#CUSTOM body CARE MANUFACTURERS

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Apple fucked us on right to repair (again)

Today (September 22), I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. Tonight, I'll be in person at LA's Book Soup for the launch of Justin C Key's "The World Wasn’t Ready for You." On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

Right to repair has no cannier, more dedicated adversary than Apple, a company whose most innovative work is dreaming up new ways to sneakily sabotage electronics repair while claiming to be a caring environmental steward, a lie that covers up the mountains of e-waste that Apple dooms our descendants to wade through.

Why does Apple hate repair so much? It's not that they want to poison our water and bodies with microplastics; it's not that they want to hasten the day our coastal cities drown; it's not that they relish the human misery that accompanies every gram of conflict mineral. They aren't sadists. They're merely sociopathically greedy.

Tim Cook laid it out for his investors: when people can repair their devices, they don't buy new ones. When people don't buy new devices, Apple doesn't sell them new devices. It's that's simple:

https://www.inverse.com/article/52189-tim-cook-says-apple-faces-2-key-problems-in-surprising-shareholder-letter

So Apple does everything it can to monopolize repair. Not just because this lets the company gouge you on routine service, but because it lets them decide when your phone is beyond repair, so they can offer you a trade-in, ensuring both that you buy a new device and that the device you buy is another Apple.

There are so many tactics Apple gets to use to sabotage repair. For example, Apple engraves microscopic Apple logos on the subassemblies in its devices. This allows the company to enlist US Customs to seize and destroy refurbished parts that are harvested from dead phones by workers in the Pacific Rim:

https://repair.eu/news/apple-uses-trademark-law-to-strengthen-its-monopoly-on-repair/

Of course, the easiest way to prevent harvested components from entering the parts stream is to destroy as many old devices as possible. That's why Apple's so-called "recycling" program shreds any devices you turn over to them. When you trade in your old iPhone at an Apple Store, it is converted into immortal e-waste (no other major recycling program does this). The logic is straightforward: no parts, no repairs:

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

Shredding parts and cooking up bogus trademark claims is just for starters, though. For Apple, the true anti-repair innovation comes from the most pernicious US tech law: Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA).

DMCA 1201 is an "anti-circumvention" law. It bans the distribution of any tool that bypasses "an effective means of access control." That's all very abstract, but here's what it means: if a manufacturer sticks some Digital Rights Management (DRM) in its device, then anything you want to do that involves removing that DRM is now illegal – even if the thing itself is perfectly legal.

When Congress passed this stupid law in 1998, it had a very limited blast radius. Computers were still pretty expensive and DRM use was limited to a few narrow categories. In 1998, DMCA 1201 was mostly used to prevent you from de-regionalizing your DVD player to watch discs that had been released overseas but not in your own country.

But as we warned back then, computers were only going to get smaller and cheaper, and eventually, it would only cost manufacturers pennies to wrap their products – or even subassemblies in their products – in DRM. Congress was putting a gun on the mantelpiece in Act I, and it was bound to go off in Act III.

Welcome to Act III.

Today, it costs about a quarter to add a system-on-a-chip to even the tiniest parts. These SOCs can run DRM. Here's how that DRM works: when you put a new part in a device, the SOC and the device's main controller communicate with one another. They perform a cryptographic protocol: the part says, "Here's my serial number," and then the main controller prompts the user to enter a manufacturer-supplied secret code, and the master controller sends a signed version of this to the part, and the part and the system then recognize each other.

This process has many names, but because it was first used in the automotive sector, it's widely known as VIN-Locking (VIN stands for "vehicle identification number," the unique number given to every car by its manufacturer). VIN-locking is used by automakers to block independent mechanics from repairing your car; even if they use the manufacturer's own parts, the parts and the engine will refuse to work together until the manufacturer's rep keys in the unlock code:

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

VIN locking is everywhere. It's how John Deere stops farmers from fixing their own tractors – something farmers have done literally since tractors were invented:

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

It's in ventilators. Like mobile phones, ventilators are a grotesquely monopolized sector, controlled by a single company Medtronic, whose biggest claim to fame is effecting the world's largest tax inversion in order to manufacture the appearance that it is an Irish company and therefore largely untaxable. Medtronic used the resulting windfall to gobble up most of its competitors.

During lockdown, as hospitals scrambled to keep their desperately needed supply of ventilators running, Medtronic's VIN-locking became a lethal impediment. Med-techs who used donor parts from one ventilator to keep another running – say, transplanting a screen – couldn't get the device to recognize the part because all the world's civilian aircraft were grounded, meaning Medtronic's technicians couldn't swan into their hospitals to type in the unlock code and charge them hundreds of dollars.

The saving grace was an anonymous, former Medtronic repair tech, who built pirate boxes to generate unlock codes, using any housing they could lay hands on to use as a case: guitar pedals, clock radios, etc. This tech shipped these gadgets around the world, observing strict anonymity, because Article 6 of the EUCD also bans circumvention:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#medtronic-again

Of course, Apple is a huge fan of VIN-locking. In phones, VIN-locking is usually called "serializing" or "parts-pairing," but it's the same thing: a tiny subassembly gets its own microcontroller whose sole purpose is to prevent independent repair technicians from fixing your gadget. Parts-pairing lets Apple block repairs even when the technician uses new, Apple parts – but it also lets Apple block refurb parts and third party parts.

For many years, Apple was the senior partner and leading voice in blocking state Right to Repair bills, which it killed by the dozen, leading a coalition of monopolists, from Wahl (who boobytrap their hair-clippers with springs that cause their heads irreversibly decompose if you try to sharpen them at home) to John Deere (who reinvented tenant farming by making farmers tenants of their tractors, rather than their land).

But Apple's opposition to repair eventually became a problem for the company. It's bad optics, and both Apple customers and Apple employees are volubly displeased with the company's ecocidal conduct. But of course, Apple's management and shareholders hate repair and want to block it as much as possible.

But Apple knows how to Think Differently. It came up with a way to eat its cake and have it, too. The company embarked on a program of visibly support right to repair, while working behind the scenes to sabotage it.

Last year, Apple announced a repair program. It was hilarious. If you wanted to swap your phone's battery, all you had to do was let Apple put a $1200 hold on your credit card, and then wait while the company shipped you 80 pounds' worth of specialized tools, packed in two special Pelican cases:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/22/apples-cement-overshoes/

Then, you swapped your battery, but you weren't done! After your battery was installed, you had to conference in an authorized Apple tech who would tell you what code to type into a laptop you tethered to the phone in order to pair it with your phone. Then all you had to do was lug those two 40-pound Pelican cases to a shipping depot and wait for Apple to take the hold off your card (less the $120 in parts and fees).

By contrast, independent repair outfits like iFixit will sell you all the tools you need to do your own battery swap – including the battery! for $32. The whole kit fits in a padded envelope:

https://www.ifixit.com/products/iphone-x-replacement-battery

But while Apple was able to make a showy announcement of its repair program and then hide the malicious compliance inside those giant Pelican cases, sabotaging right to repair legislation is a lot harder.

Not that they didn't try. When New York State passed the first general electronics right-to-repair bill in the country, someone convinced New York Governor Kathy Hochul to neuter it with last-minute modifications:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2022/12/weakened-right-to-repair-bill-is-signed-into-law-by-new-yorks-governor/

But that kind of trick only works once. When California's right to repair bill was introduced, it was clear that it was gonna pass. Rather than get run over by that train, Apple got on board, supporting the legislation, which passed unanimously:

https://www.ifixit.com/News/79902/apples-u-turn-tech-giant-finally-backs-repair-in-california

But Apple got the last laugh. Because while California's bill contains many useful clauses for the independent repair shops that keep your gadgets out of a landfill, it's a state law, and DMCA 1201 is federal. A state law can't simply legalize the conduct federal law prohibits. California's right to repair bill is a banger, but it has a weak spot: parts-pairing, the scourge of repair techs:

https://www.ifixit.com/News/69320/how-parts-pairing-kills-independent-repair

Every generation of Apple devices does more parts-pairing than the previous one, and the current models are so infested with paired parts as to be effectively unrepairable, except by Apple. It's so bad that iFixit has dropped its repairability score for the iPhone 14 from a 7 ("recommend") to a 4 (do not recommend):

https://www.ifixit.com/News/82493/we-are-retroactively-dropping-the-iphones-repairability-score-en

Parts-pairing is bullshit, and Apple are scum for using it, but they're hardly unique. Parts-pairing is at the core of the fuckery of inkjet printer companies, who use it to fence out third-party ink, so they can charge $9,600/gallon for ink that pennies to make:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Parts-pairing is also rampant in powered wheelchairs, a heavily monopolized sector whose predatory conduct is jaw-droppingly depraved:

https://uspirgedfund.org/reports/usp/stranded

But if turning phones into e-waste to eke out another billion-dollar stock buyback is indefensible, stranding people with disabilities for months at a time while they await repairs is so obviously wicked that the conscience recoils. That's why it was so great when Colorado passed the nation's first wheelchair right to repair bill last year:

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

California actually just passed two right to repair bills; the other one was SB-271, which mirrors Colorado's HB22-1031:

https://leginfo.legislature.ca.gov/faces/billNavClient.xhtml?bill_id=202320240SB271

This is big! It's momentum! It's a start!

But it can't be the end. When Bill Clinton signed DMCA 1201 into law 25 years ago, he loaded a gun and put it on the nation's mantlepiece and now it's Act III and we're all getting sprayed with bullets. Everything from ovens to insulin pumps, thermostats to lightbulbs, has used DMCA 1201 to limit repair, modification and improvement.

Congress needs to rid us of this scourge, to let us bring back all the benefits of interoperability. I explain how this all came to be – and what we should do about it – in my new Verso Books title, The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

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/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

Image: Mitch Barrie (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Daytona_Skeleton_AR-15_completed_rifle_%2817551907724%29.jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

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[lovebugism]

hiii idk if you’re still taking requests but can you do something smutty with steve in season 3 w his scoops ahoy uniform on after he gets home from work or something🙏🏼🙏🏼

like sub!babygirl!steve is so 🤤🤤😽😽 and a

dom!femreader 🫶❤️❤️ AND OMG HE HAS A MOMMY KINK😧😧 I BEG OF YOU

✶ ┄ OH, BABY !

summary: after a long day at work, steve harrington needs someone (*cough cough* you) to take care of him. pairing: sub!steve harrington / f!reader word count: 5.6k warnings: sub!steve, brief use of a mommy kink, r calls steve daddy like twice i think, mention of a breeding kink, 18+ mdni (ignore any typos, i am way too tired to proofread <3) a/n: hi, it's me again, turning a blurb request into a full length fic. also i can't stop writing for sub steve apparently. all i can say is baby girl is baby girlin real hard in this one lol thanks so much for your request! enjoy xoxo

( BLURB SLEEPOVER ) | ( MASTERLIST )

It’s sunset by the time his shift at Scoops concludes. He serves the last few remaining customers while Robin less than kindly ushers out the loitering teenagers that have stuck around all day. 

A group of moms clad in vividly colored spandex tells him “we’re being bad today” like some sort of mantra that makes them feel better about ordering plain vanilla ice cream. Some middle school aged girls with a mouthful of braces, crimped hair in pigtails, and absolutely wreaking of fruity perfume and daddy’s money try helplessly to flirt with him while they use a matte black card to purchase a banana boat sundae.

His last customers of the night are an old married couple, all gray and wrinkly and smiling like life’s still so new to them. They order one strawberry cone to share between them and hold onto each other’s shaking, frail hands as they make their exit.

Steve smiles as he watches them go. He sees a lot of you and him in them. He hopes by the time you both are all old and brittle, you’ll still be happy like that, still so in love.

Working in the downstairs abyss of Starcourt makes him feel crazy sometimes. With no windows and only manufactured fluorescent lighting for ten hours straight, it makes time feel less and less real.

Sometimes he’ll be in before sun out and cower like some sort of vampire when his shift is over. Other times, he’ll come out when it’s pouring down rain and be absolutely baffled at the sight of it because it was perfectly sunny when his shift started.

Everything else but ice cream all but ceases to exist in the hole of Scoops Ahoy — weather, time, life.

Even though it’s closing when he leaves, Steve doesn’t realize how dark it’s gotten outside until he’s walking through the desolate parking lot to his car. The bustling mall has fallen asleep with the rest of the town. The sky has long turned to a navy velvet, the stars and full moon bright white silk. 

It makes his limbs heavy and his eyelids heavier as his tired bones ache for rest.

Steve makes the longer drive out to the cabin rather than his own home to see you. Hopper’s out for some conference which means El gets to spend every ounce of her time at the Wheeler’s and you and Steve get to play house. 

He doesn’t bother to knock before he comes in. He shuffles through the entrance like his feet are made of lead and leans his weight against the door after he clicks it closed.

The sound of his arrival gets your attention from where you scurry around the kitchen. A smile pulls slowly at your face as you turn over your shoulder to look at him, placing a cover over a pot of something that smells like your infamous chicken alfredo.

“Hey, Stevie,” you greet with a beam and a sort of sunshine in your voice that Steve’s been missing all day.

His body relaxes for the first time since he got up this morning at the sight of you, freshly showered and in your pajamas for the night — an oversized t-shirt that definitely didn’t belong to you before, because it used to be his.

You look more like home than any four walls could ever be to him.

Steve tries his best to give you a smile in return, but it’s weighed down by fatigue and not all there.

You can see it all over him, every ounce of exhaustion on his lax and tired features. Slinging ice cream for less than grateful customers for ten hours straight has taken an obvious toll on him. The bright blue sailor’s uniform makes him look more boyish, but no less tired — or hot.

Your heart swells at how cozy he looks, fatigued and warmed and in dire need of being taken care of. It makes you glad that you started dinner earlier than normal, even happier that you’ve got the house to yourselves.

You exit the kitchen and walk the short distance to him, taking his scruffy cheeks in your palms and rubbing your thumbs against his cheeks.

“Hard day?” you wonder softly and smile to himself when you feel Steve nestle further into your touch.

The boy hums lowly in reply — neither a yes or a no, but a short hmph that means he doesn’t want to talk about it now. He doesn’t like thinking about work when you’re in his arms and all over him. He’d rather pretend like you’re the only thing that exists and let the rest of the world slip slowly away.

He turns his face to kiss the inside of your wrists. You smell like lavender, he finds, and it makes him that much more tired and needy for you.

His hands settle on your arms, fingers wrapping themselves just below your wrists. “Just tired,” he answers finally. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours, I’m assuming,” you quip with a smile. Your hands drag from his face, down the tense columns of his neck, and settle at the white lapel of his uniform. Steve lets you pull him down by his red neckerchief until his lips press against yours, the pillows of them far cozier than the bed and blanket he so craves right now.

He grows somehow heavier against you. He exhales deeply through his nose as his aching muscles start to relax, the warmth of it brushes against your cupid’s bow. His hands fall to your back and ball into your shirt as he clutches so ardently onto you, as though terrified he might have to go another agonizing ten hours without you.

Your smile contorts against his mouth. A laugh exhales sharply through your nose at this tired boy, exhausted and too willing to let you swallow him whole.

As much as you want to take care of you him, you want him to get a little food in his belly and fresh clothes on his skin.

He’s got freshly laundered cottons sitting in a drawer you cleaned out in your room especially for him and a pot of his favorite food simmering on the stove. He’ll be golden in an hour or more and you’ll happily take care of him then.

Steve whines when you pull away from him. The pathetic sound bubbles from his throat and his face screws up like you’ve actually pained him by not kissing him more. He ducks down, looming over you, as his lips chase yours.

You giggle at him, letting him kiss you — one, two, three quick pecks and a fourth sweeter, more drawn-out one he presses against you as the two of you stumble back into the living room.

“You need to eat first, okay?” you protest when you part from him again, lips clicking wetly as they separate. “You probably haven’t had anything all day.”

“I had half a banana in the break room at lunch,” he retorts, half-heartedly.

“Exactly,” you scold. “Go get changed and then we can eat, ‘kay?”

“If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you could’ve just said.”

You roll your eyes at him and how he’s still so sly despite being so damn tired. You push playfully against his chest and squirm out from under where he’d cornered you between his body and the back of the couch. “You smell like a sundae and cheap cologne—”

“Blame those assholes from Abercrombie.”

“—hit the showers, Harrington,” you tell him with a playful sternness, swatting him on the ass as you pass by him.

The action stopped surprising him a long time ago. He’d complained relentlessly about corporate and the stupid outfit they made him wear to work every morning until he realized how much you liked it. 

After that, Steve figured he could put up with the itching and the chaffing and the weird stares from other mall-goers. As long as it meant you being unable to keep your hands off of him, dropping to your knees in front of him before he left for work, visiting him at lunch because you just had to see him again.

“You comin’ too, or…?” he jokes in reply, already inching towards the bathroom, but secretly hoping you’ll say yes.

You refuse to amuse him, though, and instead tell him that you have to keep stirring the pasta so it won’t burn. He’s too tired and too excited to wash all the muck of the long workday from his body to beg.

You knew just what he needed — like you always do. He’s as good as gold by the time he gets out of the shower, smelling of your shampoo and practically glittering at how good he feels.

His skin gets to breathe for the first time all day when he slips on a pair of boxers and a faded forest green Hawkins High sweatshirt. They’re freshly washed. He can tell by how soft they feel and the way they smell of fresh detergent. 

It makes his heart swell. 

While he’s been slinging ice cream and questioning all of his life choices, you’ve been washing his clothes, folding them and putting the in their own drawer in your dresser. You’ve been cooking him his favorite dinner, knowing he hasn’t eaten all day, because you know everything about him. 

You do it all because you love him. You don’t have to think twice about it before you so effortlessly take care of him.

He swears you’ll feed him if he begs hard enough, but Steve hasn’t reached that level of tiredness yet. He does, however, force you to sit halfway in his lap while the both of you opt to eat on the couch in the living room rather than the kitchen table.

A repeat of Miami Vice plays on the tiny television across the room and you tell him about what you’d done on your day off in between shoveling forkfuls of pasta into your mouth with your legs slung into his lap.

Most of it was spent taking care of chores, a feat made harder without Hopper and El to take on the extra workloads but easier because their absence meant less shit to get done. 

You drove Dustin and Lucas to the Wheeler’s house later that morning, then doubled back across Hawkins when Max called and all but begged you to free her from the hellscape on Cherry Lane, as she so lovingly put it. You picked her up and dropped her off with the rest of her friends.

And even though they all swore they had rides back home, they’d called again some hours later and asked too sweetly if you could take them back across town.

You complain and grumble about it, but you do it for them anyway.

Because you take care of people. That’s just what you do.

“So you were a personal chauffeur for a bunch of kids all day?” Steve jokes and laughs to himself as he swipes a smudge of alfredo sauce from your chin with his thumb

“Basically,” you nod in reply.

When that’s all done — and the episode is over and the dishes are in the sink and your teeth are freshly brushed — you tell Steve to get into bed, and then to get his head out of the gutter at the look he gives you after.

He’s pleasantly surprised when you bring a whole basket of things from the bathroom and into your bedroom. He watches silently, obediently, as you light a candle on the far side of the room before climbing into bed beside him.

“Scoot down a little,” you tell him. “And take off your shirt.”

He does it all without question. He rises, strips himself of his top, and tosses the thing mindlessly on the floor beside the bed. With his lean torso and bare chest on display, spotted with tufts of chestnut-colored hair and smelling of your body wash, he lazes back onto the bed again with his head on the pillows.

Steve holds his breathe when you straddle his chest.

“Comfy?” you ask him quietly.

He can only nod in response.

His eyes are wide, twinkling with love and curiosity. It makes you smile. He’s always so soft in his way, so compliant with you — and, fuck, if you don’t love how he looks when he’s underneath you.

You lean down to press a chaste kiss to the chiseled tip of his nose then reach for one of the many bottles stacked inside the wicker basket. You drip the rose-scented liquid onto a cottonpad and tell him that it’s cleanser.

“I thought I was already clean?” he retorts.

“Well, this shit is gonna make ya glow like a baby, Harrington,” you tell him and swipe the stuff up and down his face — across his forehead, along his nose, and around his stubbly jaw. “Which means it’s perfect for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Means you’re a baby,” you quip once, then smile lovingly down at him. “My baby,” you correct.

“Damn straight,” he hums with a soft smile, then shuts his eyes when you trade the cleanser for what you call a liquid exfoliator. He doesn’t ask what that means. He doesn’t say much of anything really, because he’s enamored with the way you dote on him.

Your day has been just as busy as his, maybe not as mind-numbing, but still busy. You’ve been bouncing all across town, trying to make sure a bunch of kids weren’t putting themselves in total danger — Steve knows firsthand how hard that can be.

And yet, you keep caring for him, like it’s more important than how tired you must be.

The way you’ve settled on top of him is just a bonus. It’s not as domineering as you usually are in this position, straddling your legs over him and forcing his face between your legs with your fingers tangled in his hair. He wouldn’t have minded if that’s what you’d done in the first place. He would’ve thanked you for it, really.

It’s comforting more than it is anything, the subtle weight of you on top of him, keeping him grounded.

You rub something that feels like lotion into his skin. The tips of your fingers massage his face — they dig softly into his temples, relieving all the strain there, then trace around his curve of his jaw. Steve sighs and melts into your touch. It makes you laugh.

“Look at you,” you giggle, all soft like the moonlight streaming in rays from the windows. Then you tease him. “My baby’s gettin’ all pampered tonight, huh?”

“That stuff smells really good,” he notes. “Think it’s safe enough to taste?”

You know he’s joking, but you flick him in the center of his freshly moisturized forehead anyway, when his tongue darts out the side of his mouth to lick around his lips.

“You’re such an idiot,” you scold with a laugh. “There’s no way we’re gonna be able to have a kid if you keep acting like one, Steve Harrington.”

The boy's eyes fly open. “…A kid?” he repeats in something short of a whisper.

You only hum in reply with a little shrug like you’re trying to play it all off. Like you didn’t just drop the biggest bomb on him and left him to pick up the pieces. Like it isn't the sweetest goddamn thing he’s ever heard in his life (even though you are sort of making fun of him).

“You want a kid with me?” he presses, eyes sparkling and full of hope.

“‘Course I do,” you shrug again, focusing on capping the moisturizer and putting it away rather than meeting his intense gaze. “Want anything and everything with you, Stevie.”

The boy doesn’t bother to hide the grin your words put on his face. He’s all but beaming from where he lays beneath you, trying to make sure he’s still breathing because his heart has started to flutter something fierce.

It was something the two of you only ever talked about in passing — usually him bringing up the idea of having kids and you swatting them all down.

“We’re too young,” you tell him. “We’re too broke”, “we’re too dumb.” The occasional “my dad is literally in the next room, he’ll kill you if he hears you talking like that” shuts him up real quick.

But here you are now, telling him you want a baby with him, that you want everything with him. It drives him absolutely insane.

“Yeah?” he hums in response, idle hands rising and settling upon your bare thighs, rubbing at the smooth skin there, petting you almost. The room gets suddenly and unbearably hot with the look he gives you, innocent and knowing and hungry.

You feel him shift from underneath you, the hardening cock in his boxers making it hard to stay as comfortable as he had been.

“You wanna be a mommy, honey?” he all but coos. “Wanna take care of our kids like you take care of me?”

Though his words set a fire in the pit of your stomach, the tone of them makes you roll your eyes. It’s like flipping a light switch when it comes to Steve. It takes next to nothing to turn him into a puddle of mush.

He’s always raring to go when it comes to you, and you’d be lying if you said it was totally invigorating. 

“What happened to my sweet, sleepy, baby Stevie, huh?” you tease, hands leaving his face to caress the ones he’s got resting on your thighs. “Thought you were too tired?”

He shakes his head defiantly. “Never too tired for you.” 

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you scold with bubbly laughter when you feel his large hands trail up your legs. His finger falls beneath your shirt, the tips of them sneaking into the rounded hems of your underwear, all but cupping your ass to drag you further up his chest.

He’s practically salivating at the mere thought of tasting you. Of knowing that the only thing separating you from him is a couple of inches and the thin fabric of your underwear.

He knows that when he slides them to the side, you’ll be wet and needing him underneath, slick enough for his tongue to slip right in.

And, truth be told, oral sex wasn’t the easiest when you weren’t alone. It was too precarious of a position. If Hopper knocked on the door and barged in hardly a moment later, you needed to break away quickly.

So when your dad and little sister were home, it was easier to use your hands to get each other off. And, maybe, if Steve was real good, you’d let him fuck you.

But his mouth on you? There wasn’t enough good he could be for you to let him do that, not when your father was on the other side of the door in the living room. Because you’re pretty sure death would be easier than your dad catching Steve Harrington giving cunnilingus to his daughter. You’re pretty sure you’d die on the spot, anyway.

But Hopper is miles away. Your sister is on the other side of town. And you’re alone with your boyfriend, hidden away in a cabin in the middle of the woods. It’s the perfect recipe for the best sex of your life.

“Don’t care,” Steve murmurs, pressing kisses to the inner parts of your thigh when he settles you more intently over his shoulders. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah?” you croon. From below you, the boy notes the arched brow and knowing glint in your eye that usually means trouble. “Daddy wants to make mommy feel good, huh?”

Steve knows exactly why you said it. Why you chose to say it like that. It’s the same reason you brought up the kid thing in the first place. Because you knew it would drive him crazy.

And it’s not like you ever had to try to make him mental, all you really had to do was walk into a room and he was done for. But you didn’t just want to just make him go insane, you wanted to ruin him. 

And you know you’ve done just that when a groan spills from his mouth and two strong hands dig rather ruthlessly into your hips. He pulls you down without warning, pressing your clothed pussy closer to his face and dragging his nose between your covered lips. A moan leaves your mouth in a heavy exhale when the tip of it nudges your clit.

“Like being called daddy, huh?” you tease through bated breaths.

Steve nods in reply as he hooks a finger through the hem of your panties and slides them to the side, putting your pretty, glistening pussy on display for him.

He was right about what he said before — you were soaked. 

All but drunk on the sight of you, he presses open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh. “Like the other thing, too,” he mumbles against your skin, like he’s hiding himself there.

“The other thing?” you question with pinched brows. The confusion ebbs like a rolling tide as you realize: “Oh. You wanna call me mommy, Stevie?” you ask with a joking lilt.

“Shut up,” he groans against you.

He’s pleasantly surprised when your hand grabs the strands of his hair like reigns, pulling him back just before he puts his mouth on your pussy. He’s even more stunned at the stern expression taking over your features, not nearly as playful as you’d been moments before.

Suddenly you’re ten feet tall, and he’s nothing more than an ant, at the mercy of your boot.

“That’s no way to talk to your mommy, is it, Stevie?” 

He shakes his head with glazed over eyes. “Sorry.”

“Sorry… what?”

There is an underlying tone in your voice, something teasing and yet somehow serious all at once. It’d make him roll his eyes if he weren’t lying beneath you like this. Now, with your pussy mere inches from his face, he isn’t quite sure how to be anything but obedient.

“Sorry, mommy,” he corrects.

A flip switches and you’re smiling again. “Good boy,” you praise and it makes his cock twitch in the confines of his boxers. Your hand guides him to your pussy again.

Steve’s always been good at oral. A little too good, actually. It made you jealous sometimes, to know that his technique has been perfected over years of experience.

“All the other girls were just practice for you, honey,” he’d soothe your seething rage with a wink and a tongue shoved deep into your cunt.

You believe him now, that every other girl was just an obstacle for him to get to you, because no one’s had him like this. No one will ever have him like this.

You’re the one who’s got him on his back with his mouth on your pussy. You’re the one who’s got him calling you mommy.

And it makes you feel like a fucking giant.

He wastes little time to envelope your cunt with his mouth. You feel the muffled grunt he lets out at the tangy and familiar taste of you. His tongue pushes into your cunt, licking you with the intent of devouring you entirely. His nose presses intently against your clit, prodding the little button as you ride his face. He encourages every thrust, guiding your hips up and down his mouth.

“Fuck, Stevie,” you whine and feel him smile drunkenly against your pussy, never ceasing his assault against your sensitive skin.

Your head falls back, suddenly too heavy to hold up. Your gaze settles on the ceiling, though you’re not exactly looking at it, and moans fall from your open mouth and into the heavy air — billowing laments in the moonlight.

“You make me feel so good,” you murmur to yourself, but to him especially, knowing he turns into a ticking time bomb when he’s praised. “Always make mommy feel so fucking good, baby.”

He groans against you, and it makes your hips twitch over his face.

Your head turns and your glazed over eyes fall on the hard cock trapped in his underwear. It’s more than apparent against the thin fabric with a wet patch of precum darkening the plaid cotton. The sight of it, paired with his lips wrapped around your clit, makes you moan most pitifully.

“Fuck, Steve,” you cry. “You’re gonna make me come. Holy shit, baby— gonna come so hard in your mouth.” The promise makes Steve double his efforts against you, wanting nothing more than to taste every drop you can give him. “I’ll ride you after, 'kay? Make you come so hard you can’t see straight. Fuck. I’m so fucking close.”

You figure his muffled whine is an affirmative.

“If you make me come now, maybe I’ll let you come inside me—”

You barely get to finish your sentence before Steve’s wrapping his arms around your thighs and keeping you pressed against his face. His tongue works overtime inside of your cunt, attentively flicking against every part of your velvet walls that it can reach, while his nose nudges your clit most relentlessly.

It has you reaching your climax within seconds, hips jerking against him while his hold on you tightens. Steve only lets you go when he’s certain you’ve ridden out every inch of your orgasm.

You’re shaking and half-numb when you unfold your body from his and settle next to him on the bed. You press yourself over him as your lips swallow his, tasting yourself on his mouth that glistens with you.

Your torso is splayed over his bare one, knees digging into the mattress at his side as you arch your back to push yourself further into him.

“Was that good for you?” he mutters after you’ve pulled away, sliding the tip of your nose up and down the bridge of his.

A laugh escapes you in a sharp scoff. If he couldn’t have felt how good it was for you — after you all but writhed against him — surely he must’ve tasted it dripping like honey from your cunt.

“It’s always good,” you assure him, then murmur more quietly, “Always so good for mommy.”

You keep the promise you’d made him no more than minutes beforehand. You pull down his boxers at the same time he’s trying to get you out of your shirt, and it’s just a mess of yearning limbs until the both of you are naked.

You rub yourself over his cock a few times, getting it all slick with you in the place of lube, because you know taking him is never an easy feat. The stretch of his dick inside you is always delicious but fuck if it doesn’t burn. It’s like fire in every sense of the word, hot and filthy paired with a distant ache.

Steve lets you set the pace as you get used to his length nestled deep inside your velvet. His hands rest compliantly on your hips as you grind against him, honeyed gaze fixed on your fucked out features as you take him — brows pinched, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Then, when every inch of him is snug in your cunt and your senses return to you, you deny him of his want to touch you. Your fingers wrap around his wrists and push them into the pillow on either side of his head. “Mommy didn’t say you could touch her, did she?” you purr to him as you lean over him. He shakes his head obediently, if only it meant that you kept fucking yourself on top of him.

And you do. Most ardently.

You keep your bare chest pressed against his fuzzy one, nose-to-nose as you slide your hips over his. And even though he’s had you like this before (in this position and many others), it feels brand new every time. It’s like he’s never felt you before despite how familiar you feel.

It triggers his body into a sense of fight of flight, as though frightened he’ll never get to have you again. It leaves him fucking you like it’ll be the last time he’s inside you, every fucking time.

It never is, though — obviously. Most times he only has to wait a couple minutes or more before he gets to take you again.

But now, with his hands balled into fists beside his head and your’s braced on his chest, digging into the patch of hair there as you rock back and forth on his hard cock — the tip of it nestled deep inside of you and hitting every sweet spot that makes you keen — has left him an absolute wreck beneath you. 

He’s chasing his pleasure like he’s never felt it before. Like he won’t feel it again.

“Your cock feels so good, Stevie,” you moan above him.

“‘M not gonna last long, baby,” he mutters between harsh and labored pants.

“’S okay… I want you to come,” you promise and press a too sweet kiss to his swollen, pink lips. You move your hips more intently over him. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. “Want you to fill me up.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out in something short of a whimper. His eyes are glassy and his brows are furrowed and it takes everything in him not to fuck up into you — because he wants to be good, he wants to be good for you. 

“Yeah… Want you come in me… Fuck me until it takes,” you babble over top of him, knowing exactly what it’s doing to the whining boy beneath you. “Wanna give you a baby— fuck— I wanna make you a daddy, Stevie.”

A whine spills from his throat. His toes curl into the fabric of your comforter, eyes rolling back into his head, body tensing as he digs his fingers into the skin of his palms that still ache to touch you.

Your name spills from his mouth along with a string of curses and pretty little cries when he stuffs you full of his come.

You happily accept every load he shoots into you as work him through every aftershock of his orgasm. Yours doesn’t come so easy — you roll your hips over yourself and rub your clit until you’re twitching right along with him. 

You come down from your highs together with a tender softness. You lay over him, one hand combing through his curls and the other stroking softly at his sweat-slicked bicep. You watch with heavy eyes as his orgasm rolls over him. 

His chest rises and falls with every heavy breath, stuttering when another pang of pleasure hits him all of a sudden. “Fuck,” he whines harshly into the heavy air.

He’s happy you don’t deny him when his arms wrap around your waist, hands rubbing up and down the expanse of your slick back.

You press tiny kisses to his face as he comes down — his nose, his cheeks, his forehead his stubbly chin and jaw. You press one, two, three pecks to his lips before you slide off of him, then laugh when he whines.

You’re gone for hardly more than three minutes, but to Steve, it feels like an eternity’s gone by.

You return from the bathroom, wiped freshly clean, and blow out the nearly burnt-out candle on your dresser before you slither back into his side. One of his arms curls beneath your shoulders to pull you closer to him with his other rests on the back of yours that’s settled on his chest.

You share one pillow, noses inches away from one another’s, while you bask in the warm moment and the sex-coated air around you before you have to break it.

“You know I’m still on the pill, right?” you ask him.

He nods.

“And that we’re—”

“Way too young to have a kid right now?” he finishes for you, though the idea makes him sad. He nods.

“Yeah… And—”

“Too broke? I know that too.”

“Also my—”

“Your dad would kill me if I got you pregnant?”

It makes you laugh. You hadn’t realized you’d talked about having kids this many times — at least, not enough for him to memorize all the reasons why it’s not the best idea right now.

“Yeah, I know it’s not happening any time soon,” Steve says with a sigh. “I like to pretend, though. Plus, it’s not even about that to me, you know? I just… I just like being with you and… everything.”

Everything, you repeat to yourself. A word that means so much and nothing at all.

No one knows what everything means, they just know that it’s a lot, a whole lot. That’s what makes it so special. Steve wants it all with you — the overbearing dad, the sister with powers, the teenage kids who never let you have a single second to yourselves when they’re around. 

It’s a lot sometimes, most times, but he’ll weather it all with you.

“You like being with me?” you echo just to see him nod.

He does. “I love being with you,” he corrects.

“Love calling me mommy, too, huh?”

He realizes then, the sincere moment was just a set-up for that stupid joke. He groans and flops his head back on the pillow, but makes no move to distance himself from you.

“Oh, my god,” he moans in annoyance. “Am I gonna have to deal with this the rest of my life?”

You nod. “Sorry, Harrington, but I’m never letting that shit go.”

Good, he thinks to himself, even though he pretends to hate it because it makes you laugh. He never wants you to stop.

[goldentemplariumcrow]

As a stationery and fountain pen affictionada...

This. Still. Makes. Me. Laugh.

Let me explain why:

Look at how Tim is holding the pen. Stylistic choice or not, that grip means he's putting pressure on the pen. That he's heavy handing his writing.

Now look at the pen. That's a fountain pen. Fountain pens work through combined capillary and gravity action that makes the ink flow down to the nib naturally when the pen is in writing position and in contact with a writing surface; which is, depending on the model, between 45° and 60° angle in the vast majority of the cases.

Most fountain pens aren't made to sustain heavy hand writers. In fact, a great number of them is used to correct the grip, angle, muscle memory and heaviness of a person's handwriting style, since the simple act of touching the nib on paper easily makes the ink come out.

Now, look at Damian's implied facial expression and body language. Yes, we can all shrug it's just his rivalry with Tim that makes him react like that, it's a perfectly reasonable way to explain it all. However, for a fountain pen affictionado, for someone who loves fine writing instruments, that right there is a sentence of death.

Damian isn't just seeing Tim use his pen. He's seeing Tim, a person who couldn't care less for the writing tools he's using, obliterate the tines by placing way too much force on them. He's horrified of his favorite writing instrument being damaged by Tim's disregard with it, which is the most common reaction ever when any fountain pen lover sees their favorite pen being held and used by another person without their authorization.

Damian isn't overreacting at all.

The fountain pen community can confirm it.

[EDIT]

I know it's no ones concern, but as a lover of fountain pens, I kind of had to give a huge zoom-in in a version of this that isn't as pixelated and... guys, I think I know which fountain pen is this!

I may be wrong, but I think that's a Lamy Safari Black Charcoal model!

In the comic we can't see the window or the triangular grip very well (I can kind of see a shadow of the triangular shape, but I'm not calling it without being certain) and it looks a bit chonkier, but look at that cap! That minimalist cap with the sturdy yet simple, black clip and small gap on the top of the cap! That's a cap for a Lamy Safari model if I ever saw one!

Yes, maybe it can be some other fancier and more expensive brand, most Lamy's I've seen are between 30-60USD with special collections being a little closer to the 80USD mark on really expensive shops online, but let me make an argument for it.

A Lamy Safari fountain is considered a popular workhorse among affictionados and artists alike. Not only it's reliable, with a simple yet stylish body and construct that serves to pretty much every occasion, its construct is simple in terms of maintainance and handling. Want to go travel on a plane? No problem, take the cartridges with you! Prefer bottle ink? Not a problem at all, here's the converter for all your bottled ink needs! Oh, the standard medium nib isn't to your liking? Let's find one that you enjoy, there's European extra fine (0.38) to broad, stub, italic and even for writing musical score! Still not enough? Hey, there are many manufacturers that make their own customized nibs for a fair price, maybe give them a try? And the best part? The nibs aren't so expensive that you're breaking the bank with them, so if you break one you can get another with relative ease.

This sweet pen is a monster at work 24/7. No wonder it's a popular model among beginners and long term users and lover of fountain pens. They're just that good.

[goodluckdetective]

FIC: FIVE HOURS (Tumblr Edition)

Ship: Durge/Astarion but this is a fic about Astarion

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: Astarion backstory is referenced in passing

Rating: PG-13

AO3

Summary: 

Being controlled by one’s dark urge is hard, but watching someone you care for lose themselves might be harder. Or Astarion and five hours spent watching over someone he can no longer recognize. (How do you keep hating yourself as a monster when you've started to fall for one?)

Notes:

Hello, I took one look at vampire man and Durge and went “ah yes, the drama of falling in love with someone who sees themselves as a monster.” This fic does have a custom dark urge/durge because I don’t think it hits as hard otherwise, but it’s very much a fic about Astarion. Rune in this piece is me holding up a mirror and going “if you’re gonna to see the humanity in this person, then why do you refuse to do it for yourself” while Astarion hisses like a cat. Sorry bud, get perceived. All you need to know about Rune is that they’re a NB human wild magic sorcerer (they/them) A big thanks to @dykezambo and Rose for being my beta readers. I salute you.

Fic is below the cut

HOUR ONE:

Astarion thinks it might still be some sort of sick prank until Rune Tavernus’ eyes roll up into the back of their head and they collapse to the ground in a heap.

A prank would make more sense than this, Astarion thinks, as he scrambles onto his feet and towards the unconscious sorcerer. Rune wasn’t much of a prankster, but they did have some wit and a streak of dark humor to match. What the point would be of a prank like this was beyond Astarion, but in his head he can manufacture a bizarre scenario where Rune thinks it would be funny to give Astarion a taste of his own medicine with a sinister wake-up call. And yes, the whole explanation of “killing the one they cared most for” didn't fit the prank theory, Rune wouldn’t play with his feelings so brazenly, but when one's occasional bedmate starts rambling about being forced to kill you, a cruel trick tends to be a kinder explanation. 

And then Rune passed out and that idea had gone out the metaphorical window.

“Shit,” Astarion says, pressing his palm to their forehead. Rune runs warm to Astarion, almost everyone does, but they feel clammy to the touch. Their short white hair is almost damp with sweat and sticks to their forehead. He shakes them, once, then twice, calling their name with increasing volume, but they don’t stir. That in itself is alarming; Rune is not a deep sleeper. In fact, they’re known for sleeping poorly, waking up from unremembered dreams with a choked-off scream. Every morning they chug whatever caffeinated beverage Halsin brews as soon as it’s cool enough not to burn their tongue. 

Rune doesn’t rouse even after a minute of shaking. Astarion considers waking Shadowheart, but the whole business with Alfira gives him enough pause to instead first go for the rope in his pack. Rune had been back to normal by morning when she was slain; if this is similar, then Astarion would just have to wait until dawn for a full explanation. With a great deal of effort on his part, he drags Rune to an open bedroll closest to the fire and binds their arms together as well as their legs, feeling somewhat like out of body. 

(He tries hard to not think of a pig prepared for slaughter. He tries harder to not think about how Cazador might have tied up the people he brought home the very same way.) 

“You know, this was not the situation I was envisioning when the idea of you and rope came to mind,” he says, because making a flirty joke is familiar and Gods knows he needs something familiar right now. This is a situation he can handle better as Astarion the rake, who lets nothing get too close, who brushes off mortal peril with a quick comment and a fake grin. When he’s sure the ropes are tight, he walks over to his bedroll, and grabs a blanket to sit on, a light scroll, a book, and after some hesitation, his daggers. 

(He’s not going to need them, he isn’t. Rune gave him these daggers and told him to “keep them as sharp as your fangs” should he choose to use them.)

(He desperately hopes he’s not going to need them).

Once his supplies are grabbed and organized, he places the blanket on the ground and sits on it. He casts light on a nearby wilted plant, and sits back. He looks at the sorcerer he has bedded in a gambit for security and thinks about how said gambit turned on its head when he found he actually rather liked the person who offered to cast him minor illusion to see his own reflection and provided their blood in a land of shadows because “you shouldn’t starve.”

“I will admit this isn’t how I wanted to spend my evening, but I suppose I’ll survive.” He reaches for his book and opens it, even though he doubts he’s going to be able to focus enough to read a word. “Hopefully, this is all a false alarm, and I can simply catch up on this chapter. Do you think the Count will actually manage to make any progress in his grand plan, or is he going to keep dithering about Waterdeep for another thirty pages?”

(The book was also a gift from Rune, though it was not the first one the sorcerer gave him. A day after reaching the Blighted Village, Astarion had sneaked back from his midnight meal to find the human grumbling over a slightly burnt text near the fire. Hoping to distract them from the fact he was awake in the first place, Astarion had inquired about the books’ contents, only to find himself the audience for a tirade about overly complicated murder plots. Apparently, Rune had strong opinions on the accuracy of snakes climbing ropes. From that point on, Astarion had found himself part of the world’s strangest murder mystery book club, where the pair both tried to guess how the murder took place and then endlessly complained about how overcomplicated it was when stabbing them in an alley would work just fine). 

Rune does not reply. Astarion doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Instead of debating it further, he instead tries to turn his attention to the text in front of him, and hopes that Rune is wrong and the only thing that will occur this night is Astarion getting some reading in and Rune waking up with some neck pain.

HOUR TWO: 

Rune wakes up around ten minutes after the first hour mark. 

That isn’t quite correct. Something wakes up around the ten minute mark. It is not Rune.

Astarion knows it before they even open their mouth. From the moment they wake up, they struggle against their own bindings, jerking much like a wounded animal caught in a trap. When their eyes open, there are none of the emotions he’s used to seeing in their expression, instead an empty raw look that reminds Astarion of a starving hound. Before he can say a word, they snarl at him.

“I see my rope is sadly going to good use,” Astarion says, putting the book aside and getting on his knees in case he needs to stand and get away. He doubts it, those knots should hold and Rune doesn’t seem to be capable of casting spells at the moment, but it's best to be cautious. 

“I will rip out your tongue and swallow it whole,” Rune says in a voice that does not sound like Rune at all. It’s a whole octave lower, and there’s a throaty edge to it, like the human has inhaled smoke.

“I know I tease quite a bit, but ripping out my tongue is rather excessive, don’t you think?” The banter doesn’t land, it’s almost like Rune can’t even hear him. Astarion wonders if they will even remember this in the morning. 

He hopes not. He can remember watching his body follow Cazador’s every order as he tried desperately to claw back control. It is a fate he would not wish on any of his companions. 

It occurs to him that this could be like a possession. It would make the most sense, and the impulse to wake up Shadowheart returns. Rune hisses and snaps forward, trying to bite one of his hands and Astarion steps back. He can see drool and blood from their now broken lip fall onto the bedroll. 

( He can see himself in a coffin, snapping at the rat Cazador is holding out for him with a wicked smile .)

No, he won’t wake her. Not yet at least, not unless morning comes without a respite. Instead he shakes his head, tries to keep his voice light. 

“Ah, ah, ah, we ask before we bite.”

Rune snaps at him again, struggling at the bindings and Astarion can smell the blood from broken skin on their wrists and lip. His own mouth waters and he ignores it.

If there is one thing he learned in Cazador’s halls, it was how to be hungry. 

HOUR THREE:

After an hour, the thing that has taken Rune’s face stops threatening to murder him and starts growling instead. Despite it being off-putting, Astarion is thankful for the respite, as all the comments about ways to display his internal organs were getting old. 

“You’re cute, you know.,” he says, too tired to think through what he’s saying. “In another life we might have been friends.”

It’s an odd thought that comes to mind, the concept of him meeting whatever this is back when he was under Cazador’s boot. What would he make of someone like this, who growled murderous insults and clawed at the ground as if the dirt could draw blood? Interesting perhaps? Maybe pitiful? An asset against Cazador?

(He knows what he would have done. He would have dragged them back to the manor and not had a second thought as soon as Cazador had them in his clutches. He would have gone back to the rooms and thought nothing more of a human with white hair, a lanky build and a soft smile. He would have continued on and not known that should he have met that same human during the day, they would ask him about the embroidery on his sleeves and tease him that magistrates were actually in contact with the hells. He would not even know the human’s name when the sun rose to a world they no longer occupied).

(He cannot think about this. He refuses). 

He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“On second thought,” he says, looking away from Rune. The shadow lands around them seem darker at night. He finds himself desperate for the sun. “It’s probably for the best that we didn't meet at all.”

The thing that is not Rune growls again, with more energy this time. 

“Growl all you want but it won’t stop the dawn. This will be over soon.”

HOUR FOUR:

Whatever is controlling Rune goes back to insults eventually, though their voice frayed from all the growling. Astarion ignores most of them, until one in particular captures his attention.

“I will wed you with a delicate veil of blood blooming over your white curls.”

Astarion stares at Rune, or whatever is possessing them, with a rather shocked expression. It says something about his life, or undeath, he supposes, that the word “wed” is the one that caught him off guard in that sentence, not the rest of it. Marriage is not a concept he has thought about in relationship to himself for at least a century. When he was younger it had its allure, Astarion was serious when he said Wyll was the type of man he dreamed of marrying when he was thirteen, but now? He’s a spawn, for Gods sake. Creatures like him either die or become vampire lords: there are no other endings. 

He does not say any of this out loud. Instead he goes for a quip. 

“Marriage? Darling, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, we’re not even-“

He cuts off. They’re not even what? More than bedmates? That’s not right: he hasn’t bedded Rune since they entered the shadowlands and Rune has made no complaint about it at all. Not even friends? That didn’t seem right either. He’s not sure how to label how he feels about this human, but when one offers to draw your scars in the dirt so you can see them and you actually let them, you were probably at least friends.  Exclusive? No, that also doesn’t fit. Astarion hasn’t bothered to lie with anyone else in camp and Rune hasn’t either, even when Astarion made it clear he didn’t mind. And it wasn’t like Rune didn’t have options to pick from: Lae’Zel’s proposal had been quite direct and Astarion had bit the inside of his cheek to not laugh as their usually composed sorcerer flushed peach pink. Gale had made an attempt as well, though Rune didn’t tell him about that one until afterwards. 

“I’ve spoiled you too much for even the lover of a Goddess. How flattering!” They were in Rune’s tent at the time, a mage light cast upon a blue crystal Rune kept around for decor. It was one of the few pieces of decoration they kept around consistently, as the human tended to switch things out, trying to figure out what they liked and what they didn’t from the ruins of their memory. Rune had returned from a talk with Gale with a moderate flush and after a glass of terrible wine and some cajoling, Astarion had gotten the whole story out of them.

Rune tilted their head and shook it slightly. Their hair was rumpled from a day of casting electricity magic, and Astarion resisted the urge to curl his fingers into one of the white cowlicks. Something about the lack of polish Astarion found endearing.  

“No, no, not that,” they said. “It’s just, well for one, I don’t like him like that. And even if I did, well-” Rune took a sip of their wine, finishing off the glass. “His last relationship wasn’t good for him-”

“Darling, you cannot kill the Goddess of magic,” Astarion said, noticing a hard glint in their eyes. It wasn’t like Astarion was on board with the idea as a concept, the Goddess sounded dreadful, but he rather liked existing and fighting Gods was a speedy way to die. He didn’t mind Rune’s more violent tendencies, but he’d rather they not get themselves smited. 

“Anyway-” Rune continued, ignoring him. “He’s a sweet man but, well.” They placed the glass on a wooden stump Rune used as a side table and tangled their fingers together. It was something they did when they were being thoughtful. “Gale seems to admire me too much for his own good. I’d ruin him.” 

That was not the answer Astarion was expecting. He sat up on his own bedroll, a feeling of apprehension coming over him.

“And what, you think I’m-” Already ruined? That stung more than Astarion cared to admit, even if it wasn’t surprising. He didn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t. Saying it out loud made it seem too concrete, too physical, too noticeable. 

"What! No!” Rune’s eyes grew large and they shook their head violently. They tore their left hand from their right to gesture with and for a moment, Astarion feared for the fate of the wine glass on the table should they accidentally knock it off. With their right hand, they reached out and grabbed Astarion’s hand tightly, while their left reached out for his jaw, pausing a moment so he could turn away should the touch be unwanted. Astarion didn’t protest, and Rune’s hand touched his chin briefly to tilt his head up so he’d meet their eyes. “No, absolutely not. Shit, I could have phrased that better. Gods, no, Astarion, I didn’t mean it that way.”

"And in what way could you mean it?” The sneer in Astarion’s voice wasn’t intentional, but it was better than sounding hurt. 

Rune bit their lower lip, which was something Astarion often found adorable when he was in a better mood. They looked away from him, took a steadying breath, then looked back. “I’d ruin Gale because he’s a hopeless romantic. He’s sweet, but he has a nasty habit of hubris; if faced with an unstoppable problem, he’d burn himself alive to fix it. I’m not saying you’re not smart, or romantic-“

“Or beautiful, don’t forget beautiful.”

Rune chuckled, some tension leaving their shoulders. “That too, as well as quite vain.” Astarion pouted at the addendum but let the sorcerer finish. “I’m saying you’re smart enough to run away.” 

Astarion considered that for a moment. It was certainly better than what he’d originally thought, but he wasn’t quite sure if it was a compliment. What was that supposed to mean? “Are you calling me a coward now?”

Rune smiled, a little sad, and rubbed their thumb across the back of his hand. It was unfamiliar but nice. “No, no, more realistic .” They leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, something they’d previously only done after sex. “I just know you’ll be safe, that’s all. That you wouldn’t hurt yourself for a hopeless cause.” 

Rune jerks again in their sleep, snapping Astarion out of the memory. Thinks of resignation in the sorcerer's eyes that night, how something about it ached. How familiar the sentiment felt.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Astarion says as the sorcerer spits out another cruel insult.

He’s shocked to find that he means it. 

HOUR FIVE

Astarion has spent much of life afraid, but he has never been so frightened when the dawn is an hour away and Rune has not stopped twitching.

He thought he was done with this, the idea of caring for others. After the year in the darkness, he’d swore to never care about anyone again except himself because caring was a luxury and he couldn’t even afford to buy new clothes. The tadpole has given him more freedom than he’s had in centuries but as long as Cazador was alive, caring was supposed to be off the table. 

And yet. And yet. 

Astarion intended for Rune to be a means to an end. Someone to wind around his finger like an armor against the world. But Astarion does not find himself panicking when his armor is dented or bruised. Astarion does not spend more time with his armor than necessary so it will not be lonely. Astarion does not worry that should his armor learn it was initially a means to an end of keeping him safe, it will never trust him again.

(This metaphor is rubbish, this Astarion knows. Watching someone you care for deeply scrape their wrists raw makes one less adept in turns of phrases).

For the first time all night, Rune whimpers, a small soft noise that would have frozen Astarion’s heart if it was still beating. Rune doesn’t whimper (well, not unless it was in the fun sort of way). They’re  reluctant to show weakness or accept the comfort they so freely give to others. For them to sound like this-

Astarion reaches forward and when the human doesn't try to bite him, he pushes their white hair back and out of their eyes. They were drenched in sweat, and still clammy. Before he can pull away, they lean into his hand with a sigh, seeking comfort from frozen hands, and Astarion feels his throat tighten.

“This thing can’t have you,” he says, running his thumb against their forehead wrinkles and a faded scar just over their right eyebrow. They are so covered in scars, and each day they risk gaining even more. “It won’t win.”

Rune doesn’t respond to his statement, instead breathing softly. They must have finally worn themselves out to fall asleep. Astarion considers pulling his hand back, he probably should given the threat were they to wake up again, but he finds himself reluctant to do so, instead continuing to gently stroke the sorcerer’s brow with his thumb. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He whisperes. The birds were starting to chirp now, singing their song in anticipation of the sunrise. “Come back to yourself, and I’ll consider telling you. I think that’s a fair bargain.”

DAYBREAK:

Day comes and Rune returns with it. 

They don’t open their eyes right away, tense and still. Astarion can see them rub their hands together and they stiffen further when the sorcerer’s thumb runs across some dried blood on their palm. He doesn’t understand why until the corner of their eyes tighten and they suck in a short breath, a whisper of a sob on the precipice. 

Rune told the entire camp that when Alfira died, they’d woken up in the morning with their hands covered in blood. For them to wake up and find the same sensation present-

“It’s your own blood, darling,” Astarion says, reaching forward to place his hand on their shoulder. Their eyes open wide, and they take him in with a look that Astarion feels like he might be able to name if he lived a kinder existence. “You rubbed your wrists raw enough to bleed, I’m afraid.”

“Astarion,” they said, lips parting, some tension melting from their frame. “You’re alright.” Then, they flinch, pain crossing their features. “Ow, my neck.”

Astarion almost wants to cry at the complaint. “You might have strained it trying to bite me. Do you remember that?”

Given the sudden look of horror on Rune’s expression, they do now. 

Rune explains what they can after Astarion unties them. Most of it are things Astarion already knows; Alfira, the urges, the loss of sleep. The insight about Isobel and the butler is a new one, and he thinks back to the cape in his tent that Rune had shoved onto him like they couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. At the time, Astarion thought the gift was an attempt to curry his favor. He’s not sure how to view the gift with this new context.

“I was wondering why you didn’t want to spend much time enjoying Harper's hospitality,” Astarion muses. He watches as Rune rubs their wrists with their palms, trying to massage out the aches. They will need to see a healer for certain; Astarion knows they’ve been dabbling in the bardic arts but not enough to heal injuries. 

“I thought I couldn’t risk it,” Rune says, moving to pick up the rope. Astarion watches as they cast mending and then pull at each end. When the rope holds firm, they hand it back to Astarion. “I thought the less time I spent around there, the less likely I might slip up.”

“If you’d shared that earlier, I would have grumbled less about the horrors of the great outdoors.”

Rune shoots him an apologetic frown. “I thought telling Isobel would be enough. I never thought-“ They close their eyes briefly and sigh. “I should have considered it a possibility. I’m sorry.” When they open their eyes again, Astarion does not miss how they take a step away from him. They look towards the other tents, avoiding his gaze.

“I should tell the others.”

Astarion reaches forward and grabs their wrist. They pull back for a moment and Astarion loosens his grip to make it clear that’s an option, if they want it. But after a second passes and they don’t pull away, he pulls their hand up to inspect the rope burns and cuts. Their wrists are going to bruise a sickening greenish-yellow. 

“You don’t have to tell them if you don’t want.” Astarion says, dropping their wrist. He forces a smile, makes sure his fangs are visible. “I can keep a secret.”

Rune’s hand reaches forward and up, like they are going to touch Astarions face, then stops, dropping arruptly. Astarion finds himself disappointed by the lack of contact. How strange. 

“I know you can,” they said. “But they deserve to know that there’s a danger. I can’t hide a monster from everyone.” And with that they head off towards Lae’Zel’s tent, to start gathering everyone for an unpleasant announcement.

It takes Astarion a moment to realize the “monster” they’re talking about is Rune themselves. 

*******************

Rune tells everyone about the night once everyone is up, gathering everyone around the remains of the fire. For someone who might not have slept more than an hour last night, they’re relatively composed as they tell the story, though they don’t look anyone in the eye as is their usual habit. As the tale begins to wind down, Astarion is reluctant to look at their companions either. 

It occurs to Astarion halfway through Rune’s tale something that he should have realized much earlier: he might be content to camp with a sleeping murderer, but other people might object. In fact, most people might protest to such a situation, and he can feel himself grow colder as he realizes a grave mistake.

When Rune woke him last night, Astarion saw someone who needed their help. He’d held off from grabbing anyone else for the sake of Rune’s privacy. But he never considered they might see something else: a monster needing to be exorcized. 

He steps closer to Rune and is very glad they are wearing their gear.  Astarion doesn’t think most of the camp will attack Rune, it would be foolhardy given the prism’s like of their resident sorcerer, but fear makes people foolish and he is not betting Rune’s life. The sorcerer doesn’t appear to be paying much attention to their crowd at all, a rarity for them, speaking of an urge to maim and kill as they stare down at their raw wrists. When they bring their story to a close, their voice is a whisper from overuse.

“And that’s it,” they say, rubbing a thumb over a red mark on their left hand. “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, you know that, I just-it escalated so fast. I thought-no I hoped, Alfira was a one off and when I realized otherwise, well-“ A half hearted shrug. “I’m sorry for not saying anything earlier but that’s all I know.” They look up, exhausted. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again. I’m terrified it will happen again.”

Rune is looking at Astarion when he says the last part. Astarion knows what they’re trying to say, besides the obvious. The statement is one part apology and one part resignation. Permission for him to run away as fast as possible and not look back.

He should run away, that’s the thing. Or at least consider it. Astarion has spent two centuries desperately wishing for the power to just run away, and now that he has it, he should be taking it as far away from this ruinous sorcerer as possible.

He doesn’t want to. It’s ridiculous, and ludicrous and absurd, but he doesn’t want to. Not because this group offers him the closest thing he has to protection against Cazador, not because the prism might not work if he runs too far, but because the person who is now the greatest threat to his person was also the one who offered him blood when he was starving, who stole him gently used clothes because he had none, who treated him not with pity or condemnation but as a person. 

Astarion has so little he could call his own. But whatever relationship lies between him and Rune mocking poorly painted portraits and trying to solve mystery novels three chapters in was his. He will not throw it away so easily. 

Karlach speaks first. “So, how are we doing this then? I’m thinking about shifts so no one gets too tired?”

“What?” Rune sounds entirely lost and Astarion finds he doesn’t follow either. He watches as Karlach counts everyone in camp off on her fingers.

“Well, there are seven of us total, so we could probably each pick a different day and then rotate who has two shifts each tenday.”

“Do you think one of us would be suitable alone, or should we do pairs,” Lae’Zel adds, looking equally contemplative. A smile starts to spread across Astarion’s face as he realizes what they’re discussing. “Though if Astarion could hand it by himself, pairs might be a wasteful use of manpower.”

“Hey-“ Astarion says but before he can speak further, Wyll chimes in. 

“I can take tonight: I rested earlier last night anyway.”

“Are you guys offering to watch me sleep?” Rune says, staring at everyone with their mouth slightly open. It would be cute if they weren’t so incredulous. 

“Ew, that makes it sound creepy,” Karlach says. “We’re watching you in case you get all stabby again.”

“Do they even know how to properly wield a blade?” Lae’Zel eyes Rune’s arms and raises an eyebrow. “They couldn’t even open a door two days ago.”

For the first time since they’ve woken, Rune sounds something other than exhausted. “That door was solid stone-“

“Rune can wield a blade just fine,” Astarion purrs, trying to hide the relief that this is the result of this conversation. Everyone groans, Rune included.

They hash out the specifics of the rotation after that. No one mentions when Rune rubs at their eyes and takes a shuddering breath, nor do they point out how they cling to Karlach when she pulls them into a hug. Shadowheart offers to take a look at her religious texts to see if this malady might be divine in nature, while Gale offers in turn to message Tara and inquire about some texts he has back in Waterdeep. By the time Astarion and Rune are left alone, there is a full schedule set for watching the sorcerer for fits, with Astarion free to steal any extra should he wish to monopolize their time for himself without watching eyes. Rune looks an odd mix of fond and overwhelmed.

Astarion’s heart twists at that. Was that how he looked, when Rune offered him blood upon being rudely awoken? Was that how Astarion looked the next morning when everyone else learned of his affliction and no one began sharpening a stick?

Gratitude should not hurt so much. 

“I know you said it’s worth the peril but I did mean it, you know. When I said you could run. I won’t take it personally.” Rune says after a moment. They’re looking him in the eye, a sharp contrast to earlier when they were speaking about their urges. 

“You did mention it, yes. You know, you told me it wasn’t an insult but I find myself rather insulted. Do you truly expect me to cut and run?”

Rune’s chin tilts up, their face stoic, but Astarion can hear the hint of a tremble in their voice. “You should.”

Astarion thinks to last night. How Rune had woken him up and in a shaky voice told him that his life was in danger solely due to the sorcerer’s care. A care Rune apparently doesn’t expect to be returned in light of this recent revelation.

Astarion will have to remedy that. Come clean about his whole botched scheme really, which he’s frankly dreading, but some tasks are worth doing despite the mess. Now isn’t the best time but soon. He’s hoping he’ll find the right words soon enough, words that are actually his instead of automatic cloying phrases used over two centuries of hell. To stop feeling like he needs to put on an act.

“I’ve been doing quite a few things I shouldn’t do recently; walking in the sun, leaving the city, snacking on nearby sorcerers,” He turns to Rune and quirks one eyebrow. “I might as well keep at it with such excellent results.”

Rune blushes and chuckles. Their hand is right there, should Astarion wish to take it, but it doesn’t feel right, not until he tells them the entire truth at least. Hopefully it will still be there once the dust has settled.

It might be nice, he thinks, to lace his fingers between theirs and know that he’s doing so solely because he wants to. 

[medusas-daughter]

I've seen quite a few posts about how diet pills are just laxatives and while that's true for most of them, there are so many more side effects that I have never personally seen discussed anywhere, certainly not on the packaging of said pills not anywhere else. So let me give you my experience.

My mother was recently hospitalized for severe anorexia, and we found out that she has been taking a whole bunch of diet pills for years.

Not only did they lead to extreme weight and muscle loss, they also lead to severe dehydration. She also had toxic hepatitis from all the pills, as well chronic inflammation of the stomach lining and the colon. The doctors informed us that chronic inflammation of the digestive system can turn into cancer when it isn't treated. She also had inflamed kidneys and was told she was the kidney function wasn't affected but it was a matter of time.

Diet pill don't just give you the shits, they literally destroy the body bit by bit. The manufacturers of these pills don't care. The magazines that push beauty standards on teenagers don't care.

Fuck diet culture. And fuck any lab who makes these things without warning their customers.

And if you ever think that maybe those pills would be better than experiencing fat phobia (I'm fat believe me I know) I assure you, a healthy fat body is so much better than a thin dying body. Focus on keeping yourself healthy, on a varied diet, on getting the right vitamins and nutrients, on moving your muscles regularly and on keeping your mind as sane and regulated as you can. The size doesn't fucking matter.

[svcredveins]

Two thoughts

One is one of my sim racing league mates actually have a polar heart rate thing and actually posted his heart rate after Multiclass Mayhem. That is a must when I get my rig all sorted out because then I’d actually be working the rest of my body rather than just twiddling my fingers haha and letting the adrenaline take over. That would be fascinating seeing what heart rate my little heart shoots up to after essentially a workout haha. But that was a cardiophile moment right there haha

Another thought too is no matter what people say, I am forever happy driving a Porsche in the sim. Like nobody has to try something new if they don’t want to, and I already have for the off season team series manufacturers cup and it all pointed back to Porsche. None of them made me really smile because none of them felt like home. The Porsche is a very lively car that screams passion and determination. That’s the car that excites me the most and it’s iconic. Their cars are so timeless and unique, but also behind the Stuttgart crest is empowering customer’s dreams and the initiative to make their vision happen; that’s Porsche. Also the fact that they also empower women to make their dreams happen which you honestly do not see that happening in really any other car manufacturer. Porsche stands out to me in every way and I love it. NFS Porsche Unleashed…went down to other rabbit holes, because of course, I was a kid and wanted to like everything, then again 2017 going to an Indy race (not actually as a fan but that’s a whole different story) and saw love at first sight with the 991.1 Porsche Cups. Poor things got absolutely dug into the graves for a few more years until I finally found my way back home again after many Porsche encounters, I finally realize why they are so special and unique - their passion for racing, their cars, empowering dreams, and making the customer feel so emotionally connected with a far made out of dreams and passion. They truly care, and that’s what I love about waving the Stuttgart crest around, proud to resemble Porsche in every way because they give back to the community with enriching the enthusiasts with passion.

Ah, I just love Porsche and it makes my little heart so happy with the thought. No other manufacturer compares with such compassion and respect they have. Not to mention they want you to drive their real cars if you’re a sim racer. Like that’s insane! They push it so loudly and it’s just so wholesome! So yep. I’m not budging. My dream is to become a Porsche factory driver so there’s that. I am committed to that and nobody will change my mind otherwise. Some people will just never understand what’s behind the Stuttgart emblem, but many who love Porsche, do. Dreamers. On. Driven by dreams.

I should really link the videos because it’s just beautiful what Porsche is.

Ah, the adrenaline. Porsche is always driven, driven by dreams, and driven by motorsport, hence also why their cars are peak designed, a pure bred racing experience. The emotions, the sheer amount of energy put into this…wow.

It’s truly incredible what this manufacturer does! Truly inspirational and they always take that extra step forward. Unbelievable. What a brand! What a dream…

The pure emotion put into this as well, the focus, the exhilaration. A true peak of Porsche’s motorsport driven character that is a poetry of beauty in motion, every dance with the machine is an unrelenting reminder of Porsche’s triumph in the sport, moving with precision and determination to achieve perfection.

[erelavent]

Alphatauri began sponsoring F1, not the FIA, in 2022. Those are not the same thing. Sponsoring F1, the franchise, is questionable for reasons I'll get to later, but it's different from sponsoring the governing body that makes and enforces the rules and regulations.

Now, in 2024, Alphatauri, which is no longer a team on the grid but still owned by Redbull, decides to expand that partnership into the FIA because apparently, it's been going so well with F1. This is odd because we still don't have an understanding of what exactly Alphatauri or Redbull is getting out of this deal. Aston Martin and Mercedes, who pay F1, not the FIA, to advertise their brands via the safety cars to millions of people who watch the races to gain customers, Alphatauri gets no exposure based on the fact that we hardly ever see the stewards, race director or any FIA or F1 personnel in uniforms on screen. So, what was Alphatauri getting out of the deal for the past 3 years and what will they be getting out of it in the future? Good Samaritan points? I don't think so. They also say its going to be featured prominently at the Prize Giving Gala moving forward, which no one cares about outside of the meme material it provides. So, is Alphatauri just manufacturing gear for F1 and the FIA out of the goodness of their hearts? Every decision made in this sport is a quid pro quo, I get suspicious when I can't clearly identify what someone is getting out of it.

I fully understand that F1 is incestuous and a septic breeding ground for conflicts of interest. That doesn't mean that when we get slapped in the face by yet another conflict of interest, we ignore it rather than examining it further.

Also, because I'm sure it will come up, read why Mclaren Applied provides SECUs to the rest of the grid here:

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

The Supreme Court on Monday rejected the appeal of a Minnesota woman who said she was wrongly denied unemployment benefits after being fired for refusing to be vaccinated for COVID-19 because of her religious beliefs.

The Minnesota Department of Employment and Economic Development determined she wasn’t eligible for benefits because her reasons for refusing the vaccine were based less on religion and more on a lack of trust that the vaccine was effective.

The case shows that the vaccine debate continues to smolder after the pandemic and after the Supreme Court in 2022 halted enforcement of a Biden administration vaccine-or-testing mandate for large employers but declined to hear a challenge to the administration’s COVID-19 vaccine mandate for health care facilities that receive federal funding.

Still pending is an appeal from military chaplains who challenged the military’s vaccination requirement. Although that requirement was later rescinded at the direction of Congress, the chaplains argue they lost out on training opportunities and promotions because they requested religious exemptions.

Minnesota said the unemployment benefit appeal denied Monday wasn’t worth the Supreme Court’s time because benefits have been given to others who were found to have a sincerely held religious objection to the vaccine, so there’s no overarching question to address.

Lawyers for the Upper Midwest Law Center, which represented Tina Goede, had argued she was treated differently by the Minnesota courts than others who successfully appealed their denial of benefits.

REFUSING TO GET VACCINATED, FIRED FROM A PHARMACEUTICAL COMPANY

After refusing to get vaccinated, Goede was fired in 2022 from her job as an account sales manager for the pharmaceutical company Astra Zeneca. Her position had required her to meet with customers in hospitals and clinics, some of which required proof of vaccination.

She told the Minnesota Department of Employment and Economic Development her religious beliefs prohibit injecting foreign substances into her body, which is a “temple of the Holy Spirit.”

A Catholic opposed to abortion, Goede also objected to the COVID-19 vaccine because she believed it was manufactured using or tested on an aborted fetal-cell line. (A cell line from an abortion decades ago was used to create Johnson & Johnson’s coronavirus vaccine. Fetal cells were used in the early testing, though not in the production, of the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines.)

But Goede told the unemployment law judge she wouldn’t receive the vaccine no matter how it was made “because it doesn’t work.”

The judge said Goede was declining to take some vaccines, but not others, “because she does not trust them, not because of a religious belief.”

Goede’s attorneys said the judge had interrogated her religious beliefs with “unfair `gotcha’ questioning."

“He couched his denial of benefits in Ms. Goede’s credibility and then discounted her religious beliefs by determining that her secular beliefs outweighed them,” the lawyers told the Supreme Court.

At the same time the Minnesota Court of Appeals upheld that decision last year, it reached the opposite conclusion for two others who had been denied benefits after asserting religious objections.

Goede’s lawyers said her case presented a question that will reoccur: how to analyze a religious objection to an employer policy when those objections coincide with secular beliefs.

[transienturl]

And now for something completely different: a random product review!

This is a Port Authority Xcape BG100 computer backpack, with print-on-demand customization by Spreadshirt/Spreadshop. In the US, it retails for $27+tax from Mozilla's apparently-official merch shop, which regularly has free shipping promotions.

Now, first off, and importantly when considering this an ostensible piece of branded merchandise: the Firefox Aurora logo (now Nightly, but I'm sure you can see why Aurora was the original name/branding) that I picked here is apparently a terrible choice for generic print-on-demand, since the teal color it fades to at the upper right is probably way too saturated to be printable with a lot of processes. Mozilla probably shouldn't offer this design on this product, and I can't say anything about how good Spreadshirt's print accuracy is based on this.

That being said, in this particular case I don't actually care about this at all; if you just told me the result is a random (natural-gas-flame-themed?) alternative colorway for the Firefox logo I'd believe you:

Now, on to more practical matters. This product is, for some reason, $27. The same backpack on Amazon, without customization, is... $32. The bottom-of-the-barrel Amazon Basics backpack that appears when I search "backpack" on Amazon is $24. We're not talking about some $250 LTT bullshit here; the bar is somewhere around "it doesn't suck," and it definitely doesn't suck.

Size is important. I wouldn't call this a huge bag in length and width, but the claimed 7" depth seems about right and makes for a pretty voluminous interior. The angle shown on the sale page rather undersells the depth; the manufacturer's image might oversell it a bit (that one's pretty stuffed) but I would call it a reasonable, practical size.

The laptop pocket is described as fitting "most 17" laptop computers," and I think that's about right, maybe a bit optimistic considering how huge a 17" gaming laptop is these days. A typical 16" gaming laptop should fit fine (not going to bother to borrow my friend's to try it unless someone asks). I don't put my laptop directly in my bag, though, I put it in a sleeve, and a 16" M1 Macbook Pro in a padded sleeve just fits through the side zipper, which is what I need it to do, so, hey. I would call it minimally padded; I haven't tried other tech backpacks so I don't know what the standard is here but I would not want to put my laptop in without a sleeve. The separate laptop compartment and sleeve are more than it looks like you get on a lot of cheap backpacks, though.

Besides that, there are half-height and full-height flat front pockets, one with an organizer (with a zippered mesh; manufacturer pic is a bit old), and then the one big main compartment. No comments here; that's about how I'd do it. It's not much organization, but a lot of space efficiency if you're packing e.g. clothes. The zipper for the large compartment is angled, as you can see in the pic, which I think is smart. The elastic water bottle mesh pockets on the sides seem to work (my old bag's weren't deep enough and so the bottle would fall out, making them functionally useless; they probably should have angled the ones on this bag a little less but I think they're secure enough).

Build quality seems perfectly adequate; I can find no cut corners or anything chintzy, which is saying a lot for merch. Handling it, I'd easily believe you if you told me this was $60+ (and maybe it was when it came out in, I think, 2018). Zippers are large enough and smooth (plastic coil; metal body); strap padding and ventilation are reasonable; back padding and ventilation are rather good. The plastic top handle is a nice touch. (I might avoid using it if you filled the bag with something really, really dense; because of that angled zipper the handle attach point isn't on the strongest part of the bag, but whatever).

I have the "charcoal" color, which is a subtle two-tone. I wasn't sure if the grey would be very light, which wouldn't look great IMHO; the color is actually on the darker side, certainly darker than those photos depending on light angle, and really just makes it read as a black backpack that someone put significant effort designing some visual depth into. The use of multiple material pieces and angled stitching does look quite sharp; looking at it, I'd probably believe you if you told me it was $120?

So, in conclusion, uh... I dunno. I can't immediately think of anything I would change about it, and while I haven't tried any other competing products, it seems better-designed, better-looking, and less expensive than other similar things you could buy, and I guess it's also technically Firefox (or whatever else you want if you just go on Spreadshirt) merch.

Buy used stuff, obviously, when you can, and consider more environmentally friendly fabrics or whatever. But other than that, yeah, sure, if you need a backpack go buy this. It's cheaper than the price bump for a year of ad-free Tumblr, so that's something.

[inverdade]

GENESIS — misc headcanons

constantly sleeps around and is a serial dater, always a mess for shinra's marketing department to clean up and buy their silence whenever he gets tired of his current civilian ( but "high class", think actors / sports players / models / writers / etc ) partner, although eventually they manage to lean into it by generating their own scandal spreading tabloids.

every commercial sephiroth turned down, he picked up: hair care, facial creams, body wash, perfumes, deodorants, clothes, accessories... for a good 3-5 years it was impossible to go anywhere without seeing his face on at least two different adverts.

there's a divide in his fanbase, those that ignore his ""manufactured"" scandals for his ""real"" self as a misunderstood troubled young man, and those that scorn his ""fake"" posh and pompous persona and love his catty, scandalous behavior because he's "not like the other firsts". his real self lies somewhere in the middle ground, of course.

reeks of cigarette smoke - almost to a nauseating level if you're not used to it. it permeates his clothes, his apartment, his hair, his car - everything about him. started smoking when he was 14 after a dare and it's been downhill from there. says it's for the stress of dealing with idiots all day, is just an addiction he refuses to acknowledge. he does not care for your lungs or comfort, and will just smoke indoors or around you in general. at least 2 packs a day, gets worse as his health gets worse, which doesn't help, but he refuses to stop the "one thing that brings him pleasure". the only place he wouldn't smoke in is angeal's apartment.

leans more towards being a mage partly due to his distaste for dealing with "standard issue" gear. if he couldn't stand out by fighting with the same sword everyone else was using as a 3RD / 2ND class, the he'd stand out by being the most profecient in magic... which was something he achieved. and then, the first thing he did upon being promoted was commissioning the creation of his custom made rapier, that has materia dust used in it's forging. on it's own it has no "magic" but it can be used to channel and charge up spells that he has equipped elsewhere.

it annoys him to no end how "boring" angeal chooses to be, no flair, no identity other than being "a respectable example" as he chooses to remain based entirely on said deplorable "standard issue" gear.

[ask-warmer-hues]

Can you give explanations of the jobs of some of the trolls and why you gave them those jobs in your au?

So, I’ve talked about jobs before in this post, but I can explain why I gave them those jobs here if you’d like :))

So, Xefros and Dammek are technically both butlers, but Xefros is the only one who’s actually employed. He’s employed by a nameless blueblood (use your imagination), and most of his job consists of standing around, bringing his employer food and drink, and cleaning up his mansion. While I do think Xefros still has an interest in arena stickball and definitely had the potential to go pro, I reckon that Dammek kind of forced him to settle into butlering, keeping him under the impression that it was a more stable position. Ironic, since Dammek himself hasn’t actually been able to stay in one butler position for more than a few weeks at a time. I chose this for them because not only does it align with their whole “Butler Boys” thing in canon, but I think it demonstrates a lot about their characters. Xefros has had to give up a lot for Dammek, but still works hard, while Dammek avoids responsibility even when it’s literally handed to him.

Chixie and Marsti are both nurses, albeit different kinds. Marsti is an emergency nurse, meaning that she tends to trolls who come in to their version of an ER, while Chixie tends to patients who are admitted for more long-term care, like trolls with broken bones or serious injuries. Now, Marsti being a nurse objectively makes sense, given her medical knowledge in canon, as well as her janitorial duties (there’s a LOT of cleaning involved in nursing), but I can imagine that some of you think it’s an odd choice for Chixie. To make a very long story short, much like Xefros, Chixie had to essentially choose between her passion and her career. Being a singer off-planet is a completely different ball game to being a casual singer on Alternia and, for Chixie, the odds were very much stacked against her. Sleazy managers, awful contracts, no real identity other than what’s manufactured for her- you get the picture. But, with the help of Marsti, Chixie managed to find her place in nursing, as it gave her an opportunity to use her love of helping other lowbloods trolls in a way that matters. She still sings, but it’s more for herself these days.

Skylla and Vikare are a bit more bare bones. Skylla is a lusus wrangler and Vikare is an Empire pilot- both pertaining to their interests and lifestyles in canon. Skylla’s job involves capturing and taming lusii so they can be placed on Alternia to raise grubs, which is just as dangerous it sounds. Vikare used to be in the Empire’s military, but now runs supply drops after a gruesome injury during an aerial dogfight. Again, very simple, very much in line with canon.

Fozzer has technically had two jobs while off-planet. When he first ascended, he was part of the body disposal unit; preparing corpses to be disposed of and- where necessary- “reused”, pulling his knowledge from his culture and time at the Pit Park. Unfortunately, Fozzer had a bit of an incident at work, which resulted in him attacking a co-worker and being removed from the unit. However, after having a corrective procedure, Fozzer found himself becoming somewhat of an Empire darling, due to his uncanny ability to talk his way out of anything. Thus, he was hired to be a lecturer, giving talks to lowbloods about the value of their work and whatnot. In his own words though, it’s less performing arts, more customer service, as he’s essentially selling them a state of mind (one he doesn’t believe in at that). I picked this route for him for two main reasons: the first is that, in canon, he’s shown to be a bit of a hypocrite and can make anything sound convincing, and the second is for super secret plot reasons.

Little bonus for you! Zebruh owns a casino- this is purely an aesthetic choice and I think it fits him- and Ardata is somewhat of a freelance executioner for the Empire, who runs her business from the basement of Zebruh’s casino. She still does streaming, but it’s more for advertising purposes.

[the-bjd-community-confess]

Hello, this is the Oldie Chinese Diaspora™️ Anon here. Someone asked about these dolls that they found in their local import shop and wants to know more about them. Well, here we go. Let me take you out on a journey of meandering rabbit holes.

First things first, it should come as no surprise that these dolls were manufactured in China. However, it -is- difficult to find a specific manufacturer for them. A big part of this is due to the fact that they are classified as toys, and produced in massive quantities without much in terms of copyright enforcements. There are a few things we know: They are not BJDs. They have mechanical joints much like Barbies. They have inset plastic eyes and rooted hair. They can be customized the same way a playline doll can be customized – needs a bit of work, but it can be done. (For example, here:

The face sculpt of the smaller, “Leisure Girl” doll is based off of Lina Chouchou BJDs (closed mouth version: Baby Piyo

https://linachouchou.net/product/baby-piyo/242/?cate_no=27&display_group=1

and open-mouthed version: Mingky https://linachouchou.net/product/mingky/240/?cate_no=27&display_group=1

There is a trend of using a head sculpt from another source and casting them into a vinyl mould to produce toys. It saves on R&D costs since there’s already a head that people find attractive/cute out there. Considering that it often takes years to sculpt a head from scratch, “repurposing” someone else’s head becomes a lucrative option. These heads can be “recycled” and further “repurposed” into different things. And one Chinese netizen has chronicled the descent of Baby Piyo from the legit version, to a recasted bjd, then all the way down to a cheap (creepy?) decorative keychain: https://www.zhihu.com/question/314739696/answer/940578818

Incidentally, Napi Doll’s Carol was among the first and probably the most “recasted” vinyl head in China. They are invariably made of vinyl and were sold as “toy heads” or “practice heads”. According to another Chinese netizen, they are so ubiquitous that they were sold in toy stores outside of schools.

- Sleeping Carol, eyes opened by recasters, as explained in the graphic.

- sleeping Carol

- faceup “tutorial”

The second, larger doll is most likely DBS’s Dream Angel doll (

https://world.taobao.com/item/654623976663.htm

It’s tough to be 100% sure if this is a perfect match from these photos, unfortunately. They are most likely the 1/6 dolls used by the same artist as above for her customization efforts

) According to the Taobao sites that sell them, these were “extras” made to the specifications from an foreign company (meaning a company like Mattel contracted the factory to make 10,000 MH dolls, but the factory made 15,000 instead. And they are trying to sell off the extra.) Despite this description, I find it hard to believe. There are multiple companies that claim to be the manufacturer for these, almost exact, dolls, after all. The story simply doesn’t hold. However, if they really are DBS’s dolls (like these ones here:

Then they are copied from @ngell $tudio’s LiuRuShi. There was a prior post here about this specific “recast” earlier in the blog, I think.

That takes care of the head. The more “legit” version of the 1/8 body most likely came from the company Ding Xiao Ma (AKA “Ding Pony”

https://xp.toysol.com/company/product.aspx?ID=4260&UID=481

based in Shantou, Guangdong, China). They are advertised as “completely designed and made in China” and features a one-part body with articulation in the arms and legs. (13 joints in total, best seen here:

Unfortunately, due to their low price point, many unscrupulous on-line stores and drop-shippers would buy them for resale. And since they are considered “legit”, their prices can be highly inflated (

https://www.amazon.ca/Anime-Vinyl-Desktop-Decoration-Boxed/dp/B082WTP98Q

The less-than-reputable version of the 1/8 body is created by companies like DBS, the grey-area recasters. (

DBS has a two-part body with a swivel joint in the hips whereas Ding doesn’t. The original “swivel hip” doll body came from YeLoLi (which is legit:

https://true-bjd-confessions.tumblr.com/post/678905335364370432/not-a-recast-today-i-learned-the-night-lolita

but has been shrunken down to the 1/8th size. Incidentally, the YMY doll body also appears suspiciously like a shrunken-down YeLoLi body as well. There have been voices in the anti-recast BJD circles in China to recommend OB11 or Nendoroid bodies instead of YMY for that reason.

The larger dolls are 1/6th sized, and they are an interesting story, too. Supposedly, the DBS 1/6th is original (and therefore “legit”

And the company is now advertising them as being compatible with BJD heads if you use their “proprietary” neck adaptors. The body has 28 joints and is a swivel hip that was originally from YeLoLi. But this one has a modified crotch area that was taken from Xinyi (also a legit vinyl doll company

The DBS body might be seen as the illicit love child between these two companies. However, there are still hybrid 1/6th dolls that uses a “recasted” YeLoLi body along with another “repurposed” head, like these listings:

https://world.taobao.com/item/662180419082.htm

For those of you who made it this far with me: Thank you! Definitely pat yourself on the back for making it through such an arduous journey. While your mileage may vary, I hope this is something helpful.

Long story short: these dolls were cheaply made and they could probably trace their ancestry back to a more legitimate source. After several different rounds of recasting, sometimes into a different material, the features muddy and their price points drop. And they end up wrapped in plastic bags and being stuffed by the dozen in baskets.

Note 1: This is not to say there are no legit vinyl BJDs or MJDs. I hope that I have shown you that there are still legit sources and we should do our best to support them in the face of massive “repurposing”. These companies are really fighting an uphill battle.

Note 2: Shopping sites usually have a tracking serial when you try to copy and paste their listed content. This is how these websites track your geolocation and if you have shown repeated interest for targeted marketing. I have removed all tracking codes in the html in this post, even for folks who uses a VPN, this should still work. (Fingers crossed!)

~Anonymous

[bestreviews2024]

Sugar Defender Reviews Consumer Reports

What is Sugar Defender? How does it work? Is it worth buying?

See everything about Sugar Defender in this complete review!

SUGAR DEFENDER REVIEWS (⚠️🔴BE CAREFUL🔴⚠️) Does Sugar Defender Really Work? Sugar Defender 24 Reviews

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What is Sugar Defender? Watch this Sugar Defender review to understand how this supplement works and also if it is worth buying.

I am sure that this Sugar Defender review will help you understand everything about this supplement, so let’s go:

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Let’s start by explaining what Sugar Defender is?

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Yes, Sugar Defender works and is designed to help control blood sugar levels effectively.

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Eleuthero

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African Mango

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For best results, the manufacturer recommends using Sugar Defender consistently for 3 months (or longer).

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✅ Sugar Defender Reviews Consumer Reports

This was the Sugar Defender Reviews Consumer Reports.

Now you know how Sugar Defender works, what the ingredients are, how to take it and also where to buy the original Sugar Defender Supplement.

I hope you enjoyed the Sugar Defender Reviews video and I look forward to seeing you in the next video!

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SUGAR DEFENDER REVIEWS (⚠️🔴BE CAREFUL🔴⚠️) Does Sugar Defender Really Work? Sugar Defender 24 Reviews

This is the Sugar Defender Reviews Consumer Reports. Now you know how Sugar Defender 24 works and also how to use this supplement.

I hope you enjoyed the Sugar Defender 24 Reviews video and if you have any questions, just leave them in the comments and I will respond as quickly as possible.

The post Sugar Defender Reviews has first published in Flamengo Online Channel

[platinumbiologics]

How Platinum Biologics Ensures Quality and Affordability in Regenerative Products

In the rapidly evolving field of regenerative medicine, Platinum Biologics stands out as a beacon of excellence. Our commitment to providing high-quality regenerative products while maintaining affordability has set a new standard in the industry. Here’s a closer look at how we achieve this delicate balance and why healthcare professionals trust us for their regenerative needs.

Commitment to Quality

At Platinum Biologics, quality is not just a goal—it’s our foundation. Every step of our production process is meticulously designed to ensure that our products meet the highest standards. Here’s how we do it:

1. Rigorous Testing and Validation: Our products undergo comprehensive testing and validation to ensure they are safe, effective, and reliable. This includes multiple phases of clinical trials and ongoing monitoring to adhere to the strictest quality controls.

2. State-of-the-Art Manufacturing: We employ cutting-edge technology and state-of-the-art facilities to produce our regenerative products. Our manufacturing processes are designed to eliminate contamination risks and ensure consistent product quality.

3. Expert Team: Our team comprises leading experts in the field of regenerative medicine. Their extensive experience and dedication to innovation drive our continuous improvement efforts, ensuring our products remain at the forefront of medical advancements.

4. Compliance with Regulations: Platinum Biologics strictly adheres to all regulatory guidelines and standards. We work closely with regulatory bodies to ensure that our products are fully compliant with all necessary approvals and certifications.

Ensuring Affordability

While quality is paramount, we recognize the importance of affordability. Our mission is to make regenerative medicine accessible to as many patients as possible. Here’s how we keep our products affordable without compromising on quality:

1. Efficient Production Processes: By optimizing our production processes, we reduce waste and improve efficiency. This allows us to lower production costs and pass those savings on to our customers.

2. Strategic Partnerships: We collaborate with suppliers and partners who share our commitment to affordability and quality. These partnerships enable us to secure high-quality materials at competitive prices.

3. Research and Development: Our investment in research and development focuses not only on improving product efficacy but also on discovering cost-effective methods of production. This dual approach helps us maintain high standards while controlling costs.

4. Volume Purchasing: By producing and purchasing in large volumes, we benefit from economies of scale. These savings are then reflected in our pricing, making our products more accessible to healthcare providers and patients.

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Our unwavering commitment to excellence ensures that healthcare professionals can rely on Platinum Biologics for superior regenerative products. Here’s what sets us apart:

1. Uncompromising Standards: We never compromise on quality. Every product that bears the Platinum Biologics name is a testament to our dedication to excellence.

2. Focus on Patient Care: Our ultimate aim is to enhance patient care. By providing high-quality, affordable regenerative products, we empower healthcare providers to deliver the best possible outcomes for their patients.

3. Continuous Improvement: We are constantly striving to improve. Whether through advanced research, innovative production methods, or strategic partnerships, we are always seeking ways to enhance our products and services.

4. Transparent Communication: We believe in transparency and open communication with our customers. We provide clear information about our products, processes, and pricing, ensuring that healthcare providers can make informed decisions.

Conclusion

Platinum Biologics is redefining the landscape of regenerative medicine with our unwavering commitment to quality and affordability. By choosing Platinum Biologics, healthcare professionals are assured of superior products that enhance patient care without compromising on cost. Our dedication to excellence ensures that you can focus on what matters most—your patients' health and well-being. Experience the Platinum Biologics difference and join us in our mission to make high-quality regenerative medicine accessible to all.

[palvichemical]

Understanding Product Labels: How to Identify Sodium Laureth Sulfate in Your Products.

Understanding Product Labels: How to Identify Sodium Laureth Sulfate in Your Products.

When scanning the ingredients list on your favorite shampoo, body wash, or cleaning product, you might come across the term Sodium Laureth Sulfate, commonly abbreviated as SLES. Understanding what SLES is and why it’s used can help you make informed decisions about the products you use daily. This guide will help you identify Sodium Laureth Sulfate in your products and explain why it's a widely used ingredient. This guide will walk you through the process of identifying Sodium Laureth Sulfate and highlight Palvi Chemical Industries Limited as a key supplier in Saudi Arabia.

What is Sodium Laureth Sulfate (SLES)?

Sodium Laureth Sulfate is a surfactant, which means it helps to create foam and lather. It’s derived from ethoxylated lauryl alcohol and is often found in personal care and cleaning products because of its effective cleansing properties. SLES is used to remove oils and dirt from the skin and hair, making it a staple in many hygiene products.

How to Identify SLES in Product Labels

When checking your product labels, look for the following names:

Sodium Laureth Sulfate

SLES

Sodium lauryl ether sulfate

These names refer to the same ingredient and indicate the presence of this surfactant in the product.

Why is SLES Used?

SLES is popular for several reasons:

Effective Cleaning: Its ability to break down oils and grease makes it highly effective in cleaning products.

Foaming Properties: It produces a rich lather, which is often associated with cleanliness and effectiveness in shampoos and soaps.

Cost-Effective: SLES is relatively inexpensive, which helps keep the cost of consumer products down.

SLES and Your Health

While SLES is generally considered safe for use in consumer products, some individuals with sensitive skin may experience irritation. It’s important to be aware of how your skin reacts to products containing SLES and consult a dermatologist if you have concerns.

SLES in Saudi Arabia

For those in Saudi Arabia looking for SLES for manufacturing or resale, Palvi Chemical Industries Limited is a leading SLES distributor, supplier, and trader. We provide high-quality SLES to meet the needs of various industries.

SLES Distributor in Saudi Arabia: We ensure timely delivery and quality assurance for all your SLES needs.

SLES Supplier in Saudi Arabia: Our supply chain is robust, ensuring a steady and reliable supply of SLES for your production requirements.

SLES Trader in Saudi Arabia: With extensive market knowledge, we offer competitive pricing and top-notch customer service.

Conclusion

Understanding product labels and identifying Sodium Laureth Sulfate can help you make informed choices about the products you use. Whether you're a consumer looking to avoid SLES or a manufacturer in need of a reliable supplier, knowing where and how to find this ingredient is essential. Palvi Chemical Industries Limited is your trusted partner for all things SLES in Saudi Arabia, ensuring you get the best quality for your needs.

[treownut]

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Also Read - plant based protein powder india

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Must Read- hair vitamins for thicker hair

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Read Also - best medicine for constipation in india

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