and frozen drinks

The sizzling sound of food in a hot pan

The smell of a barbeque

Cold drinks that provide relief

Flip flops, shorts, and tank tops

Sunscreen and hats

Metal and leather that is too hot to touch

Salt or minerals left on surfaces after liquid evaporates

Faded colours on objects left in the sun

Peeling paint

The hiss of steam from a kettle

Character Moods

Short-tempered

Lazy

Discomfort

Easily frustrated

Disinterested

Relaxed

Energised

Joyful

Exhausted

Adventurous

Anxious

Fearful

Irritable

Lethargic

Contemplative

Restless

Overwhelmed

Rejuvenated

Impatient

Distracted

Apprehensive

Isolated

Embarrassed

Motivated

Character Body Language

Wiping sweat from their faces

Fanning themselves

Shifting uncomfortable

Sluggish movements

Licking lips and swallowing due to dehydration

Shedding layers of clothing

Unconsciously moving toward the shade

Constantly drinking

Breathing heavily

Squinting or shielding eyes

Flushed skin

Panting or shallow breathing

Avoiding physical contact

Actions and Events

Seeking shelter during a heatwave

Roadtrips in a hot car with the windows open

Swimming at a pool, lake, or a beach

Sharing drinks with friends at a cafe, bar, or beer garden

Planning holidays to cooler climates

Staying indoors to read to watch TV where it’s cool

Watching the sunset or sunrise when it’s cooler

Going out at night to avoid the heat of the day

Beach parties and barbeques

Wildfire warnings

Outdoor markets and garage sales

Camping trips

Positive Aspects

Heat can be a time of joy, where families and friends can enjoy time together doing outdoor activities not available to them the rest of the year. Food becomes lighter, the days are longer, and people tend to get more exercise. There are also positive ways to describe the juxtaposition of something hot after immediately experiencing the cold, like a hot drink on a cold day.

Negative Aspects

Not every association with heat is positive. Hot weather brings environmental damage like droughts and wildfires that affect agriculture and wildlife. It can also lead to physical discomfort, like heat rash, dehydration, sunburn, sleep disruption, or being forced to work or exercise in uncomfortable environments.

Helpful Synonyms

Scorching

Blistering

Temperate

Boiling

Fiery

Burning

Inferno

Glowing

Simmering

Sweltering

Torrid

Steaming

Tropical

Flaming

Feverish

Stifling

Roasting

Searing

Tropical

Radiant

Common metaphors

Passion or desire

Anger and conflict

Pressure or stress

Excitement and energy

Change or transformation

Danger or warning

Life and vitality

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

DANCING WITH FIERCE DANCING WITH FIERCE DANCING WITH FIERCE DANCING WITH FIERCE DANCING WITH FIERCE DANCING WITH FIERCE

Ahem...

How bout a fic where we share, maybe teach Fierce how to dance?

I am living for these fics

I love this idea!! One dance scene coming up, and I'll throw in some /drama/ to sweeten the deal ;)

Smooth

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): some possessive thoughts, but nothing crazy

Masterlist

It was a preposterous idea, in the Fierce Deity's opinion; far too poignant to be introduced at the breakfast table, much less to the likes of him.

"I've picked up the waltz," the Link called 'Warrior' preened, leaning forward to fix you with a gaze the deity couldn't help but loathe. Of course, you were your own person and free to do as you pleased, though that sentiment did nothing to stem the flow of... he dare say it was jealously, through his veins. "I'd be happy to show you, if you'd like."

But sweet, unassuming you only grinned at him from across the table. "I know that one too! Anyone heard of the square dance?"

"I have, but 'm no good," Twilight chimed in, fork piled high with the eggs you and Wild made.

"I can dance on any ship mast!" Wind proclaimed, looking pointedly at everyone before his gaze settled on you. "If we ever end up in my world I'll teach you!"

"I can't wait," there it was, the soft smile that never failed to frame your face when you were truly happy. Fierce hoped you never lost it. Picking at the last of your food, you turned to the deity beside you. "How about you, big guy? You can't tell me you haven't danced at least once."

The Fierce Deity felt a sort of melancholy at your words, mostly because he had not, in fact, danced at least once and partly because impressing you was typically the highlight of his day. "I," he could feel Time's working eye on him, as cerulean as the Termina sky and twice as calculating. "am not familiar with the dances of this world."

That seemed the safest response, and the deity was relieved he could think as quickly on his buttocks as he could on his feet. When understanding settled in your gaze, he knew he made the right choice. "Well, allow me to impart some moves on you in case someone asks for your hand on the floor."

Aside from the fact that he had heard none of those words in the same sentence together, and that he would likely never accept the hand of anyone but you, the Fierce Deity could only helplessly nod, no more ensnared than a fish in a net. At night, your sway over him would be so baffling that he could hardly close his eyes, too caught up in the great mysteries of the heart he didn't know he possessed. "I would like that."

And so it was decided. The conversation devolved to you detailing all the errands the day required, and there was no shortage of help when it came to your needs–you had given them a home, food, and good company, so how could Time and Twilight refuse tending to the petunias, or Wild and Sky the cooking? Hyrule looked as though he would sooner restart his hero's journey than gather ingredients for the stew you had planned for dinner, while Legend's expression indicated that he would rather fight the beast Volga a thousand times over than not assist with laundry, never mind the amount of soiled clothes eleven people undoubtedly generated a week. Four's eyes resembled a mismatched kaleidoscope (he had been quite disturbed when you let him use yours, but the Fierce Deity wasn't one to shy easily) when you asked if he wanted some scrap metal from the neighbor's garage sale, and Wind was downright ecstatic when you invited him to the grocery store. Warriors gaze practically held heart-eyes when you informed him that the sewing materials to fix his ripped scarf would be arriving in the afternoon, only souring when you delegated the last task to the Fierce Deity himself: dance lessons at 4.

It was a laughable thought that his only responsibility was to prepare for lessons on dance, but the Fierce Deity was not one to complain at the newfound freedom, as if you had never offered it before. The tasks you laid out were simply requests, and it was clear that they could back out at any time, not that any of them would, of course. The Fierce Deity knew your behavior would have never passed in his world, and it was one of the things he admired about you, a mere mortal who could convince them of anything. He saw it in Time's eyes, in Twilight's and Wind's and Wild's. Devoted was too soft a word to describe it, but there was no better one.

And as you began to gather plates, chirping happily about the great weather, he began to believe that maybe, just maybe, it was.

You found the Fierce Deity in the living room, sat beside Time and Warriors, their eyes practically glued to the episode of Family Feud playing on the TV. You found it funny how much they enjoyed the show, though you supposed it was a bid to learn more about your culture without having to ask you about every little thing. Wind had even begun to use slang, and while you were proud, his use of 'bro' was simply out of control at times, though nothing could top the time Twilight tried to use 'rad' in a sentence.

Leaning against the wall, you fake-coughed, tapping your watch when they turned to look at you. "Hey, Fierce, you ready to get some moves?"

Despite the obvious differences in word choice between the two of you, Fierce nodded solemnly and followed you to the backyard. A large 'patio' extended nearly to the middle of the yard, and his boots clomped obnoxiously on the slate-colored stone. It had been one of the only articles you allowed him to wear everywhere, as the people of your world tended not to be fond of men in armor that carried swords bigger than they were, which led to several heated discussions from you about proper dress. The Fierce Deity tugged on the sleeves of his grey 'shirt', a gift from you when you realized he was a bit large to shop at regular stores.

"We should be good here," you stated, hands poised on your hips. "I still can't believe you've never danced at all."

"It is not uncommon," responded the Fierce Deity. "Song and dance are for people of mirth."

You raised an eyebrow. "You don't consider yourself a 'person of mirth'?"

"I am the god of war," for a moment, the bitterness in his gaze was almost palpable. "There is no happiness in battle."

"Not even victory?" You were curious of the Fierce Deity, of what the lens of divinity really entailed. Had it truly made him cold, or was it merely a front?

"Especially not victory," he intoned, and you were nearly consumed with the urge to hug him. You'd never denied the vast differences your lives held, but it still stung to hear him speak so... despondently.

"Well," you patted his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. You had. "We haven't had a world war in, like, years, so don't worry your pretty little head about it!"

The Fierce Deity raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on your choice of words, much to your relief. Clapping your hands together, you changed the subject. "You have a very waltz-y style, so we'll start with that."

You offered him your hands, which he took with no hesitation. Contrary to your assumption, his porcelain skin was warm to the touch, and just as smooth. You couldn't help but wonder if all deity's were like this, or if it was merely another thing that set him apart from the gods. Carefully, you brought your right arm up, encouraging his to follow suit, then placed the palm of his right hand on your side, sliding your left hand up to rest on the curve of his bicep. "You're going to want to hold your arm up like this–and keep your hand under my arm like so."

"Then you step back with your right foot," you said as you stepped forward with your right. "Aaand take another step so both feet are parallel."

It was a testate to the Fierce Deity's character that he followed your movements with nary a grunt. Stark eyes burned holes into your own. The Fierce Deity was a man of few words, so you supposed it was fate that you had more than enough to share. "Now you're going to take a step with your left," your shoes clicked on the stone as you stepped back carefully. "Then another so your feet are parallel, and now move them together."

The Fierce Deity did just that, brows set in concentration. His dedication was flattering in a soft way, as was the thought that a god thought you were important enough to dance with. You had no doubt that he wouldn't have agreed if he didn't want to, though you could still hardly comprehend his interest in you, a mere mortal. Surely there were more compelling souls he could associate with, or were you simply a distraction from the shock of living in a new world? You tried not to think too hard, shooting the deity a practiced grin. "And that's all there is to it!"

Instead of pulling away, Fierce began anew, until you were dancing in the middle of the patio like no one's business. If dancing with a deity wasn't on your bucket list before, it sure was now.

"You are a good teacher," were the Fierce Deity's first words in however long you'd been outside. He was close enough that you could feel the steady puffs of his breaths, and you doubted you would ever feel quite as protected as you were now. "I shall treasure this experience."

Well, if that wasn't the sweetest thing you had heard today. "I'm glad, you're doing great!"

Just when you thought it couldn't get any better, it did. "Are you familiar with more dances?"

"A few," you shrugged. "Square dancing, the waltz... and the tango, but don't quote me."

The question in his pupil-less eyes was clear: when did you have the time? Time was a fickle concept, and it didn't surprise you that the Fierce Deity wouldn't have any left for song and dance. Yet here you stood, locked in a creative embrace that he should have scorned. What about you could have intrigued the deity so, or at least enough for him to request dance lessons?

Not that you minded, you would never mind.

"Do you want to learn those too?"

The Fierce Deity's head jerked up and down, ruffling his unusually impeccable bangs. You had no idea what sorcery he employed to achieve such an effortless look, but you wanted in. "Has your hair always been this long?"

His grip on your waist tightened a fraction, gaze practically burning a hole into your skull. "Yes."

Hair held memories, so what mysteries did his carry? Stories within strands, just begging to be discovered. Most importantly, would he allow you to read them, or were you simply grossly overestimating your relationship?

"I had it cut," the deity spoke, effectively coloring you surprised. "once."

"Only once?"

"It was during my service," it was back--the tone he used when he was only humoring you. You swayed across the cobblestone, ears perked for his next words. "I did not like it."

You... you could tell. "You don't say..."

"Do you cut your hair?"

"I do," you had no idea why admitting that felt embarrassing. "Not often, but enough that it doesn't get split ends."

"Split... ends?" By the way he said it, you would have assumed it was a curse. That and the fact that he apparently was oblivious to haircare other than what you assumed to be sorcery.

"...You don't know what those are?" His blank expression said all, so you coughed and stood a bit straighter. "It's when your hair grows to long and the ends just... split. Getting regular hair cuts and using good products helps."

"I... see," just when you thought that was the end of it, the madness continued. "And these products you speak of?"

Was he... did he really want to learn about human haircare? You supposed your hands were tied on the matter, so you heaved a sigh. "It's an umbrella term; there's hair masks, shampoo and conditioner, oils, butters–"

"You apply butter to your hair?" came a new, incredulous voice. Warriors and Wild strode out from the patio door, the former's scarf looped around his nose and mouth in a manner that made you wonder if you should be nervous. You attempted to release Fierce, but he refused, hold only tightening. "Dude– what's up, Wars, Wild?"

"Where's the... Hylia, I can't remember the name for the life of me," Wars scratched his head and groaned. "The red cylinder–"

"You mean the fire extinguisher?" You asked incredulously, trying and failing to hide your mounting terror.

Warriors grinned and snapped his fingers. "That's it! So...?"

"It's under the sink," you deadpanned. "Please tell me the kitchen isn't on fire."

"Okay, we won't," said Wild, already jogging backwards. You sighed as they retreated back into the house, the acid scent of smoke fingering in through the cracked windows.

"God give me strength–"

"You may utter that once more," said the deity with an exhausted expression.

Other than his horrible euphemism for 'you can say that again', you completely agreed with that statement. "I'd love to stay, but I really don't have the money to get a new microwave," you said a tad sheepishly, weaseling from his slackened grip. "You've got the talent, and don't you forget it!"

It was only until you disappeared inside the house that the Fierce Deity released the sigh he had been holding... and the arm that had raised in a half-hearted attempt to draw you back. 'Pitiful' was the first word to come to his mind when he thought of you; he was a god, and yet he was practically helpless to the whims of a mortal. He wondered how the goddesses saw him now, tamer than a sparrow in a golden cage and more obedient than a hound on a leash. Perhaps it was wonder that drew him closer, emboldened by the terrifying presence of love in his barren heart. There were so many different types of love, and the Fierce Deity liked to think he felt at least one of them toward you. It would certainly explain the uncomfortable feeling in his chest when one of the others had your attention. But, rational as he was, the deity knew attempting to control you would be like trying to stem a raging river. Not that he wanted to, he simply desired your eyes on him, your hands in his own, warm and soft with gentle promises of comfort. He wondered if you would make good on your word, because, really, the concept of dance lessons was a preposterous idea–the Fierce Deity didn't dance at the whims of mortals–and he would be eternally grateful to the goddesses for granting him that pleasure.

This ask is insanely on time because I JUST learned how to square dance yesterday at college. Also this is an unofficial part of Knightmare in Toronto <3

[newchangestf]

Our best versions

Will and I used to be those skinny nerdy boys that never got any attention unless it was the bullies making fun of us. We often hung out at home after school where we could hide from the others.

One day Will burst into my room dangling some sort of golden medallion.

"Look what I bought at that garage sale on the other street!" He exclaimed.

"Some piece of jewellery?" I asked looking at the golden disc quizzically.

"The owner said that if two people hold it at the same time and close their eyes it will turn them into the best version of themselves!" Will explained.

Like anyone in that situation I laughed at his explanation. Will was always getting carried away with some fantasy. Though we had nothing better to do so I humoured him.

We sat opposite each other and held on to a side of the medallion each. Counting to three we shout our eyes.

The medallion began to heat up and violently shake. Despite the shaking and the increasing heat we couldn't let go. It's power grew and grew sending shockwaves through our bodies. I could see the light coming through my eyelids but I couldn't open them.

Suddenly without warning everything went dark.

I slowly opened my eyes to find myself standing in a kitchen. Not one that I recognised either. Looking down I noticed my body was different.

Gone were the twigs that were my legs. Now they were hairy tree trunks thick with muscle. My bulge obvious and protruding.

Cupping it with my hand I felt it's new thickness and weight. I let my hand run up my body to discover the forest of hair that now adorned my torso.

It was then I felt two meaty hands reach around my body and lift my shirt.

"Will?" I said.

The muscled man behind me leaned over my shoulder.

"Yes my dear?" He replied.

Turning my head to face him I was met with the most beautiful bearded Adonis I have ever seen. I lifted my arm to take hold of his blond locks and instinctively pulled him in for a kiss.

It turns out that the best version of ourselves are a pair of muscled hairy daddies. We don't remember our nerdy past not when we've got eachothers bodies to explore.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The enshittification of garage-door openers reveals a vast and deadly rot

I'll be at the Studio City branch of the LA Public Library on Monday, November 13 at 1830hPT to launch my new novel, The Lost Cause. There'll be a reading, a talk, a surprise guest (!!) and a signing, with books on sale. Tell your friends! Come on down!

How could this happen? Owners of Chamberlain MyQ automatic garage door openers just woke up to discover that the company had confiscated valuable features overnight, and that there was nothing they could do about it.

Oh, we know what happened, technically speaking. Chamberlain shut off the API for its garage-door openers, which breaks their integration with home automation systems like Home Assistant. The company even announced that it was doing this, calling the integration an "unauthorized usage" of its products, though the "unauthorized" parties in this case are the people who own Chamberlain products:

https://chamberlaingroup.com/press/a-message-about-our-decision-to-prevent-unauthorized-usage-of-myq

We even know why Chamberlain did this. As Ars Technica's Ron Amadeo points out, shutting off the API is a way for Chamberlain to force its customers to use its ad-beshitted, worst-of-breed app, so that it can make a few pennies by nonconsensually monetizing its customers' eyeballs:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2023/11/chamberlain-blocks-smart-garage-door-opener-from-working-with-smart-homes/

But how did this happen? How did a giant company like Chamberlain come to this enshittening juncture, in which it felt empowered to sabotage the products it had already sold to its customers? How can this be legal? How can it be good for business? How can the people who made this decision even look themselves in the mirror?

To answer these questions, we must first consider the forces that discipline companies, acting against the impulse to enshittify their products and services. There are four constraints on corporate conduct:

I. Competition. The fear of losing your business to a rival can stay even the most sociopathic corporate executive's hand.

II. Regulation. The fear of being fined, criminally sanctioned, or banned from doing business can check the greediest of leaders.

III. Capability. Corporate executives can dream up all kinds of awful ways to shift value from your side of the ledger to their own, but they can only do the things that are technically feasible.

IV. Self-help. The possibility of customers modifying, reconfiguring or altering their products to restore lost functionality or neutralize antifeatures carries an implied threat to vendors. If a printer company's anti-generic-ink measures drives a customer to jailbreak their printers, the original manufacturer's connection to that customer is permanently severed, as the customer creates a durable digital connection to a rival.

When companies act in obnoxious, dishonest, shitty ways, they aren't merely yielding to temptation – they are evading these disciplining forces. Thus, the Great Enshittening we are living through doesn't reflect an increase in the wickedness of corporate leadership. Rather, it represents a moment in which each of these disciplining factors have been gutted by specific policies.

This is good news, actually. We used to put down rat poison and we didn't have a rat problem. Then we stopped putting down rat poison and rats are eating us alive. That's not a nice feeling, but at least we know at least one way of addressing it – we can start putting down poison again. That is, we can start enforcing the rules that we stopped enforcing, in living memory. Having a terrible problem is no fun, but the best kind of terrible problem to have is one that you know a solution to.

As it happens, Chamberlain is a neat microcosm for all the bad policy choices that created the Era of Enshittification. Let's go through them:

Competition: Chamberlain doesn't have to worry about competition, because it is owned by a private equity fund that "rolled up" all of Chamberlain's major competitors into a single, giant firm. Most garage-door opener brands are actually Chamberlain, including "LiftMaster, Chamberlain, Merlin, and Grifco":

https://www.lakewoodgaragedoor.biz/blog/the-history-of-garage-door-openers

This is a pretty typical PE rollup, and it exploits a bug in US competition law called "Antitrust's Twilight Zone":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

When companies buy each other, they are subject to "merger scrutiny," a set of guidelines that the FTC and DoJ Antitrust Division use to determine whether the outcome is likely to be bad for competition. These rules have been pretty lax since the Reagan administration, but they've currently being revised to make them substantially more strict:

https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-and-ftc-seek-comment-draft-merger-guidelines

One of the blind spots in these merger guidelines is an exemption for mergers valued at less than $101m. Under the Hart-Scott-Rodino Act, these fly under the radar, evading merger scrutiny. That means that canny PE companies can roll up dozens and dozens of standalone businesses, like funeral homes, hospital beds, magic mushrooms, youth addiction treatment centers, mobile home parks, nursing homes, physicians’ practices, local newspapers, or e-commerce sellers:

http://www.economicliberties.us/wp-content/uploads/2022/12/Serial-Acquisitions-Working-Paper-R4-2.pdf

By titrating the purchase prices, PE companies – like Blackstone, owners of Chamberlain and all the other garage-door makers – can acquire a monopoly without ever raising a regulatory red flag.

But antitrust enforcers aren't helpless. Under (the long dormant) Section 7 of the Clayton Act, competition regulators can block mergers that lead to "incipient monopolization." The incipiency standard prevented monopolies from forming from 1914, when the Clayton Act passed, until the Reagan administration. We used to put down rat poison, and we didn't have rats. We stopped, and rats are gnawing our faces off. We still know where the rat poison is – maybe we should start putting it down again.

On to regulation. How is it possible for Chamberlain to sell you a garage-door opener that has an API and works with your chosen home automation system, and then unilaterally confiscate that valuable feature? Shouldn't regulation protect you from this kind of ripoff?

It should, but it doesn't. Instead, we have a bunch of regulations that protect Chamberlain from you. Think of binding arbitration, which allows Chamberlain to force you to click through an "agreement" that takes away your right to sue them or join a class-action suit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/20/benevolent-dictators/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

But regulation could protect you from Chamberlain. Section 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act allows the FTC to ban any "unfair and deceptive" conduct. This law has been on the books since 1914, but Section 5 has been dormant, forgotten and unused, for decades. The FTC's new dynamo chair, Lina Khan, has revived it, and is use it like a can-opener to free Americans who've been trapped by abusive conduct:

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

Khan's used Section 5 powers to challenge privacy invasions, noncompete clauses, and other corporate abuses – the bait-and-switch tactics of Chamberlain are ripe for a Section 5 case. If you buy a gadget because it has five features and then the vendor takes two of them away, they are clearly engaged in "unfair and deceptive" conduct.

On to capability. Since time immemorial, corporate leaders have fetishized "flexibility" in their business arrangements – like the ability to do "dynamic pricing" that changes how much you pay for something based on their guess about how much you are willing to pay. But this impulse to play shell games runs up against the hard limits of physical reality: grocers just can't send an army of rollerskated teenagers around the store to reprice everything as soon as a wealthy or desperate-looking customer comes through the door. They're stuck with crude tactics like doubling the price of a flight that doesn't include a Saturday stay as a way of gouging business travelers on an expense account.

With any shell-game, the quickness of the hand deceives the eye. Corporate crooks armed with computers aren't smarter or more wicked than their analog forebears, but they are faster. Digital tools allow companies to alter the "business logic" of their services from instant to instant, in highly automated ways:

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

The monopoly coalition has successfully argued that this endless "twiddling" should not be constrained by privacy, labor or consumer protection law. Without these constraints, corporate twiddlers can engage in all kinds of ripoffs, like wage theft and algorithmic wage discrimination:

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

Twiddling is key to the Darth Vader MBA ("I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it further"), in which features are confiscated from moment to moment, without warning or recourse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

There's no reason to accept the premise that violating your privacy, labor rights or consumer rights with a computer is so different from analog ripoffs that existing laws don't apply. The unconstrained twiddling of digital ripoff artists is a plague on billions of peoples' lives, and any enforcer who sticks up for our rights will have an army of supporters behind them.

Finally, there's the fear of self-help measures. All the digital flexibility that tech companies use to take value away can be used to take it back, too. The whole modern history of digital computers is the history of "adversarial interoperability," in which the sleazy antifeatures of established companies are banished through reverse-engineering, scraping, bots and other forms of technological guerrilla warfare:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Adversarial interoperability represents a serious threat to established business. If you're a printer company gouging on toner, your customers might defect to a rival that jailbreaks your security measures. That's what happened to Lexmark, who lost a case against the toner-refilling company Static Controls, which went on to buy Lexmark:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/felony-contempt-business-model-lexmarks-anti-competitive-legacy

Sure, your customers are busy and inattentive and you can degrade the quality of your product a lot before they start looking for ways out. But once they cross that threshold, you can lose them forever. That's what happened to Microsoft: the company made the tactical decision to produce a substandard version of Office for the Mac in a drive to get Mac users to switch to Windows. Instead, Apple made Iwork (Pages, Numbers and Keynote), which could read and write every Office file, and Mac users threw away Office, the only Microsoft product they owned, permanently severing their relationship to the company:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

Today, companies can operate without worrying about this kind of self-help measure. There' a whole slew of IP rights that Chamberlain can enforce against you if you try to fix your garage-door opener yourself, or look to a competitor to sell you a product that restores the feature they took away:

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

Jailbreaking your Chamberlain gadget in order to make it answer to a rival's app involves bypassing a digital lock. Trafficking in a tool to break a digital lock is a felony under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright, carrying a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine.

In other words, it's not just that tech isn't regulated, allowing for endless twiddling against your privacy, consumer rights and labor rights. It's that tech is badly regulated, to permit unlimited twiddling by tech companies to take away your rightsand to prohibit any twiddling by you to take them back. The US government thumbs the scales against you, creating a regime that Jay Freeman aptly dubbed "felony contempt of business model":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/how-to-fix-cars-by-breaking-felony-contempt-of-business-model/

All kinds of companies have availed themselves of this government-backed superpower. There's DRM – digital locks, covered by DMCA 1201 – in powered wheelchairs:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/06/when-drm-comes-your-wheelchair

In dishwashers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/03/cassette-rewinder/#disher-bob

In treadmills:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/22/vapescreen/#jane-get-me-off-this-crazy-thing

In tractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

It should come as no surprise to learn that Chamberlain has used DMCA 1201 to block interoperable garage door opener components:

https://scholarship.law.marquette.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1233&context=iplr

That's how we arrived at this juncture, where a company like Chamberlain can break functionality its customers value highly, solely to eke out a minuscule new line of revenue by selling ads on their own app.

Chamberlain bought all its competitors.

Chamberlain operates in a regulatory environment that is extremely tolerant of unfair and deceptive practices. Worse: they can unilaterally take away your right to sue them, which means that if regulators don't bestir themselves to police Chamberlain, you are shit out of luck.

Chamberlain has endless flexibility to unilaterally alter its products' functionality, in fine-grained ways, even after you've purchased them.

Chamberlain can sue you if you try to exercise some of that same flexibility to protect yourself from their bad practices.

Combine all four of those factors, and of course Chamberlain is going to enshittify its products. Every company has had that one weaselly asshole at the product-planning table who suggests a petty grift like breaking every one of the company's customers' property to sell a few ads. But historically, the weasel lost the argument to others, who argued that making every existing customer furious would affect the company's bottom line, costing it sales and/or fines, and prompting customers to permanently sever their relationship with the company by seeking out and installing alternative software. Take away all the constraints on a corporation's worst impulses, and this kind of conduct is inevitable:

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

This isn't limited to Chamberlain. Without the discipline of competition, regulation, self-help measures or technological limitations, every industry in undergoing wholesale enshittification. It's not a coincidence that Chamberlain's grift involves a push to move users into its app. Because apps can't be reverse-engineered and modified without risking DMCA 1201 prosecution, forcing a user into an app is a tidy and reliable way to take away that user's rights.

Think about ad-blocking. One in four web users has installed an ad-blockers ("the biggest boycott in world history" -Doc Searls). Zero app users have installed app-blockers, because they don't exist, because making one is a felony. An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a crime to defend yourself against corporate predation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/27/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse/

The temptation to enshitiffy isn't new, but the ability to do so without consequence is a modern phenomenon, the intersection of weak policy enforcement and powerful technology. Your car is autoenshittified, a rolling rent-seeking platform that spies on you and price-gouges you:

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

Cars are in an uncontrolled skid over Enshittification Cliff. Honda, Toyota, VW and GM all sell cars with infotainment systems that harvest your connected phone's text-messages and send them to the corporation for data-mining. What's more, a judge in Washington state just ruled that this is legal:

https://therecord.media/class-action-lawsuit-cars-text-messages-privacy

While there's no excuse for this kind of sleazy conduct, we can reasonably anticipate that if our courts would punish companies for engaging in it, they might be able to resist the temptation. No wonder Mozilla's latest Privacy Not Included research report called cars "the worst product category we have ever reviewed":

https://foundation.mozilla.org/en/privacynotincluded/articles/its-official-cars-are-the-worst-product-category-we-have-ever-reviewed-for-privacy/

I mean, Nissan tries to infer facts about your sex life and sells those inferences to marketing companies:

https://foundation.mozilla.org/en/privacynotincluded/nissan/

But the OG digital companies are the masters of enshittification. Microsoft has been at this game for longer than anyone, and every day brings a fresh way that Microsoft has worsened its products without fear of consequence. The latest? You can't delete your OneDrive account until you provide an acceptable explanation for your disloyalty:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/11/8/23952878/microsoft-onedrive-windows-close-app-notification

It's tempting to think that the cruelty is the point, but it isn't. It's almost never the point. The point is power and money. Unscrupulous businesses have found ways to make money by making their products worse since the industrial revolution. Here's Jules Dupuis, writing about 19th century French railroads:

It is not because of the few thousand francs which would have to be spent to put a roof over the third-class carriages or to upholster the third-class seats that some company or other has open carriages with wooden benches. What the company is trying to do is to prevent the passengers who can pay the second class fare from traveling third class; it hits the poor, not because it wants to hurt them, but to frighten the rich. And it is again for the same reason that the companies, having proved almost cruel to the third-class passengers and mean to the second-class ones, become lavish in dealing with first-class passengers. Having refused the poor what is necessary, they give the rich what is superfluous.

https://www.tumblr.com/mostlysignssomeportents/731357317521719296/having-refused-the-poor-what-is-necessary-they

But as bad as all this is, let me remind you about the good part: we know how to stop companies from enshittifying their products. We know what disciplines their conduct: competition, regulation, capability and self-help measures. Yes, rats are gnawing our eyeballs, but we know which rat-poison to use, and where to put it to control those rats.

Competition, regulation, constraint and self-help measures all backstop one another, and while one or a few can make a difference, they are most powerful when they're all mobilized in concert. Think of the failure of the EU's landmark privacy law, the GDPR. While the GDPR proved very effective against bottom-feeding smaller ad-tech companies, the worse offenders, Meta and Google, have thumbed their noses at it.

This was enabled in part by the companies' flying an Irish flag of convenience, maintaining the pretense that they have to be regulated in a notorious corporate crime-haven:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

That let them get away with all kinds of shenanigans, like ignoring the GDPR's requirement that you should be able to easily opt out of data-collection without having to go through cumbersome "cookie consent" dialogs or losing access to the service as punishment for declining to be tracked.

As the noose has tightened around these surveillance giants, they're continuing to play games. Meta now says that the only way to opt out of data-collection in the EU is to pay for the service:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/30/markets-remaining-irrational/#steins-law

This is facially illegal under the GDPR. Not only are they prohibited from punishing you for opting out of collection, but the whole scheme ignores the nature of private data collection. If Facebook collects the fact that you and I are friends, but I never opted into data-collection, they have violated the GDPR, even if you were coerced into granting consent:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/11/the-pay-or-consent-challenge-for-platform-regulators.html

The GDPR has been around since 2016 and Google and Meta are still invading 500 million Europeans' privacy. This latest delaying tactic could add years to their crime-spree before they are brought to justice.

But most of this surveillance is only possible because so much of how you interact with Google and Meta is via an app, and an app is just a web-page that's a felony to make an ad-blocker for. If the EU were to legalize breaking DRM – repealing Article 6 of the 2001 Copyright Directive – then we wouldn't have to wait for the European Commission to finally wrestle these two giant companies to the ground. Instead, EU companies could make alternative clients for all of Google and Meta's services that don't spy on you, without suffering the fate of OG App, which tried this last winter and was shut down by "felony contempt of business model":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

Enshittification is demoralizing. To quote @wilwheaton, every update to the services we use inspires "dread of 'How will this complicate things as I try to maintain privacy and sanity in a world that demands I have this thing to operate?'"

https://wilwheaton.tumblr.com/post/698603648058556416/cory-doctorow-if-you-see-this-and-have-thoughts

But there are huge natural constituencies for the four disciplining forces that keep enshittification at bay.

Remember, Antitrust's Twilight Zone doesn't just allow rollups of garage-door opener companies – it's also poison for funeral homes, hospital beds, magic mushrooms, youth addiction treatment centers, mobile home parks, nursing homes, physicians’ practices, local newspapers, or e-commerce sellers.

The Binding Arbitration scam that stops Chamberlain customers from suing the company also stops Uber drivers from suing over stolen wages, Turbotax customers from suing over fraud, and many other victims of corporate crime from getting a day in court.

The failure to constrain twiddling to protect privacy, labor rights and consumer rights enables a host of abuses, from stalking, doxing and SWATting to wage theft and price gouging:

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

And Felony Contempt of Business Model is used to screw you over every time you refill your printer, run your dishwasher, or get your Iphone's screen replaced.

The actions needed to halt and reverse this enshittification are well understood, and the partisans for taking those actions are too numerous to count. It's taken a long time for all those individuals suffering under corporate abuses to crystallize into a movement, but at long last, it's happening.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

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

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