#and I’m talking about people who work at a hardware store | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedrito-friskito · 1 year

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strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

before - part one

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

it’s summer in austin, and you and joel meet for the first time.

a/n: the joel miller brain rot is real and your advocate is here to help! masterlist will be up shortly, special thank yous and shout outs to @psychedelic-ink @allfoolsinluv and @gnollengrom for letting me scream about this fic in your dms 🤍 I have thought of little else for the last 48 hours

word count: 3.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI - this part is not explicit but other parts will be, masterlist has further warnings, but no real warnings for this part except a lot of fluff?? and banter?? and I’m obsessed kthanksbyeeeee

✨I no longer have a taglist - if you’d like to be notified of new works/chapters, follow @friskito-library and turn notifications on!✨

You meet Joel Miller long before the world implodes.

It’s 2001, you’re fresh out of college, relocated to Austin, Texas where your parents have taken over an old hardware store that once belonged to your grandfather. Nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for the time being, you spend most of your time in the store, stocking shelves and chatting with customers, learning the different things the store keeps on hand, what has to be shipped in special order. It’s not much, but it’s something to do; you’re just happy to be back with your family after four long years at college. Sure, you came home for holidays when you could, but it wasn’t the same.

It still isn’t the same, not really.

The house you live in is foreign to you, not the same roof you grew up under. The people are the same, your parents clearly happy to have you back, your little sister overjoyed to have someone in her corner again. Austin is nice, the weather warmer than you’re used to after four years in Michigan, but it’s a welcome change. Summer seems to go on forever, and your weekends are spent basking in the sun, finding new places to explore, wandering the shops that neighbour the hardware store and beyond.

And then one day, everything changes.

You’re stood at the end of one of the aisles, fixing a stubborn display of plaster tubs that won’t stay upright, when you hear the bells over the door chime, announcing the arrival of a customer. You don’t stray far from the display, calling out a good morning! and returning to your work. Your sister is perched behind the register, flipping through an old magazine, and you hear the tell-tale squeak of work boots on the linoleum, the sound now all too familiar to your ears.

The boots move in your direction, but you pay the sound little mind until it grows closer. Most people who come into the store know what they’re looking for, and your parents had been careful to keep everything in the same aisles and shelves they’d been on for the past decade, so as to not disrupt the regular customers. From the corner of your eye, scuffed, dark boots step a little closer, and your eyes drag over from the display, taking in the man before you.

You try really hard not to let your eyes linger everywhere, but it’s hard. He’s…well, he’s hot. Dark hair, dark eyes, patchy facial hair that really shouldn’t work as well as it does. Long legs covered in dark jeans, a t-shirt that’s definitely seen better days and is straining against his broad shoulders and thick arms. It’s a classic look you’ve come to associate with every guy who works construction in Austin, but right off the bat, you know there’s something different about this one.

“Hi there,” he says, his southern drawl not as intense as some other folks you’ve talked to, but still there, coupled with a little quirk to his lips, an almost-smile that makes you instantly desperate to see the full thing.

“Hi,” you breathe out, curling your fingers around the metal shelving in front of you, abandoning the plaster display.

“I’m lookin’ for a quarter-inch drill bit,” he spits, nearly stuttering the request out. You’re stuck still for a moment, absolutely enamoured by the man before you. And it makes your own lips twitch, the way his cheeks flare red and he drops his gaze after a moment, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m also assuming you work here but I now realize you don’t have a name tag or anything so I’ll just—”

You clap a hand over your chest dramatically. “Shoot. Must have left the stupid thing in the back.” He lifts his head, eyes going wide, the almost-smile returning. “Follow me.”

He follows you like a little lost puppy a few aisles down from where you were standing. He’s taller than you, by nearly a head, those broad shoulders almost blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. You may or may not let your hips swing a little harder as you walk.

“Any specific brand you’re looking for?” you ask over your shoulder, coming to a stop in front of the pegboard that holds bits of all sorts of sizes. “Or just a quarter-inch?”

“As long as it fits in my drill,” he answers, and you turn to the board, scanning for the right size. You can feel his eyes lingering on you, and you’re basking in it. When you find the right one, you pluck it off the hook and hand it to him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, shoving your hands in the back pockets of your jeans after he takes it from you. “If it doesn’t fit, just bring it back and I’ll make sure you get the right one.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and he looks between you and the little package a few times, tapping it against the flat of his palm. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but then your sister calls your name and your head snaps up.

“Come on up to the front when you’re ready,” you say, feeling a little bold and touching his arm as you step past him, “and I’ll cash you out.”

He watches you walk away, too.

“I need coffee,” your sister declares as soon as you’re within view of the front counter. “You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you reply, stepping behind the register, righting a cup of pens that’s fallen over. She slips down from the stool, flipping her magazine shut, and brushes past you, just as a now familiar deep voice reaches your ears.

“Thanks again,” tall, dark, and handsome says, approaching the counter with the drill bit and a tub of plaster from the display you’d been fixing in his hands. Your sister steps around him as he walks up, and turns to look at you over his shoulder, her jaw dropped, giving you two thumbs up. Your cheeks flare with heat, but you ignore it, taking the bit and the plaster when he sees them on the counter. “Are you new here?” he asks, and then rubs his hand up the back of his head, turning sheepish again. “Here being Austin, I mean. Haven’t seen you around before.”

You can’t help but grin back at him. “New-ish. Moved back at the beginning of the summer after I finished college. My parents took over this place after my grandfather died, and I can’t afford rent in the city, so here I am.” You ring up his purchase, tell him his total, and he fishes for his wallet, digging in the front pocket of his jeans. “For now, anyway.”

He presses his lips together as he pulls a twenty out of his wallet and hands it to you. “Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime.”

You punch in the right amount, letting the register drawer hit your hip as it shoots open. “Maybe you will.” You hand him his change, and as you press the bills and coins into his waiting hand, you offer your name with it.

“Joel,” he says by way of answer, and your chest puffs a little with the knowledge. “Miller. Joel Miller.”

Your grin widens. “Well, you have yourself a good day, Joel Miller. Hope I see you soon.”

He takes the bit and the plaster and takes a step backwards, walking directly into a display stand holding rolls of bright green and blue painters tape, sending it toppling to the floor. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry,” he grumbles, and you step around the counter, dropping to your knees, catching the tape as it rolls in a million different directions.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him earnestly, righting the stand and getting back to your feet. “Now I have something to do.”

“You sure?” he asks, straightening, his cheeks burning red. “I’m sorry, again.”

“Don’t worry about it, again,” you laugh, gesturing towards the front door. “I’ll see you, Joel.”

“See you,” he replies, tacking your name onto the end, and you have to ignore the way the sound of your name on his lips sends a prickle up the back of your neck.

You watch as he walks out the door, the bell ringing again as he departs, getting into a pick-up truck that has definitely seen better days parked at the curb. He scrubs a hand over his face as he starts the engine, and then turns and looks at you through the glass, lifting a hand in a wave before he pulls away from the store. You lift your hand to return the farewell, and your sister walks through the door a moment later, two coffees in her hands, pushing one into your grip even though you said you didn’t want one. You sip it anyway.

“Who was that?” she asks, bumping her hip into yours.

“Joel Miller.”

He comes into the store nearly every day for a week. Always looking for something new, another drill bit or packages of nails and screws, a hammer, rolls of tape. He’s a carpenter, you learn, and goes bright red when you hint that must mean he’s good with his hands.

Your conversations are always brief, but sweet. He asks what you went to school for, admits he never got past a high school education, laughs when you tell him he seems to be doing pretty well for himself despite that. He shows up one morning with coffees for both you and your sister, and a box of doughnuts, earning a squeal from your sister and a bright thanks Joel from yourself. One afternoon, he’s in a hurry, having run out of drywall screws, cursing that he left his wallet at the job site, and you wave him off, all but pushing him out the door with a new box.

Then Monday rolls around, and you find yourself watching the door, waiting for the bell to signal his arrival. Every time the bell does ring, you jump, stepping out of whatever aisle you’re in, checking to see who’s walked inside.

“I’m sure he’ll come by tomorrow,” your sister says when the clock hits two and there’s still no sign of him. “He’s probably just busy.”

“I know,” you say, brushing it off best you can.

The rest of the day passes like molasses, the minutes ticking by so slow you’re half sure the clock on the wall is broken. You even go so far as to check the batteries, earning a laugh from your sister. You curse yourself for flinching every time the door opens, doubly so when your father arrives to take over for the evening and you jump so hard you drop the stack of sandpaper boxes in your hands. “Sorry, honey,” he laughs, helping you pick up the boxes. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” you reply, putting the sandpaper on the right shelf before heading for the counter to grab your bag. “See you at home!”

Your father waves without looking, but calls your name before you can walk out the door. “Someone’s at the house, just so you know. Your mother’s home, of course, but I hired a guy to look at the back porch, asked him to fix the light in the hallway too.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to fix that yourself,” you joke with a smile, “since you own a hardware store and all?”

He just waves you off. “Get outta here.”

You laugh, pushing the door open, the bells jingling above your head as you step through. It’s just before dinner time, the sun starting to hang a little lower in the sky. The inside of your car feels like a sauna when you slide into the driver’s seat, and you blast the air conditioning, turning up the radio loud enough you can hear it over the noise. It’s a quick drive from the store to your house, and you’re too distracted by the song that’s playing on the radio to notice the rusty pick-up parked at the curb.

If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.

Your mother is sitting in the kitchen when you walk through the door, calling her hellos, and you dump your keys and bag before bee-lining for the bathroom. The house is all one level, one bathroom shared between the four of you, and you flick on the light, turn on the shower, strip down quickly. The warm water is a balm for the long day, the tension that had been sitting between your shoulders melting away beneath the spray.

You wrap yourself in a towel afterward, collecting your clothes from the floor before flicking the light off again. You’re still humming the song from the radio as you open the door, wiping a drop of water from your cheek and—

“Joel?”

“Shit!” he mumbles, dropping the screwdriver in his hand. He’s standing right outside the bathroom, balanced on a step-stool. Fixing the light; you remember what your father had said. You’re instantly flushed, starkly aware of the fact that you’re basically naked except for a towel, dripping water and your underwear is basically dangling from your hand. “I’m sor—fuck!” The stool wobbles and out of instinct, you grab for him, planting your hand on his stomach. He’s reaching over his head still, and the bottom of your hand meets bare skin, his t-shirt riding up slightly.

“You good?” you ask, pressing your lips together as he balances himself. You move your hand, carefully bending your knees and picking up the screwdriver from where it landed on the floor. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking it from you, jaw working as he chews the inside of his lip. His cheeks are as red as your whole body feels. “Sorry, I’m—”

“I should go!” you say quickly, and side-step him, bolting out of the bathroom doorway and straight into your bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you. Your clothes tumble to the ground as soon as you’re inside, clapping a hand over your mouth as the towel nearly slips off of you. “Oh my god.”

You open the store by yourself the next day, your sister claiming she has the flu, your father with a golf game he can’t miss, and your mother with ‘far too many things to do around the house’. You don’t mind it; it’s usually quiet in the mornings, with the exception of the week of Joel, where he’d shown up at nine o’clock nearly on the dot each day.

Once your father got home last night, you’d all but interrogated him. Turns out, Joel had stopped by the store late the night before, walking in just before closing, and he and your dad got to talking. When the subject of the creaky back porch and the broken hallway light came up, Joel had offered his services, and your father had accepted.

A minute after you’ve flipped the sign from closed to open and unlocked the door, a now-familiar pick-up truck pulls up to the parking spot outside the curb. You inhale sharply, nerves and embarrassment in your gut, and you turn away from the door, heading towards the counter, you back to the door as it jingles open.

Joel Miller calls your name. You nearly freeze, but continue your steps until you’re safely behind the counter. You hear his boots squeak on the floor as he approaches, but you can’t bring yourself to lift your head until he’s standing right in front of you, saying your name again.

“Morning, Joel.”

“About yesterday,” he says instantly, a hand reached into the space between you, landing in a loose fist on the countertop. “I had no idea that you were—that it would—” He blows out a breath, ducking his head before meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Y’know, I usually make a man buy me dinner before he sees me half-naked,” you say, the line rolling off your tongue before you can stop yourself. Joel balks, and you clap a hand over your mouth, nervous giggles pouring out of you. “Oh my god, that was cheesy, I’m sorry. And it’s okay, for the record. I should have checked the hallway before I walked out.”

He laughs, you laugh, and the idea sparks in your mind. Your hands move of their own accord, reaching for a pen and a scrap of receipt paper. You scribble out your phone number, accompanied by a little smiley face after the last digit.

“Here,” you say, pushing the paper across the counter, nudging his hand with your own. “Why don’t you take this, and maybe we can see each other someplace besides the paint aisle or outside my bathroom.” When he doesn’t answer right away, that sick feeling of rejection crawls up your throat, and you nearly snatch the paper back. “Or we could just pretend it never happened.”

“Can’t do that,” he murmurs, and his voice is so low and inviting you can’t help but lean across the counter slightly. His eyes dart to the clock on the wall and he curses under his breath. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” He grabs the paper, folding it up and tucking it into the pocket on his t-shirt. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, nodding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he touches his hand to yours, fingers glancing over your wrist before he pulls away. He steps backward again, eyes not leaving yours. Thankfully there’s no display in his path for him to topple over, but he only looks away when he reaches the door, that almost-smile you’ve been chasing since the first day you met spreading into a full-blown grin that sends butterflies shooting through your stomach. “Bye, Joel.”

“Bye,” he replies, your name a near-whisper afterward.

As soon as the door shuts, the tinkle of bells echoing, you slump across the counter with a squeal. The bells ding again a second later, and you shoot upright, schooling your face into a normal-looking smile and greeting the customer that’s just walked through the door.

It’s nearly ten o’clock that night, when your phone rings.

You’re lounging in bed, a book propped against your knees, Sheryl Crowe crooning out of your stereo. The robotic ring makes you jump, and you hit the answer button quickly, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” Joel says, and you smile, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Had a long day, and I almost didn’t call, but I really wanted to.”

“I’m glad you did,” you reply, letting the book fall shut on your lap. “What made your day so long?”

It’s easy conversation, the two of you chatting for a good hour. He talks about the job site he’s been working at, his brother that works with him, how his truck nearly broke down when he went to leave, making him late to get home. The call only comes to an end when you’re both making each other yawn, mumbling apologies every time.

“I should let you get some sleep,” Joel nearly whispers, his voice so soft through the phone you barely hear it. “Didn’t mean to keep you up so late.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to me,” you quip, rolling onto your side, keeping the phone pressed to your ear. “But I like talking to you, just for the record.”

“I like talking to you, too,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Just for the record.”

“Are you making fun of me?” you ask, faking shock. He laughs.

“Nah, I just like the way you talk, darlin’,” he says, and the pet name makes you shiver. “I’ll let you go.”

“You didn’t ask,” you say quickly, and he pauses, dead air on the line for a moment.

“What?”

“I said you could make it up to me,” you tell him, rolling onto your back, glancing out the window at the moon, big and white in the dark sky. “That was your opening to ask me out.”

Another pause, and you’re holding your breath, chewing your lip.

“Have dinner with me on Friday?”

You hum, beaming into the phone. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Joel barks a laugh, the biggest one you’ve gotten out of him yet, and you smile harder. “You’re trouble.”

“You’re the one having dinner with me,” you shoot back, and he laughs again, softer this time. “Goodnight, Joel.”

You can tell he’s still smiling. “Goodnight.”

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

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ghcstao3 · 10 months

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Read the other two Sleep Talker!Soap x Burglar!Ghost and need to finish this trilogy or something.

So, three years or so of dating and Ghost finally proposes. He’s cleaned up his act, stop robbing shit, works a full time successful job, and Roach is doing pretty good too!

They’re doing great! Except, as the wedding date gets closer he feels bad that he hid his burglar past and decides to confess before the wedding, giving Soap an out.

He pushes it off for so long it’s nuts. After a long day they settle into their bed in their apartment and try to sleep. Ghost lays awake for 20 mins staring at the ceiling before Soap says something.

“Something in your mind, Si?”

Ghost sighs, he doesn’t want to but knows he should.

“For a long time, including the job before my current one, I wasn’t actually working to make money…”

Soap sits up and looks down at him curiously, “don’t tell me you were an assassin or something.”

“What…”

“Cause that’s super hot and it totally wouldn’t change anything-“

Ghost sat up too, putting a hand over Soap’s mouth, he continued.

“No, I didn’t kill people. I-ugh I was a burglar. Roach was my partner.”

Soap removed the hand from his mouth and held it in his lap.

“Ok, that doesn’t change anything. I still love you and want to marry you.”

Ghost groaned again. That was the EASY part. He knew for a fact Soap would be understanding and kind, but finding out that Ghost was going to rob HIM was questionable. Soap either dies laughing or kills him.

“Si, what’s this leading to? Did you steal something you shouldn’t and now you have this insane price on your head and have to run away with me?”

Simon chuckles to himself, he can always count on Johnny to make him feel better.

“No, just- we didn’t meet how you think we did. No don’t give me that look, let me finish. The first time I met you, you were asleep. I was robbing your place, going through your room when you started talking. Said all this crazy shit about ‘its going to eat you’ and like ‘leave or die’. Then you just shot up from the bed, pointed to a shadow, said something in Gaelic, and collapsed back in bed. I put everything back and left because I was CONVINCED you were possessed. Then you showed up at the hardware store that I get my supplies and I was kinda afraid of you. You asked me out and told me about that dream that wasn’t actually a dream and I thought for sure you knew it was me, but you never said anything so I didn’t say.”

Johnny squeezed Simon’s hand tight, his head was bent down and his shoulders trembled. Simon was sure he was about to be kicked out, making his own fiancé cry! What kinda man was he!

Then Johnny fell backwards, howling with laughter. Tears in his eyes and hands wrapped around himself, side clenching hard with laughter.

Simon just looks at him, stunned. Johnny eventually calms down and beckons Simon to him. Simon lays down on his side next to Johnny.

“Simon, I think that is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. This doesn’t change anything and I still would love to be your husband. Nothing, even being a cool assassin or dumb robber with a price on his head, will change that.”

Simon smiles “I feel like you’re disappointed that I’m not an assassin more than me not telling you about this.”

Johnny laughs and turns onto his side, burying himself into Simon’s chest. “Nah, you’re still pretty cool. This explains a lot actually.”

Simon shifts, “what?”

“Simon, nobody carries around a lockpicking set.”

“Oh yeah, keep talking shit. We’ll see who’s laughing the next time you get locked out and I’m not home.”

Johnny gasped, “I never said it was a bad thing! Besides, that look on your face when you get the door open is super hot. You do this whole smirk to yourself thing and I’ll admit that after the first time, the next three times I lost my keys were on purpose.”

Simon laugh and hugged Johnny right, “Whatever, go to sleep weirdo.”

“Right back at you, hottie.”

Simon snorted and they relaxed. Johnny quickly drifting off to sleep. Yeah, Simon had no idea what he was worried about.

He never had anything to worry about, really.

Johnny’s understanding, always has been, and of course he’d be about this, too. He understands Simon just needed to make ends meet somehow, and given that Simon has since given up robbing, it helps his case just a little more.

It doesn’t stop Johhny from asking a million questions a day after he finds out, though. Or making jokes at Simon’s expense. Or ganging up on Simon with Roach because apparently it’s hilarious, or something.

Oh well. It’s a funny enough story to tell, and now that Simon has long since gotten used to Johnny’s sleep talking tendencies, he supposes a little teasing is better than having ruined what he’s built up with Johnny.

what a lovely. Silly conclusion (also!! everyone make sure to say thank you @snootlestheangel for the initial idea!! and go look at her post!!)

#ask #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #ghoap

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fallintosanity · 2 years

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So y’all wanted more rants about information security & data privacy? Let’s talk about the two main privacy paradigms that are currently competing for dominance in Big Tech. For the sake of not writing a full goddamn thesis I’m going to only talk about models that actually address user privacy (so NOT Facebook’s “privacy is no longer a social norm” bullshit), and only in the context of the USA with a light dip into GDPR.

Very broadly speaking, Big Tech in the US is coalescing into two camps regarding privacy: “opt-out privacy” and “opt-in privacy”. Apple is the flagship and main driver for the concept of “opt-out privacy”. Over the last few years, they’ve leaned heavily into the idea that data should be kept private by default, and only shared under limited circumstances at the user’s request. In other words, the user has privacy by default, and must opt out of that default for data to be shared.

Google is likewise the flagship and main driver for “opt-in privacy”: the idea that data should be shared broadly for the benefit of both the user and the service provider, and sharing is restricted on a case-by-case basis at the user’s request. In other words, the user shares data by default, and must opt in to privacy where desired.

It’s not a coincidence that Apple and Google are the leading drivers for Big Tech’s privacy models. Mobile phones are the most personal devices most people own: your phone goes with you everywhere, and on average, most people check their phones 344 times(!) per day. If you’re like roughly half of US mobile users, you have at least one personal health app on your phone. And until very recently, nobody was stopping shady advertising companies from harvesting every drop of user data they could from people’s phones. All this has made mobile phones one of the primary battlegrounds for digital privacy.

Let’s look at Apple’s model first.

(cut because this is 2k words and I don’t want to murder anyone’s dashes)

You’ve probably seen at least one variation of the recent iPhone privacy ads:

And you’ve probably heard about all the features Apple has been introducing on iOS and the App Store to improve users’ control over who accesses their data, when, and why. Apple is going all-in on the idea that data sharing of any kind should be the exception, not the rule. They appear to be actively working to gut the advertising industry by methodically removing or blocking the mechanisms advertisers use to track users.

Apple can afford to do this for a couple of reasons. First, they make the vast majority of their money by selling hardware, not data-fueled ads. While they do have an advertising business, according to Apple’s own privacy policy, “Apple’s advertising platform does not track you, [...] and does not share user or device data with data brokers.” They admit they do still perform some targeting, but claim they only do so if the targeted group contains more than 5,000 members - which is at least way better than Facebook’s ability to target a single person.

This gets into the second reason why they can afford to gut the broader ads industry: Apple has a wealth of first-party targeting data (I’ll explain what that means in a minute), meaning that not only do they not need other advertisers or data brokers, but also that they’re in direct competition with those other advertisers and data brokers. So going all-in on privacy is good for Apple’s bottom line both from a user value perspective, and from a competitive one.

Now let’s look at Google’s model. If you open your Google account, right on the first page of account management are two sets of privacy settings:

Note the language used: “personalize your Google experience” and “choose the privacy settings that are right for you”. Google has two reasons to collect your data which are mostly tangential to each other. The first and most obvious is that Google-the-advertising-company needs your data in order to more effectively sell ads to third parties. This is what most people think of when they think about Google and privacy: Google wants user data to sell for profit. And, well, yes. Google has built its empire on the back of its ads business, and ads pay for pretty much everything else Google does. Google needs to be able to sell ads to keep funding all the legitimately cool shit it’s doing.

Speaking of legitimately cool shit: Google-the-tech-company’s longest-standing desire has been to create the Star Trek computer in real life: a virtual assistant that “understands you, and [...] can have a conversation with you.” (That’s not just journalism speculation, either - it was explicitly the goal told by Larry & Sergei to employees when I worked at Google.) This is the second reason why Google needs your data: so it can be your own personal Star Trek AI assistant. As anyone who’s worked in an executive assistant role will tell you, you can’t provide useful assistance without having access to just about every component of your employer’s life. Similarly, if you let Google have access to your personal data, it can do a lot of genuinely useful things.

This is why Google’s stance on privacy is so focused on choice: they’re trying to thread the needle between “if you give us your data, we can honestly improve your life” and “if you give us your data, we’ll sell it to third-party advertisers who do all kinds of unpleasant things with it”. The way they’ve internally resolved that ethical conflict is by believing - and trying to convince everyone else - that allowing them to sell your data for profit is a choice you willingly make in order to gain the benefits of Google’s technology.

You can also see the split between opt-in and opt-out privacy in the two most influential laws regulating privacy and the use of user data. The California Consumer Privacy Act (CCPA), as currently enforced, uses the opt-in model: CA residents have the option to stop the sale of their personal data, but the law assumes that user data will be sold unless and until the user chooses otherwise. The CCPA even uses language similar to Google’s: on their website, they say the CCPA “gives consumers more control” over the collection, use, and sale of their data.

The EU’s General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), on the other hand, primarily uses the opt-out model. This reflects the EU’s stance that privacy is a basic human right, as codified in the 1950 European Convention on Human Rights. The GDPR holds that personal data may not be processed unless there is legal basis to do so, sets strict limits on what constitutes a “legal basis”, and requires companies to collect and use only the minimum amount of data required to fulfil the given legal basis.

While the CCPA and the GDPR use opposite privacy models, the two of them combined with Apple’s insanely effective efforts to stamp out data harvesting (as well as another effort I haven’t talked about at all, which is the death of the cookie) are having an interesting effect on the entire advertising industry. To explain this, I need to sidetrack briefly into what I mean when I say “the advertising industry”.

Most people think of Google and Facebook when they think of advertisers. And, yeah, those are two of the biggest ad-space sellers in the world - but there’s a lot more to the industry. Data brokers like Acxiom, Epsilon, and Oracle America are among the thousands of companies who buy and sell the user data that allows Google and Facebook to effectively sell targeted ad space. The reason you’ve probably never heard of them, however, is because (for the most part) they aren’t the ones who collect the data in the first place.

To vastly oversimplify a stupidly complex industry, you essentially have two types of data brokers: first-party and third-party (with the user themselves being the second party). First-party entities are the ones that collect user data directly for their own purposes; third-party entities buy data from first parties and sell it to other third parties. One company can be both a first- and a third-party entity depending on the situation. For example, Facebook collects your data as a first-party entity, and sells it to a third-party marketing company (let’s say Acxiom). Acxiom combines Facebook’s data with data it’s purchased from other first- and third-party companies and uses it to sell ads. Amazon collects your data as well, making it a first-party entity on its own website. But if Amazon buys Acxiom’s datasets, Amazon becomes a third-party entity for that data. (Cookies are part of this whole data collection and usage ecosystem, but how they work is another entire essay.)

Where the fuck am I going with all this? Back to CCPA, GDPR, and Apple. While they’re all going about it in different ways, the end result is turning out to be the same: a noose around the neck of third-party advertising. If companies are allowed to collect user data for their own legal purposes, but not sell it, then suddenly all those third-party entities become irrelevant and having first-party data is critical. This is what I meant earlier when I said Apple has access to a wealth of first-party data for its own ads business. Apple doesn’t need to sell user data because it makes money from hardware sales, and it doesn’t need to buy user data because it has its own.

Google also has huge amounts of first-party data, but the difference between them and Apple is that Google makes the vast majority of its revenue from selling ads, which depend in part on all that juicy third-party data. Honestly Google is probably going to be okay here still; they have enough else going for them (including their move into hardware sales via the Pixel) that the loss of revenue from selling user data to advertisers won’t hurt them much. But companies who rely entirely on advertising and the sale of user data, like Facebook, will and already do see a huge revenue impact from the move to restrict access to user data.

So what does all this mean for you, the user whose data is in question?

It’s too soon to say for sure, but the good news is that it looks like Apple’s moves are forcing Google to shift further toward opt-out privacy than Google might otherwise have preferred. And for the vast majority of companies, it’s more cost-effective to comply with the various existing and incoming US privacy laws (including CCPA) by using GDPR as a baseline - meaning opt-out privacy may soon be the de facto standard.

This doesn’t mean all companies are actually going to comply in good faith, or at all - already reports are showing “loopholes, bypasses, and outright violations” of Apple’s measures; and GDPR enforcement, especially against Silicon Valley, is painfully low. But privacy industry experts generally agree that the trend is toward stronger protection for users against the unwanted use and sharing of personal information.

As a user, you can help this trend along by actively enforcing your privacy rights wherever you can. If you’re in the EU, take advantage of the GDPR and file complaints against non-compliant companies. If you live in California, exercise your CCPA rights by digging through the privacy policies and settings of your accounts until you find the “do not sell my personal data” toggle. Whether you have an iPhone or an Android, go through your device’s settings and enable every privacy protection measure you can. Likewise, if you have a Google account, take five minutes to go through their privacy checkup feature. It’s actually quite well done, and will give you a better idea of what Google is collecting about you.

The more of us who do this, the stronger the signal we send to both Big Tech and legislators that we want these protections and we will use these protections if we have them. For too long, companies (like Facebook) have argued that users don’t really want privacy - but they’re dead wrong. We just have to prove it to them.

#information technology #information security #privacy #data privacy #sanity talks infosec

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imtooscaredforthis · 1 year

Text

The Dark Side of Ghostface

AKA- Me analyzing Ghostface’s character after reading his tome in class 🤭🤭🤭

Spoiler Warning Ahead- Ghostface’s Archives

I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of a perfectionist. I’ve spent a while trying to analyze Ghostface and write him as closest to canon as possible lmfao- and this isn’t me trying to tell people how to write Ghostface..you can write him however you want, it’s just my interpretation…so yeah- Let me know if there’s anything I missed!

I- Daddy Issues + Origin

The only thing known about Danny’s family is his Father, who was also a murderer who loved to share horror stories, just like him.

His father was hard on him, told him terrifying stories of his kills, and was “as tough as nails” - and when your father is a serial killer, a man who’s already prone to lots of violence, you can guess the things he’s done to him

Still, Danny respected his father, but he did kill him, and his father was his first “design” - his first kill - and Danny felt ashamed of the way he killed him.

And for the nature v nurture debate for Danny, I guess we have an answer…both. Not only did he get his Homicidal tendencies from genetics, but his father literally taught him to kill too

Danny’s father affects his perspective greatly, especially how he views life and humanity, saying that humans are “intrinsic killers”

II- The Design + How Danny views murder

It’s easy to tell that Danny is a narcissist and a psychopath, I mean, he literally writes about his murders in the paper

He sees his murders as a story, a design, art, something to keep the suburban community aka the majority and the ordinary at unrest. He sees it as a favor, help keeping their lives interesting by scaring the shit out of them

Danny goes after the ordinary, someone most people can relate to, and someone who doesn’t deserve to die, because it makes it just the more terrifying

He follows his victims routines, plans out the murder in his head, pictures the kill, and the headlines he’ll write about it and then executes it

III- Personality + Pet Peeves

Danny is a perfectionist, but he also seems a little more restrained compared to the other dbd killers. He stalks his prey, holds back and plans his kill, waiting for the right moment…for the most part.

His “normal” personality- Jed is a charming and kind, but non-threatening presence and he knows he has to seem like that to avoid suspicion, duh, and easily manipulate people, so they’ll just be like “oh good old Jed, he wouldn’t hurt a fly” bullshit

But what really pisses Danny off when people don’t fear Ghostface, when they view him as an “urban legend” - OR when ordinary people or losers try to act like killers, like him (EX: “The three stooges” who talked about killing and had the pictures of killers up on the wall…killers that Danny admired and deemed “legends” and he went fucking crazy, stabbing one of the men in the face so many times that he was unrecognizable)

Danny wants people to take what he does seriously, he is aware of the impact of his actions, and what he’s doing, so if and when he finds out someone is laughing about it? Laughing at him? He gets pissed

So there are certain triggers that can make Danny snap, just like anyone else. But when he snaps…he becomes very violent, much more violent than usual

Because Danny takes his designs seriously, does this mean he’s a serious person? Not at all. He’s cruel, and taunts the men he kills in the arcade, and also the man he killed in the hardware store

He’s having a very fun time, as you can see here, humming to himself and doing his little taunting wave before he kills the poor man working at the register (RIP Cashier)

IV- Killing + Entity’s Favorite

Most of, if not all the things Danny does have to do with his design. He’s either writing, searching for his next victim, stalking his next victim, or killing

There’s not a lot of Danny’s life that doesn’t have to do with murder, especially since he was raised to be a killer

Which is why when he was a perfect candidate to be taken by The Entity. While some other killers have been brainwashed or turned into monsters, Danny’s mental state doesn’t change in the slightest, when you read the quotes of his add ons

In fact, he enjoys The Entity’s dimension. It’s a place where he can murder and stalk and do as he pleases, and doesn’t have to worry about getting caught or pretending to be normal. He can just be his murderous psycho self.

#dead by deadlight #dbd #dbd killer #dbd x reader #killer x reader #ghostface dbd #dbd ghostface #danny jed olsen johnson #dbd danny johnson #danny johnson dbd #danny johnson #jed olsen #dbd jed olsen #ghostface analysis #character analysis #dbd archives #malevolence

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 2 years

Text

Just Passin' By

Fandom: Outer Range, Rhett Abbott, f!reader

Word Count: 2147

TW: Kissing, Lead Up to Smut, Rhett Picking the Reader Up, Mentions of a Death in the Family, Reader with an Accent

Note: Thank you to @yespolkadotkitty for sending this thought that then blossomed into a full fic! And thanks to @hederasgarden for beta reading for me! 💖

Walking into the hardware store, you didn’t see a single other person around. As you approached the counter, you called out. After a moment, the owner came walking out from the back room and you smiled at him. “Hey, Al. I got a call sayin’ my part was in?”

“Sure thing. Let me just go check in the office.” He returned your smile before disappearing once more into the back.

Al had been good friends with your brother and he was one of the few people who had an idea about how much debt your brother had left you when he died a year ago. Between the medical bills and the funeral expenses, the idea of being able to live paycheck to paycheck sounded like a dream at the moment! You had considered selling the house and moving away, but there were too many memories within those walls. Besides, in the middle of big ranch country, no one was interested in your measly little piece of land.

As you stood there drumming your fingers on the counter, you felt someone slide up beside you. Turning slightly, you jumped when you saw the silent newcomer. “Jesus, Rhett! Way to scare a girl to death! I thought I was the only one here. I didn’t see you when I came in.”

Your old classmate smirked from underneath his cowboy hat. “I was in the back corner. I gotta pick up some nails and wire. One of our fences was damaged in that storm a few nights ago. What are you lookin’ for?”

You leaned heavily on the counter. “My mower crapped out on me again. I’m tryin’ to fix it.”

Rhett’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve still got that ol’ push mower? I thought it broke a few months ago.”

“It did. But I managed to patch it together well enough for it to still kind of work, but this time the engine completely gave out. I’m tryin’ one last ditch effort to keep it goin’.”

“Why don’t you just throw in the towel and get a new one? They got basic ridin’ ones that ain’t too expensive.”

“I can’t afford even that at the moment. Plus, it’s only a 3-acre property and the house takes up a lot of that. It’s not like I’m tryin’ to cut your ranch or anythin’. As long as I can get it to work, it’ll do.” You sighed, but it quickly morphed into a soft chuckle. “You wanna know a secret? I’ve always hated cutting the lawn. It’s killer on my allergies and I’ve always been terrified I’m gonna cut off my hand messin’ with the blades. But if I don’t do it, the grass will just grow outta control and before long, I won’t even be able to step outta my house. So, I push my fears to the side, take a bunch of Claritin, and struggle to keep this mower alive.”

Before Rhett could respond, Al came back out with a small box. “Here you go. This should be what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks, Al. Can you just add it to my tab? I should be able to come pay it off at the end of next week.”

“Sure thing. And let me know if you have any problems with that and we can figure it out.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

You grabbed the box and turned back to Rhett. “Well, I guess I better get goin’. But it was nice seein’ you. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. I was just thinkin’ the same thing. Maybe-” Suddenly, Rhett’s phone began to buzz. Pulling it out, he glanced at it as he shot you an apologetic look.

You just nodded. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to you later. And good luck with the fence!” Before he could say anything else, you hurried out of the store.

The next morning, you got up early and went to the garage to try to fix the lawn mower. But after three hours, you were having very little luck. Just as you were about to throw in the towel and give up for the day, you heard the sound of an engine approaching outside. However, it wasn’t a sound you were able to easily place. Not a car or a truck. It was deeper yet sounded like it was coming from a smaller vehicle. Furrowing your brow, you wiped your hands on your jeans and headed to the front door. Peering outside, you saw something you would have never expected in a million years.

Rhett Abbott was currently in your front yard, sitting atop of his father’s big blue tractor with a mowing attachment hooked to the back. He was driving along the fence line, the tractor spitting out freshly cut blades of grass. As he glanced up and saw you staring, he smiled and slowed the machine to a stop.

Finally coming to your senses, you ran over to the tractor just as he shut off the engine. “Rhett? What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“What’s it look like I’m doin’? I’m mowin’ your yard.”

“Well, I can see that. But why?”

He shrugged. “I was passin’ by and thought ‘what the hell’.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You were passin’ by….. on a tractor?”

He grinned at you as he leaned forward on the steering wheel and tipped up the brim of his hat, revealing more of his face. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

You stared at him for a long moment before shaking your head with a chuckle. “You know what? Go for it! Just don’t you dare run into my rose bush!”

Rhett pulled his hat down low as he dipped his head and said, “Yes, ma’am.” Then he started up the tractor once more.

With another shake of your head, you turned and walked back into the house, slyly glancing back over your shoulder to catch one more look at the cowboy before the door swung shut.

About a half-hour later, you heard the engine of the tractor cut off once more. Climbing off the couch, you hurried into the kitchen and poured a glass of iced tea that you had just made. After sticking a single lemon slice on the edge of the glass, you hurried outside.

“Here. I figured you’d be thirsty so I made you some-” The glass almost slipped through your fingers as you caught sight of Rhett.

He had climbed down from the tractor and was standing with his back to you. His bare back. Apparently, he had gotten hot in the summer sun and had just removed his hat and his shirt as you came walking out. You watched the muscles in his back ripple and stretch as he finished brushing the stray grass from his machine. Then he turned to face you, running his hands through his sweat-dampened hair.

He smiled when he saw you standing there. Gesturing at the glass of tea, he asked, “Is that for me?”

You nodded silently and handed it to him. As your fingers lightly brushed against his, you felt a spark of electricity dance up your arm. Quickly, you pulled your hand back tight against your chest.

You stood there with your mouth hanging open slightly as you took in the sight before you. Strands of Rhett’s hair stuck to his face where it had been plastered there by sweat while the rest of it curled softly behind his ears. As he tilted his head back to drink from the glass you had handed him, his throat bobbed with every gulp as the liquid traveled down his elongated neck. When your eyes drifted lower, you watched as sweat dripped across the tattoo on his right peck. As he shifted and his muscles twitched, it looked almost as if the bull were trying to buck its rider off its back and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and running your hand over the black ink.

You could feel your face growing warm at the thought so you shifted your gaze lower, but that was a mistake. Bull riding took incredible core strength, and Rhett Abbott had a very incredible core. You could see every taut muscle on his lean frame, leading all the way down to the top of his jeans. Surprisingly, he wasn’t wearing his usual large-buckled belt today and his pants sagged low on his hips. Just a fraction lower and-

“See somethin’ you like?” Rhett’s voice cut through your thoughts and your eyes flew up to his face. A small little half-grin pulled at one side of his mouth, and it was clear he knew what you had been staring at.

You felt the heat rush to your face once more. “I, uh, I was admirin’ what a great job you did. I don’t think this yard’s looked this good in quite a long time.” Rhett’s smile grew larger, obviously not buying your explanation, but he didn’t challenge you on it. “Can I repay you somehow? I mean, I can’t actually pay you, but can I do something for you?”

“It was no trouble. Like I said, I was passin’ by and with this thing-“ he patted the side of the tractor “- I knew it wouldn’t take very long.”

“Uh-huh.” You still found it next to impossible he just happened to be on his tractor this far from his ranch. He came over here specifically to help you out and you just wished you could do something to show your gratitude.

Rhett shifted slightly as he nodded towards the hose connected to the side of your house. “Do you think I could just rinse off real quick ‘fore I go? It was hotter than I expected today.”

The thought of Rhett hosing off in your front yard almost brought you to your knees. You could just picture the way the water would darken his hair as it soaked it through before trickling down his bare torso. How his jeans would slip even lower as the water weighed them down-

You snapped your attention back to the man in front of you instead of the vision of him in your head. “You don’t have to do that! I do have an actual shower inside, you know. It would be more private, and you could actually adjust the water temperature.”

“Oh, the hose is fine. I don’t want to put you out or take up more of your time. Unless…..” He hesitated, glancing at you before quickly looking away. But in that instance, you were able to catch the question in his eyes. The way his eyes trailed over your body, how his tongue ran slyly over his lips. And it seemed that maybe you weren’t the only one who had been having daydreams.

A coy smile curled on your lips as you took a few steps closer to him. “It’s no problem at all. And I have a really nice shower. Fancy shower head, great water pressure, and it’s big. Could easily fit two people, maybe more.” Reaching out, you ran your hands down his toned arms. “If that’s the issue.”

Rhett’s eyes narrowed slightly as he examined your face, no doubt trying to gauge exactly what you were offering. Quirking your eyebrow, you gave him the slightest of nods. Instantly, his lips were on yours as his hand cupped the back of your neck. You blinked in surprise before melting under his touch. His lips were surprisingly soft and it was an electrifying contrast to the rough scrape of his hand on your skin. The hand not on your neck slid down and grabbed your hip, pulling you flush against his hard, sweaty body. You gasped softly as you felt him already straining against his jeans.

After a moment, Rhett lifted you up and your legs immediately encircled his waist. As you began trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck, the salty sting of his skin on your lips, he moaned softly. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Lifting your head, you nipped playfully at his lip. “You could’ve stopped by anytime.”

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart. After this, I’ll be stopping by all the time.” Then he captured your lips once more.

He began carrying you into the house as you rolled your hips into him, tightening your legs to pull him in closer. Feeling him shudder beneath you, you grinned. It was exhilarating to know you could elicit such a reaction from the strong, controlled bull-rider.

As he stumbled through the door, he muttered, “So, where’s this shower I’ve been hearin’ so much about?”

But you shook your head as you brushed his sweaty hair off of his face. “Later. First, I want you like this and I can show you the shower after. But right now, let me show you the bed.”

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @lorecraft, @nerdysuperchick, @hederasgarden, @yespolkadotkitty, @green-socks, @skvatnavle, @mayhem24-7forever, @callsign-fox, @callsign-phoenix, @wildbornsiren, @lt-natrace, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

#fic #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x f!reader #outer range #lewis pullman #fluff #kissing tw #lead up to smut tw

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 2 years

Text

Just Passin' By

Fandom: Outer Range, Rhett Abbott, f!reader

Word Count: 2147

TW: Kissing, Lead Up to Smut, Rhett Picking the Reader Up, Mentions of a Death in the Family, Reader with an Accent

Note: Thank you to @yespolkadotkitty for sending this thought that then blossomed into a full fic! And thanks to @hederasgarden for beta reading for me! 💖