#Flow Computer Market in US

[badomensgoodomens]

BAD DECISIONS

CHAPTER TWO.

Noah Sebastian X reader

cw: emo. and mention of taylor swift. if u have a problem with that please get over it.

taglist at bottom of post.

He stared at the computer in front of him, nothing was working, the lyrics weren’t flowing and he was just a mess. his knee bounced up and down, his thoughts constantly went back to her, it had been a week since she completely shut him out. Blocked him and removed him from everything. All because he couldn't give her what she wanted. 

he jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock on the door. “Come in” he croaked out, Nick's face scrunched up as he entered the studio, wincing at the bags under Noah's eyes. “You look like actual shit man.” he states, setting down a plate of food. He pulls up a chair next to him, grunting at the way it scraped along the wood floors. “Right, you won’t talk to jolly, you won’t talk to nicholas, what's got your knickers in a twist?” he said, resting his hands on his thighs. He came from good intent obviously, but it was painful how the boys wouldn't leave him alone. 

“What are you? The fucking IRS?” Noah grumbled, picking at the food. “Is it a girl?” Nick asked, taking notice of the way Noah tensed. “It is a girl!!! Tell me everything.”

“Dude. you're crazy. If an art hoe is in love with you, you gotta bag her.” Nick said, nudging Noah. He shook his head, sighing. “You know I'm not ready for that.” Nick audibly groaned. “It’s always Natasha bro. You need to get over her.” 

“I am over her! It’s just…” Noah took a deep breath. “You know how I am with commitment after that.” 

Nick sighed,  his shoulders visibly dropping. 

“Lets get you into some therapy, hey?” 

She was gutted, crying to every single Taylor Swift song that was even remotely related to her current situation. It took her a couple days to even leave the house.  No long drive through the city, accompanied by fast food and sad songs, could save her from this. Her sister, Nevada, always told her never to fall too hard for a situationship, but I guess that advice fell on deaf ears. 

‘Us’ played over the radio as she cruised through the bustling city part of florida. 

‘I wonder if you regret, the secret of us’ 

Hearing those words sung was almost laughable, she was a silly girl for ever believing that she was in love. Tears clouded her vision as she drove, rain beating down on her windshield. It was only September, yet the seasons were changing drastically. 

“I just wanted to be yours.”  

The words came out in a broken whisper, almost a plea. Truth be told, she barely knew Noah. Never cared to look into his social status, his music, what he was like other than the feeling of his sex. She had created this false idea of what he was outside of sex. It made her want to tear her hair out.

Eventually, she couldn’t go any farther. She pulled over, her hands shaking as she gripped the steering wheel, tears blurring her vision until the world outside became a hazy mess. She sobbed, gasping for breath, as though trying to expel the weight that had settled deep in her chest. All she could think was that she was waiting—for a sign, for some kind of message, anything that would make sense of the chaos, that would make this unbearable ache stop. A text. A call. A word, just one word to tell her it wasn’t really over, that there was still something left to hold on to.

It was a futile effort, her and Noah meant next to nothing. How is one supposed to build a thriving relationship off of a sex bond? 

After a long phone call with her sister, she came to the conclusion she needed a change of scene. This town had seen too  much of her, from every highschool heartbreak, to coming home at 4am from the club. Her art was never appreciated here either, no success at markets, or even by word of mouth. Her day job was excruciating, a boring cubicle with endless paperwork. Multiple times she’d considered giving up, leaving this boring life to live in a trailer park with some junkies, or move to LA and become a stripper. 

It took awhile, but she packed up her studio, and her small townhouse, and took the long drive across to her sister’s house in California. Nevada had so graciously offered her a job as the barista in the small, quaint coffee shop she and her husband owned. She fell in love with Dawn in senior year, she was a cheerleader and he played in the band. He had successfully set off within the music industry, thus providing financial support to nevadas small coffee shop that probably loses 30k a year.

After a terrible night's sleep in a cheap, shitty motel, she pulled up to her sister's big white house. They both welcomed her with open arms, setting up the guest bedroom to be her temporary home until she got back on her feet. Her paintings being stored in the back shed. 

For a while, things had been good. She was in a better place mentally, her routine steady with a reliable income from the coffee shop. Life in California was finally starting to feel right—like everything was falling into place. But then, as if on cue, her past came rushing back. Her ex from high school walked into the café, his new girlfriend in tow, and just when she thought she had control, disaster struck: the back shed went up in flames.

 Her ex was just taunting, but the shed was gut wrenching. Her past lay scattered like ashes in the wind, each memory a flicker of flame extinguished, leaving only whispers of who she once was. Just as the remnants of a life turned to smoke drift into the afterlife, so too did her former self dissolve into the ether, leaving behind a haunting silence where laughter and light once thrived.

Dawn apologised profusely, explaining that his electrical gardening equipment had spontaneously combusted, turning everything, including the shed exterior, to ash. She brushed him off, it wasn’t his fault whatsoever, it was just daunting that she’d have to put all that behind her. 

It was going to happen inevitably, but a more appropriate exit would have sufficed. She managed to book some therapy sessions. Just barely being able to pay for them. I mean, music in itself was a perfect form of therapy, 

“It only hurts this much right now.” 

Were the words she whispered at the beginning of each session. They were draining, and fried her social battery almost immediately. But they were helpful. Dr Sanchez was able to help her label the fact she allowed herself to fall easily, despite knowing the boundaries of their situationship. 

It was hard, having to deal with the different diagnoses that came with therapy. Especially how Dr Sanchez was able to offer medication for Adhd and anxiety. It made her question a lot about her childhood. Her dad, who was never there, did not believe in mental health, much less not abusing his children. Her mom however was riddled with mental health issues, which definitely contributed to the divorce. Hence why Nevada was so quick to move away.  

9/10 times when she got home from therapy, she would escape to her room. Instead of painting, she opted for drawing, sitting in front of the big window. The sun set, illuminating the soft pout of her lips as she concentrated, and the small dimples in her cheeks. She watched as the cars drove past, taking note of the gradual transition to headlights. Her mind subconsciously drifted back to her old life, having pondered so much of it with Dr Sanchez, it was almost a daily occurrence. 

He had spent the past month drinking himself hopefully into a coma. He was butthurt for no reason, not even about y/n, but about everything, about Natasha. He had a nightmare about her recently, it set him back quite a bit, almost reversing all the therapy it took to get here. It was then that he made the conscious decision to take folios advice, and go back to therapy. 

He kept drinking for a while after that, despite Jolly's constant complaints. Some of his best songs had always come from his drunk thoughts. Right now, they were deep into working on their newest album, fine-tuning each track. It was a shift in direction—blending elements of The Weeknd’s atmospheric style with hints of Bring Me The Horizon’s intensity

At the start of their new album cycle, Noah had 3 demos in production. The songs were oddly personal compared to previous albums, the boys just assumed Noah was finally channelling and dealing with his emotions through song following his return to therapy. 

Not one week goes by where Noah doesn’t ponder about what could’ve been, with both Natasha and y/n. They honestly didn’t live far, Noah even considered visiting them. I’m sure Natasha would’ve been thrilled, y/n not so much. Didn’t stop him though, a whole year after they stopped talking, Noah found himself planted in front of y/n's house. Standing face to face with an empty block of land. 

‘Fuck.’

It invoked something in him, an odd feeling that left him feeling unsettled and kind of woozy. He didn’t love her, he swore up and down he’d never date someone again. But as he slowly pushed his pride and fears aside, maybe she had wormed her way into his heart. With her warm skin and the scent of her perfume, or perhaps the cheeky smile always slung across her face. 

It made him a little suicidal that he had somebody infront of him, that despite the sole purpose of their relationship was to be greedy, and seek sexual pleasure from eachother with no strings attached, was so, so deeply infatuated with him. He felt guilty that he wasn’t ready and in the right place to hand himself over to someone, yet still agreed to be friends with benefits. It was a selfish act, nobody could connect in the way that they did, and not fall in love. 

Nothing has ever felt so wrong. 

Tour had kicked off, something to distract Noah. He wrote and scrapped so many songs in the two years he had between touring. His song writing, and the new album sumerian was egging for, were a losing battle. 

On a particularly windy night, Noah was sitting in the confines of his tiny bunk, hunched over his notebook. Nicholas poked his head in, staring at the tall man, concern lacing his tone. “You look like shit.” his words echo within the bus, earning a grunt of agreement from Joakim. 

Noah rubbed a hand over his face, the words scribbled on the page barely making sense. “I know.” he grunted, crossing out a line. “Look, i get that sumerians on your dick about the new album but-” Noah cut him off, waving his hand in his face. “I don’t have time for a break. I’ve pushed it back far enough.” Noah grumbled out, pulling the black fabric of his curtain along the rod, concealing himself from his concerned bandmates. 

‘I’m taking it slowly, you’d never know’

‘Her skin feels unholy, but I'm still drawn.’

‘No god, no religion. Just bad, bad decisions.’ 

The words made no sense by themselves, but they sounded right. He took a swig of hennessy, the bitterness burning his tongue. it almost made him laugh, thinking back to that night. Their relationship was just one, big bad decision. 

‘Bitter ends to the night’

‘I'm along for the ride.’

‘Out of breath out of time.’ 

‘Everything has a price.’ 

The way everything flowed together made Noah want to tear his own skin. 

‘You can be all ive got, what's the difference?’

‘Hennessy, and a lot of bad decisions.’ 

The song itself made Noah think deeply if perhaps everything that happened had stemmed from his ‘slight’ alcohol problem that had lingered from the stress of last tour. He had managed to polish off a whole bottle of hennessy and a whole new song by 2am. Drunkenly sliding under the covers to fall asleep.

He awoke to Nick and Nicholas standing above him, reading the notebook he had forgotten to stash away. Immediate regret filled his stomach, this is not what he needed.   

“Yooo is this about art hoe? Damn bro she got you messed up,” Nick said, laughing. 

“Who the fuck is art hoe?” Nicholas says, brows furrowed as he read over the lyrics. 

Noah rubbed his hands over his face, groaning internally. He was hungover and not about to deal with their shit today. 

READERS POV

I tied the apron around my waist with a weary sigh. Morning shifts at the café were always tough. It was early November, and winter was starting to creep in, its chill settling in the air. After flicking on the lights, I got to work, preparing the weekly specials with practised ease.

A small interchangeable collection of cakes Nevada and I designed. I’ve taken an interest in design lately, taking short classes at the local uni. I was gradually ticking off the long strenuous list of chores when the bell above the door rang. Looking up, I met the eyes of a happy looking boy. 

“Hey, what can I get you?” I smiled up at him, his dark brown hair was loosely combed back, his nose adorned a silver ring, a grin on his face. 

“I’ve got quite the order, if you don’t mind.” he said, pulling his phone out. I internally groan, peering over the counter to the long message laying out his order. 

“Okay.. perfect. Let me just type that into the system..” I hummed, lip between my teeth as I focused. “Alright, name?” I said, looking up at the boy, taking notice of the casualness, and sweetness radiating off of him. 

“Nick” he replied, a small smile on his face. He really was beautiful, ugh. And youthful, how old was this guy? “Alright, that’ll be $63.80” I respond, a little astounded myself at the price. “Fuck, sorry one moment please.” he smiled, pulling his phone out. I make myself busy, cleaning up my mess from before,  managing to catch on briefly to the end of his phone call conversation. 

“Alright, I'll just use the band card-” 

Huh. Maybe this guy is a musician or something. I've definitely dealt with a fareshare of musicians. 

All done?" I asked, smiling at him. He nodded, handing over the payment for the drinks. The bell above the door jingled as Nevada rushes in, offering a flurry of hurried apologies as she quickly tied her apron and hurried behind the counter.

It took a while, but we finally sent Nick off with his seven drinks. The day moved slowly after that—Fridays aren’t exactly prime café days. Most people prefer hitting up bars or catching a gig. I used to enjoy concerts, but these days, I’ve become more of a homebody.

“Yo dude i saw the cutest girl at the coffee shop-” Noah groaned, having heard enough of Nick’s questionable relationship choices while on tour. “No- seriously, she had this long, thick hair. She probably has a boyfriend though. Californian boys snatch the hot ones up real quick-” fuck? This kid was yapping. 

“Do you say that about every girl you see?” Jolly snorted, throwing a pillow in Nick's direction. He scoffed, throwing it back. The smaller boy sits down next to Noah on the bunks, handing him a controller. “You’re all so uptight, come on, play a round of mario kart with me.” 

Nights like these always ended the same, drunk rounds of mario kart followed by play fighting until everyone was too tired to move. The sun set hours ago, yet Noah found himself sitting on the bus roof with his notebook. The creative flair just wasn’t quite there though, the page having been empty for the past hour. He was feeling so many different, violent emotions, yet none at the same time. It was hard to portray these emotions in a controlled way, especially during tour. He tried not to let the boys see him when he was most vulnerable, wanting to maintain the respect they had for him. It was unrealistic, almost like a ticking time bomb. 

When Noah went back inside, Nicholas, his best friend, was the only one still awake. They sat opposite each other on the leather couch, beer in hand. “How’s the missus?” Noah slurred, taking a swig. “Ivy’s good, I really wanna marry her, yaknow?” Nicholas slurred back. The mention of marriage knocks the breath out of Noah’s lungs. “I wanted to marry Natasha.” he drunkenly murmured, slumping back on the couch. “I think she was a porn star.” Nicholas mumbled, his words make Noah laugh.  

She laid staring at her ceiling, the window, which faced the city, was cracked open the slightest. Something so melancholic, yet comforting about laying in the dark, just feeling feelings. 

Not even about anyone in particular, just feelings.

She knew she needed to be awake at 6am for work, but the feeling pooling in her stomach was addicting, overwhelming, and most of all, fucking amazing. It was like a coil, seconds away from laughing, seconds away from crying. 

hi gang!!! see, this one is somewhat better than the first chapter. I understand if you feel that this story is moving too fast but honey... this is just the beginning xoxo.

reply to be added to the taglist x

Tags: @emluvsuxo @Ima1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @briefpersonenemy

[c1qfxugcgy0]

adventures in QA

(previous post in this series)

My shop in Advanced Midbody - Carbon Wing (AMCW) at Large Aircraft Manufacturer (LAM) is at the very end of the composite fabrication building. Hundreds of people carefully lay up a hundred foot long slab of carbon fiber, cure it, paint it, and then we totally fuck it up with out of spec holes, scrapes, primer damage, etc. The people who write up our many defects are from the Quality Assurance (QA) department.

Every single screw and rivet on a LAM aircraft can be traced back to the mechanic who installed it. Back when even everything was done in pen and pencil, it was joked that the paper used to produce an aircraft outweighed the plane itself. Now that everything is computer-based, of course, the amount of paperwork is free to grow without limit.

(Haunting the factory is endless media coverage of an emergency exit door plug popping out of an Advanced Smallbody - Upengine (ASU) plane during a routine flight a few months ago. Unlike that airframe's notorious problems with MCAS, this was a straightforward paperwork screwup by a line worker: the bolts were supposed to be tightened, and they weren't.

As a result the higher ups have visited hideous tribulations on non-salaried workers. Endless webinars, structured trainings. Here at the Widebody plant we have received a steady flow of refugees from the Narrowbody factory, hair-raising tales of receiving one hundred percent supervision from the moment they clock in to the second they clock out from FAA inspectors who can recommend actual jail time for any lapse in judgement.)

A single hydraulic bracket Installation Plan (IP) is around four brackets. The team leads generally assign two bracket IPs per mechanic, since each bracket set is something like a foot apart, and while working on the plane is bad enough it's much worse to have another mechanic in your lap.

Let me list the order of operations:

One: Find where you're supposed to install these brackets. This is harder than you might think.

Firstly, it's a hundred foot long plank of carbon fiber composite, with longitudinal stringers bonded to it to add stiffness. The stringers are pilot drilled in the trim and drill center, a truly Brobdingnagian CNC mill that trims off the composite flash at the edges and locates and drills part holes for us. But there's a lot of holes, so you must carefully find your set.

A minor difficulty is that the engineering drawings are laid out with the leading edge pointing up, while the wing panels in our cells hang from the trailing edge. Not so bad, you just rotate the paper 180 when orienteering, then rotate it back up to read the printed labels.

A major difficulty is that the drawings are from the perspective from the outside of the panel. But we work on the inside of the wing (obviously, that's where all the parts are installed) so we also flip the drawings and squint through the back of the paper, to make things line up.

Large Aircraft Manufacturer has a market cap of US$110 billion, and we're walking around the wing jig with sheets of paper rotated 180 and flipped turnways trying to find where to put brackets.

Oh well, we're paid by the hour.

Two: Match drill the aluminum brackets to the carbon fiber composite stringer. I can devote an entire post to the subtleties of drilling carbon fiber, but I can already tell that this post is going to be a miserable slog, so I will merrily skip over this step.

Three: Vacuum up all the carbon dust and aluminum swarf created during this process. This step is not optional, as your team lead will remind you, his screaming mouth clouding your safety glasses with spittle at a distance of four inches. LAM is very serious about FOD. Every jet airliner you've ever ridden in is a wet wing design-- each interstitial space is filled with Jet A. There is no fuel bladder or liner-- the fuel washes right over plane structure and wing hardware. Any dirt we leave behind will merrily float into the fuel and be sucked right into the engines, where it can cause millions in damage. No place for metal shavings!

If you are nervous about flying, avoid considering that all the hydraulic lines and engine control cables dip into a lake of a kerosene on their way from the flight deck to the important machines they command. Especially do not consider that we're paid about as much per hour as a McDonalds fry cook to install flight-critical aviation components.

Four: Neatly lay out your brackets on your cart, fight for a position at a Shared Production Workstation (SPW) (of which we have a total of four (4) for a crew of thirty (30) mechanics) and mark your IP for QA inspection as Ready To Apply Seal.

Four: Twiddle your thumbs. Similarly, we have three QA people for thirty mechanics. This is not enough QA people, as I will make enormously clear in the following steps.

Five: Continue waiting. Remember, you must not do anything until a QA person shows up and checks the box. Skipping a QA step is a “process failure” and a disciplinary offense. From the outside, you can observe the numerous QA whistleblowers and say “golly, why would a mechanic ever cut a corner and ignore QA?” Well...

Six: QA shows up. Theoretically, they could choose to pick up the mahrmax you prepared for them and gauge every single hole you've drilled. But since we're three hours into the shift and they're already twenty jobs behind, they just flick their flashlight across the panel and say “looks good" and then sprint away. Can't imagine why our planes keep falling out of the sky.

Seven: Apply the seal to the bracket. P/S 890 is a thick dark gray goop that adheres well to aluminum, carbon fiber, fabric, hair and skin. Once cured, it is completely immune to any chemical attack short of piranha solution, so if you get any on yourself you had better notice quick, otherwise it'll be with you as long as the layer of epidermis it's bonded to. LAM employees who work with fuel tank sealant very quickly get out of the habit of running their hands through their hair.

Eight: Now you wait again. Ha ha, you dumb asshole, you thought you were done with QA? No no, now you put up the job for QA inspection of how well you put the seal on the bracket. Twiddle your thumbs, but now with some urgency. The minute you took the bottle of seal out of the freezer, you started the clock on its "squeeze-out life." For this type of seal, on this job, it's 120 minutes. If QA doesn't get to you before that time expires, you remove your ticket, wipe off the seal, take another bottle out the freezer, and apply a fresh layer.

Nine: Optimistically, QA shows up in time and signs off on the seal. Well, you're 100 minutes into your 120 minute timer. Quickly, you slap the brackets onto the stringer, air hammer the sleeve bolts into position, thread nuts onto the bolts, then torque them down. Shove through the crowd and mark your IP "ready to inspect squeeze out"

Ten: Let out a long breath and relax. All the time sensitive parts are over. The criteria here is "visible and continuous" squeeze out all along the perimeter of the bracket and the fasteners. It is hard to screw this up, just glop on a wild excess of seal before installing it. If you do fail squeezeout, though, the only remedy is to take everything off, throw away the single-use distorted thread locknuts, clean everything up and try again tomorrow.

Eleven: QA approved squeeze out? Break's over, now we're in a hurry again. By now there's probably only an hour or two left in the shift, and your job now is to clean off all that squeeze out. Here's where you curse your past self for glopping on too much seal. You want to get it off ASAP because if you leave it alone or if it's too late in the shift and your manager does feel like approving overtime it'll cure to a rock hard condition overnight and you'll go through hell chipping it off the next day. You'll go through a hundred or so qtips soaked in MPK cleaning up the bracket and every surface of the panel within three feet.

Twelve: Put it up for final inspection. Put away all your tools. (The large communal toolboxes are lined with kaizen foam precisely cut out to hold each individual tool, which makes it obvious if any tool is missing. When you take a tool out, you stick a tool chit with your name and LAMID printed on it in its place. Lose a tool? Stick your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye, pal, because the default assumption is that a lost screwdriver is lurking in a hollow "hat" stringer, waiting to float out and damage some critical component years after the airplane is delivered.)

One tool you'll leave on your cart, however, is the pin protrusion gage. There is a minimum amount of thread that must poke outside of the permanent straight shank fastener's (Hi-Lok) nut, to indicate that the nut is fully engaged. That makes sense. But there's also a maximum protrusion. Why?

Well, it's an airplane. Ounces make pounds. An extra quarter inch of stickout across a thousand fasteners across a 30 year service life means tons of additional fuel burnt. So you can't use a fastener that's too long, because it adds weight.

On aluminum parts, it's hard to mess up. But any given composite part is laid up from many layers of carbon fiber tape. The engineers seemed to have assumed that dimensional variation would be normally distributed. But, unfortunately, we buy miles of carbon fiber at a time, and the size only very gradually changes between lots. When entire batches are several microns oversize, and you're laying up parts from fifty plies and an inch thick, you can have considerable variation of thickness on any given structural component. So you had better hope you had test fit all of your fasteners ahead of time, or else you'll be real sorry!

And, if you're really lucky, QA will show up five minutes before end of shift, pronounce everything within tolerance, then fuck off.

And that's how it takes eight hours to install eight brackets.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Freewriting

Freewriting - the practice of writing without a prescribed structure, which means no outlines, cards, notes, or editorial oversight.

In freewriting, the writer follows the impulses of their own mind, allowing thoughts and inspiration to appear to them without premeditation.

Benefits of Freewriting

CREATIVE EXPRESSION

Many writers embrace freewriting as a way to find unexpected inspiration.

Outlines and notes can be wonderful for the purpose of staying on task, but they can sometimes stifle the creativity that comes from free association.

This is where freewriting comes in.

By starting with a rough idea, but without pre-planned details, a writer opens themself up to discovery and new found inspiration.

WRITER'S BLOCK

Writers who feel in a style rut, or who actively experience writer’s block, may benefit from a freewriting exercise as part of their formal writing process.

By forcing themselves to put words on a page, a writer may be able to alleviate their anxiety about writing and allow them to be more creative.

SPEED

Freewriting is typically faster than other forms of draft writing or outlining.

Because you are simply writing without a strict form to follow and without organizing your thoughts.

5 Tips and Techniques for Freewriting

JUST WRITE

Any writing coach or writing teacher will tell you that you must segregate your writing process from your editing process.

When it comes to freewriting, first drafts are repositories for every idea that comes to mind, however vague or tangential.

Don’t worry about word count, don’t worry about market viability, don’t worry about sentence structure, don’t even worry about spelling.

Unleash your creativity, let the ideas flow, and trust that there will be time for editing later.

This rule applies whether you wish to write a novel, a play, a short story, or a poem.

GATHER TOPICS BEFOREHAND

Freewriting doesn’t mean you write without having an idea about your topic/story.

Even the most committed freewriters tend to have some degree of a prewriting technique - they ruminate on their subject matter in a broad, general sense.

You don’t have to pre-plan details before you start writing, but it helps to know in the broadest sense what it is you think you’ll write about.

TIME YOURSELF

If you are experiencing writer’s block, commit to getting words down on the page within the first 60 seconds of writing.

Perhaps those first words will not yield anything, but think of them metaphorically as the first drops you put into the five gallon bucket that is your novel.

There is nothing to be gained by staring at a page or computer screen for any great period of time.

COMBINE FREEWRITING WITH TRADITIONAL OUTLINES OR NOTES

While it can be quite satisfying to say that one wrote an entire novel using freewriting techniques (as Jack Kerouac is said to have done with On the Road) what readers care about most is the quality of your writing.

With this in mind, start a project with a substantive freewriting session.

Depending on what you produce, you may want to use that content as fodder for a formal process that more closely conforms to the traditional rules of writing (outlines, notes, etc.).

Let that outline or set of notes guide the remainder of your writing on the project.

Remember, too, that you can always toggle back to freewriting at any point.

BRING IDEAS TO YOUR SESSIONS

Some writers, particularly poets, begin sessions with no ideas or themes they plan to tackle—they simply begin writing with the first word or phrase that comes to mind, and then they let the process unfold from there.

While you can work toward this point, if you’re new to the medium of writing and are seeking to unleash the writer within, plan your freewriting sessions when you have a strong idea of your story or theme.

The most effective writing has thematic or narrative consistency, and starting with a small germ of an idea may help you achieve that consistency.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[soulprompts]

hello it is i, your local tumblrarian, here to drink tea from her pumpkin mug and tell u the following important announcement: being on tumblr every single day is possibly not a great idea. let's use a metaphor here. it's like squeezing a lemon every day, but it's only got so much juice, you'll only end up getting frustrated and upset that the juice is no longer flowing. and then it's building up this habit of squeezing lemons every day, but then one day you're not around and you're worried, because what if the lemon had juice today? what if we missed the juicing opportunity?

but now let's sprinkle in the following notion: every once in a while, we step outside of the lemon juicer, and we go to the market to buy more lemons. the next day, we wake up, we go back to the juicer, and what do you know! the juice is flowing again!

gonna step back from the metaphor here to just explain a few things. we have all been in the situation of staring wretchedly at the computer screen, begging for a drop of inspiration. most of us are online each and every day. and that's okay! i'm the same! but maybe we need to refresh the cycle here, because i took a day to myself today, i consciously refused to go online until 6PM, and even that 24 hour break was enough to get some very exciting ideas going! and tomorrow i'll be writing more than i have in weeks!

we put too much pressure on ourselves to be here 24/7, and it's time that we just knocked that out and started treating writing as what it always was: a hobby. so go take a break. go out for a walk, go get lunch in a nice cafe, step away from the computer and just let yourself do something that isn't absorbed in writing or in your education/career.

[commodorez]

If the Commodore 64 is great, where is the Commodore 65?

It sits in the pile with the rest of history's pre-production computers that never made it. It's been awhile since I went on a Commodore 65 rant...

The successor to the C64 is the C128, arguably the pinnacle of 8-bit computers. It has 3 modes: native C128 mode with 2MHz 8502, backwards compatible C64 mode, and CP/M mode using a 4MHz Z80. Dual video output in 40-column mode with sprites plus a second output in 80-column mode. Feature-rich BASIC, built in ROM monitor, numpad, 128K of RAM, and of course a SID chip. For 1985, it was one of the last hurrahs of 8-bit computing that wasn't meant to be a budget/bargain bin option.

For the Amiga was taking center stage at Commodore -- the 16-bit age is here! And its initial market performance wasn't great, they were having a hard time selling its advanced capabilities. The Amiga platform took time to really build up momentum square in the face of the rising dominance of the IBM PC compatible. And the Amiga lost (don't tell the hardcore Amiga fanboys, they're still in denial).

However, before Commodore went bankrupt in '94, someone planned and designed another successor to the C64. It was supposed to be backwards compatible with C64, while also evolving on that lineage, moving to a CSG 4510 R3 at 3.54MHz (a fancy CMOS 6502 variant based on a subprocessor out of an Amiga serial port card). 128K of RAM (again) supposedly expandable to 1MB, 256X more colors, higher resolution, integrated 3½" floppy not unlike the 1581. Bitplane modes, DAT modes, Blitter modes -- all stuff that at one time was a big deal for rapid graphics operations, but nothing that an Amiga couldn't already do (if you're a C65 expert who isn't mad at me yet, feel free to correct me here).

The problem is that nobody wanted this.

Sure, Apple had released the IIgs in 1986, but that had both the backwards compatibility of an Apple II and a 16-bit 65C816 processor -- not some half-baked 6502 on gas station pills. Plus, by the time the C65 was in heavy development it was 1991. Way too late for the rapidly evolving landscape of the consumer computer market. It would be cancelled later that same year.

I realize that Commodore was also still selling the C64 well into 1994 when they closed up shop, but that was more of a desperation measure to keep cash flowing, even if it was way behind the curve by that point (remember, when the C64 was new it was a powerful, affordable machine for 1982). It was free money on an established product that was cheap to make, whereas the C65 would have been this new and expensive machine to produce and sell that would have been obsolete from the first day it hit store shelves. Never mind the dismal state of Commodore's marketing team post-Tramiel.

Internally, the guy working on the C65 was someone off in the corner who didn't work well with others while 3rd generation Amiga development was underway. The other engineers didn't have much faith in the idea.

The C65 has acquired a hype of "the machine that totally would have saved Commodore, guise!!!!1!11!!!111" -- saved nothing. If you want better what-if's from Commodore, you need to look to the C900 series UNIX machine, or the CLCD. Unlike those machines which only have a handful of surviving examples (like 3 or 4 CLCDs?), the C65 had several hundred, possibly as many as 2000 pre-production units made and sent out to software development houses. However many got out there, no software appears to have surfaced, and only a handful of complete examples of a C65 have entered the hands of collectors. Meaning if you have one, it's probably buggy and you have no software to run on it. Thus, what experience are you recapturing? Vaporware?

The myth of the C65 and what could have been persists nonetheless. I'm aware of 3 modern projects that have tried to take the throne from the Commodore 64, doing many things that sound similar to the Commodore 65.

The Foenix Retro Systems F256K:

The 8-Bit Guy's Commander X16

The MEGA65 (not my picture)

The last of which is an incredibly faithful open-source visual copy of the C65, where as the other projects are one-off's by dedicated individuals (and when referring to the X16, I don't mean David Murray as he's not the one doing the major design work).

I don't mean to belittle the effort people have put forth into such complicated projects, it's just not what I would have built. In 2019, I had the opportunity to meet the 8-Bit Guy and see the early X16 prototype. I didn't really see the appeal, and neither did David see the appeal of my homebrew, the Cactus.

Build your own computer, build a replica computer. I encourage you to build what you want, it can be a rewarding experience. Just remember that the C65 was probably never going to dig Commodore out of the financial hole they had dug for themselves.

[thefugitivesaint]

''The Age of Surveillance Capitalism: The Fight for a Human Future at the New Frontier of Power'' by Shoshana Zuboff, 2018 "I define surveillance capitalism as the unilateral claiming of private human experience as free raw material for translation into behavioral data. These data are then computed and packaged as prediction products and sold into behavioral futures markets — business customers with a commercial interest in knowing what we will do now, soon, and later. It was Google that first learned how to capture surplus behavioral data, more than what they needed for services, and used it to compute prediction products that they could sell to their business customers, in this case advertisers. But I argue that surveillance capitalism is no more restricted to that initial context than, for example, mass production was restricted to the fabrication of Model T’s. Right from the start at Google it was understood that users were unlikely to agree to this unilateral claiming of their experience and its translation into behavioral data. It was understood that these methods had to be undetectable. So from the start the logic reflected the social relations of the one-way mirror. They were able to see and to take — and to do this in a way that we could not contest because we had no way to know what was happening. We rushed to the internet expecting empowerment, the democratization of knowledge, and help with real problems, but surveillance capitalism really was just too lucrative to resist. This economic logic has now spread beyond the tech companies to new surveillance–based ecosystems in virtually every economic sector, from insurance to automobiles to health, education, finance, to every product described as “smart” and every service described as “personalized.” By now it’s very difficult to participate effectively in society without interfacing with these same channels that are supply chains for surveillance capitalism’s data flows." from an interview with Shoshana Zuboff in the Harvard Gazette in March of 2019. It's an interesting interview that I suggest you peruse.

[staytheword]

kind regards

kind regards — one shot [general masterlist]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• changbin x female reader; lee know is briefly featured.

• non idol au. workplace au. rivals to lovers (workplace rivalry). some physical description of mc, drinking, explicit language, explicit smut.

•  smut warnings (spoilers ahead) — dom!changbin, switch! reader, unprotected sex, sex in an empty public space, angry sex, elevator sex, use of pet names, lingerie, praising kink, dirty talk, slight degradation kink, dumbification, throatfucking, creampie.

• word count: 10.5k

Seo Changbin. Every time you get an email from me, you feel your blood boil. What a conceited, terrible human being. You have to work together, but it doesn't mean you have to like him. In fact, you only feel hate towards him. So what if you have no idea what he looks like, so what if you have never met him? Nothing could change your mind about him. Right?

• author’s note: Just a silly little one shot to take our mind off things. I wrote this completely for fun so I hope you can have fun reading it as well! Thank you for being here, sending lots of love your way. ♡

You stare at your computer screen, hoping that if you do it long and hard enough, it will magically conjure up the word you’re looking for. It starts with a g, that much you’re sure of, and it’s an adverb. It’s not gradually. It’s not gaudily. You have right there, on the tip of your tongue, but frustratingly out of reach. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You’ll find it. You’ll find it. 

“Y/N?” 

Your eyes flutter open on your coworker, Gahyeon, who gives you an apologetic smile. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Just can’t find my words today.” 

“Hm,” she nods knowingly. “I hate days like that.” 

You slide a hand through your hair and sit up in your chair. 

“What’s up, Gahyeon?” 

“I just wanted your advice on something…” 

She circles your desk and puts a document on it, asking about the revision of a tricky sentence, offering you a welcome distraction. You discuss it for a few minutes before she heads back to her desk, long hair flowing down her back. You turn back to your screen, ready to get a good amount of work done before you head to lunch. Your fingers dance on your keyboard for a few minutes when you get an email notification.

Immediately, your blood grows hot and you stop typing. The notification shows you who the email is from: Seo Changbin, from marketing. 

You haven’t even opened the email yet but you’re already angry. You know his email will be dripping with his usual passive aggressive tone, blaming you for this and that, asking you to make corrections to something that has already been done and approved. You just know it. The guy is never happy with anything, especially not your work. He’s the only one, though. You work well with your colleagues, and your team manager likes you. You always hand in your work on time. You’re always meticulous. You care about what you do, and you make sure it’s well done. 

But this guy. 

Not long ago, one of his emails angered you so much you almost punched your computer screen. You almost took the elevator to his floor to let him hear a piece of your mind. Luckily for him you have some self-control - and you know he is still your senior in the company. You don’t want to lose your job over some loser who clearly has nothing better to do with his time than bring you down to raise himself up. 

It wasn’t always this way. You’ve worked at this company for years as a translator and never had any major issues with anyone, except for some classic bickering and gossip. Then this guy integrated the marketing department as a star talent and proceeded to make your life a living hell because he, too, spoke several languages and didn’t approve of your phrasing or your choice of words. 

It’s not the tone we are aiming for is the sentence you’ve read the most from him. Sometimes you hear it in your nightmares. 

You really don’t want to open the email, but you have to. Then you can treat yourself to a good lunch. You had planned on just grabbing something from the cafeteria, but you will definitely head out outside. A brie and spinach panini from the cafe next door, perhaps? Maybe even some sushi. 

You inhale slowly and click on your inbox. 

The email starts as usual. Dear Y/LN. It also ends as usual. Looking forward to your collaboration. You clench your fists, imagining they land on his nose and break it in a thousand pieces. The guy is polite - too polite. So polite you also want to break his teeth. You can just feel the arrogance oozing from his words. 

You read the content of the email and take a deep breath. It’s not too bad today, considering, but it still puts you in a bad mood. There is something I would like to suggest, he writes. 

Suggest it to my fist, you arrogant fuck. 

You stare at your screen, your face frozen into an expression of disgust. You hate every single word he uses. You hate that he puts his font just a half a point bigger like he has something to compensate for. You hate the little gray icon next to his name at the top that indicates the jerk still hasn’t uploaded his picture like the company requires. Maybe it’s best you don’t know what he looks like, because then your hate would know absolutely no bounds. 

You work for a big company. So big it occupies multiple floors of a sky-high building, and you’ve probably only met about 5% of the totality of your coworkers. That does not include the marketing team, except for a few faces you can recall from a Christmas party. That department is a floor above you, right on top of your head even, and the thought makes you rage. 

I won’t let you step on me, Seo Changbin. You can burn in hell. 

You imagine he’s a sixty-something year old guy with a fancy suit and a big watch, a family he does not know how to show affection for, and probably a mistress although his dick hasn’t worked properly in years. You just know he’s the sort of man to look down on women, to never say thank you to cashiers and to play golf with his buddies on the weekend. Hell, he’s probably a part of a country club of some kind. 

You’re probably taking all of this too far but you don’t care. 

You need to hate the guy. You want to hate him. It makes it easier.

With a sigh, you quickly reply to him, your tone cold and expeditive as always. You sign with your usual kind regards, words you’ve decided during a lonely night in your apartment after four glasses of wine. Just regards would be too easy, best did not convey your feeling and warm was just gross. Kind - that was perfect. Just the perfect amount of passive aggressiveness that could never be read as just that. 

You close your inbox, inhaling slowly. You’re not going to let the guy ruin your day. You are not. 

You get some more work done and ask Gahyeon if she wants to grab lunch with you. Minho yells from his desk that he’s coming too, so the three of you set off downstairs. 

In the elevator, you complain about the email. Gahyeon shakes her head, although smiling amusingly, and Minho lets out a chuckle as you spit out your murderous intents. 

“What are you laughing at?” you pout. 

“I was just imagining the day you’ll come face to face with the guy,” he says, eyes gleaming mischievously. “I need to witness this moment.” 

“Historical moment,” Gahyeon agrees. 

“It would be best for you to be there,” you reply. “I’ll need help getting rid of the body.” 

Once you’re sitting down with your platter of sushi not long later, you let out a sigh and plop one in your mouth. 

“So, are you guys going to the cocktail party Friday night?” Gahyeon asks you both. 

“You mean the thing with free food and booze?” you reply with a chuckle. “Why the hell would I miss it?” 

Minho shakes his head. “I can’t that night, I’m cat-sitting for a friend.” 

You glance at your friend, but then again, for such a sentence to escape his lips is nothing out of the ordinary. 

“You could bring the cat to the cocktail party,” you suggest.

“And what, put the poor thing on a leash?” Minho glares. 

You let out a laugh. “No leash. Just let it roam free. Hopefully my archnemesis will be there and the cat will scratch his face off.” 

You all laugh over your plates, covering your mouths with your hands so as not to be too loud. It’s a tendency you have - you’ve been warned before about making too much noise in this very restaurant. You love their sushi too much to risk being banned, so you do your best to be discreet. 

“Are you going, Gahyeon?” you ask your friend. 

She nods. “Probably.” 

Minho raises his eyebrows at her. “Hoping Mr Finance Department will be there?” 

Gahyeon blushes slightly. “Well…” 

You slap your hand on her arm, gasping loudly. “Oh my God, that’s still a thing?! I thought you were over him!” 

Minho leans towards you. “It was, but he broke up with Sunglass Girl.” 

“He did?!” 

“And he got a haircut,” Gahyeon whimpers. “I didn’t think it would be possible but he looks even more fucking hot.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you say. 

You put a hand on your friend’s shoulder and look deep inside her hazel eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Gahyeon. I’ll be your wingwoman Friday night.” 

“That’s okay, Y/N…” 

“I promise you to get you close enough to count the beauty marks on his face.” 

“He has two.” 

“I thought just one,” Minho frowns.

“No, two,” Gahyeon assures him. 

“After Friday you can tell us how many he has on his entire body.” 

“Y/N!” Gahyeon cries out, hiding her face.

She can’t stop giggling, though, and neither can you - and as Minho starts to make soft kissing sounds, you all burst out laughing. 

When you settle at your desk for the afternoon, later that day, you’ve almost forgotten about your work nemesis. Almost.

Kind regards.

Changbin lets out a scoff, scrunching his nose in front of his screen. Kind regards. He’s not an idiot. He can read between the lines. He knows exactly what that means, and it’s kindly fuck off. 

He’s not annoyed by it. Changbin knows better than to let things like that get to him. No, he’s definitely not annoyed. 

He just hates your guts. 

Before he closes your answer to his email, he catches a glimpse of your picture, right there, next to your name. It’s so small he can barely trace your features, but in a previous moment of weakness he opened the picture so it would be bigger and saw you almost too well. 

Wide doe eyes. Full lips. Smiling almost cheekily to the camera, wearing a black turtleneck. Wispy bangs grazing your forehead. Simple gold loop earrings. A faint white scar on the right side of your nose, probably from your childhood. 

Yeah. He might have looked at the picture a few times. 

It was just to get to know his enemy better, he swore to himself. That way, he had an advantage over you - he knew what you looked like, but you had no idea who he was. You could meet him in the elevator or the cafeteria and you would have no idea - but he would. It happened once. He saw you in the main hall of the building one morning, holding a coffee and wearing headphones. You were bobbing your head to the music, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. He tried really hard not to stare, but it was beyond him - luckily, you didn’t even notice him. 

Why would you, anyway? Thousands of people work in the company, hundreds of them wearing plain black suits like he does. Once Changbin understood that, he knew one day it would come to his advantage. He’s just waiting for the right moment. It will come. He just has to be patient - which has never been his strength, but for you, he trusts it will be worth it.

He takes the last bite out of his sandwich - homemade - and leans back on his chair. If only he could deal with someone else, if only you weren’t the translator assigned to his projects 90% of the time. At one point it started to feel like a joke, so much he wondered if someone was doing it on purpose. Your pettiness, your rude tone, it all rubbed off on him in all the wrong ways. He doesn’t do well with games and smugness, so you’re really testing his patience. Getting on his last nerve isn’t even covering it. Passive aggressive emails are starting to not be enough to convey his point. The fact that you’re pretty? It makes it even worse. You’re probably just a princess that thinks everything should be handed to her. He’s going to need to make himself very clear.

He just doesn’t know how. 

Of course it’s on his mind all day, and it pisses him off even more that he can’t focus on work because of you. You might be pretty but right now, for Changbin, you’re the devil incarnate and he needs to exorcize you out of his mind. Luckily, he has his gym bag with him so he can head right there after work. Small blessings.

At six o’clock, Changbin stands from his desk, gets his things and heads to the elevator. Many people have already left, which is why he likes to finish his day at six - it’s much quieter in the building and the subway. His briefcase in a hand, his gym bag on his shoulder, he gets in the elevator and sighs. A part of him just wants to get home, and another dreads the silence of his apartment. 

The elevator stops on the 11th floor - your floor. 

The chances for you to step in the elevator are slim, but present, so Changbin tenses a little, just in case. Good thing he does, because there you appear. Wearing a skirt and knee-high boots, your jacket around your arm, clutching your phone. His heartbeat immediately accelerates, and he has to violently remind himself that while he knows exactly who you are, you don’t. 

You step inside the elevator, giving him a small nod, and push the button for the main floor. 

It’s very silent. Changbin can’t help but glance at you - but you do the same at the same time, so both of you quickly look away. Leaning against the back of the elevator, you are pinching your lips, and you keep glancing at him. Changbin is more tense than he has ever been, keeping a solid frown on his face, his joints getting white at how tight he’s holding his briefcase. 

You pull out your phone and start texting frenetically. He keeps his eyes in front of him, hoping that the elevator would just stop to let somebody else in, but it’s well on its way to the main floor without interruption. He glares at you when you snicker at your phone. Are you talking about him? Are you making fun of him? 

He breathes out. Calm the fuck down. 

You have no idea who he is. 

And maybe it’s exactly why you are smiling like you are, stealing a few more glances. You’re not flirting, but he can feel it off you - if the context was different, you might have been. He’s trying very hard not to think about the fact that you smell really good. That your eyeliner is perfectly curved at the corner of your eyes, that he has a soft spot for knee-high boots. 

So as to set his mind right, Changbin recalls to his mind the email you sent him today, and all the ones before. All the arrogance and rudeness, all the times he wanted to punch a wall or yell at you. That makes it easier, just a little bit. 

The elevator finally pings at the main floor and he briskly gestures for you to get out first. You give him a cute smile.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice dripping like honey. “Have a good evening.” 

Changbin clenches his jaw and does not answer. You don’t seem bothered though, as you walk away with a spring in your step. Fortunately, you head towards the street, not the subway, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Truly, small blessings. 

You stare at your closet and let out a long sigh. It’s not that you don’t have anything to wear, of course, but there’s just nothing you want to wear. You don’t care about impressing or seducing anyone, you just want to dress up for yourself, to feel good even just for a little while. 

You hesitate but eventually settle on a simple black cocktail dress you adore because it’s extremely comfortable and has pockets. You slip it on, wearing only your golden hoops as your jewelry, and let your hair down. It would do just fine. 

Gahyeon is waiting for you outside your building, which is only a few minutes walk away from the office. She looks insanely good in a red dress and matching lipstick, and you shower her in compliments. You make it to the building quickly, showing your identification to the security guard. The lobby is already quite busy with people from all departments, who are sipping champagne and catching up.

You and Gahyeon get a drink from the open bar, looking for Mr Finance Department in the crowd. Luckily, your friend has a radar for him and she spots him by the windows standing with his colleagues. He has gotten a haircut, and the short hair gives him an edgier look that really suits him. 

“All right,” you say, holding your friend’s shoulders. “You remember the plan?” 

Gahyeon nods. “Walk up to him, say hello, be myself.” 

“And, what else?” 

“Be direct.” 

You hold up a palm so Gahyeon can high five you, and she sets off towards her crush, nervously playing with the strip of her handbag. You look at her go, trying not to squeal as you watch the guy turn to her and give her a sincere smile. From what you can see, although you can’t hear, they seem to be hitting it off. You feel a rush of pride, like your evening’s work has already been done. Now you can just let Gahyeon enjoy herself, have a few drinks, and go home in peace. 

You head towards a quieter spot, considering going out to the terrace to enjoy the evening breeze when a familiar face stops you in your tracks.

“Oh, Y/N, long time no see.” 

It’s your boss - not the boss boss, but high enough on the company hierarchy so that he is not the kind of person you can’t ignore. You give him a polite smile although you’re not really in the mood for small talk. 

“How are you, sir? It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, likewise. Now I wanted to mention to you the…” 

He starts talking to you about a recent project that he wants to expand, and you nod at him, listening more or less intently - and that’s when you notice the guy standing next to him. 

His black hair is slightly combed back, small strands falling back on his forehead. He’s dressed all in black, his shirt without a tie, and there’s an elegant, discreet watch on his wrist. He just emanates charisma. 

Sexy Elevator Guy. 

That’s the unoriginal nickname Minho gave him in your group chat when you told your friends about your encounter with a mysterious, brooding stranger in the elevator. 

All week you hoped to see him again, although you never really counted on it. You didn’t even know if he worked at the company - maybe he was just a visitor. But from his attire and the fact that he is standing next to your boss, you can guess he’s your colleague.

How delightful. 

Your boss seems to notice he hasn’t introduced you, and so he points at the guy, who has been staring at you since you appeared. 

“Oh, but you two must know each other, right?” your boss says. “Don’t you work together?” 

You frown. “Hm, I’m not sure..”

“Sure, we do,” the guy answers. 

You look at him in surprise and confusion. This smile - it really does look like he knows you. Is it because of the elevator? You don’t understand. 

“How delightful to finally meet you, Y/LN,” he continues, and your blood gets boiling hot. “Seo Changbin, from Marketing.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your heart drops at the bottom of your chest as you stare at him. Does he know who you are? He has to, smiling proudly as he is. You’re too shocked to feel angry, but you know it’s coming. 

“I -” you stutter. “I’m not -”

“Can you believe this, sir?” he laughs. “We’ve been exchanging emails for months but we’ve never met.” 

“Yes,” your boss nods, “well, that’s what happens with such big companies.” 

The two of them keep talking but you completely lose track, your eyes fixated on him. Seo Changbin. He is your nemesis? He is looking forward to your collaboration guy? You can’t believe it.

Yet you have to face it.

That’s him. Seo Changbin.

The guy you’ve been hating and insulting and plotting to murder.

He’s standing in front of you - and he is also Sexy Elevator Guy. 

No fucking way. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter and walk away without another look. 

You don’t care that you’ll come off as rude - you need some air. A lot of it, actually. You head directly to the terrace, stare up at the dark sky and inhale deeply. You feel dizzy, the wine coming up your throat. 

You can’t believe what just happened. It’s one thing to discover his identity - but you can’t get over the fact that he clearly knew who you were. He is playing with you. He’s had the upper hand this entire time. Of course he does, you realize. His picture isn’t on his profile, but yours is. How dumb you are.

Your eyes fixated on the horizon, you let out a bitter laugh. What a fucking dick. What an enormous piece of shit. You clench your fists, ready to go back in and punch him in the balls for humiliating you like that. Your physical idea of him might’ve been completely wrong, but it clearly wasn’t in terms of personality. 

“Here.” 

At the sound of his voice, you spin on your heels, ready to spit venom - but he’s no longer smiling. His eyes are dark, his face serious, and he’s handing you a glass of white wine. 

“Noticed that’s what you were drinking earlier,” he explains. 

You squint your eyes at him. 

“Get the fuck away from me,” you hiss. 

He sighs, looking at you as if he is disappointed. 

“C’mon, now. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, maybe we can be professional adults about this?”

“Excuse me?!” 

“I’m talking about the attitude,” he says, raising an eyebrow nonchalantly. “We don’t like each other, and that’s fine. I don’t care, I don’t need to like you. But I’m tired of working with you feeling like a fight.” 

It’s like you sober up all at once, fixating on him a dark glare. 

“I don’t think I’m the problem here,” you spit out. “You came in and started criticizing my work like I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been working here longer than you.” 

“I’m still your superior,” he replies, taking a step towards you. “Whatever I say goes.” 

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” 

“I’ve always been polite.”

“Polite, my ass. You’ve been looking down at me ever since your first email. I’m not stupid, don’t talk to me as if I am.” 

“If only you did what is expected -” 

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head. He stops.

“You did not just say that.” 

He squints his eyes and exhales deeply. “All I mean is, it doesn’t have to be that difficult. Just make the damn changes.”

“I do,” you hiss. “But you could ask for them a little bit more nicely.” 

“What, do you want every single email to come with a bouquet of flowers and a serenade? I have better things to do.” 

“You’re such a patronizing asshole.”

“And all you do is insult me. Why can’t you act like an adult for once?” 

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

You take a deep breath. It feels like arguing with a wall - clearly, there is nothing to be done, and really, nothing to say. You just don’t get along, and that will be the end of it. You suddenly feel tired. You take the glass of wine from his hand. 

“Here’s one more insult for the road: fuck you.” 

You just want to go back inside, finish your drink and get home, but Changbin grabs your upper arm as you’re starting to walk away. He doesn’t do it gently, but it’s not rough either - you look up at him with spite. 

Or you try. 

Because Changbin is so very terribly your type, smells wonderful, and has the kind of voice to get anyone weak in the knees. 

Focus, woman.

“What?” you hiss.

“This conversation is not over.” 

“Oh, I think it is,” you laugh with scorn. 

“It isn’t,” he retorts, his eyes focused on you. 

He’s standing a little too close for your liking - you can’t help but glance at his lips. Plump. Inviting. 

“We have to figure out a way to work together. It’s not like we have a choice.” 

You lift your chin slightly. “If you don’t let me go this second, I’ll scream and tell everyone you’re a pervert.” 

He bites his lip, clearly holding back an insult, and you wish he would just say it. He doesn’t, though, and simply lets you go. You shake your hair out of your face. 

“I’m sick of the games,” he chews. “Tell me what you want.” 

You smile at him. “The games.”

He sighs and you chuckle. 

“Don’t think for a second you’ll get away with this trick you just pulled. If you thought I was difficult before, you have no idea what’s coming for you now, Mr. Seo.” 

He looks exhausted and slightly worried, but angry most of all. That delights you, and you finally walk away from him, finishing your glass of wine in one sip.

He can’t let you walk away like this. 

This is all Changbin can think of as he watches you cross the terrace to go back inside. If it ends like this, then it will all be for the worst. You might follow up on your promise to make his life a living hell, or even worse, things might get awkward and even more tense. No, definitely, you and him need to continue this conversation and find some kind of agreement. 

He licks his lips, turning away from the building in annoyance. He never signed up for this when he decided to leave his previous workplace for this one - yes, the salary was better, and so were the benefits, but it was never about that. It was about challenging himself, about growing and learning in his workplace environment, about finding his place. You couldn’t get in the way of that. Nobody could. 

Changbin glances inside to make sure you haven’t left the building - he catches a glimpse of you near the bar, sulking. Good, he thinks, as he finishes his own glass. Let the both of you be miserable and angry, at least. 

The world feels so quiet out on the terrace, but when he steps back inside, his ears are filled once more with the sounds of music and conversation. Since there are a lot of people around, maybe it won’t be as easy for you to start spitting venom at him - but he doesn’t really count on that. He takes a deep breath, tries to settle his anger. Just a conversation. Calm, polite, reasonable. You can do that. 

However, as you lock eyes with him across the room, Changbin knows it won’t be that easy. Your eyes are full of fire, your mouth pinched in spite. It could be unattractive if only that black dress did not perfectly hug your curves and set his mind wandering against his will. 

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you leave me alone?” you whine. 

It would be so easy to fall back into the same energy as you, but Changbin holds on. He breathes in, leaning against the wall next to you. He’s not a difficult person. He doesn’t usually get into conflicts with people. Why he does with you is beyond him. 

“Look,” he says. “I just want to be able to work in peace.” 

“So do I,” you sigh. “But you never let that happen.” 

“How about this,” he snaps, turning to face you. “I hold back on the passive aggressive, but so do you.” 

To his despair, you only give him a smug smile.

“So you admit to the passive aggressiveness.”

“Is this what you pick up on?” 

“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” you say, frowning. “You humiliated me. Made damn sure I’d feel like a fool not knowing your face. I’m not going to let you walk away from that.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” 

You scoff. “You think I’m going to tell you now? No way. I want you to live in fear.” 

It’s entirely against his will, but Changbin laughs. He quickly frowns afterwards, sliding a hand across his face. The look of surprise on your face quickly fades away, though, to a certain revolt. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you ask. 

“No,” he sighs, making sure his face no longer holds any kind of laughter. “You’re just getting on my last nerve.” 

“Well you’ve been on mine for a certain time.” 

“It’s useless to talk to you, isn’t it?” 

“If you wanted to talk, why didn’t you just come and see me? Why did you have to do all that shit with the picture and the boss? Why did you have to mock me like you did?” 

You are so full of fire, Changbin can’t believe his eyes and ears. You’re like a flame he can’t look away from - a flame he desperately wants to extinguish for his own preservation, and yet one he desperately wants to graze with his fingers, even knowing he’ll get burned. 

Your conversation is going nowhere, Changbin is aware of it. Things have gone completely out of hand, so much it all feels like a fever dream. So confused between his different feelings for you, Changbin breathes out, pulling on his suit to replace it on his shoulders. 

“I need another drink,” he mumbles. 

Without him expecting it, tables turn - this time, it’s you grabbing his arm as he is turning away. He looks up at you in surprise.

“I have an idea,” you say.

It might be the booze, or it might just be the adrenaline, but you find yourself dragging Seo Changbin by the wrist across the lobby, all the way to the elevators. To your surprise, he doesn’t even try to shrug you off, and you don’t let him go. 

You both get in the elevator and you push the button for the 12th floor. Changbin waits until the doors have closed and you stand in silence to ask. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Where do you think?” you sigh. “Your office.” 

He turns towards you, eyes dark.

“Why?” 

You do the same, turning to face him. Your index pushes against his chest.

“You’re going to do something for me,” you state. “Even if I have to endure your shit, I’ll make sure nobody else does.” 

“I’m not going to - It’s not even - and how are you going to do that?” 

“Simple,” you grin. “Upload a picture.”

The doors of the elevator open on this perfect timing, and you wave your hand.

“After you.” 

He lets out a long sigh but he still leads you to his office. You’ve never been in this area of the building, but now is not the time for sightseeing. Besides, most floors look the same. 

Changbin opens the door to his office, and you follow him inside. It’s not a very big room, but it’s still wide enough for a large desk and bookshelves. There are two large windows, and the walls facing the rest of the floor are made of glass. Not much for privacy, you think. But then again, your own desk stands in the middle of a wide room, which you share with ten other people. 

You nod towards his chair. “Sit.” 

He rolls his eyes, but he does. You stand next to him, arms crossed, thinking about the fact that this was probably the spot from where he sent most of his day-ruining emails to you. You bite your tongue a little. 

“C’mon. Open the computer and upload the damn picture.” 

“I don’t have one.” 

“One what?” 

“A picture,” he explains. “An official one, I mean.” 

You groan. “I don’t give a shit. Find another one, it’ll have to do.” 

“I was told it had to be -”

“Hey,” you snap. “You’re in no position to argue.” 

He scoffs but he doesn’t answer, although he clearly disagrees. You don’t care you’re being petty, and that he’s being the bigger person - you’ve never had much of a reasonable nature. As Changbin searches through his computer, you walk around the office, staring at the window, staring at him, and then at his screen. You catch a glimpse of a group picture, of him with friends, smiling widely at the camera. 

He shakes his head but reframes the picture and uploads it to his email profile. You squint your eyes. 

“There. You happy?” he lets out. 

“It’ll do for now,” you say. 

He closes the windows on his screen, standing up. His shoulders are wide, his arms too. You remember that gym bag he was carrying.  

“Let’s go, then,” he says.

You chuckle. “Oh, do you think this is over?” 

He blinks at you, chuckling in disbelief. “Isn’t it?”

“Not even close.”

“All right, this is enough,” he growls, taking a step towards you. “I’ve done what you wanted, can’t you move on now?” 

“No, I can’t,” you spit. “You’ve made my life difficult ever since you’ve started working here and -”

“What about my life?” Changbin hisses. “You think your fucking tone and attitude has made my days easier?” 

“At least I’m not a self-righteous asshole!” you cry out.

“God, you’re fucking detestable,” he says. 

He’s standing too close to you now. All you can see, all you can smell, is him, him, him. The tension is so tightly drawn between your two bodies you feel like it can only snap. You desperately hold on to your end, though, because you’re scared of what might happen if you do let go - but it’s out of your control. 

Changbin breathes in, and his eyes linger for a second too long on your lips - and that makes the tightrope snap. 

He doesn’t kiss you first, but neither do you - it just happens at the same time. Your lips crash halfway in a feverish dance, and you can’t understand what is happening to you. It feels like your entire body just caught on fire, like everything makes sense, like every step you’ve taken, every word you’ve uttered, has led you to this moment. 

Changbin’s hand slides behind your head, holding the back of your neck, and your arms circle his waist to sprawl on his back. He kisses you deeply, breathing you in, and you can only collapse in his arms. 

Your hands go against his chest, and then in his hair, as he keeps pushing your head against his lips, as if to deepen your kiss, more and more. Your back hits the desk behind you, but you barely notice. All you can feel are Changbin’s lips devouring yours, his arms holding you close. You open your mouth wider but he’s quicker, sliding his tongue inside before you can do the same. 

A moan escapes your throat, vibrating against his lips, and he draws you in even closer. It seems like forever before you lean back, breathless, just in order to catch your breath. Your lips feel swollen already, but you don’t want to stop kissing him. Still, the slight distance gives you enough perspective to realize what is happening. 

“What the fuck am I doing,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

A part of you wants to slip away, just so you have time to put some order in your thoughts, but as you are about to do so, Changbin’s fingers, which had been resting on your waist, grab your chin tightly. You whimper. 

“Is this a part of your little game?” he says in a low voice, breathing heavily.

“What?” 

“Tell me the truth,” he hisses. “Are you playing with me now?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

You angrily grab his wrist, trying to pull his hand away - but he is stronger than you. You struggle against him, gritting your teeth. 

“Answer me,” he insists. 

“Fuck you,” you spit out. 

He relaxes enough for you to push him away, squinting your eyes at him in anger. 

“Way to ruin the moment, asshole.” 

You do the only thing that makes sense for you in that instant - walk away. You’re ashamed and horribly angry at yourself for letting this happen. He’s attractive, yes, but he’s ruined so many of your days, made you feel miserable and worthless at your job. You have to hold on to your anger - and it has to be directed at him. 

Your heels make no sound against the carpet and it’s infuriating. You don’t hear anyone behind you either, so you guess Changbin has decided not to follow you. It’s probably a good thing, although now you feel entirely at a loss as to how your workdays will go. Should you be quiet? You scoff. No - if anyone should, it’s him. 

Your hand smashes the button for the elevator. It takes too long to arrive, but it does. You enter the elevator, push the button for the lobby and cross your arms. 

Fuck, if only he wasn’t such a good kisser. 

The doors are nearly closed when he comes in. He slides between them, stands in front of you. He’s not that much taller than you but someone in his demeanor makes you feel like he’s towering over you by several inches. 

“Just leave me alone, will you?” you hiss. 

He scoffs, shaking his head. There’s a wildness in his eyes, and you can’t look away from him. 

“Can you really blame me for asking?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“About playing games,” he says, articulating each syllable. Each sounds angrier than the last. “You told me you’d make me regret what I did.”

You pout. “Aw, are you really that scared? It’s not my fault you made it your job to piss me off.” 

“Look who’s talking.” 

You stare at each other for a second. It’s like the tension has magically reappeared, unresolved. It’s clear you both want the same thing, but can’t bring yourselves to say or show it. You’re so angry at him. 

He takes another step towards you. Your faces are inches from each other - just a nod and his lips would be on yours again. 

“Fine. I’m sorry about the picture thing,” he says, his voice low and deep. 

“Just that?” you ask, arching an eyebrow. 

His smirk only curves half of his mouth, and it’s humorless. “Don’t push it.” 

You are the one to tilt your head forward, just slightly. 

“This does not mean I’m not angry at you,” you breathe in his mouth. 

“And we still need to talk about this,” he adds. 

“Later,” you nod. 

He turns to slam the button to stop the elevator, and as his body comes back to face yours, you pull him in your arms and kiss him. 

It’s even more desperate and angry than before, maybe because neither of you are held back by the surprise and doubt. It’s unsaid, but you hear it from his lips, it doesn’t mean anything. You’ve just both been tense and you need an outlet - what better than each other? 

Changbin pushes you against the wall of the elevator, his hands discovering your body. His warmth and his weight are completely enveloping you, and you push his jacket away. He shrugs it off, and the fabric of his shirt is soft against your skin. 

Changbin kisses you deep, like he’s been waiting to do it, like you’re not on top of each other inside a dark elevator outside of work hours, his tongue tasting of lemon and gin. 

One of his hands traces your hips and slides on your ass, squeezing softly. In a swift move, he lifts one of your legs and wraps it around his. It elicits a moan from you, your nails scratch the back of his neck. He growls in your mouth, biting your lower lip in answer. 

With his body pushed against yours, you can feel his hard cock, and he shifts you so it rubs directly against your wetness. You roll your hips, breathing heavily against his mouth. 

“You like that, huh?” he tells you. “Rubbing yourself against me.” 

“Easy, you’re so fucking hard already,” you retort. 

“Like you aren’t all wet for my dick,” he sighs, kissing your neck. 

You feel yourself clench at his words. When you don’t answer, only grab him tighter, Changbin chuckles.

“You are, aren’t you?” he whispers, his hands moving up your dress, lifting it slowly, warming your thighs. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

He shakes his head, biting your earlobe hard. You let out a small whimper. 

“I’m gonna fuck that tight little pussy of yours so good you won’t be able to come into work tomorrow.” 

“You wish,” you answer, starting to unbutton his pants. “I’m not gonna let you go a day without getting an email from me. I’m going to fucking torture you.” 

As you mutter the words, you take his cock out of his pants and start to rub your hand around it. Changbin hisses, slightly bucking his hips. 

“You need a fucking lesson,” he sneers, pushing your underwear to the side to touch you. “I’m going to shut you up.” 

He is right - you’re soaked, but it seems to please him. He takes a few seconds to caress you, spreading your wetness, and inserting a finger inside of you. You let out a choked moan, wrapping your arms around his neck for a better hold. 

“That’s right,” he mutters. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He inserts another finger, stretching your walls, and moving his wrist in sharp motions. You breathe out erratically, grabbing onto his suit, his fingers curled inside your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Making me lose my goddamn mind.” 

You don’t want him to stop what he is doing, but you are craving the feel of his cock inside of you, so you tug at his hardness, kissing his jaw. 

“Fuck me already.” 

He doesn’t need you to ask twice, guiding himself against your entrance and penetrating you. You let out a choked moan, grabbing onto the wall of the elevator. He gives you time to adjust to his size, but he’s not being particularly careful either. 

“Holy shit,” you mutter in his ear despite yourself.  

“Fuck, I can feel my cock stretching you,” he grunts.

He thrusts his hips faster and faster, and in a matter of seconds he’s pounding into you. The elevator is silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing and moans, and the lewd sounds of him fucking you, skin slapping against skin. 

Your nails dig inside the back of his neck again, and he grips your waist so tight you’re sure it will leave a mark. 

“Changbin, don’t stop,” you cry out. 

“So impatient,” he sneers, but he still doesn’t stop, like he can’t, like he’s a man possessed. 

He even accelerates, and you feel yourself coming. Your orgasm ripples through you like lightning. Your body shakes, your thoughts evaporate. Changbin fucks you deep, his breathing heavy in your hair. 

“I can’t -” he hisses. “I’m not -”

“Come inside me,” you surprise yourself whispering. 

You can feel his cock twitch at your words, and he comes inside you, hips bucking sharply, grunts escaping his throat like it’s hurting it. 

You stay like that for a few minutes, panting, recovering your breath. After a few seconds he takes a step back, breathing out. You got back on both feet, feeling dizzy and already sore. You both look like a mess, hair tangled, lips raw from kissing. 

You lean back against the wall, breathing slowly. He does the same on the wall next to you. You’re silent for a few seconds. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say softly. 

Changbin nods. 

“Let’s go back up. There won’t be anyone there.” 

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard - almost tender. You look at him, giving him a small nod, and he pushes the elevator button so it heads back upstairs. 

He lets you go to the bathroom alone, where you clean up, but he’s waiting for you outside. 

“All good?” he asks with a frown. 

“Yes.” 

You look down at the floor as he does, and then back at him - meeting his eyes in the process. The silence is awkward, but just like that, you find yourself smiling. Him, too. 

And then you start laughing. 

It’s not hysterical laughter, just chuckling. He looks almost shy, and you can’t stop giggling. You might even be blushing. 

“I don’t know about you,” he says, scrunching his nose. “But I feel a lot better.”

You smirk. “Took the words right out of my mouth.” 

He stretches a hand towards you. “Wanna go back to the party?” 

You nod. “Hell yes. I need a drink.” 

“So do I.” 

You head back to the elevator, and you let it head downstairs this time. Smirking to yourselves, you feel like the whole thing is unreal. 

But you do feel better. You don’t force your smile - it stretches on your face, plastered, almost annoyingly so. And Changbin. Fuck. You think he’s cute, with his cheeks still red and his neck a mess from the work of your nails. 

“By the way,” you say. “You look fucking hot in that suit.” 

“Right back at you. When I saw that little black dress I almost bit my fist off.” 

You grin. Changbin turns to you, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Something’s not right, though,” he says. 

You frown as he leans towards you, whispering in your ear.

“I didn’t get to do half of the things I want to do to you. So once we’ve had a couple of drinks, I’m taking you to my place, and I’m giving you another lesson. And this one will last.”

You bite your lip as the elevator doors open on the main hall, which is still filled with your chatting coworkers. Nothing has changed - the world has kept on spinning. Changbin gives you a smile, and extends his arm. 

“Shall we?”

Changbin does not bring you to his place. 

You bring him to yours. 

Both of you started to get impatient after just one drink, eyefucking each other over your glasses although you had both just came hard in the elevator. It was like something finally snapped inside him, and he could let his thoughts roam free, unashamed, unbound. 

The way your dress hugged your cleavage. The way your lips curled around the rim of your glass, begging to be kissed, begging to be fucked. All the things he wanted to do to you, that he had never let himself really think about, just proliferated in his mind. He could not stop thinking about how you moaned his name, how hot and humid you felt around him, how he wanted to slide his tongue on every inch of your skin. It made it difficult to focus on small talk with your colleagues. He kept feeling himself getting hard and he knew his pants were too tight for him to be able to hide it. 

So he waited until you finished your drink and stole you away. Your place was just a short walk from the building. You made it there quickly, miraculously able to hold off making out and grinding against each other. 

Now the front door is locked and you are alone. 

Changbin stares at you in the darkness of the hallway. You look so fucking beautiful with your hair still a little dischelved from earlier, your lipstick tinting your lips a shade darker, your heels giving your legs the shape of heaven. 

You take a step towards him and grab his hand, leading him to your bedroom. It’s small and cozy, most of the space occupied by a large bed - how perfect. It is unmade, the sheets tangled, a smell of lavender lingering in the air. 

You aim for a kiss but Changbin shakes his head. 

“Open a light,” he says. “I want to see you.” 

You nod and turn on the lamp on your bedside table. It infuses the room in a soft yellow glow, and Changbin licks his lips. Perfect. 

In a blur you find each other again, kissing passionately, feverishly. Changbin slides his tongue inside your mouth, toying with yours, drawing soft sighs from you. It’s a delightful sound he already likes too much. Eagerly, you remove his jacket, your hands palming his chest over the material of his shirt, and Changbin unbuttons it impatiently. 

“Fuck, you look so fucking good,” you chuckle at the sight of his naked chest, immediately tracing the defined muscles with your finger tips. 

His cock is already hard as a rock, pushing against his pants, but he barely thinks about it - he only sees you. 

He takes a deep breath, because he wants to pace himself, because he wants to take his time with you this time. You made him impatient before, you clenched around his cock too tight, you sounded too good - but he won’t let it happen again. So he tilts your head to the left so he can kiss your neck, slowly unzipping your dress. His fingers brush the skin of your back at the same time, and he feels you shiver against him. 

The dress falls on the ground, and Changbin takes a step back to admire your lingerie, simple black lace that makes the blood rush to his cock so hard he has no choice but to palm it, just to relieve it a little. 

“You like?” you say cheekily.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to keep it on you or rip it off,” he answers, shaking his head. 

You chuckle. “Want me to decide for you?” 

Darkness flashes in Changbin’s eyes, and he closes the distance between you again, staring down at you. 

“Listen, pet,” he growls. “Don’t think you have any control here. I make the decisions and you listen. If you don’t there will be consequences.” 

The smile doesn’t disappear from your face, and Changbin can see that you like it when he speaks to you this way. 

“A dom, huh?” you breathe. “How predictable.” 

“Just as predictable that a brat like you is a sub.” 

You pout. “Just for you tonight, sir.”

You slide a hand in his air and lean against his ear to whisper.

“One day you’ll find yourself handcuffed to the head of this bed and begging me to let you come. But let’s stick to tonight’s narrative.” 

Changbin can’t help but chuckle at your words, feeling something swell in his chest. He likes you a little too much, and it makes no sense. Hours ago the only emotion you created in him was anger. But then again he hadn’t really met you. 

“That’s right, pet,” he nods, taking a fistful of your hair. “Now you lay down on the bed like a good girl before I make you, huh?” 

You nod, and Changbin follows you to the bed, when you lay down. He removes the rest of his clothes, letting his cock spring free, and catches you staring at it, licking your lips. He chuckles. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your taste. But I’m having mine first.” 

He pulls your legs so you are laying on the edge of the bed, spreading your legs so can stand between them. He bends forward to kiss you, stroking your hair, and carefully removes your bra. You sigh as he circles his thumb over your sensitive nipples, massaging the other breast in his hand. Slowly, Changbin makes his way down your neck, his tongue drinking in your skin. He leaves a few kisses on your breasts, then on your stomach, and then hovers over your panties. 

“Changbin…” you sigh.

“Still all wet and full of me, are you, pet? Is this sensitive?” 

He pushes his index on the lace material, sending a shiver through your body.

“Y-yes. Fuck, Changbin, stop teasing me.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

He kisses you above the fabric, sliding his tongue over it. Even that way he can taste you, your wetness drenching your panties, and Changbin can feel his cock twitch. Fuck, he cannot wait to be inside of you again - but he has to be patient. 

“So good to me, pet. So good. Let’s remove that.” 

He takes off your panties and pushes your legs apart, taking in the sight of your soaked cunt, all throbbing and waiting for him. He hums appreciatively, unable to stop himself from stroking his cock at the same time. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. Now you don’t come without me telling you so, right, pet? You understand the rules?” 

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out.

From your voice and the way you are already heavily breathing, he can sense you are desperate for contact. Changbin finds himself unable to really torture you much longer, and sinks his lips into your cunt. 

You immediately let out a whimper, arching your back against his mouth. Changbin holds your legs apart, swirling his tongue around your clit, slurping you in. Your taste instantly gets him drunk, the feel of your juices coating his chin making him want to possess you right this second. But it feels too good to feel you writhing against his caresses, moaning his name. You grab his hair, pulling it, and it hurts a little but it’s the best kind of pain. 

“Look at that mess, pet,” he smiles against your pussy. “Has anyone ever eaten you out properly before?” 

“Fuck,” you breathe, and he stares at the way your chest moves, your nipples hard. It’s such a beautiful sight he gives your clit a few licks to reward you. “Nothing like you, Changbin. You’re - fuck - you’re making out with my pussy so well…” 

“Good, pet,” he chuckles. “Keep it up with the praise and I’ll let you come.” 

“Changbin, please…” 

He slides his tongue inside of you, teasing your entrance, and he can feel you clenching even this way - you must be close to coming, but you’re holding on, and he’s proud of you. He could edge you like this all night, if only his cock wasn’t starting to hurt him, aching for you. 

“Fuck, your tongue, Changbin - keep licking me like that, please, don’t stop…” 

“You want to come, pet?” 

“Yes, please, c-can I?” 

As he inserts two fingers inside of you and starts pumping them, his tongue pressed against your clit, you cry out in pleasure, pulling his hair. 

“Changbin, fuck, I can’t - I can’t -” 

“Come, pet, come all over my mouth.” 

And just like that you do, your hips bucking under his touch, your pussy throbbing in his mouth. He can feel your walls tighten, your legs trembling, and he doesn’t stop his caresses throughout your orgasm, so you can ride it as long as you can. 

Once you breathe out, your body sinking into the mattress, Changbin steps back, placing a kiss on the inside of your thigh. He wipes your juices off his chin and stands up to push your hair away from your face. You already look fucked out, your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, your eyes glassy. 

“Holy fuck, that was amazing,” you say softly. 

“It’s not over, pet,” he replies, kissing your pretty lips. 

“Can I suck your cock, now?” 

“You’re asking so nicely, pet. How can I say no?” 

You grin, looking down at his erect cock. Changbin takes a deep breath, letting you smear the pre-cum on the tip and giving it a few tentative strokes. 

“I like your cock a lot, y’know?” you tell him. “So pretty and thick.” 

Changbin slides a hand through his hair, easing his breathing, as you take him in your mouth. You suck him well, bobbing your head up and down, taking the time to wrap your tongue around him. Your hand accompanies your movements, stroking his base, and Changbin groans at the sensation. He would close his eyes and bask in the pleasure you’re giving him if only it wasn’t so intoxicating to keep looking at you. Such a beautiful sight, seeing you suck him off like that after having eaten your sweet cunt. 

“Am I doing good, sir?” you ask, slapping his cock on your tongue. 

Changbin grins. “Doing fantastic, pet. I knew you would look good wrapped around my cock, but it’s even better.” 

“Did you think about it a lot?” you ask. 

He frowns. 

“You saw my picture,” you say, arching an eyebrow. “Did you imagine me with my cock in your mouth before, or did you just hate my guts?” 

Changbin laughs, holding your hair. “I think I spent most of my energy hating you so I wouldn’t think about you sucking me off.” 

“Hm,” you say with a satisfied smirk. “If I’d known what you looked like I would’ve come to give you a blowjob under your desk way before.” 

“Never too late,” he grins. “If you do that for me I might bend you over my desk afterwards.” 

You giggle, and Changbin feels that warmth in his chest again. He’s starting to like you a little too much, and it has nothing to do with the fact that his balls deep inside your mouth right now. You’re funny. Witty. Pretty. Even worse, you’re fun. 

“For now let’s focus, pet, yeah?” he says. “This is good, but I want more from that pretty mouth.” 

He guides you back, gesturing you to lay down on the bed upside down. Your head placed on the edge of it, he towers over you.

“You tell me if this is too much,” he whispers to you, and you nod - but you just open your mouth wide for him. 

He guides his cock back in your mouth, able to move as much as he wants. You gag a little as he goes deep in your throat, but you’re taking him well - and so, Changbin accelerates. He fucks your mouth, perhaps a little too roughly, but it feels so fucking good he can’t stop. 

“Fuck, look at how you swallow my cock, pet,” he says, breathing hard. 

“It’s because you fuck my mouth so good, sir,” you answer. 

He grins, bucking his hips, staring at your gorgeous body as he does. You’re touching yourself at the same time, your fingers pressed against your clit. Your eyes are watering, the saliva around your lips making his thrusts easier, and he’s dangerously close to exploding in your mouth. 

“Such a good little pet,” he groans. “Do you remember when I filled that cunt of yours, earlier?” 

You nod around his cock.

“This time I’ll make you choke on my cum,” he smiles.

You moan, the vibration sending him on the edge, and Changbin has to pull out from your mouth. 

“Don’t move,” he grunts. “I need to fuck you.” 

He climbs on top of you on the bed, making sure your head is against the mattress, and pushes into you without hesitation. It’s like it brings him clarity again, as much as the feel of you around his cock is making him more insane. 

“God, this fucking cunt. I’m never getting tired of it,” he chuckles. 

“Yes, fuck me deep,” you moan. “Make me feel that beautiful cock of yours.” 

He thrusts his hips inside of you, stretching you deeper and deeper. You pant against him, your nails digging into the skin of his back, but Changbin doesn’t care. He pounds into you, feeling sweaty and drunk on the scent and taste of you. 

“C-Changbin, fuck, yes…” 

“Where’s that praise, pet? I need to hear it,” he grunts. 

“I - I’m trying…” 

“Am I fucking you dumb, or what? Keep talking.” 

But he’s fucking so fast and sharp, and it’s difficult for you to find the words. Changbin can only stare at your face, your closed eyes, your parted mouth. Your lips are a little bruised, your hair a mess, your makeup smudged. You look like a dream. 

“F-fucking me so good,” you breathe. “I love your cock inside of me. Please, k-keep fucking me…” 

You’re clenching around him tightly, so close to your orgasm, and so is Changbin - he’s breathing fast, trying to hold off, but it’s getting more and more difficult. Once he’s inside of you he can’t think straight, and he’s getting impatient. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he slips out, your name feeling smooth on his lips. “I’m going to come. Let’s do it together, yeah?” 

“Y-yes, please…” 

How he wanted to come in your mouth - but his cock does not want to listen, and he explores inside of you instead for the second time tonight. You come as well, shaking around him as he fills you up, moaning his name loudly, the sound echoing in the room. 

Changbin wipes his forehead, staying inside of you for another second. He tries to catch his breath, and opens his eyes to look at you. You are already staring at him, smiling softly. 

“I thought you wanted to come in my mouth?” you tease him. 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really get on my last nerve, you know that?” 

You both laugh.

It’s yet another day at work. 

You twirl on your deskchair, typing your translation on a fair rhythm. You’re not particularly fast today, but you’re not slow, either. 

It’s just that your thoughts are a little elsewhere. 

You take a break to take a sip of coffee, and an email notification appears on your screen. 

Seo Changbin. 

You push your tongue against your cheek, smirking devilishly to yourself. You sent him a particularly fiery email a few minutes ago, and you can’t wait to see his answer. You click a little too fast on your inbox. 

Dear Y/LN, 

Your email has come to my attention but I am in a meeting and unfortunately cannot attend to your request. Please rest assured it will be my top priority once I get back to my office. I will make sure to personally attend to these matters. 

Ever yours,

Seo Changbin 

You bite your lip, trying to be discreet as you chuckle. You scroll down to see the email you’d sent him. Just a few meaningless words about asking for clarification about the dress code, and a picture attached. A picture you’ve taken from under your desk, displaying your blatant lack of underwear. 

You’re still playing a dangerous game - it’s just of another kind.

You send him a quick reply, your eyes shining. 

Looking forward to your collaboration.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. If you had fun, please consider leaving a comment below or reblogging the one shot. Don't hesitate to use the tags. Big hugs and see you next time! ♡

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @leedunno ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ; @alexis-reads-fics ; @luvsskz ; @beautifulcolorgarden

[probablyasocialecologist]

Take the planetary computer to its logical end under platform capitalism: every inch of the earth is mapped and monitored. Carbon flows are predicted. A red flag fire warning for a forest in Australia triggers an automatic sell-off of carbon futures; someone’s bank account is crushed while they sleep. Now imagine the same platform is tracking species. Now do people. A fluctuation in the weather forecasts migrants: send more boats to Lampedusa.

All this is simultaneously hyperbolic and a logical extension of current trends. Maybe take it into what Shoshana Zuboff calls surveillance capitalism—nature’s behavioral surplus fabricated into prediction products that anticipate what it will do, which are traded in behavioral futures markets.

Automated machine processes not only know our behavior but also shape our behavior at scale. With this reorientation from knowledge to power, it is no longer enough to automate information flows about us; the goal now is to automate us.

This births a new species of power Zuboff calls “instrumentarianism”—shaping human behavior toward others’ ends. Now instead of human beings, do birds. Now do fish. Now do trees. If all this data is blackboxed, unknowable, and used to make a profit for a mega platform, that’s a horrific future—though if it was going to come to pass, you’d think it would have more hype than it does today.

Holly Jean Buck, Ending Fossil Fuels: Why Net Zero is Not Enough

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Pontiac Formula 400

1970 Pontiac Formula 400 – The Other Performance Firebird

The story behind the development of GM’s F-body ponycars has been well documented. When Ford’s groundbreaking Mustang debuted in 1964, it tapped an emerging youth market that was hungry for a new type of car geared specifically to them. GM misjudged the public’s response to the Mustang and then scrambled to develop a similar style car after witnessing Ford’s unprecedented first model year sales success. Chevrolet was the lead division in engineering the F-body, and Pontiac grudgingly accepted the platform for their use in March 1966, only after GM management turned down PMD General Manager John DeLorean’s proposal for his own Mustang fighter.

Pontiac didn’t have much time to transform the Firebird from its Camaro configuration before releasing it in February 1967. Their design and engineering lead time was significantly reduced and consequently, the Firebird was forced to use quite a bit of Camaro sheetmetal and other components. Competition between Pontiac and Chevrolet was intense, and having to use the other division’s engineering and design was a bitter pill for DeLorean’s maverick staff to swallow.

The circumstances surrounding the second generation Firebird were another story. Pontiac actually began working on their second generation just as the first Firebirds were hitting dealer showrooms. From design to engineering, Pontiac dominated the divisional rivalry, and this time around the Firebird would be all Pontiac from roof to road. There was little carried over to the second generation with the exception of the Trans Am nameplate and basic engine configurations. The suspension was tuned for more responsive handling with little compromise to ride comfort. Computer aided engineering chose the proper front and rear spring deflection rates predicated on model and usage. Stabilizer bars were used front and rear and the steering box was mounted ahead of the front axle for better response.

The sexy new body was rooted in GM styling chief Bill Mitchell’s infatuation with Italian sports car design. GM chose heavily from the rounded shapes of Ferrari and Maserati, and it showed in the smooth flow of fender lines, the curved window glass and raked windshield. One remarkable difference from pervious GM designs was the lack of a quarter window. Instead, the doors were lengthened to take up a larger portion of the quarter. The massive doors were heavy, however the side appearance was cleaner and far sportier. A lift bar door handle added to the smooth side look. Chrome was distinctively absent. The Native American-inspired Firebird emblem was on the decklid and the nose of all but base model cars.

Up front, the twin nostril grille and single headlamps provided a clean appearance, thanks to the use of Endura to create a bumper-less front end with a valance that cleanly rolled beneath the grille with large cross hair parking lamps mounted in the lower corners of the valance. At the rear, the smooth tumble home enhanced the Firebirds fuselage shape. The tail was flat and filled with twin tail lamps that met the quarter panel’s round rear profile. A recessed tag housing, thin blade chrome rear bumper, and rounded lower valance completed the rear end’s clean look.

Inside, the Firebird’s wide, expansive dash housed the instrument panel consisting of three center nacelles for gauges, with smaller gauges at the right and room for the heater controls and additional switches and knobs. Directly below the center of the dash was another stack that contained the radio and ashtray. Even the base interior was sumptuous, with Pontiac’s indestructible Morrokide vinyl upholstery covering the bucket seats and door panels. The quarter trim panels and headliner were composed of molded polymeric material that provided a smooth surface and absorbed sound.

The 1970 Pontiac line up was composed of the base Firebird with 250 cid six, the mid range, 350 cid Espirit, the 400 cid Formula 400, and the 400 cid Ram Air Trans Am. Of the four, perhaps the most intriguing was the Formula 400. While the Trans Am was loaded with visuals like a shaker hood, fender mounted air extractors, wild front air spoiler, rear wheel opening air spoilers, and wide center stripe, the Formula had none of these. For those who preferred to have a muscular pony car sans the exterior adornments, the Formula 400 was just the ticket. Outside, the only difference between the mild mannered Espirit and the Formula was a special fiberglass hood that sported a pair of front reaching hood scoops (first considered for the Trans Am), sport style dual outside mirrors, and a pair of Formula 400 scripts below the Firebird nameplate on the fenders.

Under the sheetmetal, however, is where the $3,440 Formula’s credentials lay. Standard engine was the 400 cid V8 which generated 330 horsepower @ 4800rpm and 430 lbs.-ft. torque @ 3000rpm. Car & Driver tested a Formula 400 with this engine and automatic transmission and recorded a 0-60 acceleration time of 6.4 seconds and quarter mile performance of 14.7 seconds at 98.9mph.

The optional engine was the Ram Air III V8, which produced 345 horsepower @ 5000rpm and 430 lbs.-ft. torque @ 3400rpm, thanks in part to a higher compression and a more aggressive camshaft profile. While Pontiac offered a 370 horsepower Ram Air IV, it never found its way into a Formula 400. On the Ram Air III equipped Formulas, the hood scoops were opened and a pair of rubber “boots” were fitted to the hood’s underside. They snugged up to holes in the air cleaner snorkels and fed cold outside air to the Rochester Quadra Jet carburetor. Subtle “RAM AIR” decals were affixed to the outboard sides of the hood scoops. The Formula’s 400 engine was dressed up with chromed air cleaner lid and valve covers. Dual exhausts with chrome tips were also standard.

Standard transmission was the M13, a heavy duty Dearborn three-speed manual box. A pair of Muncie four speeds was offered optionally, the wide ratio M20 and close ratio M21. Also optional was the M40 three-speed Turbo Hydra Matic transmission. A 3.55:1 rear axle ratio was standard, while air conditioned models received 3.31:1 ratios. Optional ratios were 3.07:1 and 3.73:1.

The Formula received a firmer suspension with 300-pounds/inch deflection in the front springs and 103 pounds/inch in the rear. The front stabilizer measured 1.125 inches in the front and the rear bar was .620 inches with firm control shocks mounted at all four corners. Front disc brakes were standard with rear drums. Standard tires were F70 x 14 on six-inch steel rims. The Trans Am’s tighter suspension was offered optionally. It consisted of 300 pounds/inch front and 126 pounds/inch springs in the rear, 1.250 inch stabilizer bar at the front, and fat .875 inch bar aft. Wider F60x 15 Polyglas tires mounted on 15 x 7 Rally II wheels without trim rings rounded out the package. Add the variable ratio power steering and power brakes and the Formula responded right now! to steering input and could dive deeper into corners and come out faster. Its only competition was big brother Trans Am and the Corvette.

Inside, the Formula’s instrument panel was faced in a wood grained appliqué. Optional was a Rally Gauge that placed an 8000-rpm tach in the left housing along with a small analog clock. In the smaller center housing was the engine temperature and oil pressure gauges. The right housing contained the 160mph speedometer with the smaller fuel gauge and voltmeter to the far right. Two consoles were offered, one between the front buckets that contained the transmission shifter, the other between the optional rear buckets.

Of the 7,708 Formula 400s produced in 1970, 2,777 were equipped with manual transmissions. Exactly 4,931 were fitted with the M40 automatic transmission. One of those M40 equipped Formulas is owned by Jack Nichols of Orlando, Fla. Jack performed a complete restoration on the Formula several years ago, bringing it back to correct factory standards. The Atoll Blue Formula is fitted with the optional Ram Air engine, open scoops and underhood induction system. Inside, the tan Morrokide interior features console, optional three-spoke Formula steering wheel with padded rim, Rally gauges and air conditioning.

Text and Photography By Paul Zazarine © Car Collector Magazine, LLC. (Click for more Car Collector Magazine articles) Originally appeared in the March 2008 Issue

[chameleon66]

Love’s Illusion

Warnings: Angst, implied autistic Gus, past bullying, Bria (let me know if I need to add anything else)

Author’s note: So funny story, I was planning to post this a few days ago but when I went back to edit this my computer completely crashed and it took days for the repair shop to get it back up and running so yeah it’s been a while since I have written a Fanfiction but I hope to upload more of these more often. With all of that said happy reading and happy Gustholomule week.

Matt was getting worried, he hadn’t heard from Gus since yesterday when they accidently ran into Bria at the bonesburrow market place and Bria had a lot to say to Gus and none of it was very nice.

Guess she wasn’t over what happened in the illusionist’s graveyard. Gus was so obviously hurt by what she had said, so much so that Gus choked back whatever words that had died on his tongue and said that he had forgotten he had to help his dad with something.

Gus then summoned Emmeline and flew off in the direction of his house. Matt was furious at Bria, she had no business being here reopening old scars. As angry Matt was he swallowed his rage and just turned his back on her.

On his way home Matt texted Gus, asking if he was ok but never got an answer, so an hour later he texted him again this time telling Gus to not think about what Bria said and that she wasn’t worth losing sleep over. Matt still got no answer.

The next day he still hadn’t gotten a reply back and Matt couldn’t stop himself, he went over to Gus’s house but when he knocked on the door he got no answer.

After waiting another minute he decided to go around the house and look for another way in. Matt moved to the side of the house and cast a spell circle raising a platform to the window that if Matt remembered correctly was Gus’s bedroom window.

Matt peered through the glass to see Gus’s bedroom dimly lit, the only sources of light seemed to be the window and a crystal ball on the floor, and next to the crystal ball was a gloomy looking Gus laying on his back staring up at the ceiling.

Has he been like this since he got home? Matt asked himself.

Matt knocked on the window which seemed to snap Gus back to the real world as he sat up and looked around his room before his eyes landed on the window with his boyfriend on the other side of the glass.

Gus stiffened in his shoulders before he climbed on to his bed to the window and opened it for Matt.

“You could have just used the front door.” Gus smiled but Matt could tell it was forced.

“I tried knocking but you never answered.” Matt answered climbing through the window onto Gus’s bed beside him.

Matt’s boyfriend looked away and scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “Oh sorry about that.” Matt could see Gus’s mind was somewhere else as he wouldn’t look in his boyfriend’s direction and he was laying on the floor when Matt first saw him which he did when he was feeling overwhelmed or stressed out.

“No need to say sorry you dork.” Matt joked trying to lighten the mood, Gus looked back at him and tried to smile though it still looked very forced.

“Are you okay, Gus?”

Gus sighed leaning his back against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest, another thing Matt knew he did when he was experiencing a negative emotion. Matt paused trying to find the right words to say, then formulating them into a sentence.

“Look, Bria has always been a jerk and she’s not worth getting upset over.” Matt shuffled closer to Gus. Gus looked down at his bedsheets, wrapping his arms around himself.

“That’s not why I am upset.” Gus uttered in a monotone tone that didn’t feel right in Gus’s voice.

“Why?” Matt pressed, he felt like the answer was staring him dead in the face but the construction witch just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I guess I’m just kinda mad at myself.” Gus rubbed his eyes from under his glasses, probably trying to keep his tears from flowing.

Now it was Matt’s turn to choke on his words, How did Gus come to the conclusion to be mad at himself? Especially when Bria was the one who said all those things to him.

“Why at yourself?” Matt asked, trying to keep the millions of questions in his head.

Gus looked at his Boyfriend with guilt plaguing his midnight sky eyes. “Everyone says I’m really smart but then why do I act so dumb?”

Matt remained silent waiting for Gus to continue while also pre thinking of what to say to comfort Gus when he finished speaking.

“I get tricked by everyone and I always get upset over stupid things.” Gus buried his face in his hands as if he was trying to hide from what he thought was the truth.

“I just let myself get tricked and used all the time, Bria has just been one of many people who tricked me and for some stupid reason I just can’t see it.”

Matt felt his mouth get very dry, he figured that he wasn’t the only one to have tricked Gus but he never knew the details of it all.

“I’m nearly sixteen for titian’s sake, so why do I still act like a child?”

Gus threw his head back against the wall hitting it, the vibrations causing one of Gus’s framed pictures to come loose, fall and hit Gus on the head.

“Ouch!” Gus cried holding his head.

Matt began to reach a hand towards the illusionist only for Gus’s head to shoot up and open his eyes which were glowing blinding bright blue. Matt pried his eyes away from his boyfriend to see the room being consumed in the same blue glow.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, not again.” Gus’s words were sharp and his voice sounded scared. Suddenly the room shifted to the illusionist graveyard but everything was tinted blue.

Matt squinted his eyes as a silhouette came into focus and then took the form of Bria who wore a sarcastic smile on her face that just made Matt want to punch her lights out.

“Aw, is the little baby gonna cry?” Bria or illusion Bria teasingly cooed. “You know, I’ve always wondered how someone so smart could ever be so stupid.”

Gus curled tighter into a ball, shutting his eyes so tightly the skin around his eyes began to wrinkle.

“This is why you’re so useful Gus, you’re so desperate to make friends, you can be a tool.” Bria cackled, placing her hands on her hips.

Gus began to shake his head back and forth and gritting his teeth, “Shut up, just shut up!” Gus buried his head in his arms trying to tune out Bria’s voice.

Matt was trying to process the things he was hearing, Gus had truly been holding in a lot and it seemed that now was when Matt needed to help his boyfriend.

Slowly Matt placed a hand on Gus’s shoulder, Gus looked back at him, eyes still glowing with his brows knit down.

“Gus..” Matt started but paused. He was never good with emotions especially other people’s, what if he just messed up and made things worse?

No, Matt didn’t have time to think about that. This wasn’t about him, it was about Gus. Who really needed a hug and some comforting words as soon as possible.

So Matt figuratively manned up and began speaking again.

“Gus, can you try to take some deep breaths please?” Matt asked, silently praying he wouldn’t mess anything up.

Gus’s breathing kept hitching as he exhaled while he was still clearly trying to hold himself together, Matt directed Gus’s attention to him as Matt began taking deep breaths with Gus’s beginning to follow his example of breathing.

“That’s it Gus, you’re doing good.” Matt reassured.

After a minute of deep breathing and encouraging words from Matt the illusion around them began to fade and suddenly they were back in Gus’s bedroom with no trace of the graveyard of Bria in sight.

Gus wore a somber look on his face as if he just spent all of his energy on his feelings.

���Sorry about that-.”

“No.” Matt interrupted, “Don’t apologize, it wasn’t your fault.” Matt gave Gus’s shoulder a soft squeeze.

“Why can’t I learn though?” Gus asked, still not looking in Matt’s direction.

“I always get tricked and yet I’m always still called the smart kid, so why can’t I just be smart for once?” Gus’s words felt like ice water that made your skin feel all prickly and Matt knew he needed to bring some warmth to Gus.

Matt Grabbed both of Gus’s hands and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles urging Gus to slowly look up at Matt’s sympathetic eyes.

“Gus, you are the smartest witch I have ever known.” Matt saw the doubtful expression on Gus’s face so he kept going. “And I’m not just saying that, you are always eager to learn something new and you always notice the small details that you apply to help anyone who needs it.”

Matt saw Gus’s ear perk up which encouraged Matt to continue speaking.

“Sure you may be a bit Gullible but that’s like the best part about you, you always find it somewhere in your heart to forgive people and give them a second chance to prove themselves and you still continue forward even when you are scared, so long story short.”

“Too late.” Gus joked which made Matt chuckle.

“The point is, Nobody's perfect but that’s ok because I still like what’s flawed about you.” Matt explained.

Gus smiled, a true smile that made Matt's heart jump a little. “Thank you Matty.” Gus thanked warmly.

“Don’t mention it.” Matt beamed then placed a kiss on Gus’s nose.

“Do you feel better?” Matt asked.

“A little bit.” Gus answered with his smile faltering a bit.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just stay?” Gus shyly requested. “Of course.” Matt pulled Gus into his arms, laying them both down on the bed and letting Gus lay down beside him and then wrap his arms around him while Matt kissed the back of his neck softly.

“I love you, Gus.”

“I love you too Matty.”

[yettofindaname]

Playing Prince of Persia 2008

So last week i got COVID, and was out of work for a few days. I use a dual-booted computer with windows/linux at home - with linux as my main but Windows to use a few windows exclusive programs and to play games on steam. With a lot of time on my hands, but little willpower to do anything challenging, i booted the old copy of PoP 2008 on the steam library, created a new game and got into the hidden valley with the worst walking infrastructure the gaming world has to offer.

A bridge salesman would really clean up in this place. -The prince

Now everyone who played this game already talked gameplay: How the moving-around-part is cool and the single combat with combos is meh. So let's say something else.

In a review from 2021, the reviewer talks about how the game's stylized graphics keep it timeless, and there is a care on the design of every level such that it feels like looking at a painting someone carefully crafted. This is a hard agree. The stylized looks+ the no death mechanic feel very modern, in a way. In the 2008 market, there was this flow towards more realistic games, and also a expectation that Prince of Persia was meant to be challenging, and this game subverted both. In this aspect, the game would be more successful if it was released today than in it's original climate.

Nolan North is here as the Prince. This game came the year after Uncharted 1 came out and was a huge success, and Nolan is here to bring that sweet uncharted rizz to the game. And bring it he does! Does it fit well with the game? Well, I liked it - but it's more of Nolan redoing a wisecracking adventurer in a magic antiquity setting. This is maybe not just ubisoft copying naughty dog's homework, but a trend of the 2000s to have these very, well, very 2000s people around having adventures in other epochs. Reminds me of this post about how everyone in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise is a 2000s hero except James Norrington (who suffers dearly for it), so while the game style and gameplay were ahead of it's time, this part really feels right were it belongs.

Elika - chosen one of the god Ormazd and last of the Ahura people, tasked to the keeping of the evil god Ahriman in his tree prision - plays more of an straight man role to the prince's joking and lamp-shading shenanigans. Her design is a very 2000's design: Where most video games hot girls are more about boobs-and-ass design-wise, she is all about that impossibly thin waist line. Overall a great character, and the banter with the prince is funny and fresh, she makes for a great part of the fun in the game.

Every creative endeavor is, for the lack of a better word, an aborted process. Animators would polish their animations forever if not for the cruel team leads to rip the file from their hands to give to the next guy on the pipeline. Planned features get scraped as the deadlines tighten, and so turns the world. PoP 2008 is no different.

- A central gameplay feature is the power plates: When the prince and Elika jump on them, the game's movement mechanics change, and a kind of minigame starts, based on the magic of the plates: The Green plates give the Breath of Ormazd, where the prince can run up, down and around walls like they are the floor, while avoiding bumps and obstacles on them. The Yellow plates give Elika a long term flight ability (Wings of Ormazd), the prince rides on her back and you use the arrow keys to avoid obstacles mid-air. The Red plates catapult you both to a next destination, and the true obstacles are the chain of conventional moves between the red plates. Aaaand the blue plates are the same as the red plates, but blue. We can see that the inspiration died after the red plates, if not with them. Every level has 45 light seeds (game 'currency', to trade for more plates), where 40 are accessible by normal routes, and 5 are accessible using a set of plates of a specific color hidden on the level. Many of these hidden plates are red (easy to place after the level was done) but almost none are blue, the most uninspired plate.

- The game has 4 main areas split into 4 sub-areas, each main area assigned to a boss. Each main area needs two power plates to complete - The Citadel, for example, needs the red and yellow plates. We can imagine there was space (there are literally unused closed gates in the corner of the areas) for 4 more areas, each for the unused combination of 2 of the plates, with 4 more associated bosses, that were removed from the scope pretty early in the project.

Speaking of bosses, the five bosses of the game incidentally make for a near perfect dark version of the heroic Five Man band. Its kind of sad they never interact or even acknowledge each other, but it's one of the limitations of the game onset from it's original design.

- The Mourning King is the Hero, a noble ruler who sold his soul for the somewhat noble - if selfish - motive of resurrecting his daughter.

- As his foil and Lancer, both in combat style and motivations, we have the Hunter, also a noble ruler who sold his soul for the cruel prize of hunting men .

- The Alchemist -> Brains, all mad scientist like.

- The Warrior -> Brawn, he literally cannot be damaged in combat.

- The Concubine -> The Chick, the Only Other Girl in the story. Does illusion magic stuff.

In the finale, Elika sacrifices herself to seal Ahriman back to the tree - and the ending is centered around you - the prince - redoing a bargain her father previously made and breaking the seals in exchange for Elika's life - undoing all your progress in the process. This is weird to me: While we see a growing relationship between Elika and the Prince - Story-wise they know each other for like, 8 hours tops. And there are few lines of dialogue that feel like a true romantic relationship developing. And it's also disrespectful of Elika's final wishes. But everyone bashes this ending, so I will do a first in gaming history: I will defend the ending of Prince of Persia 2008.

Why the Ending of PoP 2008 is Okay, actually:

First, the romance thing - two things come to mind: First - though there is little romance dialogue, there is much romance touching and physicality. Elika and the Prince are maybe one of video games more intimate couple in terms of physical interaction in gameplay. They move together, depend on one another. When they climb vines, Elika grabs herself onto the Prince's back, when they drop of a ledge onto the floor, the prince catches Elika and places her on the ground. They do a cute little spin together when changing places atop a wooden beam. This relationship is not mainly on the story, but is a core feature of the play of the game itself. Second: This is an 1001 nights themed story, where this kind of spontaneous, love at first-sight thing is a theme - this is echoed in the finale, where if you got every light seed in the map, the final seed that resurrects Elika is the 1001st light seed.

But outside of the romance, there are reasons grounded in friendship, and those hit harder for me: The Prince is a well traveled guy, and many of the dialogue lines with Elika revolve around this growing notion that Elika has spent her whole life trapped in this dwindling secret valley, desiring the amazing things of the outside world, but bound by her sense of duty even when all the other members of the kingdom shirked this duty and went away to the outside world. That the reward for her selflessness, her hard and unwavering faith in the god of light - that left her fighting for all of creation alone - was death. That would piss off our guy, damn - it pisses ME off. Elika fucking deserved to see the world, to enjoy herself! Damn this absent god that let her fight for the right to kill herself. I would want my friend to be free, and also we have the final point...

Ahriman's current prison (at the end of the game) is absolute dogshit - held together by strings, sticks, spit and a prayer. And the last magical maintenance staff is dead in your arms. Minutes later Ahriman is already fucking with your mind, and while you could get out and move on, the next wanderer to fall in the valley can be persuaded to cut the five flimsy-ass trees for as little as a bag of free candy. While a more cowardly person would want to get the fuck out and never come back you on the other hand want to see a chance of this business having a clear end to it. So you go back, get the magic power from the tree and resurrect the last of the Ahura, hoping to get her stronger, or to get a lead to finding more of the Ahura who went away, or even Ormazd himself.

The game would have everything lined up for a sequel along these lines (and it kinda has, in the DS spin-off game) but the whole franchise was cancelled and left for dead. It's so delusional to hope for a sequel even Nolan North himself said to a fan to go write some fanfic to scratch that itch.

And that's it for Prince of Persia 2008 for me. One thing that made me happy was that when I had just finished the game, and had the PoP 2008 content itch, i found the page @fuckyeahpop2008, that let me see some cool memes and content fans made of the game. The last big burst of activity in the page was 2014, so I'm indulging in the vintages, the 10 year old PoP memes. Thank you @fuckyeahpop2008 - your page, and your love for the game means a lot for me - and is really nice to indulge is this love, kept fresh in tumblrs servers for 10 years. Cheers for anyone playing the game, now or in the future.

[suniastrology]

Jupiter – Uranus Conjunction in Taurus

 The most exciting astrological event of the year

The conjunction appears right now at the sky in the tropical zodiacal sign of Taurus. This is, perhaps, the most important astrological event of the year. It is a conjunction of two planets -Jupiter and Uranus, 21degree in Taurus, which is a significator of freedom, expansion and change. Both of the planets are future orientated, related to wisdom, revolution and evolution. It is a 14 years cycle which is yet to be unfold but the moment of the exact conjunction, rather talks about planting seeds, setting intentions and dreaming big, especially, when it comes to resources, assets and possession due to the fact that Taurus is an earth sign and represents materialistic side of life. Therefore, during this cycle, expansion (Jupiter) and transformation (Uranus) in this regard could be expected in a personal level and as a collective.  

Each of us has a Taurus in the natal chart and for that reason, we all are going to experience some changes, expansion and growth in certain areas of our lives and most probably this will manifest in a practical/material level. If you have personal planets or points from 19 – 23 degrees in fix signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio and Aquarius) or earth signs (Taurus, Virgo and Capricorn) you may feel this flow of energy very strongly and even instantly. Of course, in what extend tangible results could be achieved it very much depends on our participation and our personal circumstances. Remember, that the planets don’t do anything to us, they only invite us to get involved and to use the available energy, hopefully in a sensible and beneficial way. Therefore, be open minded (Uranus), embrace changes, and break the mould (Uranus); be ready to learn (Jupiter), to explore (Jupiter); get out of your comfort zone (Uranus) and believe (Jupiter) in your values (Taurus) and uniqueness (Uranus). These are some of the clues on how to use Jupiter-Uranus conjunction energies most efficiently and beneficially. Remember that consistency, patience and practical approach are important in achieving a progress because Taurus is a fix sign and it require some time until tangible results are manifested fully.

In a global scale, there will be huge developments and transformation when it comes to economy, agriculture and food, travel industry and technology. Many changes, though, may come as surprises, even in a shocking manner. The finical market could experience extreme ups and downs, and social/ political systems, all over the world, may experience radical changes too. Weather conditions could also be severely destructed from time to time which could affect food industry, travelling and economies in general. Drastic changes and a transformation are very likely to take place in educational system and new subjects, especially, related to computing, robotics, digital market/economics, food tech-industry and space travel may appear too.

In conclusion, please do remember, that this is a progressive, awakening energy, involving the greater benefic in astrology – Jupiter, the planet of good fortune, luck and optimism, along with Uranus – truth, higher mind, humanity and liberation, which suggest that in the end of this 14-year cycle we as a humanity, respectively in a personal level, will be in a much more evolved, liberated and enlightened place in our development. The results and achievements, most probably, will be manifested in a solid, tangible and practical way. Therefore, stay healthy, optimistic and use this cosmic opportunity to unleash your genius.

Keep in mind that these are GENERAL ASTROLOGICAL TENDENCIES and how exactly this energy will influence you it’s depending on your personal horoscope, but most definitely you will feel these astrological events in one way or another, especially, in some areas in your life. And remember, that singe astrological event does not represent the whole picture in a personal or on a collective level.

Best wishes

suni astrology

#astrology #astrologer #astroworld #astrologyforecast #zodiac #horoscope #planets #jupiter #uranus #jupiteruranusconjunction #natalchart #taurus #planetarycycles #astrologicalevent #tropicalzodiac #aspectsinastrology #astrologypost #astrospace #cosmos #zodiacalsigns #learnastrolody #image

[techav]

So I have this printer ...

Not that one specifically, that one is beautiful and in great condition, but one like it — Apple ImageWriter II. Specifically mine is the ImageWriter II/L variant, the last revision of the ImageWriter II line, but it looks like this one.

Or at least it did once upon a time.

My family acquired this printer second-hand in the late 90s along with a Mac Classic. It got used regularly for school reports and letters and business documents and tax forms for a few years until we finally were able to get a new computer with a color inkjet printer.

Long story short, like the computer that went with it, ultimately this poor printer ended up sitting in storage without air conditioning in East Texas heat and humidity for nearly twenty years. It's a sad story of slow decay.

My ImageWriter is now yellowed and scuffed and scraped and rusted and missing a piece or two; just a dim reminder of its former beauty. Given the state of it, what hope do we have of ever again hearing it sing the song of its people?

Well, I'm not going to let it go without a fight. Time to dig in and see what we can ...

... oh. Oh dear that won't do at all.

A good rule to follow when working with these 30+ year old systems, is to (carefully!) open and inspect before applying any power. In this case I'm very glad I did. Three large filter capacitors on the power supply have very obviously swollen and burst, spreading their corrosive bile all over the neighborhood.

The back side of the power supply circuit board was a wasteland of rotting solder mask, corroded traces, and displaced silkscreen. The electrolyte has eaten its way down the leads, through the solder, and left carnage in its wake all across the bottom of the board.

First order of business is getting those old capacitors removed from the board so cleanup can begin. If you've never worked with hardware of this vintage, a fair warning — make sure you're working in a well-ventilated area. Sure the solder has lead and the flux ain't great for the lungs, but the big concern here is the unholy stench of heated capacitor electrolyte hitting the nostrils like the revenge of Poseidon's refuse bin. The local fish market has nothing on these things.

The old solder, especially when mixed with the electrolyte, tends to behave in a very un-solder-like fashion. It will refuse to melt and when it does it will slump around like wet sand rather than flow like liquid metal should. While it may seem counter-intuitive, the best way to get rid of it is to add more fresh solder to it. On these single-sided boards with large components like this, a spring-action solder pump works well for getting the old parts removed, and then some solder braid will clean up the pads well.

Once the old parts are out, I like to thoroughly clean the area with isopropyl alcohol to remove the electrolyte and years of grease and dirt and pet hair that may have cemented itself to the board. In this case I also needed to use a mild abrasive to remove that damaged solder mask where it had bubbled up off the corroding copper traces. I was lucky here that none of the traces were actually broken or corroded through completely. Clear nail polish works well for protecting the now bare copper (just make sure it's not the UV-cure gel stuff).

From here I turned my attention to the case, because the power supply is the last item removed and first installed when conducting a complete tear down of this printer, and it didn't make sense to put my newly cleaned power supply into a dirty old case.

I'm not really a fan of retrobrite, and these large case pieces would be a real challenge anyway. So all I want is to clean up the dirt and rust and as many scuff marks as I can. As far as I'm concerned, the rest is just part of the history of the item. Each mark tells a story of how this item was used, not just put up on a shelf to be looked at. And if I didn't have any interest in using the machine until it completely falls to pieces, I wouldn't be bothering with going fishing replacing old capacitors.

This is a good point to do some testing. There may still be more wrong with that power supply. Output voltages could have drifted out of spec from other components aging, or maybe I installed capacitors that don't quite match the originals. The ImageWriter II/L power supply has three outputs — +5VDC, -5VDC, & +26VDC. With no load on the power supply, I measured the outputs at around ±7V and 30V. That seems high, but it's not outside of what I would expect for a power supply that's not actually driving anything. This would be a good point to use an adjustable test load, but since I don't have one of those, I'll just have to move forward with my "well it seems fine'

Spoiler: it was not fine.

As part of its startup sequence, the ImageWriter exercises all of its stepper motors to get everything to a known state. This high current draw immediately after power on was more than its old power supply could give. There's clearly more than bad capacitors on the supply, but identifying what exactly is still beyond my current skill level.

So in the interest of getting the machine working (because I have plans for it), I opted to try replacing the power supply with something more modern. The catch here is the odd assortment of voltages the original supply provided. It's easy to find a ±5VDC supply, but 26V is virtually unheard-of.

Apple's documentation for the printer mentions the +26V supply is for driving the motors. I suspected that the 26V supply was less carefully regulated and probably targeting something more like 24V. Sure enough, the stepper with the highest voltage rating on its label was 24V. With a little extra current capacity available, I figured the printer would function just fine with a 24V supply.

The catch is, 24V & ±5V is not a common configuration. There are plenty of 12V & ±5V supplies, but that won't do here. I settled on a Mean Well 24V & 5V supply with a -5V inverter ... And promptly ordered the wrong part. I had a nice new 12V & 5V supply. That's ok, once I got it in hand it was a bit too large to fit in the space I had anyway.

So I got a different Mean Well 24V supply and a separate 24V-5V DC-DC converter. It's a bit of a mess all crammed into the bottom of the case, but it should give all the right voltages (or near enough).

I did have to remove the power switch from the old supply though. That particular part has long since been discontinued, and compatible replacements proved difficult to find.

Now that it's all assembled, it's time to test. This is the part that always makes me nervous, especially when dealing with mains voltages. There's so much that can go so very horribly wrong.

I started out with a smoke test — switching on power briefly to make sure there were no direct shorts that might cause an explosive failure. No smoke is a good sign, so check the voltages. With no load, the new supply rails read 23.99V, 5.00V, and -5.55V. That's about as good as I could ever ask for. So now there's only one thing left to test … does it actually print?

Success!

It's not perfect. Every once in a while it will stutter while printing and get stuck with the carriage on one side or the other. It really needs a complete disassembly, thorough cleaning, and relubrication. That kind of mechanical teardown is a bit beyond what I'm comfortable with at the moment, but I'll happily settle for mostly working over not working at all.

[entriprises]

some thoughts on cathy

cathy is short for catherine, and her full name is catherine may carter. her maiden name is kirby, and she did choose to take on her husband’s surname when she got married. cathy carter just had a better flow to it in her opinion, and her friends also joked it was a lot more formal and belle sounding. she started using the name before she was even officially married, and introduced herself as cathy carter while they were still engaged

her husband’s name is ellis carter. they met in their early twenties working on the same farm in oklahoma through a homestay farm program. they would most often help make deliveries together and help set up any market stalls and booths. they started dating pretty quickly, basically a matter of weeks. cathy was only there for the summer between school semesters and went back to college. they kept in touch the entire time and both of them would drive to meet somewhere between both of them. there'd also be the occasional surprise visit to the farm/college from either one of them

cathy attended college and got an associates degree in computer science. she had been considering a bachelors, and thought about potentially going on to work in something in that field but by the time she finished her degree she more or less had moved on from that goal. she has had the idea of going back to school for a long time, but that also faded out especially after kate was born. she has no need for the degree, she doesn't see herself ever working anywhere other than the farm and that money is better saved for something else. she did take a couple night classes when kate was around middle/high school age for various business things that appealed to her and a science course to keep up more about kate's interests

she has an older sister, barbara, and they're about eight years apart in age. barbara is married with two of her own kids and they all live out in tennessee.

[madsworld15]

New Fic: You Can't Start A Fire Without A Spark (Brian/Justin) - Part 1

Synopsis: Brian is an Award-Winning Author in the process of writing his fourth novel. He's struggling to get the words out on the page while also struggling with the curveballs life has insisted on throwing his way. Justin is a reclusive artist who never fully recovered emotionally from a bashing at his senior prom a decade prior. He rarely goes out in public beyond presenting his art to the gallery owner and getting food/groceries. Both of these men need a spark to jumpstart their lives. Lindsay just might know the perfect accelerant.

Prologue: Brian

Brian sat at his computer. His open document's white, blank nature caused his vision to swim. He rubbed his temple, trying to prevent a headache. At 38, he’d been a published author for a decade. He’d published his first novel independently when he was almost 29. Then, a year later, he’d signed a three-book deal with his current publisher. They’d forced him to write the following two books (his 2nd and 3rd novels, respectfully) in 4 years from signing on the dotted line. His 3rd book was published on his 34th birthday. 

The only reason he’d been able to hold off the vultures about his 4th book in the series, the final as part of his book deal, was that he’d been diagnosed with cancer when he was 34. For the last three and a half years, he’d been fighting cancer and then recuperating. Part of his recovery process had been to purchase the nightclub where he’d spent most of his misspent youth. Babylon had gone under because Saperstein had misappropriated funds into his own pockets and had been more concerned with fucking the dancers than he was about turning a profit. The club quality had gone down by the time Brian stopped frequenting it when he was 34, just shy of his diagnosis. So, last year, when it went on the market, Brian was depressed about the cancer, so his financial advisor and best friend, Ted, told him to use some of his savings to buy a new toy. 

With a sigh, Brian flipped the monitor of his computer off and decided that he wouldn’t get anywhere with this new novel today. It was only 4:30 in the afternoon, but he’d already been staring at a blank screen for 3 hours to no avail. Writing his first book had been easy. The words had simply flowed out of him like they were a piece of his soul. Brian believed they were. He crossed the room and left his office. A quick walk down a short hallway brought him to his kitchen, where he hoped there would be something he could eat in his refrigerator.

Most of the people in his life had gawked at him when he’d sold his loft right after getting the news that he had testicular cancer. The diagnosis had been his wake-up call. He stopped going to the club. He pushed Mel and Linds to renegotiate their custody agreement so that he could spend more time with Gus. Naturally, all this change meant he had to change where he lived, too. There just wasn’t room in his life for a fuckpad anymore. That’s not to say Brian didn’t still have sexual encounters with strangers; he just didn’t do it as frequently as he used to. Part of that was due to the side effects of the cancer (his libido wasn’t what it used to be) and partly because he’d gotten bored with all the anonymous sex. 

What Brian wanted more than anything in the world, and what he couldn’t tell another soul was someone he could come home to. Brian wrote about love and romance in his book series – his protagonist having found the love of his life under a street lamp one hot summer day in the early 2000s when they were on the verge of truly growing up – but couldn’t make it happen in his own life.

After making himself a quick peanut butter and banana sandwich, something Gus had introduced him to and he was now obsessed with, Brian walked toward the back of his two-bedroom house to the ensuite bathroom off the main bedroom. The other small bedroom was Gus’ when he came to stay every other weekend and for a month during the summer. Technically, Brian could say his house had three bedrooms, but the third room had been converted into a study for his writing the moment he’d moved in. The woman who had sold him the house had told him it was the perfect room for guests, but had clapped excitedly when he told her his plans for the room. She’d been an ideal real estate agent if only Brian could remember her name.

He slowly got undressed and stared at his reflection in the mirror. If anyone were to ask Michael or Ted, they would say he’d never been better. According to them, Brian Kinney was at the top of his game. He was a successful author with three books under his belt and a fourth one on its way. Neither of them would say he was lonely or depressed. That’s because Brian hid those parts of himself from them. He’d had enough pity and sympathy to last a lifetime during the year and a half he’d been undergoing cancer treatments. 

Just as he was about to step into his shower, his phone rang, making a hideous vibrating noise on his bathroom sink countertop. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and recentered himself before answering whoever thought calling him right now would be a good idea. He didn’t even look at the caller ID before answering, which was a huge mistake.

“Mr. Kinney.” It was Hunter, the young kid Michael and Ben had adopted. He was now 21 and managed the bar at Babylon. Brian secretly liked the kid, which is why he let him manage the bar instead of just working it. However, today, he didn’t have the patience for whatever Hunter’s nervous tone brought with him.

“Hunter, I’ve told you many times. Mr. Kinney was my father. It's just Brian.” Brian squeezed his temples between his fingers.

“Right. Brian, so we have a problem.” Hunter stalled, clearly not ready to incur the wrath that Brian is famous for on occasion. “I came by the club early because I wanted to be sure the alcohol shipment delivered this morning was stored properly before we open the doors. Anyway,” Hunter stalled out again.

“Just spit it out, kid.” Brian knew he was unreasonably exasperated, but Hunter wasn’t helping matters.

“Someone broke in and trashed the register. It’s not going to be in working order for tonight.” Brian could see Hunter’s nervous face and habit of biting his lip despite being miles from the young man.

“Did they steal anything? Did you check the office upstairs?” Brian was already throwing his jeans back on as he spoke. He could reach the club in about ten minutes once he walked out his front door.

“I don’t have a key to the office, but from where I’m standing, I think someone busted the window on the door and forced it open.” Hunter continued. 

“Fuck.” Brian swore under his breath. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Just take stock of what might be out of place or missing. I will call the cops on my way.”

“Okay, Brian.” Hunter agreed, and then, just before hanging up the call, he added, “I’m sorry.”

Brian knew it wasn’t the kid’s fault, but he didn’t try to rush out words of assurance before the call was disconnected. He’d have time to reassure Hunter once he could assess the situation at the club. As he pulled out of his drive, Brian used his hands-free to call the local police.

“Liberty Station 23, how may I direct your call?” The chipper yet well-rehearsed voice that answered almost sent Brian’s nerves off the cliff.

“Hello, my name is Brian Kinney. I own the nightclub Babylon over on Tremont. My employee arrived to do pre-shift set-up duties and informed me of a break-in. I am on my way there now to assess, but I wanted to see if we could get some officers out to make a formal report.” Brian turned onto Tremont just as the woman responded to his statement.

“Do you have security cameras on your property, sir?” She asked in response.

Brian had to take a giant, steadying breath and remind himself that this was a standard question. “Yes, ma’am. I can give the police access to the tapes upon their arrival.”

“Great. I have informed one of our uniformed officers of the complaint. Our closest patrol car is dealing with a minor accident a few blocks over and will be to your address within 20 minutes.” 

“Thank you,” Brian responded with a sigh of gratitude as he pulled into his reserved parking spot at the back of the club.

He pocketed his cell phone and climbed out of his Jeep. Brian did not have the energy or patience for this. It had been a long day, thanks to his doctor appointment with his oncologist and the tests he had run. Brian was confident his cancer hadn’t come back, but every time they went through the checkup paces, it was a bitch. 

He shuffled across the parking lot, entered the club through the back door, and was soon met with Hunter’s harried expression. Brian forced a smile and let out a cough, leading to a coughing fit. Fucking summer allergies.

Hunter raised an eyebrow at him in concern. Brian waved his hand to brush him off. 

“Anything missing here?” Brian glanced around.

“I noticed we were a few cases short on our shipment. High dollar stuff.” Hunter met Brian’s gaze solemnly.

Brian desperately wanted to punch something. He didn’t need this right now. Instead, he turned through the keys on his keychain until he landed on a small silver one. He then motioned for Hunter to follow him as he trudged up the stairs to the office. 

“Have you gone up here yet?” Brian threw over his shoulder.

“Nope. I was waiting for you.” Hunter shrugged. 

Brian shook his head, “I actually kind of miss the snark you used to have all the time. You were one hell of a bratty teen, but it was amusing to watch.”

They arrived at the office, and Brian sighed heavily at seeing his neatly organized employee and budget files strewn all over the floor. Before he could step into the room further, Hunter’s arms locked him in place against the broken door and its frame.

“We’ve got some time til the cops show up. I’ve always wanted to show you my appreciation.” Hunter waggled his eyebrows and looked Brian up and down before he pushed off the wall and laughed.

“Missed my obnoxious flirting, did you?” Hunter smirked as he started to help Brian pick up the mess of papers.

Brian rubbed his hand across his mouth, hiding his smile. Hunter was indeed a great person to have around in a crisis. The stress and anxiety that had been coursing through his veins minutes ago was gone entirely. Now, Brian could focus on checking the safe for the extra cash and important documents and ensuring they hadn’t been taken.

Once he got to the safe, it was clear it hadn’t been broken into. So, it looked as though the thief only made away with what they could find as the bar, which wasn’t much since the register had been empty, as they hadn’t opened yet. Brian wondered who would’ve broken in and messed with the documents in his office. Turning around to survey the whole room, Brian wondered if he had any enemies. Or worse, if someone had finally discovered his identity.

When he published his first novel, Brian purposely published it under a pseudonym to maintain anonymity, especially if the book didn’t do well. But when it sold well and Brian hired a publisher, he kept the name. His publisher tried to say he needed to use his real name instead of Peter James to be more than a one-time success, but Brian stood firm. He liked living a normal life and not having to deal with the general public.

Hell, even Debbie didn’t know he was a published author. She still believed he wrote ad copy for Vanguard. His secret was much too precious to him, and Debbie meant well, but more often than not, she ran her mouth where she shouldn’t. In the early days of his writing career, Brian had contemplated keeping it a secret from everyone but Michael and Lindsay, but he soon realized he needed financial advice from Ted. And he couldn’t keep a secret from Emmett even if he tried; the Southerner was too perceptive.

“Brian?” Hunter’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He was holding Hunter’s employment file in his hand. Brian smirked.

He looked up and saw a couple of uniformed officers standing before him.

“I heard them arrive, so I showed them around downstairs. They wanted to see the office and talk to you.” Hunter gave a small smile before he backed out and headed back down the stairs.

“Hello, officers.” Brian tossed Hunter’s file on top of the desk. “I appreciate you coming over to assess the damages and theft.”

He gave them his most charming smile. It lasted only briefly before he started coughing again.

“Of course, Mr. Kinney. Dispatch said you own this establishment.” The older of the two cops scoffed as he looked around. “Are you sure anything was taken? Maybe just a jilted lover trying to get back at you.”

Brian licked his lips, drawing them in. He wasn’t going to lose his cool on this clearly homophobic cop.

“I’m happily single. I have been for years. And, yes, some alcohol was stolen from behind the bar. And so was our emergency stash of cash hidden at the back of the shelf under the bar.” Brian gave him a winning smile. “Not to mention the hundreds if not thousands of dollars in damages done here.”

“Lt. Bowers didn’t mean anything by it, sir.” The younger cop, a blond about Brian’s age, jumps in, hearing the bite in Brian’s voice.

“No, he did. But that’s okay. He doesn’t realize our money is just as good as his.” Brian stepped up to the older cop, “Bowers, is it? Maybe just take the report and let someone else investigate it.”

“I can take down your complaint, sir.” The blond stepped up again as Lt. Bowers glared at Brian, spit on the floor between their feet, and left to go back down.

Brian shook his head, rubbed his temple, and addressed the remaining officer. “What’s your name?”

“Officer Corbin. I, um, actually come here a lot on my nights off.” The young man looked at the floor all of a sudden.

Brian nodded and smiled. “Of course. I’m sorry you have to work with that.” He motioned downstairs before crossing over to sit behind his desk.

“Do you know why someone would target this establishment?” Corbin pulled out his notebook.

“You mean besides the obvious?” Brian raised his eyebrow. “No. I was just starting to look through employee files when you arrived. Maybe someone I recently fired.” 

Corbin nodded along, taking notes. “How much was in your emergency cash stash?”

Brian closed his eyes, a headache was starting to form behind his eyes. “Uhm. I would say around $150. We don’t keep a lot there. Just enough to stock the register during a rush.”

“You also mentioned some alcohol was stolen?”

“My bar manager, Hunter, came in early today to put away our shipment. He stated that a couple of cases of high-shelf liquor were missing. I haven’t had a chance to check with our supplier yet, but my money's on the thief. I’ve never had an issue with my supplier.”

Corbin nodded again, looking over his notes. “Alright, Mr. Kinney. We have enough to start the investigation. If you find out more on your end, let us know.” 

The blond pulled a card from his notebook and handed it to Brian. Corbin winked at him before whispering, “I also wrote down my cell in case you need or want to call.”

Brian appreciated the man’s balls. He full-on propositioned the owner of an establishment he was investigating. It was something Brian would’ve done five years ago.

After the officers had left, Brian wanted to go himself but knew his office needed to be put right. As he gathered the scattered files, he noticed Hunter standing in the doorway.

“Do you think it could be someone we’ve kicked out or fired?” Hunter had his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, reminding Brian how small he used to make himself while working the streets.

Brian dropped the papers in his hand and crossed the room. Without a word, he wrapped Hunter in an embrace.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ll make sure they catch who did this.” 

Hunter returned the embrace briefly before he moved back, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, you need help up here?” 

Brian shook his head. “No, I’m just going to be reorganizing these and trying to find something to point the officers in the right direction.”

“What are we going to do about the register for tonight? Or are we staying closed?” Hunter fiddled with the broken wood hanging loose on the frame. 

“Shit.” Brian brought his hand to his forehead again. He bit his lip, thinking hard. “We are going to be open. I’ll think of something.” 

With that, Hunter went back to the bar to continue the cleanup process. Brian watched him walk away until he was low enough on the stairs and fell out of sight. Brian’s headache was persisting to the point he could barely focus.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the person he could rely on for a quick solution.

“Em, hey. I need a huge favor.” Brian responded the minute his friend picked up.

“I will not have sex with you, Brian. I have to draw the line somewhere.” Emmett deadpanned, not missing a beat.

“Haha.” Brian snarked. “Do you know where I can get a cash register replacement in the next few hours?”

“Did you consider asking Michael? You know, the other budding entrepreneur in our group? Maybe he can loan you the one from his shop.” Emmett smiled brightly, and Brian could feel its warmth through the phone. 

“Em, how do I survive without you?” Brian heaved a sigh of relief. He knew without asking, his oldest friend would come to his aid in a pinch.

“You don’t.” The queen laughed. “Look, I gotta go. Leavenworth’s Bridal Shower waits for no one.”

Brian wasn’t able to thank the man before he was gone again. 

With one last look at the stack of files, he needed to move from his desk to the cabinet where they belonged. Brian decided to abandon the task and instead find a replacement register. He walked down to see how Hunter was fairing with his portion of the mess. 

“Hey, do you think your dad could let us borrow his cash register?” Brian leaned on the countertop and watched the lad straighten the shelves.

“They smashed quite a few of the open bottles. I swear our shoes are gonna stick to the floor for months.” Hunter muttered, clearly not hearing Brian’s question but registering his presence.

“Shoes have been sticking to the floor of Babylon for years, and not because of the liquor,” Brian smirked. Hunter met his gaze and shuddered.

“Gross.”

“Oh, come on. You used to do much worse on the streets.” Brian quirked an eyebrow, “Besides, I was kidding. Now, about your dad.”

“Which one?” Hunter returned to wiping down bottles with a towel before placing them back on the shelf.

“Keep up.” Brian snapped his fingers. “Michael. The one who’d have a cash register we could borrow.”

Hunter shrugged. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you just ask him?”

Brian kicked his lips. “Because he has the ability to say no to me, but with you, he doesn’t.”

Hunter shook his head with a smile. “You’re bad. Fine. I’ll ask him and then go and get it from him.”

“Good boy!” Brian gripped the back of Hunter’s head briefly.

——

It was after midnight, and Brian was finally back home. He was certain that if he tried to shower now, he’d fall asleep standing up, so he set his alarm for a little bit earlier and threw his clothes toward the hamper. He climbed into bed and was asleep within minutes.

The following day, his alarm blared much too early. Brian groaned but knew he couldn’t hit snooze because he was meeting the group for breakfast at the diner. And, of course, that meant he had to dress in a suit and tie. He wasn’t looking forward to it. 

He got out of bed, coughing as he walked into the bathroom for a shower. The steam cleared his chest more than he’d experienced in days. These summer allergies were killing him this year. He washed his hair and body quickly before getting out. Usually, Brian loved to take his time showering, but today, he didn’t have time.

He walked over to his closet and tried to decide which button-down and tie to wear when his phone rang. A glance at the clock told him it was 7:45 am. Who the fuck would be calling him this early?

He picked up his cell and answered it. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and left ear, threw on a navy blue shirt, and fiddled with the cuff as he answered.

“Hello?”

“Brian? Oh, thank god I was able to reach you. We are kind of in a bind. Mel’s mom is in the hospital, and we need to be with her. I’d bring Gus, but hospitals are terribly boring, and it’s summer. Can you take him for your month a few weeks early?” Lindsay’s tone was highly anxious, and Brian knew the blonde was downing all the coffee and donuts possible.

He smiled, tucking in his lips. More time with his son was always welcomed. But he also liked to make Lindsay squirm a bit.

“I don’t know, Wendy. I’m pretty booked. I just don't have the time between writing, doctor's appointments, and public appearances.” Brian switched the phone to his other shoulder and worked on pulling his shirt on the other side.

“Oh, Brian!” She exclaimed. “You almost had me. But then you had to say public appearances. You hate the general public.”

“Guilty as charged. I’ll be at Liberty Diner for breakfast with the guys for the next hour. Bring him there. I’ll get him some pancakes.” Brian chuckled.

“You’re a lifesaver. Truly.” Lindsay exclaimed with a breath of relief. “See you soon, Peter.”

Brian hung up his phone and finished putting on his pants, socks, and shoes. He grabbed a light blue tie and walked to his kitchen to get his keys. He had a coughing fit just before leaving and considered bailing on Thursday's breakfast with the gang. Then his lungs calmed down, and he knew that if he didn’t show up, everyone would end up here, which was worse.

“You look like shit!” Brian was greeted by Michael’s harsh tone the minute he sat down.

“You would too if you’d been up half the night because of a break-in and then had to get up early the next day.” Brian groused and motioned for Debbie to bring him some coffee.

The redheaded woman came shuffling over. “You okay, honey? Your health still good?” She placed a gentle hand on his face and poured him a cup.

“I’m fine, ma. Just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night. Someone broke into Babylon yesterday morning. So, that was a nightmare I had to deal with all afternoon and evening.” Brian sighed but gave Debbie a reassuring smile.

Debbie placed a hand on her chest in concern. “Was anything stolen? Anyone hurt?”

“No. The place was empty. They got away with a couple hundred in cash and some high-shelf liquor. Hunter was able to help me clean things up.” Brian looked up at his mom and reassured her once more.

“Speaking of which. Where’s my cash register?” Michael stared at Brian from across the booth.

“Relax.” Brian sighed again. “I instructed Hunter to return it to your shop and set it back up for you.” 

Michael looked as though he was about to argue when a blur of brunette hair and knobby limbs attached itself to Brian’s chest and lap.

“Daddy!” Gus cried with a wide, half-toothless grin. “Momma said you’d get me pancakes!” 

Brian turned slightly to see a majorly put-out Lindsay. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and forced a smile as she dropped it by Brian’s feet.

“You do know he has clothes at my place, right?” Brian glanced at the bag.

“You don’t have my Superman shirts, Daddy!” Gus petulantly exclaimed, moving to the bench next to Brian. “‘Sides, I’m with you ALL summer.”

“Try a month and a half. That’s hardly all summer.” Brian laughed and made a face at Gus to get him to laugh, too. 

Just then, his lungs revolted again, and Brian found himself in a coughing fit. He got himself under control and gulped down a glass of water, but everyone else stared at him.

“Jesus, it’s just a cough. Chill.” Brian glared at each of his family members separately, except Gus.

“I had a cough and runny nose last week. Momma said it was poolen.” Gus shrugged, drinking the juice Debbie had left and brought back for him.

“Pollen, Sonny boy.” Brian rubbed Gus’ hair and turned to everyone else. “A trait he gets from me. Now stop clutching your pearls and move on.”

A small voice at the back of Brian’s mind started raising alarm bells about the cough, but he shoved it down. He didn’t have time to investigate that train of thought, nor did he want to. His testicular cancer had been hard enough, considering it had spread to his abdomen and his lymph nodes on the kidneys. His doctor has warned he could relapse with cancer in another part of his body. He didn’t have time to think of this.

“Brian,” Lindsay’s voice cut into his inner thoughts, bringing him back to the surface. He turned his head to look at her directly.

“Gus has a playdate with his best friend, Walter…” Lindsay began before Brian cut her off.

“Walter?! What is he friends with a 78-year-old man?” Brian scoffed.

“He’s eight.” Lindsay rolled her eyes, her patience for Brian’s usual banter nowhere to be found, “Anyway, he has this playdate on Saturday. You can just drop him off around 11. Gus will stay for lunch, and usually, when Mel and I pick him up, we stay for dinner with Walter’s family since we’re friends with his mom, but you don’t have to.”

“Thank you for the permission,” Brian grumbled.

“Don’t be a dick.” Debbie chimed in; Brian had forgotten she was still hanging around.

“Walter’s the best! He has the latest Mario!” Gus looked up from his plate of pancakes, pausing his fork halfway to his mouth.

“The latest Mario?!” Brian’s eyes got big in excitement. “Why didn’t you say so? Of course, I’ll take you over to see him.”

“Thank you, Peter.” Lindsay leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Gus, baby. Momma and Mama Mel have to go away for a few days. We will call you tonight. Be good for Daddy.” She then leaned behind Brian to catch Gus on the top of his head.

“Bye, Momma,” Gus stated without looking at her, more interested in his plate of pancakes.

Once Lindsay was gone, Debbie finally got around to taking Brian’s breakfast order. Then she, too, walked off to get back to work. Brian watched her walk away. Debbie had always loved him from the moment she met him. But that also meant she was his toughest critic. Brian hated that he kept his true career from her. She deserved to know the truth, but Brian also deserved to be able to live a life without harassment from people who were fans or otherwise.

“So, do you have any idea who could’ve broken into Babylon?” Ted broke the silence, sipping from his coffee.

Brian shook his head, “No, the one officer thought I deserved it. But, the younger one thinks they’ll be able to solve it easy enough. He was the one who sent over some forensic people to fingerprint the bar and my office. If it had been up to his partner, nothing would’ve been reported.”

Michael looked up from his eggs, confused. “Why?”

“Because, Mikey, it's a gay club.” Brian gave his best friend a pointed look until the dark-haired man’s demeanor changed.

“Ohhhh.”

“By Jove, I think he’s got it!” Brian mocked.

“Shut up, Brian.” Michael groused just as Debbie returned with Brian’s egg whites and wheat toast.

“I swear, you need to eat more. You’re nothing but skin and bones.” Debbie commented as she placed his plate down. He saw that she had added a glazed donut to his order. Brian smiled at his plate.

“It’s not my fault my body doesn’t gain any fat.” Brian shrugged.

The door jingled, and Brian turned to see who was coming in. It was a stranger, but the most beautiful stranger Brian had ever seen. The young man had to be almost 30 with hair as golden as sunlight. He didn’t look around or even make eye contact with anyone. However, Debbie must recognize him because she walks over to him and greets him with a nickname. Brian doesn’t pick up on their exchange because they’re too far away. Satisfied that he’d stared at the young man long enough, Brian turned his attention to his food.

——

A few hours later, Brian was back at his house typing away at his manuscript with Gus on the floor, playing with his trains. Just then, his train of thought was interrupted by the shrill ringing of his phone. Brian sighed. He had a specific tone for his editor, and this was it.

“Roger!” Brian answered the phone, making a face at Gus, who giggled.

“Brian, I’m waiting for your first draft. Can I expect it by the end of this week?” Roger was pretending to be cheerful and nice, which meant Brian was in deep shit with him if he didn’t have some kind of response.

“I can’t send you a whole draft, but I should have at least 3 chapters for you by then. I’m almost done with the first two as we speak.” Brian continued to type and talk at the same time.

“Brian,” Roger gave an exasperated sigh. “You know we gave you some leeway a few years ago because of your cancer diagnosis, but you’re obligated under your contract.”

“I know!” Brian stopped typing and practically hissed through the phone, “I went to see my oncologist yesterday for a follow-up, and I’m a bit rundown at the moment because of a cold. I will get you the first three chapters by tomorrow.”

Gus looked up, concerned at Brian’s tone, but Brian smiled at the young kid and silently reassured him.

“Fine. But we expect you to have the rest of the draft by the end of the summer. No more extensions, or you will be in breech of contract.” And with that, Roger hung up.

Brian threw his phone down and dropped his head into his hands. His whole body was exhausted, and the headache from last night had never gone away. If he didn’t have Gus with him he would’ve already crawled back into bed. Before he could start his writing once more, his phone went off again. This time it was the regular ringtone which meant it was from a nonsaved number or a contact he hadn’t given a special tone to.

“Hello?” Brian answered his cell, not recognizing the number.

“Mr. Kinney? This is Officer Corbin from last night.” The voice on the other end replied.

“Oh! Officer Corbin.” Brian relaxed considerably. “What’s the word?”

“Well, we had time to review your security tapes, and we found some suspicious people lurking about outside early yesterday, and one went out of frame, so we believe he’s the one who broke in. Because when we look at the time stamp on the videos from inside the bar, a person shows up in frame not 30 seconds after one disappeared from outside.”

Brian rubbed his temple, “That’s great. Are you able to make an ID off the video?”

“Unfortunately, the person is wearing a hood. But, we are still analyzing the fingerprints we lifted from the scene. Those might turn up something. In the meantime, I suggest you go about business as usual and let me know if you think of anyone who might have done this.” Corbin’s voice was gentle and kind. Brian’s dick twitched, hopefully. Fuck. I need to get laid.

After hanging up with Officer Corbin. Brian got up from his desk and went to the kitchen. Gus followed him, asking for some juice. Brian shook his head and smiled to himself. He was so grateful that after years of disinterest, Brian was able to convince Lindsay and Melanie that he deserved some time with his son. 

“How about we go to the skate park later so you can work on your skateboard tricks?” Brian asked Gus as he handed the kid a glass of watered-down apple juice.

“Really?!” Gus’s eyes lit up, and he started to bounce around the kitchen. “Mommas don’t let me skateboard; they say it’s too dangerous.” 

“That’s why you only do it with me.” Brian tapped his nose to signify the whole thing was their little secret.

“You sure you aren’t too tired?” Gus stopped abruptly and looked up at Brian with concern. “You have what Momma Mel calls raccoon eyes.”

Brian knelt down to Gus’ level. He placed a hand on the kid’s cheek in gentle reassurance. “I’m a bit tired, but not too tired to watch you skate. Never too tired for that.”

Gus nodded, but his eyes told Brian he was still concerned. They were settled back in Brian’s study when his cell rang for a third time.

Gus looked up, “You’re super busy today, Daddy!”

Brian chuckled and gently shook his head, “I really am. Must be famous or something.” He stuck his tongue against his cheek and gave Gus a wink.

This ringtone was the one assigned to his doctor. Brian took a deep breath, tucked his lips behind his teeth, and steeled himself for an unpleasant conversation. He glanced over at Gus once more and decided he needed to take this call in his bedroom instead. If it wasn’t good news he didn’t want Gus to worry.

“Hey, Doc.” Brian tentatively greeted him once he finally answered. “Sorry for the delay. I have my son with me, so I wanted to keep him occupied before we talked.”

“I’m glad you did that.” Dr. Sanjay sighed, “Brian, I was concerned when you told me you’d been more tired lately, and then I heard your cough yesterday. So, I rushed the results of your bloodwork.” He paused.

“It’s not good is it.” Brian’s stomach dropped. His fears were realized as he thought over his bone-deep exhaustion and persistent cough the past week or so.

“I would much rather we have this conversation in person. Can you come by my office this afternoon?”

“I just promised my son I would take him to the skatepark.” Brian knew his excuse was pathetic the minute it left his lips. “Can’t we wait until tomorrow morning?”

“I would much rather you come in today. With your age and your history, it’s best we handle this sooner rather than later.” Dr. Sanjay all but confirmed Brian had relapsed.

“But, I’ve been in remission for over a year.” Brian could hear his own voice break. He wasn’t an outwardly emotional person, but it was all too much. He had just started to lead a life he was proud of. Brian was spending most of his time with his son, appreciating his friends like he should. He’d even stopped smoking and doing drugs upon his previous cancer diagnosis.

“Brian.” Dr. Sanjay was a patient and kind man, but even he had his limits. “Please come into my office at 3 pm today.”

“I’ll try to find someone to watch my son. He doesn’t need to hear any of this.” Brian replied before he hung up. 

Holding his cell in his hand, Brian felt the sting of tears. He didn’t deserve any of this. Or maybe he did. After all, most of his younger years were spent being closed off and a borderline asshole to everyone around him, including his closest friends. After a lifetime of verbal, physical, and emotional abuse from his parents, Brian decided he didn’t need love. Love was something idiots convinced themselves they needed, but he knew the truth. You could only rely on yourself.

Then, he’d been diagnosed with embryonal carcinoma, one of the most aggressive kinds of testicular cancer. Go figure. Knowing that his cancer wasn’t so easily cured, Brian realized he needed to make some changes. He stopped drinking, doing drugs, and going to the club almost every night. He spent more time with his son and told himself that he was ready to find someone to have a serious relationship with. The only problem was Brian forgot to worry about the supreme likelihood that his cancer would relapse within five years.

Brian dropped his phone to the mattress beside him and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He couldn’t cry. Not with Gus in the other room. He had to remain strong. His son didn’t need to know he was sick again. At least not before he got the details from Dr. Sanjay. No, Brian needed to take a deep breath and regroup. Gus was going to be disappointed that plans had changed, but Brian knew his doctor meant business. With another deep sigh, Brian got off his bed and went back to his study.

He stood quietly in the doorway and watched as Gus drew pictures in a sketchpad. The kid was only 8, but already he was showing signs of true talent. Most kids his age liked to scribble or make nondescript images and claim they were things such as a parent or a pet. But Gus drew things that actually looked like the stuff he would then describe. He must’ve sensed Brian was back because he looked up, smiled, and then held up his drawing.

“I drew us at the skatepark, Daddy!” Gus exclaimed. Brian held back tears as he looked at two somewhat humanoid figures on skateboards.

“But I don’t know how to do that. I barely function with my feet on the ground.” Brian stepped into the space and ruffled Gus’ hair. He leaned over and placed a kiss where his hand had been. “I really like it though.”

“Later, when we go skating, I want to show you this kickflip Walter’s older brother showed me.” Gus turned back to his art.

Brian cleared his throat. “About that. I know I said I would take you to the park today, but something came up. I can’t today, but I promise we will go tomorrow.”

Gus didn’t even miss a beat, “Don’t promise something you can’t keep.” 

And boy, did that one hit Brian deep in his chest. Gus was old enough to remember the times Brian had promised to visit or come to some achievement of his and hadn’t bothered to show up. He had been making strides these last three years, but it didn’t make up for five years of disappointments. 

“I can keep this one. I don’t have anything on my calendar tomorrow so we can go first thing in the morning even.” Brian bit his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving his son.

“Whatever.” Gus was disappointed but he’d never outright say it. “So, who will I stay with when you go do your thing?”

“I was thinking Emmett. This thing I have to do. I don’t want others to know about it, and Auntie Em is the least likely to give me any grief about it.” Brian had a no-bullshit policy when it came to how he talked to Gus. The kid appreciated it and Brian found it went a long way toward building Gus’ trust in him.

“Facts.” Gus nodded, then, with a mischievous grin, looked up at Brian. “Plus, Em always gives me all the cookies I want.”

“No more than four,” Brian responded in his firmest dad voice.

Brian shook his head as Gus went back to happily drawing. He pulled up Emmett’s number and dialed.

“Wow, two times in one day, Mr. Kinney must be bored.” Emmett greeted him. “Or needs to get laid desperately, so he needs a babysitter.”

“Emmett,” Brian warned. 

“Okay. Fine. What can I do for you, Brian?” 

“One, I’m never bored. Two, I get laid more than you think. And three, it’s not babysitting when the kid is 8.” Brian leaned back in his chair. “But you weren’t wrong. I do need a sitter for about an hour around 3.”

“Don’t you think Gus would have much more fun playing around Michael’s comic book store than watching me prepare appetizers for a black-tie affair?” Emmett’s voice sounded a bit distant, which told Brian the man had put him on speaker.

Brian rubbed his temples again. “He probably would, but Mikey,” Brian emphasized the name in an exasperated grit, “Would ask a million questions.”

Emmett’s breath hitched on the other end of the line. “Bri? What exactly will you be doing during this hour?”

Brian closed his eyes and sighed, “Dr. Sanjay wants to go over my test results from yesterday.”

Emmett gave a small gasp but then quickly recovered. “And you don’t need Gus knowing something is up.”

“Exactly.” Brian readily agreed. He was so glad he called Emmett. “I knew you’d understand and drop it.”

“Of course, no questions asked. Unless you want to share.”

“Not at this moment. But we will see what he says, and I’ll go from there.” Brian let out a shaky breath but masked it with a small cough.

“I’ll see you soon,” Emmett whispered, his emotions flooding through his voice. Brian knew his friend was going to wrap him in a hug the minute he dropped off Gus, but found in that moment he didn’t mind. “Tell Gus that we’ll be making Brownie Bites and Cake Pops. I’ll even let him taste test.”

Brian smiled, “Thank you, Emmett.”

“Anytime, Kinney.”

“Whatever, Honeycutt.” 

The two hung up. Brian felt considerably lighter than he had hanging up with Dr. Sanjay. Even if he got the worst news a few hours from now, Emmett would be there to make sure it was business as usual for Gus. Brian wasn’t alone in this fight. The thought of having a family worry about him used to freak him out and send him running for the hills, but now, he embraced it.

“Sonny boy.” Brian broke the silence to get Gus’ attention. “We are going to head over to Emmett’s in about an hour. You can go watch cartoons if you want. I need to call your Momma.”

Gus jumped up and ran to the front room. Brian watched his son leave, unaware that after today things would never be the same for him again. He didn’t remember Brian’s illness last time because Lindsay and Mel had decided he was too young to know. So, they hadn’t told him. He just knew that his Daddy was sick a couple of times when his Momma brought him over for a visit.

Brian worried his lip; he didn’t want to give Lindsay the heads-up. When it came to emotional reactions, hers was always the worst out of everyone in the family. He knew she would want to rush back home to be with him and that she’d want him to immediately tell everyone else. But he also couldn’t keep this from her because if Brian had to start treatments right away, someone would need to be there for Gus, despite their custody agreement.

“Bri, is everything okay? It’s only been a few hours. Is Gus okay?” Lindsay’s voice was immediately on high alert.

“Gus is fine.” Brian sighed. “I just wanted to call and give you a heads up. My doctor called a little bit ago and asked me to come in for further discussion. I’m certain I’ve relapsed.”

“You don’t know that. He could just want to go over all the results and give you pointers on how to stay healthy.” Lindsay tried to be devil’s advocate, but even she knew her words didn’t sound confident in the slightest.

“What about Gus? Is he aware?”

“No, I left him in the other room before I answered my doctor’s call. And I’m taking him over to Emmett’s. He knows I have to do something, but he thinks it's for work.” Brian rubbed his free hand through his hair.

“Well, please let me know what you find out. We are here for you. Please don’t forget that.” Lindsay’s voice was back to being the strong, confident, empathetic friend that Brian knew and loved.

“I will. I might need to adjust our Gus agreement. Depending on what he says.” Brian bit his lip. The tears stung the back of his eyes again. 

“We will cross that bridge when we need to. In the meantime, take a deep breath. Everything is going to be fine.”

“I’m not so sure this time, Wendy.” Brian’s voice came out broken and wet.

“You just have to believe, Peter.” Lindsay’s warmth caught him in his chest, and he smiled despite himself.

——

Brian sat nervously across from Dr. Sanjay. The man had a file folder open with Brian’s test results inside. There was an awkward silence building between them. He knew the man was just trying to collect all the facts and determine how he would tell Brian, but that didn’t make the wait any easier.

“How are you feeling today? Any better?” Dr. Sanjay finally looked up, addressing Brian directly.

“No worse, no better.” Brian’s leg started to bounce nervously. “Can we just cut the bullshit?”

“Sorry, I figured I would ease you into it. I forgot you’re more of a rip the bandaid off kind of guy.”

“I’d rather you give it to me straight than worry about feelings.”

“Your blood work came back with an elevated white blood cell count. I would like for you to get a Chest CT done before you leave here today. That will just confirm what I already suspect.” Dr. Sanjay gave Brian a grim look before continuing. “I told you last time that your form of testicular cancer had a chance of spreading and taking root in other parts of your body. I know it’s been over a year since we cleared you, but there’s a chance that, at that time, your vascular system had an amount of cancer undetectable by our testing.”

“I know. You told me that remission didn’t mean completely gone, just that it was no longer actively detectable.” Brian sucked in his bottom lip and gave Dr. Sanjay a stony gaze. “Now, you’re saying it's detectable again and probably spread.”

“My guess is that it’s spread to your lungs or that you’ve developed lung cancer as a secondary diagnosis to the embryonal carcinoma.” Dr. Sanjay responded, his eyes soft and sympathetic. “We won’t know for sure until after the results of your CT scan and a lung biopsy.”

“What kind of prognosis am I looking at this time?” Brian whispered, barely able to get the words out past the heaviness in his chest.

“With lung cancer, your prognosis drops to about 60%, even lower if it’s in an advanced stage.” Dr. Sanjay reached forward as if to grab Brian’s hand, but he pulled himself back.

“Okay. Great. Let’s do that scan, and I’ll be on my way.” Brian needed to get out of this small, cramped office before he exploded.

“Brian, I understand you need time to process this, but please don’t bury your head in the sand.” Dr. Sanjay called after him. “I will call you when I have the results of your scan.”

With that, Brian left his office and walked over to the diagnostic center next door. An hour later, he was with Emmett and Gus, eating his weight in chocolate chip cookies and denying that anything was wrong.

[govindhtech]

Agilex 3 FPGAs: Next-Gen Edge-To-Cloud Technology At Altera

Agilex 3 FPGA

Today, Altera, an Intel company, launched a line of FPGA hardware, software, and development tools to expand the market and use cases for its programmable solutions. Altera unveiled new development kits and software support for its Agilex 5 FPGAs at its annual developer’s conference, along with fresh information on its next-generation, cost-and power-optimized Agilex 3 FPGA.

Altera

Why It Matters

Altera is the sole independent provider of FPGAs, offering complete stack solutions designed for next-generation communications infrastructure, intelligent edge applications, and high-performance accelerated computing systems. Customers can get adaptable hardware from the company that quickly adjusts to shifting market demands brought about by the era of intelligent computing thanks to its extensive FPGA range. With Agilex FPGAs loaded with AI Tensor Blocks and the Altera FPGA AI Suite, which speeds up FPGA development for AI inference using well-liked frameworks like TensorFlow, PyTorch, and OpenVINO toolkit and tested FPGA development flows, Altera is leading the industry in the use of FPGAs in AI inference workload

Intel Agilex 3

What Agilex 3 FPGAs Offer

Designed to satisfy the power, performance, and size needs of embedded and intelligent edge applications, Altera today revealed additional product details for its Agilex 3 FPGA. Agilex 3 FPGAs, with densities ranging from 25K-135K logic elements, offer faster performance, improved security, and higher degrees of integration in a smaller box than its predecessors.

An on-chip twin Cortex A55 ARM hard processor subsystem with a programmable fabric enhanced with artificial intelligence capabilities is a feature of the FPGA family. Real-time computation for time-sensitive applications such as industrial Internet of Things (IoT) and driverless cars is made possible by the FPGA for intelligent edge applications. Agilex 3 FPGAs give sensors, drivers, actuators, and machine learning algorithms a smooth integration for smart factory automation technologies including robotics and machine vision.

Agilex 3 FPGAs provide numerous major security advancements over the previous generation, such as bitstream encryption, authentication, and physical anti-tamper detection, to fulfill the needs of both defense and commercial projects. Critical applications in industrial automation and other fields benefit from these capabilities, which guarantee dependable and secure performance.

Agilex 3 FPGAs offer a 1.9×1 boost in performance over the previous generation by utilizing Altera’s HyperFlex architecture. By extending the HyperFlex design to Agilex 3 FPGAs, high clock frequencies can be achieved in an FPGA that is optimized for both cost and power. Added support for LPDDR4X Memory and integrated high-speed transceivers capable of up to 12.5 Gbps allow for increased system performance.

Agilex 3 FPGA software support is scheduled to begin in Q1 2025, with development kits and production shipments following in the middle of the year.

How FPGA Software Tools Speed Market Entry

Quartus Prime Pro

The Latest Features of Altera’s Quartus Prime Pro software, which gives developers industry-leading compilation times, enhanced designer productivity, and expedited time-to-market, are another way that FPGA software tools accelerate time-to-market. With the impending Quartus Prime Pro 24.3 release, enhanced support for embedded applications and access to additional Agilex devices are made possible.

Agilex 5 FPGA D-series, which targets an even wider range of use cases than Agilex 5 FPGA E-series, which are optimized to enable efficient computing in edge applications, can be designed by customers using this forthcoming release. In order to help lower entry barriers for its mid-range FPGA family, Altera provides software support for its Agilex 5 FPGA E-series through a free license in the Quartus Prime Software.

Support for embedded applications that use Altera’s RISC-V solution, the Nios V soft-core processor that may be instantiated in the FPGA fabric, or an integrated hard-processor subsystem is also included in this software release. Agilex 5 FPGA design examples that highlight Nios V features like lockstep, complete ECC, and branch prediction are now available to customers. The most recent versions of Linux, VxWorks, and Zephyr provide new OS and RTOS support for the Agilex 5 SoC FPGA-based hard processor subsystem.

How to Begin for Developers

In addition to the extensive range of Agilex 5 and Agilex 7 FPGAs-based solutions available to assist developers in getting started, Altera and its ecosystem partners announced the release of 11 additional Agilex 5 FPGA-based development kits and system-on-modules (SoMs).

Developers may quickly transition to full-volume production, gain firsthand knowledge of the features and advantages Agilex FPGAs can offer, and easily and affordably access Altera hardware with FPGA development kits.

Kits are available for a wide range of application cases and all geographical locations. To find out how to buy, go to Altera’s Partner Showcase website.

Read more on govindhtech.com