#Small Drones Market Share

[amrutmnm]

The Small Drones Market is projected to grow from USD 5.8 Billion in 2023 to USD 10.4 Billion by 2030, at a CAGR of 8.6% from 2023 to 2030.

Small Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (SUAVs), also known as small drones, are aerial vehicles controlled remotely, playing pivotal roles in both the defense and commercial domains. In the commercial sector, they find applications in monitoring, surveying, mapping, aerial remote sensing, precision agriculture, and even product delivery. Similarly, they serve essential functions in the military realm, including military operations and border surveillance.

SUAVs have been adopted by various industries, including oil & gas, railways, power plants, and construction. The utilization of small drones for innovative purposes, such as cargo delivery in both commercial and defense sectors, is anticipated to be a driving force behind global Small Drones Industry growth. Notably, in the defense sector, small drones are increasingly supplanting manned aircraft due to their ability to be remotely operated by human operators or autonomously controlled by onboard computer systems. Consequently, the small drone market has experienced remarkable expansion over the past decade, primarily attributed to the heightened deployment of small drones in military applications.

[ragini-14]

Small Drones Market To Witness Huge Gains Over 2024-2030

The Small Drones Market Research Report 2024 begins with an overview of the market and offers throughout development. It presents a comprehensive analysis of all the regional and major player segments that gives closer insights upon present market conditions and future market opportunities along with drivers, trending segments, consumer behaviour, pricing factors and market performance and estimation and prices as well as global predominant vendor’s information. The forecast market information, SWOT analysis, Small Drones Market scenario, and feasibility study are the vital aspects analyzed in this report.

The global small drones market size is expected to grow at more than 15.76% CAGR from 2023 to 2030. It is expected to reach above USD 22.36 billion by 2030 from a little above USD 5.99 billion in 2023.

Access Full Report:

https://exactitudeconsultancy.com/reports/19809/small-drones-market/

[aerospace-and-defence]

The Small Drones Market is projected to grow from USD 5.8 Billion in 2023 to USD 10.4 Billion by 2030, at a CAGR of 8.6% from 2023 to 2030.

Small Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (SUAVs), also known as small drones, are aerial vehicles controlled remotely, playing pivotal roles in both the defense and commercial domains. In the commercial sector, they find applications in monitoring, surveying, mapping, aerial remote sensing, precision agriculture, and even product delivery. Similarly, they serve essential functions in the military realm, including military operations and border surveillance.

SUAVs have been adopted by various industries, including oil & gas, railways, power plants, and construction. The utilization of small drones for innovative purposes, such as cargo delivery in both commercial and defense sectors, is anticipated to be a driving force behind global Small Drones Industry growth. Notably, in the defense sector, small drones are increasingly supplanting manned aircraft due to their ability to be remotely operated by human operators or autonomously controlled by onboard computer systems. Consequently, the small drone market has experienced remarkable expansion over the past decade, primarily attributed to the heightened deployment of small drones in military applications.

[aishavass]

Increasing need for life threatening military & defense applications followed by increasing adoption of small drones for photography is expected to provide...

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Month - August 2024

1.Negative Power Prices Hit Europe as Renewable Energy Floods the Grid

European power markets are experiencing a notable shift as renewable energy sources, particularly wind and solar, become a larger part of the energy mix. On Wednesday, power prices in several European markets, including Germany, dipped below zero due to a surge in green electricity production.

2. Taiwan introduces ban on performances by captive wild animals

Live performances by wild animals held in captivity, including performances by dolphins, tigers, and other non-domesticated mammals, will no longer be permitted in Taiwan under new Ministry of Agriculture (MOA) regulations.

3. FTC bans fake online reviews, inflated social media influence; rule takes effect in October

The FTC voted unanimously to ban marketers from using fake reviews, such as those generated with AI technology, and other misleading advertising practices.

The ban also forbids marketers from exaggerating their own influence by, for example, paying for bots to inflate their follower count.

4. Chinese drones will fly trash out of Everest slopes

Come autumn, Nepal will deploy heavy lifter drones to transport garbage from the 6,812-metre tall Ama Dablam, south of Everest. This will be the first commercial work an unmanned aerial vehicle does in Nepal’s high-altitude zone.

The heavy lifter from China’s biggest drone maker, Da Jiang Innovations (DJI), will take on tasks traditionally handled by Sherpas. Officials believe it will help reduce casualties on Everest.

5. Swiss scientists have found a way to use the whole cocoa fruit to make chocolate and not just taking beans and discarding the rest.

Kim Mishra (L) and Anian Schreiber (R) cooperated on the new chocolate making process

Food scientists in Switzerland have come up with a way to make chocolate using the entire cocoa fruit rather than just the beans - and without using sugar.

The chocolate, developed at Zurich’s prestigious Federal Institute of Technology by scientist Kim Mishra and his team includes the cocoa fruit pulp, the juice, and the husk, or endocarp.

6. Six-year-old boy found in Vietnam forest after five days

A six-year-old boy who was missing for five days has been found deep in a forest in Vietnam. Dang Tien Lam, who lives in the northwestern Yen Bai province, was playing in a stream with his nine siblings on 17 August when he wandered into the hills and got lost, local reports said.

He was found on Wednesday by local farmers who heard a child's cry while they were clearing a cinnamon field close to the forest.

7. Lego plans to make half the plastic in bricks from renewable materials by 2026

Lego plans to make half the plastic in its bricks from renewable or recycled material rather than fossil fuels by 2026, in its latest effort to ensure its toys are more environmentally friendly.

The Danish company last year ditched efforts to make bricks entirely from recycled bottles because of cost and production issues. At the moment, 22% of the material in its colourful bricks is not made from fossil fuels.

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[stevecarell600]

Future Scope of Unmanned Aerial Vehicle Market Size Expects to See Significant Growth At CAGR 12.23% During Period 2020-2027 | Worth USD 25.13 Million

The globalunmanned aerial vehicle market is expected to gain momentum from the increasing advancements in the field of drones. They are capable of analyzing millions of images for enhancing the decision-making skills of the management in a wide range of industries.Fortune Business Insights™presented this information in a new report, titled, “Unmanned Aerial Vehicle Market Size, Share & COVID-19 Impact Analysis, By Class (Small UAVs, Tactical UAVs, and Strategic UAVs), By Technology (Remotely Operated, Semi-autonomous, and Fully-autonomous), By System (UAV Airframe, UAV Payloads, UAV Avionics, UAV Propulsion, and UAV Software), By Application (Military, Commercial and Recreational), and Regional Forecast, 2020-2027.” The report further states that the unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) market size wasUSD 10.72 billionin 2019 and is projected to reachUSD 25.13 billionby 2027, exhibiting a CAGR of 12.23% during the forecast period.

Information Source:

Competitive Landscape-

Key Players Focus on Delivering Essentials via UAVs to Prevent Coronavirus Infection

The market is highly fragmented with the presence of a wide range of manufacturing companies all over the world. Some of them are presently focusing on delivering essentials through drones owing to the COVID-19 pandemic. The others are focusing on mergers and acquisitions with other local enterprises to strengthen their positions. Below are a couple of the latest industry developments:

June 2020: After Wing, a firm owned by Google parent Alphabet launched its new drone delivery service in Virginia, Kelly Passek became the first customer. She is a middle-school librarian who petitioned the company to deliver library books to help kids in reading and learning amidst the COVID-19 pandemic.

September 2019: Rafael Advanced Defense Systems, a defense company based in Israel, successfully acquired Aeronautics Limited worth USD 240 million. This would help the latter to combine its expertise in intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance with Rafael’s large network in the U.S. market.

The outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic has halted the operations of several companies. But, some of them have resumed their production processes by stringently following social distancing and low workforce measures. We will soon be able to overcome this situation with the discovery of a vaccine. Our report would provide detailed information about the effects of this pandemic on every market. You can gain business confidence by selecting the right strategy.

Drivers & Restraints-

Need to Avoid Physical Contact amidst COVID-19 to Skyrocket Demand

The effect of COVID-19 pandemic on the market is likely to remain moderate backed by the increasing usage of drones by the regulatory bodies worldwide to monitor public gatherings, thereby limiting direct physical contact. Antwork Inc., a China-based drone delivery company, for instance, provided medical supplies and reduced the involvement of humans by using drones. Also, in countries, such as the Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, India, China, Russia, and France, UAVs are extensively being used to spray disinfectants on government buildings, emergency hospitals, and public healthcare infrastructure. However, the strict government norms and laws regarding the usage of airspace to eliminate accidental damages may hamper the unmanned aerial vehicle market growth in the coming years.

Segment-

Commercial Segment to Grow Rapidly Backed by Investment by Companies to Develop Air Taxi

In terms of application, the market is fragmented into commercial, residential, and military. Out of these, the commercial segment generated 4.6% in terms of unmanned aerial vehicle market share in 2019. This growth is attributable to the increasing usage of UAVs in logistics, forest monitoring, crop monitoring, aerial mapping, and surveying. Besides, industry giants, such as Uber and DHL Logistics are investing hefty amounts of money to develop Air Taxi and innovating air transportation, respectively. These factors would also contribute to the growth of this segment. 

Regional Analysis-

Increasing Usage of Drones in Military Applications to Spur Growth in North America

Geographically, in 2019, North America held USD 3.88 billion in terms of revenue. The region is anticipated to dominate during the forthcoming years owing to the rising usage of UAVs in several military applications. The U.S. houses a large number of renowned military UAVs manufacturers who are gaining a competitive edge by exporting their products to numerous countries worldwide.

Europe, on the other hand, is expected to grow moderately stoked by the high demand for navigation systems, avionics, software solutions, and cameras in the region. In Asia Pacific, the high demand for advanced warfare UAVs for tactical and strategic applications would affect the market growth positively in the near future. The major importers in this region are China, Pakistan, and India.

This Report Answers the Following Questions:

What are the market dynamics, drivers, and obstacles?

Which company will generate the largest revenue in the near future?

How will COVID-19 impact the sales of UAVs?

Which strategies are being adopted by companies to intensify competition?

[markettrend24]

Small Drones Market risks and challenges that the industry is facing

Small Drones Market risks and challenges that the industry is facing

The Small Drones Market research report 2022-2030 provides an in-depth analysis of the changing trends, opportunities, and challenges influencing the growth over the next decade. The study includes a detailed summary of each market along with data related to demand, supply and distribution. The report examines Small Drones market growth strategies adopted by leading manufacturers which include…

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

I'm always fascinated when someone at the club rants about "how they just invented T'au to cash on them anime weebs", completly oblivious to the time and culture of their creation. So T'au came out first in 2001, and were obviously conceptualized some years prior, which puts them into the late 90s in their original design. This is slowly hitting "the majority of the populance has no relevant internet access whatsoever" levels of "barbaric analog ages".

So imagine where GW sits in the late 90s - its a small studio somewhere in England barely coming to touch with the first elements of the internet, with the most dominant medium being television which... is not really about "exotic" shows from the other end of the world? Those get ported over when they have proven to be a hit in their own country mostly.

And without the internet as we know it today, the anime community just... did not exist. You have to understand that the whole concept of online anime culture centred around piracy, fansubs, fanart, and the creation of the term "weeabo" was a mid-to-late 00s thing, and it took almost another decade before "weeb" was somewhat reclaimed and no longer an online-slur.

There was a whole generation that grew up with (often horribly localized) japanese shows on TV (Pokemon, Dragon Ball, Sailor Moon) which came over with some delay to their release in Japan. By the time this generation came to congregate into online spaces and form any sort of fan-identity and culture, the T'au and their battlesuits had already been a design over a decade old.

"But wait isn't Gundam from the 70s"? Yes, that is totally correct. However, this is the one glaring mistake people make: you cannot compare modern day media content circulation around the globe to the analog ages. Those of us who remember these barbaric analog times know how it was: you just did not know stuff existed. If it was not in the newspaper or on the telly, it might as well not exist unless you knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy.

Sure, the Internet was slowly becoming a thing that found widespread use, but it would still take a while - not to mention the technical limitations. No streaming episodes. You start the download (if you can find someone who hosted the file of a series you had to know even existed first) somewhere around lunch, to hopefully get something to watch in the afternoon. Oh and also that blocked the household's phone-line and if the download cancelled for whatever reason then it was back to square one. Under such conditions, the online community we know today could simply not exist, as the alternative was importing stuff from the other end of the world for quite the money, or hoping a really shoddy localized VCR-tape ended up at your Blockbuster-equivalent.

Of course there was anime before that time, even those regarded absolute classics in the west, but those mostly achieved that rank over here in retrospective. When in the late 00s people wanted to watch stuff and had the ability to do so they shared what was considered "the classics" first (shared to the best of their ability with one episode cut into 5 parts on youtube with sometimes very questionable subtitles).

So even if we assume there was someone at GW in the 90s who was a total "proto-weeb" and Gudam-fan, there was literally no reason to "make knock-off Gundams" because the miniscule western wargaming audience SIMPLY DID NOT KNOW THE STUFF.

You can't make a marketing ploy to reference something your average consumers have never heard off. If anything, the creation of the T'au as a robotic-centred faction was inevitable: they needed a design that could hold their own in the setting, but Necrons hogged the full-robot niche, Imperials were weird cyborgs, Orks the "madman-scrap-tech", and Nids the "biotech". The only thing left here was "not full robot but also very clean and efficient" - and just like that, the Battlesuits and Drones were born.

It was only in later years when the Internet had come into full swing where they decided to go full-suit with releases such as the Riptide, but if we talk about the OG design of T'au and the first decade? Nothing to do with anime or "fishing for weebs". The fish would not be coming to that spot for almost a decade, and it would take a bit more before their numbers were plentyful enough to make it worth casting a line out.

[lorelune]

six drinks, first time

|| jing yuan x f! reader || E/18+ || drunk reader + adoring jin yuan + kink reveal || wc: 2.5k  || ao3 ||

Jing Yuan covets the fact he knows you better than anyone else. It’s unfortunate for him that plum wine makes you sweeter and more honest, revealing a piece of yourself he hasn’t considered. 

minors & ageless blogs dni

a/n: jing yuan has rotted my brain i need him so badly fr fr :salute: enjoy!!

CWs: drunk reader, engaged jing yuan and reader, possessive jing yuan, corruption kink, virginity kink, reader visibly blushes, light exhibitionism/threat of exhibitionism

It's rare for Jing Yuan to see you this way. So carefree, so weightless, so unabashed, despite the many bodies around you and looks that your display is inevitably drawing. Jing Yuan is too old to care for decorum in this setting, it's a party after all. Though he'll only nurse a drink or two during the evening, lest lose himself, he appreciates seeing his compatriots enjoy themselves.

He wasn't expecting you to partake as much as you have, though.

Jing Yuan has been counting your drinks— five, sipping on a sixth (some plum wine that he’s sure has a taste that will linger on your lips. He wants nothing more than to find out himself). You'll undoubtedly have a headache in the morning. He's less concerned about that (he'll treat you well, he always does, the lovesick fool he is). You rarely drink so much, usually just stealing sips from his glass and remaining sober by his side, so it's quite the treat for him to see you lose yourself in this way.

You cling to his arm, cheek pressed into his shoulder as you listen to Fu Xuan drone about a trivial bit of gossip. Jing Yuan entertains her, and you watch them both, entranced. Lips parted and a bit chapped, cheeks flushed, with a thigh thrown over his own. You're rarely so affectionate with him in public, or anywhere other than your home. You insist upon decorum, but after your third drink, it's been thrown out the window. You're practically in his lap.

At the thought, Jing Yuan tests his luck. It takes no effort for him to wrangle you over his thighs, and you throw an arm around his neck, pressing the other over his chest. You bear your weight into him. It's horribly precious of you.

Though your relationship isn't a secret, it's something you don't answer common questions about. Even if Tingyun tries to twist your arm for information on the general, you always skillfully decline (or, tell her off with equally flowery words. It's impressive to watch considering he's well aware of the other contexts you use such vocabulary and tone in— in war rooms at the side of long tables, or while sitting over his hips, smearing spit across his lips.)

You gasp at something Fu Xuan says. Jing Yuan squeezes around your hip. When your flesh gives way under his grip, Jing Yuan sees stars. It's so rare he gets to indulge in this way. He'll milk it for all its worth.

You're unaware of it— the gazes that you draw, from colleagues, foes, strangers. Jing Yuan is terribly attuned to it. You'd probably be alarmed if you knew the extent to which Jing Yuan is acutely aware of each wayward glance or longing look you receive. You have admirers. Your lack of public acknowledgment of your relationship (besides the engagement rings you both wear. Identical, cast in the same metal, sharing halves of the same stone) allows room for it.

Jing Yuan never lets them get far. For how little you both say of it, he isn't shy about standing closer to you than anyone else. Inviting you to the seat of divine foresight, whenever he bothers to actually be there. He asks for you on daily walks and you're the only other person his finches will eat from the hand of.

If an admirer of yours doesn't get the message after such clear signals, Jing Yuan takes a more direct approach. A hand on the small of your back, leveling you a gaze that screams 'I will be splitting you open on my cock the first moment you allow me' in an open market for all to see, or making eye contact with said suitor and provide them a particular hardened, venomous look that Jing Yuan's only been able to forge through time and his feelings for you.

He'd never considered himself a possessive man before you.

Look at what you've done to him, made him selfish and desperate at your hand.

Jing Yuan has little to lose. You've finished your sixth drink. He kisses your jaw— just a drag of the lips over the curve of it. He feels you give a full-bodied shudder, balling up his robe in your fist.

He’d never considered himself needy either, but with you, he is. He hides it well. He doesn't even think you know, though you could see it if you looked hard enough.

"Dearest," he speaks against your ear, only for you to hear. "May I take you home?"

You turn to pout at him. He's patient, horribly, perhaps to a detriment at times— but you're testing him.

"Noooo, not yet!" You whine. "The party's so nice and Fu Xuan's fun when she's tipsy."

You hide a giggle behind your palm, and you don't see the way Fu Xuan bristles behind you.

"Can I convince you?" Jing Yuan asks you. He squeezes your inner thigh. He'd put his hand to your skin directly if he could, if he didn't value your modesty—

(Though, perhaps he's been entertaining the thought of having you in a courtyard for the past half hour. Who is to say.)

You hum, thoughtful, "You will have to be very persuasive. I'm enjoying myself thoroughly."

"Noted. You know I can be."

"Hmmm... I'm listening."

Jing Yuan hums, "Such things would be better discussed in private. Take a walk with me?"

You frown, "I don't want to get up."

"I'll carry you."

"You wouldn't—" you flush at that. Jing Yuan cups your face so he can feel your cheeks heat.

"I would. Happily, in fact."

You shouldn't be surprised when he rises with you in his arms, only depositing you back to the ground when you squeal and squirm. You still grab his hand as you depart from the crowded party room. Jing Yuan feels each gaze that follows them. He rubs over the ring on your left hand.

Jing Yuan takes you to an overlook. The city is deserted so late. There's no need for his knights to be stationed so close to the celebration, considering the amount of soldiers teeming just inside.

He crowds you against the railing, slowly, leveraging you with a hand on your side. He'd never let you fall, especially when you sway with the drinks you've had.

"You've been so sweet this evening." Jing Yuan noses down the line of your throat.

"Am I not sweet every evening?"

"You are, of course." Jing Yuan could spend days, months— years even, telling you in all the ways. He's long since become accustomed to the unique heartache you give him— like a wound that never heals or a bruise that will never yellow. The only way to soothe it is with your words, your touch, your presence in his bed and by his side— and wrapped around his arm when you so cutely drink yourself into a stupor. "It's rare that I get to see you partaking in the way you have. It's lovely to see you enjoy yourself. I simply wish to enjoy you myself. If you don't wish to return all the way home, I happened to see a few spare rooms—"

"Jing Yuan!" You tug at his hair. He suppresses a moan. "That would be— indecent. And unbecoming of someone of your rank."

"My rank is unmoving and unchanging, regardless of any sweet sounds I could draw from you. But, I suppose, you are quite the shy thing, aren't you—?"

"You're awful." You say with no bite. You kiss him stupid and Jing Yuan feels stupid. He never feels undone or outwitted, but you silence him so easily. A few touches and he's nothing. "Scoundrel."

"And, you love me for it."

"Well, yes, of course." You assure him and nip at his bottom lip. "Enough to want to marry you, in fact."

"So, you'll allow me to walk you home and keep you from work tomorrow?"

"Why would you keep me from work?"

"I don't expect you to be walking with any ease when I’m finished with you." Jing Yuan, perhaps, desires to mark your neck as well. It's a rare thing, and when he does, he revels in the way you futz with your collar all day to try and hide them. He thinks he'll give you one that you can't hide, right over your pulse point.

"How do I know you're not just trying to get out of those meetings that are on the books for tomorrow morning?" You bat at his chest, a smile burgeoning on your lips. He's got you.

"I only wish to spend the rest of the evening pleasuring you." He lilts his voice and squeezes lower on your hips. "Does my lover not trust me?"

You bury your face in his chest and shudder. He chuckles, running a palm over your hair, cupping the back of your neck. So easily undone, choice words and you unravel.

"You make me think all these weird things."

"Weird how?" He asks, already cajoling you into linking arms, matching your stride.

"I— I've been having this thought and I can't get it out of my head." You avoid looking at him and Jing Yuan’s interest is piqued. 

"Will you share with me?"

"It's... embarrassing. And lewd."

"Dear," he presses your ring into your finger. "I have promised myself to you in all ways. If it's a desire you have, I want nothing more than to hear and indulge it."

"You're spoiling me."

"You're avoiding telling me what has plagued you so." Jing Yuan reminds you.

You pause and chew on your words.

Jing Yuan is... curious. Your desires are not a mystery to him. You've been forthright with your wants, and he has in turn, and very little has been vetoed. If anything, you've given him much to think about. You occupy his thoughts in a way that is probably distracting, but so close to retirement— he can let himself daydream about a future where keeping you in bed and flush to him is his only job.

"It's just that—" You shift from foot to foot. You're not far from home now, and you drag your feet. "That, you know? We'll have forever, and it makes me think about all the stuff from before that."

He hums. You've revealed fragments to him, unpleasant bits of the past you've moved beyond. 

"And like... What if— Just. Maybe. I think about it sometimes." You kick the metal and stone at your feet. "I think about you being my first. I'm gonna be with you forever, you know? I wish you could just unmake me, and take me for the first time."

Jing Yuan stalls. Almost stumbles. He catches himself by the barest fringes of his finesse because Aeons and stars, what the fuck did you just say—?

(He considers himself an expert in you. He knows your mood, the way your skin changes with the artificial weather and your favorite fruits, and how you best like them cut. He knows the ways to curl his fingers inside you to bring you climax within just moments or hours, if he so deigns.)

(Yet, he never knew this desire. Never considered it. Foresight means nothing when you obscure his vision in the same way a comet's tail bursts as it hits solid atmosphere— blinding and forged with wishes.)

"Jing Yuan? Are you okay?" You ask him, voice gone soft and timid. "Was that... bad?"

"No." Jing Yuan steels himself. He has much to consider. He must act. He scoops you into his arms and throws you over his shoulder.

"Hey!" You let out a little ‘oof’ and pound on his back. "What's this for? If you're upset with me, just say it."

"You didn't upset me at all." He runs a hand over the back of your thighs, his palm coming to rest over your ass. "The opposite, actually overjoyed. You've been so gracious, I couldn't possibly let you tire yourself out with a walk home, could I?"

He squeezes a cheek and feels his cock twitch at the squeak you let out.

He's going to ruin you, he decides. Perhaps not now, but another night. If you wish him to rewrite a poor memory, your first, he will. He wants you dead sober for it.

"... Why do I feel like you're thinking really hard?" you slap his ass and he snorts. "You're scheming. I can tell."

"Only planning, dear. I promise it's in your best interest."

It's all he thinks about as he sets you on the threshold of your shared home. He feeds you rice with egg and tuskpir belly and it’s all he fucking thinks about. He fucks you stupid and drooly and full into the sheets, and it consumes him.

He intertwines his fingers with yours as he fucks into you from behind. His cock hasn't even been this hard, he thinks, it almost hurts. You make the sweetest sounds below him, sticky tears clumping your lashes as you squeeze his hand back. Every thrust pushes you into the mattress. He's blowing out your back, surely. He knows the ache you'll have in the morning and he'll chase it away.

He presses his chest to your back, licking up your neck and stilling the cant of his hips. You breathe in time.

"I'll take you like it's your first time— I'd love nothing more." He licks over a high patch of skin on your neck. "We can even play pretend, if you'd like. Would you like to be a blushing virgin who's never taken cock before?"

You laugh, tilting your head back to bonk into his, "Sounds like you'd just like to corrupt my hypothetical innocence."

"And if I did?" Jing Yuan speaks so seriously that it stills you. He thinks of every set of eyes that looked at you that evening, every ogling glance that traced a figure that is only his. He bites down into the flesh of your neck, sucking a bruise so dark it'll last for days. "If I want to undo you and be the only one who's ever fucked you, seen you like this, would I be wrong to? I think that you may even enjoy that."

You let out a shaking breath. Your cunt squeezes like a vice around his cock and he groans into the mark he's branded on you.

"You're going to ruin me." You smother your voice into the sheets as he picks up his pace. The slap of skin is wet, you're drenched, it's filthy and Jing Yuan never wants it to end. Perhaps he should rethink his views on immortality.

"I am." He will. It's a promise, a vow that's sealed with the faltering rhythm of his hips and the way he spills inside of you. He eats himself out of your cunt, until you're cumming on his tongue and thrashing against the hold he keeps on your hips.

Jing Yuan feels so pleased when he finally lays down at your side after wiping you down. You doze, rolling into his warmth the moment he's under the covers.

He will ruin you. He will reshape you for him, if that's your desire.

He keeps a hand between your sticky thighs and pushes his spent that dribbles from your cunt back inside you.

[sgiandubh]

Have nothing against Ashley, but how are things better? Only seen the gin on one bar. Rest are just her cocktail pictures. Where's the sales information, data? Where are cocktails featuring Sassy on their permanent menus? Still unsold bottles at local store here and nothing has been sold out for his small batch whisky. Do not see anything of an impact except nice pictures in bars and her comped trip to the UK. It's too expensive for an unknown brand, period. It's good but not great and nothing special that other more established brands do. The pop up was again directed to OL female fans. It's far too early to see any impact, unless you have P&L documents showing differently, do you?

Dear Nothing Against Anon,

Oh, here we go again: the pseudo-expert fuckwit, coming along with her corporate vocabulary, fake syllogisms and paltry logic, just in order to tearfully drone that sinister 'I hope that prick fails and disappears forever' dirge.

You sound just like those cowardly Fascist types who always start their worst bullshit rants with statements like: 'I am not a racist, but...' (proceeds with all the rest of the Klan's repertoire).

I wouldn't trust your perception of time, either. You want results, you want them NOW and you want them with a rabid vengeance you could surely put to a better use for the profit of more noble collective causes. But you seem to conveniently forget one simple, tiny detail:

She just started working for Great Glen Company's Sassenach Spirits subsidiary last May. For being less than three months in that company, she surely started to make a difference, taking things out of slumber, using her contacts and mapping out what clearly is an expansion strategy. What do you want her to do first? Change everything in 24 hours, preferably with a magic wand? Shouldn't she at least start somewhere and with something, first? She is doing exactly what I was expecting her to do, Anon: terrain work, in order to get a better feel of the market's fabric. And she is doing it the only right way - go where relevant people and relevant potential outlets are, talk to those people, make things happen.

As many, too many people in here, you are just judging based on what you see of her work on her and SS's social media accounts. While doing this, you also seem to conveniently ignore the amount of BTS work it takes - are you, by any chance, one of those incompetent corporate execs, always talking with great confidence about things they have no real grasp upon, Anon?

No, you aren't. Not even that. You are just another random moron, with a smattering of management accounting notions. You write absurd idiocies like '(...) unless you have P&L documents showing differently, do you? ', perhaps in the hope you'd intimidate me, or something. You probably have no idea of the fact that P&L (that is Profit & Loss, by the way) documents are mandatory for public companies only and issued on a quarterly and annual basis. And for your information, doll: a public company is a company using shares of stock in order to organize ownership. It may or may not be listed on a stock exchange, but the intention to have those shares traded is always present.

Until further notice, Great Glen Company is a private company, governed by US law. There is no legal obligation to issue the documents you so confidently mention.

And the pop up shop? Not really for mommies:

Now go play elsewhere. I have no time to further lose with people like you.

[youaremyhome]

Pieces of the Night: Blackhole Horizon

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk.

Notes: 3k words. Ya'll i've been struggling to write only because i have so many ideas for this fic and can't control myself lol disclaimer: I know nothing of marketing/business majors

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

It was easy to get access of your class schedule. Easier to switch to your class with just a smile and a last name.

The shock on your face was downright adorable the first day. He should’ve known you were the type of person to sit in the second row, a seat conveniently open beside you. By the time you recovered, the professor addressed the room, forcing you to stay put. You bolted right out of your seat once the lecture was over, giving Rafe no time to corner you. And he’s realized it was a problem to get you alone. Anywhere you went, you had friends. Whether it was new acquaintances or your roommates, you were frequently being escorted like the princess you were. Luckily for him, you knew no one in your shared class.

So, imagine his surprise come next lecture, you've completely moved seats to the back row. He pegged you as someone that followed societal rules, like the silent one in college where you usually don’t move your seat from the first lessons. It wasn’t a bother to him, he simply slipped into the seat next to you. Thus, the game of musical chairs began.

Wherever you went, Rafe followed. No matter if you came in last minute (he had an open seat ready for you since it was a full class) or if you came in early (he made it a habit to come in twenty minutes before start time), Rafe was sitting next to you by the time the professor was lecturing.

On Wednesday of the third week, Rafe comes strolling in, ready to play another round of this fun game. Except, you’re in the same seat from Monday in the fourth row. He can’t contain his victorious grin. Puffing up his chest, he eases his way into the plastic chair. Blue eyes flicking over the multitude of different pens you have at the ready, notebook open to a fresh page and there’s still five minutes to go.

“Good afternoon,” Rafe says your name pleasantly. Maybe if he goes with a softer approach today, you’ll reply. “Do you have an extra pen I can borrow?”

You have the spinning chair angled away from him as he watches your shoulders rise and then deflate down with a hard exhale. He bites at his inner check, simultaneously loving and hating how clearly you ignore him, how you get under his skin so quickly with little to no effort. He swears if you weren’t in this class, he would just skip it half the time.

The older professor drones on in a deep and gruff voice, Rafe paying more attention to the little loops of your e’s and a’s as you note take. Toward the end of the lecture, the old man makes an announcement.

“Alright. Turn to the person next to you and make a list of ethical and unethical marketing strategies in any field. That could be retail, medical, real estate, whatever. You have twenty minutes.”

You pivot in your chair to the right, away from Rafe but he snatches at your armrest and pulls. Chairs bump together with a muted clunk. Those pretty, long lashes frame your wide eyes perfectly, a tiny hiccup bubbling at your throat.

“You’re my partner,” He grumbles lowly.

Students sat close by turn their heads and watch the small commotion, a growing interest that’s been spreading in the lecture hall the last week or so. Rafe doesn’t give a shit, a possessiveness he’s only felt with you worming at his chest. His focus stays steady as you wilt under his gaze, a soft, okay, leaving your pink lips.

Pleased, he lets go and maneuvers his foot underneath the pegs, hooking his ankle to keep you rooted there. Your knee bumps with his as you shift around, flinching back and shifting again. It's cute how nervous you are. Delicate fingers clicking the pen multiple times before drawing a line down the middle of your paper, marking an ethical and unethical side.  

“Let’s start with the unethical. You should be good at that, right?” You ask with honey on your tongue.

“Yeah, angel, we can start with that.” Rafe rakes his eyes over the outfit you have on today. Jeans that mold your ass and a cropped sweater that edges up as you lean over to write. “How about distraction?”

Beginning to write the line of the d, you stop. Eyebrows creased with a twisting lip as you keep your eyes down. “Like spam ads in social media?”

Rafe hums in agreement. Waits until you're done writing to add, “Ignorance.” Without questioning him this time, you press the pen to paper. Leaning in, he pretends to look at the paper when he breathes out, “Teasing me in those jeans.”

You reel back, those beautiful eyes full of fire and directly on him. You don’t miss a beat. “Forcible consumption.”

He grunts out a laugh. “Doesn’t matter when the customer is so satisfied.”

“Inappropriate, false claims,” Your voice squeaks with the amount of willpower it takes for you not to scream at him.

“Go on a date with me.” Though he outlines the way your lips shape words, his voice overlaps yours towards the end. Rafe drops his elbows to his knees, invading more of your space. A slick smile forms as heat rushes south from the expressive fear rippling on your face.

“No.” Your voice drops a notch, clipped and final as you scoot back. Long fingers curl on the bottom edge of the seat and slide you close, his right thigh slotting between yours.

“You know I only like hearing that when my dick’s in you.”  

The sharp inhale accentuates the lines of your throat, and chest heaving up and Rafe wants to experience all your gasps and sounds when you’re completely naked. Memorize all the tics you have from responding to his touch, his mere presence.

Dr. Thomas breaks the tension as his voice rings out. “Once you’re done you can turn it in and go. Have a good day.”

Rafe snatches the paper before you can and flourishes your names up in the corner. Standing and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he looks down his nose at you.

“Friday. Seven sharp.” With your frozen posture, it looks like you're invisibly tied to the chair. The mental image of you at his mercy has his dick pressing at the zipper. “Don’t be late, baby.”

Rafe ensures his voice is loud enough for the onlooking sorority girls to hear, letting the rumor mill take care of the rest. By the end of the week, everyone will know you’re off-limits. Even if you aren’t aware of it.

With a bounce in his step, Rafe turns in your work together. With only one side filled in.

🌙

When Friday evening arrives, Rafe is walking up your apartment steps right at 6:58pm. Pushing the buzzer, he adjusts his shoulders as he clears his throat. He waits for another moment before he presses the buzzer again, longer this time.

Pulling out his phone, he texts you. I’m here.

Cracking his neck to release growing tension, Rafe waits awhile more. Having expected your reluctance. He could give you time. Demonstrate how he could be patient, reasonable, kind even The past interactions with you perhaps weren’t ideal but each time you had managed to catch him off guard and derail his thoughts or plans. This time he’ll be better, he can be understanding and be good. Wants to spend time with you, pick inside of that witty mind of yours before he bends you over the closest flat surface.

His phone vibrates. I’m not.

Rage surges up his chest. “Fuck!”

Rafe spins and punches the brick wall. A welcome pain zinging up his hand to his foreman, another grunt as blood smears his knuckles. Jogging down the short stairs, he steps off to the side into an alleyway. With stiff fingers, he produces a small baggie from his pocket.

Coming into the date, being fully sober was a top priority. Not an ounce of smoke, powder, or drink had entered his bloodstream today. He wanted to be emersed in your presence, knew if he found the right spot inside that stubborn head of yours, he could be high on you alone. Now, he tilts the bag onto the juncture of his thumb and forefinger, cocaine building into a tiny lump. Sniffing sharply, he lets out a loud breath as the bitterness sticks to the back of his throat.

Scouring through social media, rage bubbles in his blood when none of your friends have posted anything, no pictures of you which means he has no idea where you are. Taking off down the street, the best course of action is to scope out the closest bars.

Only, you’re nowhere to be found. And after hours of looking for you and getting kicked out of a bar, he returns home with an odd sense of betrayal inside him.

From Friday night to Sunday morning, Rafe binges. Alcohol, weed, coke, girls, anything he can get his hands on or nose in. It masks the stinging rejection that flurries down his bones, raging with the music and causing fights. He lets out all those self-destructive impulses he struggles to hold in, and lets them have free rein throughout the weekend. Tells himself he’ll be better come Monday. For himself, for his dad. For you.

It's a struggle to wake up early Monday morning. But he’s determined to steer you towards his path once more, show you how easy or hard he can be, depending on how you play. This is a game of cat and mouse, of fish and hook. He intends to win.

Oh, but do you play dirty.

Early to lecture, Rafe reclines back in his seat as he fiddles with a pen that he’s stolen from you before. With the toxic anger seeped out of him from the weekend, he’s momentarily stunned to see you waltz in with his grey zip-up on. Lust and anger war in him the longer he stares at you. The zip-up is baggy on your frame, black leggings complete the comfy vibe you have going on. Damn you for doing the bare minimum and still getting a reaction out of his cock that twitches with delight from the thought of you covered in his scent. It doesn’t matter if no one else knows that’s his sweater, the sight makes him want to worship and devastate you all at once.

Your nose is turned up to him as you primly sit, not a glance at him. Rafe takes it with stride, only taking peaks at you from the corner of his eye. He mirrors your attitude and shows no regard for you, no brushing of hands or teasing whispers. And it’s so goddamn funny how you pick up on this, on him ignoring you that for the first time, you glance at him. If he knew ignoring you would’ve gotten your attention, he would’ve done it long ago.

He keeps a straight face, feigning interest in what Professor Thomas is lecturing as he feels the nervous energy wafting off you. Clocking the bouncing of your leg, the touching of your face, and curtaining your hair to hide the side of your face. He’s never been one to recognize emotions well, a feature of his mechanism he’s detested since childhood. With you though, it’s like reading a language he’s never heard or seen before but it’s instinctual, the want to learn. The sense that it was created just for him.   

When the professor declares class over, he feels your hesitation. Like you're anticipating him to say something, to look at you. Casually, he puts his blank notebook away as you finally get up and begin your quick escape until you’re stopped. Not by him this time.

The professor waves you over to the desk, calling out your last name. Rafe watches as you skip in your steps with nerves as you head over. The exchange is too quiet to hear, the line of your mouth steadily curving down the longer you stand there. After a small nod from you, you exit the room. With languid steps, he follows, keeping enough distance so you don’t catch him.  

Dr. Thomas’s office resides in the building across the courtyard, third floor, conveniently tucked in a corner and by the stairs. Blunt teeth graze at his cuticles as he flattens his back against the wall, listening to your conversation from the cracked door. He’s a bit late due to taking the stairs.

“…From a reliable and respected source. I do take this very seriously.”

“B-but I haven’t!” There’s a panicked edge to your tone. “Sir, I would never plagiarize on my work. And I have no record of it –”

“Yes, well there is a first time for everything.”

“Sir, I swear on it. I would never cheat or steal someone’s work.”

“Be that as it may, I am going to let you off with a warning. Only one. Should there be a next time, I, unfortunately, must inform the dean and have him handle it from there.” A sigh from the professor. “I do have to say, I see how bright of a student you are and would hate for this to be a dark mark on your academics. This could affect your academic career, and your scholarships if you have any. Be wise in your decision-making.”

Your voice is wobbly. “Yes, sir.”

Rafe slips through the stairs door when he hears shuffling. His heart picking up speed since the confrontation, an odd weight in his stomach as he imagines your face at the news. Someone had reported you for plagiarizing your recent paper.

He didn’t realize how much of a hard-ass Dr. Thomas was and wonders if he should’ve chosen a different professor of yours.

Propped up against the brick wall, he fidgets with his gold ring. Twisting it this way and that around his finger. A couple more moments later and you’re coming out the same doors he did not long ago. Your momentum from pushing the door open generates a breeze through your hair and oh, how he wishes to bury himself in those tangles.

“Where were you?”

You whirl around on the spot, startled with a small yelp. Once you register its Rafe, the center of your face scrunches up. You open your mouth for a moment, and it seems like you change your words at the last moment. “I don’t have time to deal with you. I have bigger problems.”

Rotating on your heel, you make it two steps before he’s calling out again. “Maybe, I can help with those problems.” His steps are quiet as he slinks up behind you. “I am a very…respectable person, ya know.”

You stop dead in your tracks.

This time, Rafe’s ready for your hand when you raise it. Fingers squeeze around your fragile wrist, pulling your body close. Baring your teeth like a feral cat, your neck angled back as you struggle to gain space.

“You.” You seethe. “It was you. I should’ve fucking known.” Your other hand hits his shoulder, Rafe’s hand snapping up to restrain it. Grinding your teeth, a closed mouth squeal lets out. Fumbling with your squirming limbs, Rafe drags you to a thick oak tree. It’s only when strands of hair are sticking to your face that he sees the tears cascading down. Your voice cracks as you ask, “Why?”

A pang hits the middle of his chest, offering up his own sneer to you. Your mascara is clumping with your fat tears, your eyes reddening and still, you look so pretty. Bringing up both hands encased with your wrists, a thumb swipes the apple of your cheek catching the hot liquid on his skin, letting it soak into him.

“You know why,” Rafe answers softly.

A distressed whine climbs up your throat. “Rafe, please, just stop this – whatever it is. I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“Let me make it clear then.” Softening his hands, he strokes at your damp skin. “You. Just you.”

You scoff. “I’m not just going to be with you, Rafe. You’ve hurt me, you’ve r-” you inhale. “You’ve hurt me, a lot.”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Do you know how crazy you sound? Like a freaking maniac!” You divert your attention across the courtyard. “Couldn’t you find any willing girls to get your dick wet?”

“I have.” Rafe deadpans. “Yours is just the best I’ve had. And I always get the best of what I want.”

Your shoulders slump, the tone of your voice strained yet comes out strong. “I’m not going to roll over and be your bitch to use. I don’t have to do anything for you.”

“You sure about that?” Rafe can’t help but smile, it’s not his fault that you make him laugh and his cock hard. “Cause I’m pretty sure that my dad plays golf with the dean once a month. Be such a shame for a smart mind like yours to go to waste.” Eyes glossy with your lower lip wobbling, he tuts at the fresh flood of waterworks. “You just had to make it so difficult for yourself, angel. Twisted my hand right up.”

Contrary to what you must believe, he didn’t want to go down this road with you. Wanted to give you some resemble of a choice in this. He hadn’t expected you to not care about his potential exploit of your nude photo or the bravado you showed the next day after his midnight delight. Everything you do is so unexpected for such an unassuming girl. This was the natural next step to take.

He can practically hear the gears turning behind your forehead. Quiet with shallow breaths, nose beginning to drip as well. Rafe works on his patience as you come to terms with all of this, and begins to softly rock you, wanting to soothe that wrinkled line by your eyebrow.

Abruptly, you’re burrowing your head into his chest. Weeping into his shirt, soaking it with tears and snot. Your fists gather up the fabric, pulling and pushing but you’re not struggling, only letting out emotion. Smiling, he wraps his arms around you comfortingly. This cry was different, (he gets excited knowing he could already categorize your cries), this was a grieving cry as you surrender.

He hushes you gently as you mumble. “I hate you.”

Rafe doesn’t bother responding to that. Dipping his head down to the shell of your ear. Lips grazing the thin skin. “You ready for that date now?”

[alwaysbethewest]

Kingsman 2 fic: Stay Close to Me

Happy @pedrostories Secret Santa day, y'all 💃 I was thrilled when I received my assignment and saw that I'd be writing for my sweet friend @iamskyereads 😁 Skye, I hope you have a merry Christmas and I hope this little story helps make it bright. (Okay a quick note: generally speaking I don't believe in apologizing for your writing, but I do feel like a small apology is merited here. Halfway through writing this fic I started to panic because I felt like I wasn't really meeting the brief of your prompt 😬 I started wondering if I should start over from scratch but I was already too far into it. I accidentally wrote you... a case fic???? With a smidgen of romance sprinkled in. I'm sorry! Despite my stress over that realization I did have a lot of fun writing this and I hope you will enjoy it anyway!)

Title: Stay Close to Me Pairing: Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels)/f!Reader Rating: Teen Word Count: 5.3k Content/warnings: Fake/undercover marriage! Statesman casefic! A little romance, kissing, coarse language, very mild peril and hurt/comfort, and a splash of alcohol. Reader is a junior agent and has some muscle but otherwise no physical/age descriptions. As with any good Kingsman fic, my first step was to disregard half of canon, so this is either pre-movie or an AU. Unbetaed but thanks as ever to @fleetwoodmactshirt and @mourningbirds1 for their hand-holding ❤️ Please let me know if you spot any typos/mistakes.

The Statesman offices are housed in a sleek highrise in Midtown, a 40-minute commute from your tiny apartment. To anyone who asks, you work in the marketing department, and you’ve learned enough by now to drone on about synergistic strategies for diversifying market shares to bore anyone listening, but to those in the know, behind passcode-guarded doors, you’re Agent Violette, junior analyst for the private intelligence agency hidden behind the national whiskey brand.

For a secret spy job, your work is actually fairly routine. Most of your time is spent doing research and compiling intel for agents working out in the field. Occasionally your boss sends you into the field yourself—little baby excursions to get your feet wet—and you won’t pretend you haven’t enjoyed the thrill. But your desk job is comfortable, and satisfying, and you’ve got no complaints.

It’s Wednesday, and the only sign something out of the ordinary may be taking place is the note you find on your desk when you clock in. It takes only a little of your codebreaking expertise to interpret:

9:15 AM—mtg w/ Agt. C rm 806

Room 806 is a teleconference room furnished with a small table and a handful of chairs. One seat is occupied when you get there.

Agent Whiskey raises an eyebrow at you from under his cowboy hat. The accessory is so out of place in the urban streets of New York City that when you’d first met him you’d wondered if it was an affectation—a marketing ploy to signal the authenticity of the Kentucky bourbon your company sells on the side. But while you haven’t worked closely with him, you’d quickly learned it seems he’s just… like that.

He slides a folder towards you and you accept it as you take a seat and don your glasses.

“Any idea what this is about?” he asks.

You shake your head. Just as you open your mouth to speak, the comms switch on and Agent Champagne appears across the table before you, via the technological wonder that is your projection spectacles. More high-tech and more secure than Zoom, they’re one of the many things that sets Statesman apart from lesser spy agencies.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Whiskey straighten up slightly in his chair.

“Jack!” Agent Champagne greets him. “How was Munich?”

“All good, sir,” he drawls. “You’ll have the full report this afternoon.”

“Very good,” the older man rumbles. He turns his attention to you. “And Agent, uh—” His eyes shift down to the notes on his desk. “Agent Violette. Good to have you on board.”

You’ve worked at Statesman for three years, but you’re still too low on the org chart to have landed on the director’s radar before this. He says your code name like vie-oh-let instead of the French pronunciation you prefer, but there’s an affability to him that makes it go over easier.

“Thank you, sir.”

“So, California,” he says, diving into the brief. Whiskey opens his file folder and you follow suit. The top page features a short itinerary and a character profile that you quickly learn is a new undercover alias. Violet Davenport. You like the name. She sounds high society. Glancing over to Whiskey’s file, you spot his alias and your brows raise involuntarily.

Johnny Davenport.

Hm.

“Vineyard owner out there is concerned about a potential theft. He’s received some threats and needs a couple of bodies on the ground to sniff out the trouble,” Agent Champagne states.

“Theft of what, exactly?” Agent Whiskey asks.

“Wine. Money. The usual. He’s got his personal wine collection stored on the premises. You know the business—some of those bottles are worth a pretty penny. Mr. Peterson—that’s the client—says he has a list of suspects for you to look at.” Champ waves a hand, looking vaguely unimpressed. “Obviously you’ll have to use your own judgment on whether any of his theories check out.”

“Sir, I don’t understand why I’m being sent on such a simple assignment,” Whiskey says. “No disrespect,” he adds belatedly, glancing at you. You give him your politest go-along-to-get-along smile.

Champ looks like he’s torn between amusement or annoyance at Agent Whiskey’s attitude.

“Same reason for anything, Jack. Politics. This client has close connections in the state government over there. If we can solve this simple problem for him, it may just lead to more prestigious cases. Ones you’ll feel are worthy of your valuable time.”

Jack should look chastened, but he doesn’t. He does stop arguing, though.

“I need a senior agent on the case. And Violet’s supervisor assures me she’s got the research and fieldwork skills to step up on this one. Your cover is a married couple on an anniversary trip, so I’m basically sending you on a paid vacation, here. There’s more information in the files you’ve got.”

Whiskey flips through the pages half-heartedly and gives a curt nod.

“Well!” Agent Champagne slaps his hands on the table decisively. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mazel tov!” With that he ends the transmission.

And that’s how you find yourself at the airport Friday morning with a diamond ring on your left hand and a disgruntled cowboy by your side.

The flight lands in San Francisco without incident, and Jack shifts into doting husband mode as you head to pick up the rental car the agency has reserved. He reaches for your suitcase to load it into the trunk.

“Let me get that for you, sweetheart.”

You give him a saccharine-sweet smile. “I’ve got it, hon.”

You lift the heavy bag with ease and watch his mouth purse for a second before he smiles back.

“I guess my baby’s stronger than she looks.”

The bored-looking attendant sees you off and Jack has you punch in the GPS destination while he eases into the busy freeway traffic. He’s a confident, slightly impatient driver, but you see him relax once you’re over the bridge and sailing smoothly north on Interstate 80.

“So what’s our game plan?” he asks as highway signs for Napa begin to appear, and you reach for your notebook and flip it open.

There’s only one bed.

You probably should have done the math on this as soon as Agent Champagne declared you a married couple, but in the whirlwind of arranging to leave town and the anxiety of stepping into your biggest field operation to date, it hadn’t occurred to you to worry about the precise nature of your accommodations.

Jack sets his bags down and flops onto the bed, letting the soles of his cowboy boots dangle off the end. It’s an exaggerated display of exhaustion, but you’re tired too after a seven-hour flight and another two hours in the car. His lanky body takes up the whole length of the bed and you try not to let your eyes linger as you contemplate the sleeping arrangements.

He picks up on your hesitation.

“This is where I’m supposed to do the gentlemanly thing and let you have the bed all to yourself, huh? Sorry, sister, not gonna happen.” His tone softens. “But I promise I don’t bite. There’s no reason we can’t share.”

The only couch in the room is a small, overstuffed loveseat that you can tell at a glance neither of you would enjoy reclining on for long. So you do the mature thing and agree to sleep with him.

Not like that.

Bill Peterson, the agency’s client, is one of those people who claim to be easygoing while in reality they exude nonstop nervous energy.

“I know exactly who it is,” he tells you in a hushed voice. You and Jack are in his office, under the guise of a private tour of the winery. Peterson has been going over what you already know from the file: that he has a high-value collection of wine held on the estate, as well as a hard drive storing what he’ll only describe as “sensitive” material; that he’s received several vague threats recently; and that with the hustle and bustle of harvest season upon them, he’s concerned his regular security won’t be sufficient to stop the would-be thieves.

“Oh?” you say. “Well, that will be very helpful, Mr. Peterson.”

“Okay,” he amends. “Maybe not exactly, but I can give you a list. Of suspects.”

“We’ve seen the list,” Jack tells him. “But what is it that makes you suspect these folks in particular?”

“They’re mostly other winery owners,” Peterson says. “Everyone on that list was present at a party I attended a few months ago where I—let slip some details about my collection. It was only after that the letters started.”

You and Jack exchange a glance. You’re both wondering if “let slip” isn’t code for “bragged loudly.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t gone to the police?” you ask. His eyes narrow.

“I value discretion,” he says tightly. “Anyway—I’m not sure they’d consider the threats actionable.”

“Can we see them?” Jack asks.

“Of course.” He retrieves a small stack from his desk drawer. You and Whiskey put your heads together to pore over them.

They’re all written by one person, in slanted, blocky handwriting.

YOU WILL PAY.

YOU WILL LOSE EVERYTHING.

YOUR EMPIRE WILL CRUMBLE.

WE WILL CRUSH YOU.

“Is there another one?” you check. “There are five envelopes but only four notes.”

Peterson hesitates, then shrugs and shakes his head. He’s lying, but you don’t push it.

“There is one other thing,” he says. “I keep seeing this blue truck—but it’s like he doesn’t want to be spotted. I see it slow down like he’s scoping out the place, but then he speeds off as soon as he sees I’ve noticed. I tried to get the license plate but it was covered in mud.” He scoffs. “We haven’t had any rain in months.”

Jack has him describe the vehicle and where he’s seen it, while you take notes.

“Alright, Mr. Peterson. We’ll be in touch if we have any other questions.”

“Thank you. Oh—here.” He hands you a pair of vouchers for a free wine tasting. “They come with the tour. One thing you should know about Napa—you’ll only really blend in if you’ve got a glass of wine in your hand.”

Jack’s code name is Whiskey for a reason. He’s a spirits man through and through and he doesn’t give the tasting room a second look, ushering you out to get back to your room to regroup. Admittedly, it’s only 10 AM, but you would have enjoyed a few sips of merlot. You’re craning your neck a little to look at the wine list posted by the door—just out of curiosity—when he startles you by taking your hand in his. You look at him. He’s staring ahead, holding your hand like it’s nothing as you walk side by side. Finally, your brain catches up and your nine credits of college acting classes kick in and you plaster a loving smile onto your face, leaning closer.

In the privacy of your little rented cottage, you pull out your notes again to review.

“Peterson is lying about something,” you start. Jack nods distractedly.

“Yeah—listen, before we get into that, I need to ask you. You jumped when I held your hand back there,” he observes.

You feel your face heat with embarrassment. He’s calling you out on your inexperience, the rookie agent who can’t even play-act for a simple assignment. You can do it, you know. Being undercover in the field is just still new to you. He could help you instead of being critical.

“Sorry—”

“It’s my opinion,” he says, with a slight frown, “that a man who doesn’t treat his wife a certain way is no man at all.”

You’re lost, suddenly. “Sorry?”

“What I’m askin’ is, do I have your permission to touch you like you’re my wife when other people are around?”

Oh.

Something about the way he’s worded it makes your stomach do a little flip.

“Oh. Yes. Touch me like…?” You swallow. “Like how, exactly?”

He gives you a steady look.

“Intimately.”

That’s fine. You’re fine with that.

“Right. That’s—” you nod, maybe a little too emphatically. “That’s okay.”

You look down, fingering the pages of your notebook again, trying to refocus on the more analytical side of the job, when another thought occurs to you.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you blurt.

“Shit, Violet, that’s part and parcel of it.”

“It’s Violette,” you tell him with a frown.

“Sorry.”

“Do you even know my real name?”

“Of course I do,” he says. You don’t push it but you also don’t know whether to believe him. He’s shown little interest in working with you this entire week.

Jack takes a step towards you.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says. “So you don’t jump like a rabbit when I do it in public.”

You take a breath. Suck your bottom lip between your teeth involuntarily.

“Okay,” you tell him.

Your eyes fall shut as he leans in. You feel his fingers steadying your chin, tilting your face to meet his, and then his lips touching your mouth, light, tentative—teasing, your mind prompts, and the thought makes you feel flushed again. When you don’t shy away he presses closer and you’re not sure which of you is to blame when your lips part and his tongue brushes yours.

You were expecting it, so you don’t jump, but you feel a little trembly when he pulls away. He doesn’t step back right away—instead, his lips hover over your skin, mustache coarse against your soft cheek, as he tucks his mouth by your ear and quietly, intimately, says your name.

“So you think Peterson is lying,” he says, picking up the thread from before.

“Um,” you say, forcing your brain to switch back to work mode. Your whole body feels warm. “Yes. Don’t you think he seemed shady?”

Jack shrugs. “Call me jaded, I think most people are shady. But I agree with you. He lied about the missing letter. I fuckin’ hate when clients do that. What do you think about the blue truck he saw?”

“I think that could be something.”

You open your laptop and with a few keystrokes you’ve used a Statesman backdoor into the DMV system, where you enter the make, model, and color of the vehicle Peterson had described. There are no matching hits within Napa County, so you expand the search. It’s an unpopular color, so there are only a few dozen matches in the state. None of the owners’ names are on the list of suspects you’ve been given.

“He said he hasn’t seen it around town, only driving by his property. And we don’t know who owns it. So how do we find the car?” you wonder.

Jack is silent for a minute. You watch as a slow smile spreads across his face.

“I have an idea.”

This case originated at Statesman’s Kentucky headquarters, so Agent Ginger Ale is your tech liaison. It’s clear from their dynamic that she and Agent Whiskey have worked together before. Having her voice in your ear is a source of comfort as you carry out Jack’s great idea—which you’re not 100% sure you’re on board with.

“Don’t you need some kind of license to operate this?” you ask tentatively.

“Technically, on paper, he has one,” Ginger offers. “Well, Johnny Davenport does, anyway. As of twenty minutes ago.”

“It’s a balloon and a basket, how complicated could it be,” Jack grouses. This doesn’t exactly raise your confidence.

“Just don’t crash this one, Jack,” she pleads.

“This one?!”

He shakes his head. “You have one helicopter fail on you and they never let you live it down. Don’t listen to Ginger.”

To his credit, Jack pilots the hot air balloon much more smoothly than you’d expected, and after some time you feel yourself relaxing and enjoying the view. It’s early October and the landscape is a mix of green and brown from the last of the summer heat. Tidy rows of grape vines are bordered by houses and larger wineries, copses of trees, and fields dotted with grazing cows. Tiny workers move methodically among the vines, busy harvesting fruit to be pressed and fermented. Through it all, highways and winding roads run alongside the properties, and this is where you refocus your attention.

Ginger has programmed your binoculars to register any vehicles matching the description of the blue truck you’re seeking. You train the lenses on the backroads and driveways, looking for private hiding places it could be stashed.

The whole endeavor feels like a long shot, and you’re just on the verge of suggesting you give up and head back to base when the binocs let out a high-pitched beep of recognition, zooming in on your target.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. “I can’t believe this worked.”

“I told you it would,” Jack says, looking smug. “What is that place?”

Ginger has looked up the coordinates before you have a chance to do it yourself.

“It’s a winery… Double Loop Vineyards. Do you guys know that name?”

You recognize it immediately. The owner is one of the names on Bill Peterson’s list of suspects.

You and Jack exchange a look.

“Guess we’re goin’ wine tasting at Double Loop,” he says, and he turns to start your descent.

The tasting room at Double Loop Vineyards is a large, tastefully decorated space that looks like it was converted from an old barn. It’s all dark wood and ceiling beams, and a bar runs along the back and right side walls. When you and Jack step inside, you’re greeted by a tall young woman with a pixie haircut and striking cheekbones. She’s wearing a name tag that reads Eva.

You settle in front of her at the bar and she pulls out a pair of glasses and pours a splash of white into each to get you started. You take a sip and peruse the small menu on the bartop.

“She’ll have the red flight,” Jack says, “And I’ll just have a glass. Can you recommend me something… full-bodied?”

As he says it he palms your hip suggestively, pulling you to him a little closer. You laugh, mortified but amused despite yourself, and he shoots you a wink.

Eva takes it in stride. “I can offer you a cabernet sauvignon that’s got legs for days.”

“That’ll do me just fine, thank you.”

You’re the only visitors in the tasting room for the moment so you have her undivided attention. She’s skilled at making small talk to keep you charmed and at ease; eventually she asks something more personal.

“So I’m planning to propose to my girlfriend soon,” she tells you. “And I’m trying to figure out how to do it. I’m like crowdsourcing ideas. You two are such a cute couple—can I ask how you got engaged?”

You and Jack exchange a glance and you give him a sweet smile. “You tell it, honey.”

“Well,” he says, keeping his eyes on you for a long moment before he finally looks away to face Eva, “I knew I wanted to marry her, and I had this whole plan in mind. I wanted something special for my Violet so I was going to take her on a trip—my buddy has this little cabin on the most beautiful lake you’ve ever seen—and make her favorite dinner, and sit down with a glass of something nice. And then I was going to present her with this beautiful piece of hand-carved wood that spelled out, Will. You. Marry. Me.”

He pauses to take a sip of his cab while Eva says, “Aww,” and looks at you like, what a sweet partner you have.

“Now the thing is,” he continues, warming up to the story, “as Violet can tell you herself, I have never carved a single thing in my life. And somehow, like a dumbass, I was convinced I could make this plaque and do it perfectly. But it looked just awful. And it was taking me so long trying to get it right I could tell she was starting to wonder if I was stringing her along.”

You shake your head in protest and he laughs. “You were! You’d look at me like, why has this fool not married me yet.”

Eva laughs, too. “So what happened?”

Jack lets out an aggrieved sigh. “What happened was, I caught the flu. Just the most dog-sick, pathetic man, all sweaty with fever and miserable to boot. And Violet never hesitated, she bundled me up and cooked me soup and tolerated my whining and she’d read me to sleep when my eyes couldn’t even focus on the TV. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I thought, I need to hold on to this woman forever, and I asked her right then and there.”

His voice cracks a little on the last sentence and you’re shocked to realize your own eyes are damp with tears. You’re not sure which part, or how much, but something in that story sounded true and it’s left you with a strange sense of heartache. You lift his hand to your mouth and press a kiss across his knuckles, watching his face soften.

“Okay,” Eva says. “So I guess I’ll add ‘get the flu’ to my list of ideas.”

“I don’t recommend it,” Jack tells her, “but I don’t not recommend it.”

As you finish your flight and Eva rings up a couple of bottles you’ve chosen to purchase—you’re not sure if these classify as company expenses, but you enjoyed them enough you’ll pay out of pocket if you must—she asks where else in the wine country you’ve been to so far.

“We spent some time at the winery right next to the place we’re staying—actually, we got to meet the owner there, what was his name, baby?”

You keep your tone casual, but you watch her face as you reply. “Bill Peterson, I think it was?”

Eva’s expression falters, just for a moment, before she recovers and plasters on a polite smile. “They’ve got a great pinot noir over there.”

“Not as good as these,” you tell her, just to see her smile turn genuine.

A tour group walks in just then so you take your leave and step outside into the late afternoon sunshine. When Jack takes your hand this time you let him, and you don’t mind it.

The blue truck is parked out back. You walk along the side of the building, just a pair of happy tourists slightly buzzed on red wine out to take in the view, until you get close enough to make note of the license plate. Back in your own car, you run a search on it and identify the owner: a young man named Lucas Trent. The address on the registration is in Paso Robles, a town 250 miles south of here, but you do some digging and find he’s a vineyard worker at Double Loop.

“So what’s the connection to Peterson?” Jack wonders.

“Look at this.” You point at the screen and he squints. “He’s only been at Double Loop for six months. Before that—”

“He worked for Peterson,” Jack finishes. “So he’s mad about getting fired and wants to get back at his old boss.”

“Maybe,” you say, frowning. “We don’t really know yet. But it’s a theory.”

“It’s a good theory,” he insists.

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, mulling it over.

“Tell me this, rookie,” he says. “You ever been on a stakeout?”

On your first ever stakeout that evening, you quickly learn a few things:

Stakeouts are cold. Stakeouts are boring. And rental cars are not designed to accommodate them.

You shift uncomfortably for the fifth time in twenty minutes.

“How do we even know he’ll show up tonight?” you ask. In the quiet of the night you keep your voice hushed.

“Call it intuition,” Jack says. You can tell he hates sitting still this long, too, but he’s clearly built up a tolerance for it over the years, because he’s not wriggling around nearly as much as you.

“Can I ask you something?”

He grunts an assent.

“That story about how you proposed—how did you come up with that?”

He pauses.

“I just—made it up,” he says.

“I thought it seemed…” you start. He gives you a sidelong glance. “Never mind. You’re a good improviser.”

After a minute, he says, “I was engaged once. A long time ago.”

“Oh.” You bite your cheek, holding back your questions.

“She died,” he adds. Your heart drops.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course,” you say, helplessly.

Never in your life have you been more grateful to see a criminal approaching than when you see the familiar shape of Lucas Trent’s blue truck appear down the road.

“Ha,” Jack says, looking a little less glum. “What’d I tell you. Intuition never fails me.”

You take deep, silent breaths, trying to control your fast-beating heart as you creep behind Jack to follow Lucas inside the building. He’s got a key to Peterson’s winery; he must have stolen it before he left the job, you think. He heads down the hall, past Peterson’s office, and disappears behind a door.

Jack motions for you to wait a moment, listening intently outside the door. You hear nothing but the quiet thump of Lucas’s footsteps, growing fainter until there’s only silence, and finally Jack eases open the door. You’re faced with a short flight of stairs heading down into a cellar. The two of you tiptoe down the stairs.

You nearly bump into Jack at the bottom when he stops dead in his tracks, still hidden in the shadows. Peering around him, you see that Lucas isn’t alone in the room. Bill Peterson is here, too, standing next to a small wooden desk.

“What the fuck do you want?” Bill demands. Lucas stares at him sullenly. “You came here to steal from me, didn’t you? You didn’t think I’d be down here.”

“I just want what’s mine,” the young man growls. “You’re the thief, not me.”

Lucas steps further into the room, toward the back wall. The space is filled with racks of carefully preserved wine bottles—Peterson’s precious collection, you register—and a pile of empty wooden barrels, stacked two high.

“Those bottles are insured,” Peterson calls after him. “You’ll get caught if you try to sell them.”

Lucas says nothing, just continues walking until he reaches the wall. At the back of the cellar, he pushes aside a tapestry to reveal a combination safe embedded in the wall. He glances over his shoulder with a smirk, and punches in the code.

“How the fuck do you know that number?” Peterson roars, finally scared. He rushes past the racks of wine, suddenly worthless compared to whatever is on the flash drive Lucas has just retrieved from the safe. When they start to tussle over it, Jack finally steps in.

“Hey!” he yells, striding into the light. The men look over, startled, and then Peterson looks relieved. He lets go of Lucas, seemingly confident that his hired security will take care of the situation, and retreats to stand next to Jack.

“Get that back from him,” he tells him. Jack gives him a long, unimpressed look, and then turns his focus on Lucas, who’s starting to look slightly panicky now that he’s outnumbered.

“Listen, son. This will all go a lot easier if you just put that back where you found it and walk out of here with me.”

“You don’t understand,” Lucas protests. “He’s stealing from everyone. This is the proof.”

Peterson shifts on his feet, looking guilty. “Bullshit,” he says. “You resent me for being the boss, but I’ve worked for every penny I’ve got.”

Lucas lets out a humorless, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, you work real hard. You must break a sweat making copies of your accounts so you can lie about the numbers. I bet you have blisters on your hands from shortchanging your workers.”

Jack makes a mistake here—he takes his eyes off the suspect to look at Mr. Peterson in a new light, trying to gauge which of them is telling the truth. And in that split second, to your horror, Lucas hurtles forward and shoves the stacked wine barrels, hard, knocking both Jack and Peterson onto the ground.

You make a mistake, too, and he gets on your case about it afterwards. You let Lucas slip past you in your rush to reach Jack’s side. He looks dazed and angry and his legs are trapped under the hundred-pound barrel. Gathering your strength, you lift it off of him and set it upright, then fall to your knees to check him over.

“Jack! Are you alright?” You feel carefully along his legs, then gently at the back of his head, running your fingers over his scalp to check for bumps or bleeding.

“I’m okay,” he mutters. “I didn’t hit my head.” But he winces as you help him up, and he’s moving a little gingerly when he takes a step. “Might’ve tweaked my ankle,” he admits.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Peterson yells. “You let that little shit get away with my property.”

“Let me ask you this, Mr. Peterson,” Jack growls. “Was it true what he said, about the double accounts?”

“I don’t see how that matters,” he insists angrily. “I hired you to do a job, and I expected a lot better.”

“I’ll tell you why it matters,” Jack tells him. “I don’t work for people who lie to me. Consider the contract dissolved. You can get your ‘property’ back on your own.”

“Actually, you got lucky, Mr. Peterson,” you call back over your shoulder as you help Jack walk over to the stairs. “If we had gotten our hands on that drive, we would have been obligated to turn it over to the IRS. Statesman has connections in the government, too, you know.”

And with that, you leave him sputtering and pale, alone with his precious wine.

It’s 3 AM when you get back to the room. Jack’s ankle isn’t broken, just twisted. You’d made him wait in the car while you stopped at a 24-hour convenience store to get ice on the way, so now you get him tucked into bed with his foot elevated and a baggie of ice draped over his ankle. He’s clearly still peeved over how things went down with Peterson, but he also looks amused watching you play nursemaid for him.

“You know, I’ve been hurt a hell of a lot worse than this before,” he tells you. “I can take care of myself.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “Getting badly injured isn’t the brag you think it is,” you counter. “And… you shouldn’t have to take care of it alone. That’s what I’m here for. I know you think I’m just a rookie, but—for this job, we’re partners, right?”

He’s silent for a beat, but then he nods.

Jack is still awake and waiting for you when you return from the bathroom in your pajamas. As you climb into your side of the bed, he says, “I don’t think you’re just a rookie. You did a good job on this case.”

The room is dark but there’s moonlight streaming in through the window, casting a beam of light across his face on the pillow. He’s looking at you. You look back.

“Thank you,” you tell him finally.

“Thanks for the ice,” he returns. He lets out a sigh as his eyes drift shut, and as you follow suit you feel his hand reach out and intertwine with yours.

“G’night, Violet,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight, Johnny.”

He laughs, and you grin in the dark, and you hold on tight.

[goldsasa]

Dear Sirs!

(or have some ladies also signed?)

A few days ago, you, Mr Musk, together with Mr Wozniak, Mr Mostaque and other signatories, published an open letter demanding a compulsory pause of at least six months for the development of the most powerful AI models worldwide.

This is the only way to ensure that the AI models contribute to the welfare of all humanity, you claim. As a small part of the whole of humanity, I would like to thank you very much for wanting to protect me. How kind! 🙏🏻

Allow me to make a few comments and ask a few questions in this context:

My first question that immediately came to mind:

Where was your open letter when research for the purpose of warfare started and weapon systems based on AI were developed, leading to unpredictable and uncontrollable conflicts?

AI-based threats have already been used in wars for some time, e.g. in the Ukraine war and Turkey. Speaking of the US, they are upgrading their MQ-9 combat drones with AI and have already used them to kill in Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq.

The victims of these attacks - don't they count as humanity threatened by AI?

I am confused! Please explain to me, when did the (general) welfare of humanity exist, which is now threatened and needs to be protected by you? I mean the good of humanity - outside your "super rich white old nerds Silicon Valley" filter bubble? And I have one more question:

Where was your open letter when Facebook's algorithms led to the spread of hate speech and misinformation about the genocide of Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar?

Didn't the right to human welfare also apply to this population group? Why do you continue to remain silent on the inaction and non-transparent algorithms of Meta and Mr Zuckerberg? Why do you continue to allow hatred and agitation in the social media, which (at least initially) belonged to you without exception?

My further doubt relates to your person and your biography itself, dear Mr Musk.

You, known as a wealthy man with Asperger's syndrome and a penchant for interplanetary affairs, have commendably repeatedly expressed concern about the potentially destructive effects of AI robots in the past. I thank you for trying to save me from such a future. It really is a horrible idea!

And yet, Mr Musk, you yourself were not considered one of the great AI developers of Silicon Valley for a long time.

Your commitment to the field of artificial intelligence was initially rather poor. Your Tesla Autopilot is a remarkable AI software, but it was developed for a rather niche market.

I assume that you, Mr Musk, wanted to change that when you bought 73.5 million of Twitter's shares for almost $2.9 billion in April?

After all, to be able to play along with the AI development of the giants, you lacked one thing above all: access to a broad-based AI that is not limited to specific applications, as well as a comprehensive data set.

The way to access such a dataset was to own a large social network that collects information about the consumption patterns, leisure activities and communication patterns of its users, including their social interactions and political preferences.

Such collections about the behaviour of the rest of humanity are popular in your circles, aren't they?

By buying Twitter stock, you can give your undoubtedly fine AI professionals access to a valuable treasure trove of data and establish yourself as one of Silicon Valley's leading AI players.

Congratulations on your stock purchase and I hope my data is in good hands with you.

Speaking of your professionals, I'm interested to know why your employees have to work so hard when you are so concerned about the well-being of people?

I'm also surprised that after the pandemic your staff were no longer allowed to work in their home offices. Is working at home also detrimental to the well-being of humanity?

In the meantime, you have taken the Twitter platform off the stock market.

It was never about money for you, right? No, you're not like that. I believe you!

But maybe it was about data? These are often referred to as the "oil of our time". The data of a social network is like the ticket to be one of the most important AI developers in the AI market of the future.

At this point, I would like to thank you for releasing parts of Twitter's code for algorithmic timeline control as open source. Thanks to this transparency, I now also know that the Twitter algorithm has a preference for your Elon Musk posts. What an enrichment of my knowledge horizon!

And now, barely a year later, this is happening: OpenAi, a hitherto comparatively small company in which you have only been active as a donor and advisor since your exit in 2018, not only has enormous sources of money, but also the AI gamechanger par excellence - Chat GPT. And virtually overnight becomes one of the most important players in the race for the digital future. It was rumoured that your exit at the time was with the intention that they would take over the business? Is that true at all?

After all I have said, I am sure you understand why I have these questions for you, don't you?

I would like to know what a successful future looks like in your opinion? I'm afraid I'm not one of those people who can afford a $100,000 ticket to join you in colonising Mars. I will probably stay on Earth.

So far I have heard little, actually nothing, about your investments in climate projects and the preservation of the Earth.

That is why I ask you, as an advocate of all humanity, to work for the preservation of the Earth - with all the means at your disposal, that would certainly help.

If you don't want to do that, I would very much appreciate it if you would simply stop worrying about us, the rest of humanity. Perhaps we can manage to protect the world from marauding robots and a powerful artificial intelligence without you, your ambitions and your friends?

I have always been interested in people. That's why I studied social sciences and why today I ask people what they long for. Maybe I'm naive, but I think it's a good idea to ask the people themselves what they want before advocating for them.

The rest of the world - that is, the 99,9 percent - who are not billionaires like you, also have visions!

With the respect you deserve,

Susanne Gold

(just one of the remaining 99% percent whose welfare you care about).

[aerospace-and-defence]

The Small Drones Market is projected to grow from USD 5.8 Billion in 2023 to USD 10.4 Billion by 2030, at a CAGR of 8.6% from 2023 to 2030.

Small Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (SUAVs), also known as small drones, are aerial vehicles controlled remotely, playing pivotal roles in both the defense and commercial domains. In the commercial sector, they find applications in monitoring, surveying, mapping, aerial remote sensing, precision agriculture, and even product delivery. Similarly, they serve essential functions in the military realm, including military operations and border surveillance.

SUAVs have been adopted by various industries, including oil & gas, railways, power plants, and construction. The utilization of small drones for innovative purposes, such as cargo delivery in both commercial and defense sectors, is anticipated to be a driving force behind global Small Drones Industry growth. Notably, in the defense sector, small drones are increasingly supplanting manned aircraft due to their ability to be remotely operated by human operators or autonomously controlled by onboard computer systems. Consequently, the small drone market has experienced remarkable expansion over the past decade, primarily attributed to the heightened deployment of small drones in military applications.

[fromtenthousandfeet]

What is it gonna take for HYBE to give Jimin the support he deserves? Will it ever even happen? Because I'm tired of feeling so miserable all the time. I even wanna delete all my socials and just find something else in my life to fixate on. I feel terrible for feeling this way because it's like I'm abandoning Jimin (even if I'll still be streaming his music). I'm tired of all of this, it's not good for my mental health at all.

All this corruption and evil simply can't keep winning like this, can it? Are we just supposed to make peace with JK being BTS' "break out star"? Really? I naïvely thought that they'd abandon their sinister plans after seeing how poorly he's been performing in comparison to the crazy amount of push they've been giving him. What the hell is going on at that company?

Anon,

I'm sharing with you this poor quality video of Michael Jackson calling out Tommy Mottola and Sony because it's worth remembering that record labels using and abusing their artists is the rule, not the exception. Not even The King of Pop was immune.

At around 3:20, MJ mentions that he "owes" the label two more songs and then he's a free agent. He says he writes about 120 songs per album, so he'll just pick two songs he's got hanging around and then he's done.

I bring this up because I suspect Jimin might be doing something similar. Having as few solo songs under Big Hit as possible is smart, because he likely won't own the rights to his own music if/when he leaves. The less they own, the better. Writing and recording two albums at once was efficient. Also, by keeping his marketing budget (ads, playlist placement, music videos, etc.) as small as possible, he'll keep more of the album sales and streaming revenue. All those expensive marketing costs are deducted from an artist's earnings, so best to keep them at a minimum if the plan is to make the most money possible. Between the writing credits, lower marketing budget, and the high profile brand ambassador deals Jimin's got, I feel like he's positioning himself to create his own company or label. This is my hope even if I have zero proof.

The way FACE went down really bothered me. I knew the company was behind Jimin's sabotage immediately and it drove me crazy that it took so long for others to catch up. But look at the response to MUSE. Jimin really does have an army of dedicated fans who are calling out the company's (intentional) incompetence 24/7. In reality, it's fun to watch PJMs catch the company and create a stink. It's almost like a game. Don't take it too seriously. Plus, in the long run, who cares about charts? The quality of the music itself is far more important.

Once again I've droned on way too long, but hear me out. I think HYBE/BH is investing so heavily in JK because they have to. BTS isn't going to last forever, and if Jimin leaves, they've lost a huge revenue source. But please trust me when I say they have an uphill battle before them because JK doesn't currently have the artistry or charisma to enthrall the west the way Jimin does. Don't expect them to abandon ship anytime soon, though. And if he does make it big, so be it.

I really wish BTS fans, or at least PJMs, didn't feel so much hate for Min Hee Jin because there's a lot to learn about Bang Si-hyuk and HYBE when you follow the whole ADOR saga. There are some astute NewJeans fans out there who've sized up Bang PD so well and their observations help explain Jimin's treatment by the company. He breaks people down (the idols, staff, and fans) using the "death by a thousand cuts" method. Endless small transgressions and slights, that individually appear like no big deal and are therefore not taken seriously by the media or fans, but collectively are detrimental to careers and one's mental health.

You know what? If Jimin announced he's leaving the music industry after military service, I would say congratulations and thank you for all the amazing music and performances during your BTS and solo career. Have a wonderful life! While I don't think he'll do that, it's worth remembering that none of this is all that serious. Enjoy his music. Take a break from social media, because in the real world nobody cares about this stuff.

Anon, did you make to the end of this long post? Way to use the umlaut on naïvely!