#it shows on those global rankings too

[goldennika]

i remember a while back how “what’s the deal with airplane food?” was a joke(?) being thrown around a lot

i thought i was in the minority who actually enjoyed airplane food until i realized that the people who popularized that joke probably flew a lot of western airlines and i’ve seen how bad their food options are

but as someone based in asia and therefore flies with asian carriers almost exclusively, i’ve always had a very different flying experience than someone on say, a US carrier

[cloudyluun]

Until You Stay | famous!harry

Summary: Beth Monroe is a sharp-tongued journalist looking for her big break. Harry Styles is a cocky, untouchable rockstar who doesn’t take well to being challenged. What starts as a battle of wills—sharp words and razor-edged tension—spirals into something darker, filthier, and impossible to walk away from. But when feelings get involved, when the masks slip, will they still be able to pretend it doesn’t mean anything?

A/N: This is a commissioned work of fiction based on Harry as a famous singer, I make no claims of knowing him personally in any way. But someone trusted me to bring their filthy, angsty dreams to life, and I may have gone just a little feral in the process. So enjoy the chaos, the tension, and, of course, Harry being an insufferable asshole.

Word Count: 7,7k

Warnings: 

Explicit Smut (very detailed & filthy)

Rough Sex, Degradation, and Dom/Sub Dynamics

Jealous/Possessive Harry

Toxic Dynamics & Power Struggles

Strong Language & Dirty Talk

Angst & Emotional Turmoil

Paparazzi & Media Manipulation

Mentions of Alcohol & Self-Destructive Behavior

A Hard-Won Happy Ending

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Beth Monroe had always known she was meant for more than this.

Twenty-seven years old and already jaded, she was the kind of journalist who wanted to chase real stories—the ones that peeled back the glossy surface of the world and exposed what lay underneath. The truth. Not the watered-down, PR-approved version of it, but the raw, unfiltered mess of reality. That’s why she had spent years clawing her way through the ranks of journalism, determined to escape the suffocating confines of celebrity gossip and meaningless soundbites.

But the industry had other plans for her.

She had started with ambition, fresh out of college, ready to write the stories that mattered. But the jobs that paid? The ones that kept the rent covered and the lights on? Those were the ones that required clickbait headlines and shallow coverage of people who barely seemed real.

And so, Beth had become another faceless name in the sea of entertainment journalists, forced to write about scandals, red carpet outfits, and who's dating who. She’d learned how to craft engaging pieces that held just enough bite to make them feel substantial, but in the end, it was all just noise. A constant cycle of disposable stories about people whose lives would never be touched by the words she wrote.

That’s why this assignment felt like her last shot.

Her boss had made it clear—this was either going to be her big break or her last chance before she was permanently relegated to covering B-list divorces and influencer drama.

"We need something real, Beth," her editor, Jonathan Pierce, had told her, fingers tapping against his desk as he leveled her with that too-patient look. "Not just another shallow puff piece. Styles is at the peak of his career right now. People want to know who he is, not the version we see on stage, but the man underneath it all."

Beth had bit back the urge to roll her eyes.

Harry Styles.

Of course.

If there was one name that could guarantee headlines and clicks, it was his. He was a global phenomenon, a walking enigma, an untouchable icon. At thirty, he had long since outgrown his boyband past, solidifying himself as one of the most powerful and respected musicians in the industry. His concerts sold out within minutes. His albums dominated the charts. His face was plastered across billboards, magazines, and social media feeds worldwide.

And yet—he was also infamously private.

Beth had done her research. He gave interviews, sure, but they were carefully controlled, filled with charming deflections and rehearsed soundbites. The media loved him, but no one actually knew him.

Her job? To change that.

She had been granted exclusive access to his European tour, shadowing him across multiple countries, given rare, behind-the-scenes insight into the life of Harry Styles, the person.

Beth knew how this would go.

She would show up, ask the hard-hitting questions, and be met with infuriatingly smooth non-answers. He’d probably flash that boyish smirk, tilt his head just right, and make it impossible for anyone to push too hard. The public adored him for that.

But Beth?

She wasn’t here to adore him. She was here to unravel him.

Still, she wasn’t expecting her first glimpse of him to hit her like a gut punch.

The moment she stepped into that room, she knew.

He was going to be a problem.

The private event was held at an intimate venue in Paris; a low-lit, exclusive affair where only VIPs, industry elites, and carefully selected press members were allowed inside. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, leather seating, and the faint musk of whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

Beth walked in, blending into the sea of journalists and label executives, scanning the room for the man she had spent weeks researching.

And then she saw him.

Harry Styles did not belong to the real world.

There was something about the way he existed in a space, the way people naturally gravitated toward him—an effortless pull, an undeniable gravity.

He stood near the back of the room, dressed in an all-black ensemble that should have looked simple but instead made him look infuriatingly expensive. The tailored slacks. The silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at tattoos inked across golden skin. The loose, effortless curls.

But it wasn’t just his looks.

It was the way he carried himself like he was untouchable.

Beth watched as he laughed at something someone said, flashing that devastating grin that made cameras worship him. But it was the look in his eyes that caught her attention—sharp, assessing, distant, even as he smiled.

And then, as if sensing her stare, he turned.

Their gazes met.

A slow flicker of recognition crossed his face, though they had never met before. His green eyes scanned her, quick and unreadable.

And then, just as fast, he looked away.

Dismissive.

Beth felt heat rise to her throat.

Oh.

Oh, he was going to be a problem.

And he had no idea what was coming for him.

Beth didn’t look away first.

She wasn’t the type to shrink under scrutiny, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. But Harry? He barely spared her a full second before shifting his attention elsewhere, like she wasn’t worth a second glance.

The disinterest was strategic, she realized almost immediately. A controlled dismissal. The kind that kept people chasing, trying harder, falling over themselves for just an ounce of acknowledgment. She’d seen it before—men in power using silence as their weapon, turning the simple act of ignoring someone into an exercise of dominance.

It didn’t work on her.

So when she was finally ushered forward—her name murmured alongside a polite introduction—she didn’t bother offering her hand or plastering on a media-friendly smile. She met him with the same level of apathy he had thrown her way.

“Beth Monroe,” the event coordinator introduced. “She’s covering the European tour for Pulse magazine.”

Harry, who had just been charming some record executive’s wife with an easy smile and effortless conversation, didn’t even pretend to be interested. He gave the barest nod, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before lifting it to his lips.

“Journalist,” he mused, voice low, almost amused—but not in a way that invited conversation. More like he was tasting the word and finding it unappetizing.

Beth crossed her arms. "Is that a problem?"

That made him look at her properly.

Up close, she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the sharp contrast between deliberate nonchalance and razor-sharp awareness. She knew the game well—he was observing, measuring, deciding exactly how much space she was allowed to take up.

And then, in the most unbothered, condescending way possible, he simply muttered, "No. Just predictable."

Beth’s lips parted, caught between shock and incredulous amusement.

"Predictable?" she echoed, lifting an eyebrow. "That’s a bit rich coming from a man whose entire brand is built on being the world’s most palatable rockstar."

There it was.

The shift.

The flicker of something in his gaze like she had managed to surprise him. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting her to push back.

It lasted half a second before he schooled his features, tipping his glass back and dismissing her completely.

Beth could feel the eyes on them. The silent tension in the room as the moment stretched between them. But Harry? He wasn’t interested. At least, not enough to entertain her further.

His voice was maddeningly even as he murmured, "Enjoy the party, Miss Monroe."

And just like that, he turned his back on her.

Beth spent the rest of the night watching. Not because she was enthralled—fuck no—but because she needed to understand him. If she was going to do this job right, she needed to know what made him tick, needed to peel back the carefully constructed layers he used to keep the world at arm’s length.

What she noticed was infuriating.

Harry was charming with everyone else. Effortlessly engaged, magnetic in a way that made people lean in, hang on his every word. He gave them just enough of himself—never too much, never too little. His persona was crafted with surgical precision.

But with her?

Nothing.

He ignored her. Not obviously, not rudely, but in a way that felt intentional. Every time she tried to break into a conversation, he sidestepped her. When she asked a question, he answered in vague, detached sentences.

And when she finally managed to pull him into a one-on-one exchange again, it ended just as quickly as the first.

“I’ve noticed you never really answer questions,” she said, arms crossed as she studied him from across the dimly lit bar area.

Harry didn’t look up from where he was stirring his drink with a lazy wrist. “And I’ve noticed journalists never stop asking them.”

Beth exhaled sharply through her nose. “Right. Because heaven forbid anyone learns something real about Harry Styles.”

That got his attention.

He set his glass down, leaning against the counter as his gaze slid over her slowly.

“You lot aren’t interested in ‘real.’” His voice was quiet, but firm. “You’re interested in a headline.”

Beth bristled. “And you’re interested in a narrative.”

Something shifted.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

Then Harry smirked.

“Good luck with your story, Miss Monroe.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Beth clenched her jaw.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

Beth had dealt with difficult men before. Politicians who thought they were too powerful to be held accountable, executives who assumed her presence in a room meant she was someone’s assistant rather than the journalist they’d have to answer to. She had sharpened herself against condescension and arrogance, made a career out of standing her ground in rooms filled with people who wanted to dismiss her.

But Harry Styles?

He was a different breed of difficult.

For the next several weeks, Beth followed him across Europe, shadowing his tour with increasing frustration. She sat through press conferences where he charmed reporters into asking safe, meaningless questions—the kind that allowed him to give those clever, detached answers that never actually revealed anything.

She watched him interact with fans, saw the way he flipped the switch so effortlessly—one moment the distant, untouchable rockstar, the next, someone who could make a stadium of people feel like they mattered.

And yet, with her?

He remained a wall.

He made it a point to avoid her questions, brushing past them with an easy smirk and a raised eyebrow, like he found her attempts amusing.

“Beth, darling, you’re thinking too hard,” he had murmured once, lounging backstage after a show, still glistening with sweat from the stage lights. “Why don’t you just write the same piece everyone else does? You know, the whole ‘Harry Styles is mysterious but also terribly charming’ bit. Sells every time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t write fanfiction.”

He grinned. “Shame.”

And then there were the games.

Beth would show up for scheduled interview slots, only to be told that Harry was "unavailable." Sometimes it was because he was in a mood. Sometimes it was because he was “too busy” relaxing in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone, while she sat outside with her recorder untouched on her lap.

When she finally called him out on it, he didn’t even pretend to feel bad.

“Beth, love,” he drawled, voice dripping in mock sympathy, “you’re in my world now. Things don’t always run on schedule.”

Her patience cracked. “So you’re just wasting my time for fun?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, legs spread wide, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. “Not for fun.” Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Though it is fun watching you get all worked up.”

She wanted to throw something at him.

The breaking point came after a particularly brutal argument.

It had been a long day—one of those rare occasions when Beth had actually gotten a few uninterrupted moments to ask real questions. She had pushed harder than usual, refusing to let him slide through with half-answers and smirks.

“Why do you do that?” she had asked, arms crossed as she watched him peel the rings off his fingers after soundcheck.

Harry flicked a glance up. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re giving people something real when all you’re actually doing is controlling the narrative.”

The look he gave her was sharp, guarded. “That’s rich, coming from someone whose job is to spin a story.”

Beth exhaled through her nose. “You think this is easy for me? That I just write whatever sells? I’m not here to make you look good, Harry. I’m here to write the truth.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

And then, before she even saw him move, he was in front of her.

Too close.

Her breath caught.

She wasn’t sure if he had stepped forward or if she had unconsciously leaned in, but suddenly, there was no space between them. The air thickened, buzzing with something hot and electric.

His jaw flexed.

His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, as if he was holding something back.

Beth lifted her chin, refusing to shrink away.

The corner of his mouth twitched—not in amusement, not quite. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and slow, a quiet challenge.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

Beth swallowed, throat tight. “I think you hate that you can’t intimidate me.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating pause.

For a second—just a second—she swore his gaze dropped to her mouth.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them acted on it.

And later that night, when Beth was alone in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling—she realized she was still thinking about it.

She wondered if he was, too.

Beth liked to believe that she had control over herself—over her emotions, over the way her body reacted, over the frustrating, infuriating pull she felt every time Harry Styles so much as looked at her.

But control was hard to maintain when someone was constantly poking, prodding, pushing just to see where her breaking point was.

And Harry?

Harry was pushing.

Hard.

It happened in Milan.

The afterparty was in full swing—music thumping, bodies swaying, conversations weaving in and out of the dim, golden-lit space. Beth wasn’t drinking, but the atmosphere was intoxicating in itself, everyone high off the post-show adrenaline.

Harry had been watching her all night.

Not obviously, not in a way anyone else would notice, but she felt it. The flicker of his gaze when she moved through the crowd, the way his attention snagged whenever she threw her head back in laughter.

She ignored it.

She refused to let him get in her head.

Which was why, when another musician—Nate, a guitarist from one of the opening acts—struck up a conversation with her, Beth didn’t hesitate to let herself enjoy it.

He was easy to talk to, charming in a way that didn’t feel like a performance. And when he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—she barely had time to register the shift in the air before Harry was there.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t say anything.

He just stood there, nursing a drink, his stare cutting through the noise like a blade.

Beth felt it before she saw it—the shift in Nate’s posture, the way his fingers curled around the bottle in his hand.

“I’ll catch you later,” Nate murmured, voice a little too careful.

Beth blinked. “Wait, what?”

But he was already slipping away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room.

And that was when she felt him.

The warmth of his presence behind her, the slow exhale against the shell of her ear.

“You like playing games, love?”

Beth closed her eyes.

Of course. Of course he had to do this.

She turned slowly, deliberately, only to find him watching her with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Excuse me?” she said, tone light, though she could feel her pulse thrumming against her skin.

Harry tilted his head, mocking. “That was cute. The whole giggle and lean-in routine. Did you rehearse that?”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to have a conversation without your approval?”

His jaw flexed. “Didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly?”

He took a step closer.

Then another.

Beth refused to step back.

His voice dropped lower, dangerously smooth.

“I’m saying… you’ve been running your mouth for weeks. Acting like you don’t give a shit about me. But then—” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “—then you go and pull that?”

She scoffed. “Pull what?”

Harry smiled. It wasn’t nice.

“You wanted me to see that.”

Beth’s stomach flipped.

She should have laughed in his face. Should have rolled her eyes, brushed past him, walked away.

But she didn’t.

Because there was something about the way he was looking at her.

Something thick and charged and dangerous.

His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself not to touch her.

Beth’s breath shook.

The music downstairs faded into a dull throb, the laughter and chatter dissolving into nothing. The party might as well have been on the other side of the world.

It was just them now.

Beth barely registered how it happened—one moment, she was in the thick of the afterparty, heat and voices pressing in on all sides. The next, the door clicked shut behind her. A soft, decisive sound.

She turned just in time to see Harry’s hand linger on the lock, fingers curling around the metal, twisting until it slid into place. A quiet snick.

Her pulse skittered.

Slowly, he turned back to her, gaze dark and unreadable.

Somehow, between one breath and the next, Beth’s back was already against the wall, cool brick pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Nate’s touch—light, fleeting—but it didn’t matter. Not when Harry was in front of her now. Not when his body was taut with something sharp, something dark. His eyes, usually lidded with lazy arrogance, were harder now. Narrowed. Burning.

His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to control himself.

Then, low, rough, "You like playing games, love?"

A shiver ran down her spine.

She forced herself to lift her chin. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

His jaw twitched.

Slow. Measured. He reached out, running two fingers up her arm, featherlight but searing. Beth refused to react, refused to show him that he got under her skin.

His lips curled. "Laughing. Touching. Batting your lashes at him like you wanted him to take you right there in front of everyone."

That made her scoff. "Oh, fuck off—"

She barely got the words out before he was on her.

No warning. No hesitation.

One hand shot to her throat—not squeezing, just holding, firm enough to make her gasp as his body pressed flush against hers. His other hand planted itself beside her head, caging her in completely.

His mouth hovered just above hers, breath warm, uneven.

"You wanna push me, is that it?" he murmured, voice like gravel. "You wanna see what happens when I lose my patience?"

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t fear curling in her stomach. It was something much worse.

She wanted this.

Needed it.

So she pushed him again, knowing it was reckless. "Maybe I do."

That was all it took.

Harry didn’t waste another second.

His grip tightened, and then he was kissing her—if it could even be called that. There was nothing soft about it. No buildup, no hesitation. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a war between them.

His hand left her throat, moving down, down, over the thin fabric of her dress, gripping her waist so tightly it ached.

Beth’s nails raked down his arms, her own frustration spilling over. She wanted to hurt him. Make him feel this the way she did.

"Fuck—"

The word was ripped from her throat as he yanked her leg up, hitching it over his hip. The dress rode up instantly, baring her thigh, and then his hand was there, fingers digging into her skin, making her burn.

Desperate.

That was what this was.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t romance.

It was hunger.

It was starving.

His teeth scraped along her jaw, down her neck. He bit—not enough to leave marks, but enough to make her feel it.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth down her jaw. “Needy. Desperate. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Her fingers fisted in his hair. "Fuck you."

He laughed, breathless, dark.

"Say it," he pressed. "Say you want it."

Beth clenched her teeth. She hated him.

And yet.

And yet.

"Say it."

She swallowed hard, nails still biting into his shoulders. "I want it."

He hummed in approval, pushing her harder against the wall. "Good girl."

Then he wrecked her.

There was no teasing. No gentle touch. He dragged her panties down and shoved her dress up with no regard, making her gasp as the cool air kissed her exposed skin. His fingers slid between her thighs, finding her soaked, and he smirked.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, lips brushing her ear. "You act like you don’t want this, but look at you."

She bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

It didn’t last.

His fingers slipped inside her, rough, unrelenting, and the cry broke from her throat before she could stop it.

"That’s it," he murmured, pumping them hard and deep. "Don’t hold back now."

Her head tipped back against the wall, hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing, teasing, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with every sharp movement.

"Thinkin’ about him now?" Harry taunted, voice low. "Bet you’re not."

She wasn’t.

She hated it, but she wasn’t.

All she could think about was Harry.

His fingers. His voice. The way he was taking what he wanted without a second thought.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure winding tight in her stomach.

And then he pulled away.

A whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

He grinned. "Not yet."

He undid his belt in a swift motion, shoved his jeans down just enough, and then he was lifting her completely, pressing her against the wall, spreading her open for him.

She barely had time to take a breath before he slammed into her.

"Fuck—"

She choked on a gasp, nails raking down his back as he filled her, stretched her in a way that made her legs shake.

There was no time to adjust.

No time to breathe.

He just fucked her.

Hard.

Desperate.

The wall scraped against her back with every sharp thrust, and she loved it.

His fingers bit into her thighs, holding her in place, making her take every inch, every punishing roll of his hips.

"You take me so fuckin’ well," he murmured, voice strained, lips dragging over her neck. "Like you need this."

She did.

God help her, she did.

She was close—so fucking close, and she knew he could feel it in the way she clenched around him, in the way her nails dug deeper, in the way her body arched.

"Say it," he ordered. "Say you’re mine."

Her breath stuttered.

He thrust harder. "Say it, Beth."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her body screaming for release.

And then she broke.

"I’m yours."

He groaned, deep and guttural, and that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed through her, leaving her shaking, wrecked, gasping as he kept going, drawing it out until she had nothing left to give.

Moments later, he followed, hips jerking, a rough growl spilling from his throat as he came deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Their breathing was heavy, erratic, mingling in the thick air between them.

Then, just like that, it was gone.

Harry pulled away, adjusted himself, ran a hand through his hair like nothing had happened.

Beth watched, still breathless, still reeling.

He met her eyes, his own dark, unreadable.

Then, with a smirk that made her stomach flip, he stepped back.

"See you around, love."

And then he was gone.

Leaving her wrecked, ruined, and still fucking wanting.

But worst of all?

She still wanted him.

She hated herself for it.

She hated him more.

Beth barely remembered leaving the party, barely registered the way the city lights blurred together in the back of her cab, the hum of Milan’s nightlife drowning out the noise in her head. Her body still felt him—his hands, his breath, the rough edge of his voice scraping against her skin.

It should have been enough.

It should have burned her out, smothered whatever slow, insidious pull had been building between them.

But it didn’t.

Because when she saw him again the next day, sitting in the green room of the arena, lounging like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t ruined her the night before—Beth realized something awful.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

--

Harry was different now.

Not in the way Beth had expected—not in the way most men got after a night like that.

There was no smugness, no knowing smirk, no self-satisfied arrogance that she could take a swing at.

Instead, he was… colder.

Distant. Detached. Like she was nothing more than a mild inconvenience, an insignificant blip on his radar.

He barely looked at her.

Didn’t acknowledge her when she walked into a room, didn’t spare her even a glance during soundcheck or press briefings.

And that should have been fine.

She should have been fine.

But the second she started talking to someone else—the second she so much as smiled in another man’s direction—Harry’s jaw would lock.

His shoulders would tense.

His fingers would curl around his drink, around his microphone, around anything to keep from doing something reckless.

Beth noticed.

And she made sure he knew it.

She leaned in closer when someone else made her laugh. Let her fingers linger just a little longer when she touched an arm. Tilted her head just right when she listened, knowing Harry was in the room, knowing he was watching even if he refused to look at her directly.

She wanted to prove a point.

If she was just a fuck, if she was nothing, then he shouldn’t care.

So why did he?

--

It happened in Paris.

Beth had been talking to a photographer, a harmless conversation, nothing she wasn’t allowed to do.

Harry had been across the room, pretending he didn’t give a shit.

Then suddenly, he wasn’t.

Suddenly, he was right there.

His hand closed around her wrist, fingers tight, his voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Outside. Now.”

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “Excuse me?”

His grip didn’t loosen. “You heard me.”

For a second, she considered telling him to go to hell.

But she didn’t.

Because she wanted this too.

The door barely shut behind them before he was on her.

Teeth at her jaw, hands rough on her hips, shoving her against the brick wall of some dark alley behind the venue.

Beth gasped, but it wasn’t from shock.

She should have expected this.

She had wanted this.

“You’re a fucking brat,” Harry muttered against her skin, his voice thick with frustration, with heat, with something else she couldn’t name. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Beth grinned, sharp and mean. “What am I doing, Harry?”

His fingers tightened.

“You think you can get a reaction out of me?” His teeth scraped her jaw. “Think you can make me jealous?”

Her breath hitched.

“So you admit it?” she whispered. “You were jealous?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way he touched her—rougher, filthier than before—told her everything she needed to know.

The first time had been about control. About proving a point.

This time?

This time, it was a need.

Desperate. Dirty. Addictive.

And neither of them could stop.

Every time they tried, they failed.

The silence never lasted. The distance never held.

Because the second they were in the same room again, the second their eyes locked across crowded spaces, it was already too late.

They had pulled each other under too many times to pretend they knew how to breathe without drowning.

Beth knew it was toxic.

Knew it in the way her hands trembled when she buttoned up her shirt in the dark, his warmth still clinging to her skin.

Knew it in the way Harry’s fingers curled into fists when he watched her leave, like he wanted to reach for her but refused to let himself.

Knew it in the way they never talked about it.

Because talking would make it real. Talking would force them to admit that it wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just convenience, wasn’t just a mistake they kept making over and over again.

But they didn’t stop.

Not when they should have.

Not even when the headlines started.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown rumors, twisting what they had into something uglier, something Beth couldn’t control.

She was losing pieces of herself to this, to him.

And Harry—Harry wasn’t losing anything.

Not his reputation. Not his career. Not his control.

She should have left before it reached this point—before it ripped through them like a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, leaving nothing but wreckage and ruin in its wake.

Before it bled into everything else.

Before it turned into this.

--

It happened in London, outside a sleek, high-end restaurant that reeked of old money and exclusivity—the kind of place Harry fit into effortlessly, where his name alone held weight, where he belonged.

Beth never had any interest in it. The glint of polished silverware, the hushed conversations over expensive wine, the way the air itself seemed thicker inside—like money had a scent, and it didn’t belong to people like her.

She hadn’t even wanted to come. Had told herself, promised herself, that she was done. That she wouldn’t let him do this to her again.

And yet, here she was.

The air outside was thick, muggy, summer pressing against her skin like a second layer, suffocating, clinging. A neon sign from across the street flickered, buzzing intermittently, painting the pavement in broken splashes of red light.

Harry stood a few steps away, pacing, hands raking through his already-messy curls. His jaw was locked, shoulders drawn tight, his frustration visible in the tense way he moved. He looked untouchable—towering, sharp, devastating in his black suit, the collar of his shirt slightly open like even it couldn’t handle the heat of the moment.

His eyes found hers—dark, searing, burning like embers about to catch.

“Are you seriously fucking mad at me for this?” His voice was low, taut, a thread stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping.

Beth folded her arms tightly across her chest, holding herself together. She could feel the anger, coiling hot in her stomach, winding through her like a slow, controlled burn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

His lips pressed into a hard, thin line. “Enlighten me.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. He didn’t care. He never fucking cared.

“Your team,” she spat, voice shaking despite her best efforts, “just made me look like some desperate, attention-seeking—”

“—that’s not what happened.”

“Really?” She stepped closer, chin tilting up defiantly, her eyes searching his face for something—anything. A flicker of regret. Understanding. A crack in the cold, calculated exterior he was so good at wearing. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like they threw me under the fucking bus to save your ass.”

The photos had hit the tabloids that morning.

Beth Monroe, clinging to Harry Styles. Beth Monroe, picking a fight in public. Beth Monroe, the problem.

Headlines twisting the truth, reshaping the narrative, turning her into something she wasn’t. His PR team had done what they always did—spun the story, cleaned up the mess, protected the asset.

Beth had been collateral damage.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flicking away as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with this. “Jesus, Beth, why do you care so much what people think?”

Her stomach twisted—not just at the words, but at how he said them.

Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

Like all of this—all the nights, all the touches, all the ways they’d clawed at each other, desperate and reckless—had meant absolutely fucking nothing to him.

And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she had been fooling herself this entire time.

Something inside her snapped—something raw and fragile and past the point of saving.

“You know what?” She took a breath, forcing her voice to stay steady, forcing herself to hold his gaze even though it hurt. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

And before she could change her mind—before she could let him pull her back in—she turned around.

And for the first time, she didn’t look back.

It should have been a relief.

Should have felt like he had won.

But it didn’t.

Harry downed the rest of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he set it down with more force than necessary.

The neon lights of the club flickered above him, casting shadows along the crowded space. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, a heartbeat that wasn’t his. People surrounded him—laughter, touches, whispers—but none of it registered.

His third drink.

Or maybe his fourth.

He wasn’t keeping track. Didn’t need to.

Because Beth was gone.

And he should feel lighter. Should feel fucking free.

But instead, there was just this—this hollow, gnawing feeling in his chest, a slow rot that no amount of whiskey could burn away.

He had told himself it was just sex. That it was just a game.

A messy, reckless game they both played, fully aware of the rules.

So why the fuck was he still thinking about her?

Why did he still hear her voice—sharp and furious, echoing in his ears like an accusation he couldn’t shake?

I don’t. Not anymore.

Why did he still see her face when he closed his eyes—not the smirking, defiant expression she always wore when they fought, but the way she had looked at him that night—raw, open, hurt.

Why the fuck did that bother him?

Harry scoffed under his breath, shaking his head, reaching for another drink.

Fuck that.

She’d be back.

She always came back.

Wouldn’t she?

The weeks passed.

She didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t show up at any more venues.

And no matter how many women he took home—no matter how many soft lips and unfamiliar hands he let touch him—it was never the same.

Because none of them were her.

None of them made him feel alive the way she did when she pushed him, when she fought him, when she stood her ground and refused to give in.

And for the first time, Harry realized—

He had fucked up.

Not just in the way he always did—careless, reckless, breaking things without thinking about the consequences.

No, this was different.

This was real.

This was Beth.

And he had let her slip through his fingers like she was nothing.

Like she hadn’t changed him.

Like she hadn’t fucking ruined him.

It took him weeks. Too many weeks.

Weeks of sleepless nights, of bitter drinks that burned as they went down, of meaningless encounters with women who weren’t her.

Weeks of ignoring the pit in his stomach whenever he reached for his phone and saw her name missing from his notifications.

Weeks of denying—lying to himself—until he couldn’t anymore.

Until it became impossible to pretend that this wasn’t more.

That she wasn’t everything.

So, he found her.

No cameras. No PR team carefully crafting the narrative. No staged apology meant to keep his image intact.

Just him.

Beth stood in the doorway of her apartment, eyes wary, lips pressed together like she wasn’t sure if she should slam the door in his face or let him inside just to yell at him.

She was in sweats, hair tied back, looking so soft and real and heartbreakingly beautiful that Harry had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You really have no concept of boundaries, do you?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Would it help if I said I knocked first?”

Beth lifted a single, unimpressed brow.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

She sighed, exhaling heavily, fingers gripping the doorframe. “What do you want, Harry?”

Her voice was flat, tired—so fucking tired—and it hit him in the chest like a punch.

He did that.

He made her sound like that.

And maybe if she had been yelling, maybe if she had been angry, it would have been easier.

But this?

This quiet disappointment, this absence of fire, of fight—this was worse.

Because it meant she had already decided to let him go.

And he couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t.

Harry swallowed, licking his lips, feeling the words crawl up his throat, unfamiliar and foreign and terrifying.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, voice rough, uneven. “You got too close.”

Beth’s gaze flickered, but she didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop him either.

“I didn’t—I don’t—” He let out a slow breath, shifting his weight. “You were supposed to be temporary, Beth.” His voice cracked on her name. “And I don’t want temporary anymore.”

Her eyes softened. Just a little.

But she didn’t let him off the hook.

Not yet.

She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head. “So what? You came all this way just to tell me that?”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

“And now you expect me to just—what? Forget everything? Pretend like you didn’t throw me to the wolves the second things got hard?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t expect that.”

Beth exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before she looked at him again, and fuck, he felt stripped bare under her gaze.

“I was falling for you,” she whispered, the words barely audible but lethal. “And you made me feel like I was nothing.”

His stomach dropped.

“I know,” he rasped. “And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, Beth.”

She didn’t speak, but her fingers trembled where they curled around her sleeve.

Harry took a step closer.

Then another.

Until she was right there, close enough to touch, but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he just let himself be seen—raw, vulnerable, desperate in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice low, uneven. “But I want to try. I want you.”

Beth swallowed hard, blinking quickly, like she was trying to hold something back.

“Say it again.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

Harry took a breath, steady and sure.

“I want you.”

Beth let out a shaky exhale, something breaking, fracturing between them—but this time, it wasn’t falling apart.

It was falling into place.

She didn’t answer.

Not with words.

But when she finally reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him down, letting him in—

He knew.

She wanted him too.

-

This isn’t like before.

It’s not fueled by resentment, not tangled in frustration or sharp-edged words.

It’s not an attempt to silence their own thoughts or to claim victory in an unwinnable battle.

This time, it’s different.

Because this time, they’re choosing each other.

And neither of them wants to pretend anymore.

It’s quiet.

Not the uneasy, tension-laced silence they used to share, but something softer. He’s brought her here—to his real place, not some impersonal hotel room or a shadowy corner where they could disappear without consequence.

It’s his space.

Dim lighting from the city outside filters through half-drawn blinds, painting warm, golden stripes across the floor. The air is thick, heavy with something unspoken, the echoes of every past moment clinging to the walls.

No noise from the outside world.

Just them.

And for the first time, that’s all they need.

They stand close but don’t touch—not yet.

It’s strange, this carefulness between them, this slow, deliberate restraint. For so long, everything between them has been about force, about taking, about dominance wrapped in lust.

But now—

His fingers reach for her, hesitant but certain, trailing the line of her jaw with an aching kind of reverence.

No roughness. No bruising grip.

Just a slow, featherlight touch, like he’s memorizing her, like he’s afraid to move too fast.

Beth’s breath stutters. She tilts her face into his touch, just barely, just enough to tell him that she wants this too.

When she opens her eyes, he’s already watching her.

Already waiting.

Already sure.

When he kisses her, it’s nothing like before.

Not an attempt to overpower, not a silent demand for control.

It’s soft.

Tentative, at first—like he’s rediscovering her, learning the shape of her lips, savoring her warmth. A slow slide of mouths, the quiet exhale of breath mingling between them.

And then—

The restraint fractures.

A low, desperate groan rumbles in his chest, and his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, molding her against him. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, but it’s not about possession anymore.

It’s need.

It’s want.

It’s everything they’ve never allowed themselves to feel.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down into her, and he lets her. Lets her take as much as she wants.

He doesn’t rush.

Doesn’t tear at her clothes like before, doesn’t drag fabric over her skin like it’s just another obstacle to get through.

He takes his time.

Fingers skimming her shoulders, down the length of her arms, over her ribs. He lingers, watching her, drinking her in like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with something raw, something that sounds like awe.

Her breath catches.

She should feel exposed. Vulnerable.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t make her feel bare.

It makes her feel wanted.

She reaches for him then, pulling at his shirt, sliding her hands over warm, firm skin, feeling the steady, grounding beat of his heart beneath her palms.

He lets her undress him too.

No rush. No urgency.

Just this.

Just them.

He takes his time.

Worships her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, exploring every inch like he’s memorizing her, like he never wants to forget the way she feels beneath him.

His fingers trace the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her inner thigh.

He doesn’t hurry.

Doesn’t just take.

He gives.

She fists the sheets when he drags his mouth lower, when he pauses to watch her reaction, when he smirks against her skin at the way she shifts, needy, impatient.

She doesn’t want to beg. Not this time.

But when his mouth finally touches her, warm and devastatingly slow—

She does.

He doesn’t rush her to the edge.

He builds it.

His mouth works her over with precision, savoring every shudder, every gasp, every quiet, breathless plea.

His hands hold her open, steadying her, grounding her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

He watches her the entire time.

Doesn’t look away.

Not when she trembles.

Not when she cries out his name.

Not when she finally, finally falls apart beneath him.

He just holds her gaze, dark and unwavering, like he’s making damn sure she knows—

This means something.

When he finally slides into her, it’s different.

No rough, frantic pace. No bruising hands.

Just this.

Just the slow, deliberate push of his hips, deep and measured, drawing a gasp from her lips.

He stills for a moment, presses his forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding himself in the feel of her.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her nails dragging lightly over his skin.

Not clawing.

Not marking.

Just holding.

He moves then.

Not just fucking—making love.

Every slow thrust feels like a confession.

Every whispered “mine” against her lips feels like a promise.

And this time—

She doesn’t fight it.

She lets him have her.

And takes him in return.

No rush to leave.

No scramble for clothes.

No silence.

Just this.

Just them, tangled in sheets that smell like them, his arms heavy around her, his fingers tracing slow, mindless patterns against her back.

For the first time, he stays.

For the first time, she lets him.

There’s a pause. A deep, quiet moment where neither of them speaks.

Then—

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet. Certain.

Beth doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts closer, presses her lips against his jaw, and breathes him in.

“Yeah, Harry.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips.

She watches it spread, watches the tension leave his body, watches the way he finally lets himself believe it.

“I am.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry, @mema10, @angelbabyyy99, @iloveharrystyles04, @cinemharry, @drwho06, @donutsandpalmtrees, @panini, @mads3502; @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa, @one-sweet-gubler, @rizosrizos26, @ciriceimpera, @everyscarisahealingplace, @hello-heyhi, @sexymfharriet, @lizsogolden, @hannah9921, @chicabonitasblog, @huhidontknowstuff, @berrywoods1245, @jennovaaa, @angeldavis777, @prettygurl-2009, @almostcontentcreator, @run-for-the-hills, @maudie-duan, @dipmeinhoneyh, @harrrrystylesslut, @georgiarose94, @stylestarkey, @watarmelon212, @ hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east

[carionto]

Humans and Boredom II

The planet cracker.

A devilish name that somehow still does not do this type of Human ship justice. Arrays of massive gravity hooks capable of tearing out kilometers wide and deep chunks of mass from any celestial object one of them decides to settle in orbit of.

The process is slow and tedious and, luckily, unsuitable for any practical military application, but unimaginably rewarding nonetheless. Once a chunk has been lifted, a fleet of harvester drones meticulously tears it further apart and separates into individual minerals and any other categorizable substances. From there the internal refineries of the planet cracker process them further into more usable metals, alloys, resins, and countless other resources. Finally, another fleet of transport ships ferry those back to where they are needed.

The land based production capacity of an entire (small) planet, with a single (albeit metropolis sized) ship, crewed by no more than a hundred Humans and thousands of drones.

One of these immense beasts - The Hardy Gal - was stationed around one of Saturn's moons - Epimetheus - that was recently voted out of the global popularity contest "Who's Even Heard of This One?" and thus sentenced to become part of the Dyson Ring.

The drone fleet that was supposed to be tearing up the unfortunate little moon, however, was recently recalled for refitting after a report showed a key part was manufactured using an outdated guideline by a suspiciously licensed corporation, that was also caught up in an unrelated embezzlement scandal.

Suffice to say that chief Gravity Master Boris Fruischtyen didn't have much to do. Laws and regulations do not permit any unsupervised extraction results to just be left in orbit. Oh no, can't preemptively arrange chunks for processing later, nope, "efficiency? what's that?". *sigh* Lift, hold, harvest, repeat.

Boris would have nothing to do, except the gravity hook arrays were a set of fifty per array, and The Hardy Gal had eight arrays. Four hundred individually aim-able and moveable chunks of matter.

While his day job was not very productive for now, his social media activity shot through the roof. There's a lot you can draw with four hundred "pixels" and the literal cosmos as your canvas and backdrop.

His personal favorites were water features and creatures set against the blue of Saturn, and he arranged quite a few of the extinct whales and penguins too. Additionally, every day he would fulfill one of the audiences top ranking requests.

Through these he discovered he has a fascinatingly good sense for flower compositions, especially from unusual angles. It's odd. He's only ever seen flowers in images and videos, perhaps lacking actual real life flowers to compare to allows his imagination to fill in the gaps in a way referencing factual knowledge would limit him. Who knows.

Despite having access to a three dimensional canvas, he preferred to keep things flat.

"What can I say, 2D is better. *chuckle*"

However, that doesn't mean he keeps things simple. The gravity hooks are quite good at selective manipulation, they have to be to target certain spots beneath a whole lot of other matter (which is then raised alongside the "elevator" matter). He demonstrated how the same image can look wildly different if you just change the "pixels" from squares to spheres, or how certain material compositions change color when squeezed more densely.

His personal favorite part is the finishing touch. After he's had a drone go out and stream his latest piece from plenty of angles for the viewers, he gives the whole image a simultaneous and gentle push back towards the moon. After a few touching hours of people in chat saying farewell, sharing personal stories and just asking questions Boris is always happy to answer, the image impacts the surface where the majority of parts were extracted from in a spectacular show of minor impacts and a shower of debris. Too bad it doesn't have an atmosphere, just imagine how cool it'd look burning up on reentry.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey do you guys remember how I said that I was going to use patreon to write up content that would be WILDLY too long for tumblr? yeah. this is uuuuuh a little less than 6000 words about a bad Animal Planet series from 2008 that no one watched but me and my sister.

and here's part of the introduction under the cut for freebies, in case you want a little sample:

If you weren’t a painfully introverted animal fact kid in the early 2000s it’s almost impossible to explain the degree of sway that Animal Planet and its shows held over me as a child. Meerkat Manor, Animal Cops, The Most Extreme, The Little Zoo That Could, Prehistoric Planet, River Monsters, all of Steve Irwin’s work, and truly any and all non-serialized programming about any animal imaginable. I ate it all up, even the terribly boring half-hour programs like Backyard Habitat and Petfinder that they only played in the weird wee hours of the morning. 

Crucially, this programming is mostly of a nonfiction bent. Prehistoric Planet uses a framing device involving the use of time travel to bring extinct animals into the present to live in a zoo, but ultimately they’re trying to teach you some facts about some beasts, and while Meerkat Manor was definitely anthropomorphizing and editorializing the drama those meerkats experienced, it was at least rooted in the very real Kalahari Meerkat Project, which has been intensively documenting the behavior of meerkat mobs for many meerkat generations.

But then we get into the oddballs. In 2004 Animal Planet aired Dragons: A Fantasy Made Real, a British “docufiction” produced for Channel Four that sought to contextualize the nearly-global mythology of dragons in real history and biology, complete with CGI recreations of dragons in their “natural habitats.” That’s all fine and good; there’s nothing wrong with using a fake thing to teach people about real animals’ evolution and anatomy. The Loch Ness Monster episode of River Monsters is excellent for this, as you can tell that host Jeremy Wade (angler, freshwater detective, and criminally fuckable old man) doesn’t expect to find a monster literally at all and is just taking the opportunity to introduce his audience to animals they might not otherwise know about, including the noble Greenland shark. He pulls the same trick again in a later episode where he’s sent to discover the “truth” behind sea serpents and winds up diving in search of the elusive oarfish.

Dragons is… not doing that. Instead it offers up a framing device following a completely fictional paleontologists who “suggests the theory that a carbonized Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton on display was killed by a prehistoric dragon” (thanks, Wikipedia) and then has to go on a quest to save his career by proving that dragons totally existed and he’s not crazy. And he’s not! The piece ends with him discovering straight up for-real dragon bones in the Carpathian Mountains. If you were, say, an impressionably soft-brained 8 year old watching this, well holy shit. Congrats! It turns out dragons are real and nobody knows but you. 

Why did Animal Planet air this? God only knows, but it wouldn’t be the last time they dabbled in this shit. 2012 saw another piece by the same creator, Charlie Foley, called Mermaids: The Body Found which posited that various governments are holding merpeople captive and also relied on the infamously eugenicist aquatic ape theory to justify how merpeople could exist. The CGI on that one creeped me the fuck out, although I was at least old enough by then to recognize it wasn’t real.

Between those two docufictional farces, Animal Planet got a little freaky and rolled out some fake factual content of their own: three season of the TV show Lost Tapes (2008-2010, RIP), which purportedly showed “found footage” from incidents of humans having terrifying encounters with cryptids and fighting to escape with their lives. Interspersed with the fully fictional stories were segments of experts talking about folkloric history and speculating as to how creatures like Sasquatch and sea serpents could be real, which was an admirable effort to make it educational but often fell pretty short. There’s a werewolf episode where their expert weakly offers up that there are tons of transformations in nature, like caterpillars turning into butterflies. Notably that has absolutely nothing in common with a human turning rapidly into a wolfbeast and then shifting back, but they tried! They stopped trying as hard by season three, by which point they were throwing any and every beastie they could think of at the wall: there are episodes dedicated to zombies, a poltergeist, two different types of vampires, and the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl. 

Also straining belief was the dedication that some POV characters had to keeping their cameras rolling. I don’t blame the writers for that; it’s hard coming up with a fresh gimmick for “found footage” in every episode. Some of them, like characters wearing body cameras, are pretty smart; others, like a teenage girl continuing to film on her phone while being hunted by the Jersey devil, are not. They’re very much running on horror movie rules; the characters are as dumb as they need to be to make the plot go. To the show’s credit the dumdums are frequently punished, and it’s not uncommon for every single named character to end up dead at the hands (or claws, fangs, whatever) of the monster of the week. 

Needless to say, as a 12 year old I thought this was extremely edgy and cool. I was old enough to recognize that the so-called found footage was fake and that the acting was mostly very bad, but I liked cryptids and some of the show’s better episodes could still creep me right out. I think geeky 12 year olds who like to get a little freaked out on purpose are probably the ideal target demographic for this show, followed by nostalgic 20-somethings who have seen every episode several times.

(Hi, editor’s note: having completed this list it turns out there are WAY more episodes than I thought and I fully Do Not Recall some of them, so egg on my face.)

[probablyasocialecologist]

Though the IDF has said that soldiers may only resort to live fire to “negate an actual and immediate threat to life, as the last option in the procedures for stopping a suspect,” the reality is that those among its ranks — as reported by international organizations including Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch — have shot and killed Palestinians who posed no threat to their lives. Regardless of what IDF protocol dictates, commanders have been known to tell recruits that they “can fire on children if they’re over 14.” Similarly, Shireen Abu Akleh, the Palestinian-American journalist who was shot dead in 2022 by the IDF while covering an Israeli raid on the Jenin refugee camp in the West Bank, had been wearing a clearly marked press jacket and was unarmed. Israel initially claimed that there had been a firefight with Palestinian militants and that Abu Akleh, who worked for Al Jazeera, had been accidentally hit. But evidence uncovered by the Israeli human rights organization B’Tselem, as well as other independent nongovernmental organizations, shows that there was no gunfire before Israeli forces fired at the Palestinian journalists covering the raid and killed Abu Akleh in the process. To date, the Israeli soldiers attending the raid have not been brought to justice. Simulated exercises deliberately present Israeli soldiers with an accentuated sense of Palestinian aggression, while on a day-to-day basis the Palestinians they meet at checkpoints are civilians, who are not bearing arms and are vastly outgunned. The lines between reality and these hyperrealistic simulators are blurred when we consider that Israeli incursions into actual Palestinian territories took place almost every day leading up to Oct. 7. Plenty of these raids were carried out in overcrowded refugee camps, which already have their electricity and water supplies routinely cut off by Israel. Residents of these camps, living through Israeli attacks every day, have sardonically described their home as being Israel’s “playground.” Academics at the University of Berkeley, California have found that in some camps, like Aida in the West Bank, 100% of the population has been exposed to tear gas — “more than any other population surveyed globally,” they wrote in 2017, and one entirely ignored possible precursor to Israel’s recent use of white phosphorus in Gaza.

[most-screwed-by-writers-tourney]

Korekiyo: backstory involves him getting groomed- and thats never acknowledged. Gets treated as a "sister guy" (he has romantic feelings for his groomer). Is "half possessed" by his sister which comes across as an alter and it's very very bad. Also all his memories are fake and the writers in story and in real life did not need to include the incestous grooming

Ironwood: Big bad of the series is an immortal witch who can control creatures of darkness that eat people. After the big bad takes out an entire kingdom, and severely lowers the potential of another to protect itself, he starts putting an embargo on resources, a curfew, and and increased security while also trying to get global communications back up and running. He entrusts the main heroes with his plans, offers them training, new equipment, and high ranking positions in his army. He's not aware the big bad is immortal. Two of the main heroes reveal his secret plans to a vigilante who has been stealing supplies and not using them to help the poor like she claims she is doing. They hide the fact that the immortal witch is in fact immortal. They hide the truth about why the big bad's magical ex-husband who used to be in charge of the destroyed kingdom's defenses isn't around anymore.

When the big bad shows up with a giant army of monsters when they're not prepared to fight her, he wants to do the sensible thing: leave with the magic mcguffins the big bad wants to a safe place, and regroup to fight another day. Sadly, this would result in a lot of people being left behind, but a majority of the kingdom were already evacuated to the giant floating city. The heroes end up ruining everything by has because he refuses to try and save EVERYONE despite THE BIG BAD BEING RIGHT THERE ON THEIR DOORSTEP MORE PREPARED THAN THEY ARE. Then the next season happens and they turn this thoughtful, hard working, caring man wanting to protect people, into a power hungry monster willing to shoot everyone standing in his way and willing to bomb civilians if he doesn't get his way. And the only reason he's written this way is because the writers notices a lot of fans were ACTUALLY SIDING WITH HIM DURING THE PREVIOUS SEASON. THEY ADMIT THIS IN THE DVD COMMENTARY THAT THE ONLY REASON HE'S WRITTEN THE WAY HE IS NOW IS BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T REALIZE THEY WROTE A SYMPATHETIC CHARACTER AND THAT WASN'T WHAT THEY INTENDED AT ALL. And by the end of it all, it's all for nothing. The big bad gets two of the four missing mcguffins she needs to destroy the world. Ironwood's kingdom is sun into the ocean, a good portion of the civilians and soldiers died and those that remain are dropped into a desert kingdom they have bad relations with. This kingdom was also the tech hub of the entire world so anyone who uses certain machines or needs prosthetics or medical equipment can't get them anymore. And we're supposed to be rooting for Team RWBY and their friends, and not Ironwood? He wasn't perfect, but he was far more competent and sympathetic than any other character in this show and the writers decided "let's make this multi-prosthetic, ptsd ridden warrior be the worst person alive since too many fans thought he was right to retreat in a terrible situation

[actual-changeling]

In a pervious post you said "the implications throughout the show that Crowley was a pretty powerful and high-ranking angel, and is still one of the most powerful demons". Where/what are those, exactly? How high are we talking, because I don't think the opposing ranks are equal to one another. Like, if Crowley had been an Archangel he isn't an Archdemon now, right?

Hell has a completely different kind of command structure, yes!

It seems to be wayyy more democratic for one, and has varying kinds and levels of ruling authorities. They have proper trials and rules, contracts to sign, several demons working on earth, a multitude of positions of employment (for lack of better words), provide living spaces for their earthly representatives, and overall function, while heaven seems to have—well, none of those things.

Figuring out a demon's rank is—in my opinion—pretty easy because of that.

Crowley makes a comment about bottom of the barrel demons, we see different jobs and how respected they are (e.g. Furfur being stuck in admissions, which is more of a grunt job, while anyone in temptations is in a more desirable position pun intended), and if we make some smart guesstimations, we can probably figure out the job & relative rank of any demon we're introduced to.

So—where does Crowley fall?

His position in heaven as the Starmaker may or may not have had an influence on his position after the fall, but we do know that he had and still has strong miracle powers. Let's take a look at the tasks hell assigned him:

a) the Serpent of Eden and Original Tempter

b) a long-term and (assumedly) one of the main representatives on earth

c) he's not just in Temptations, he works on a global scale and regularly impresses his bosses back in hell

d) he was tasked with helping Satan win a bet against God by taking care of Job's property, house, and family

e) Satan personally chose him to deliver the Antichrist and start Armageddon, which is THE job in the history of heaven & hell.

Hastur and Ligur are also explicitly jealous of the kind of jobs Crowley gets to perform, and while there is a general 'he's gone native' sentiment, they leave him alone as long as he does his job and doesn't break the rules in a way that fucks with hell's plans.

In season 1, we are told that Crowley is partly as powerful as he is because he has an imagination, which allows him to navigate the burning M25 while Hastur gets discorporated. When hell is told about the 25 Lazarii miracle that was performed, Crowley is seen as a viable candidate for either having done it himself or working with whoever did it.

Beelzebub also decides—for good reason—that if ze wants to find Gabriel, ze'll need his help:

They hold a trial when they could have just killed him like Hastur melting the Usher to test the holy water, but because of his rank Crowley gets a (more or less) fair trial. If you think about it, deciding he's guilty and then giving him the same kind of punishment he used to melt Ligur is actually not too bad of a treatment; lower demons, on the other hand, are punished on the daily without as much as a blink.

Crowley solves the mess in the bookshop, Beez and Dagon listen to him when he talks and explains, they see him as someone almost equal to them. It is believable to Hastur that Crowley is involved with the Dark Council and capable of recommending him for a promotion.

If Crowley had been a 'better' and more ambitious demon, he probably could have been a Duke of Hell even before Job. He can stop time, he can stop Satan himself in his tracks, and he is respected by both heaven and hell—so whatever you want to call his rank/job/position, it is undoubtedly one of high regard and power.

[rjzimmerman]

Some more "climate change" charts and maps from Yale Climate Connections

See my other post with more from Yale Climate Connections, including another chart and more maps.

Status of the most recent monthly update for greenhouse gases including carbon dioxide, methane, and nitrous oxide. (From the Bluesky pages of Zack Labe.)

Earth's moistest year on record came with numerous devastating flooding events - almost too many to count. Those were associated with total atmospheric moisture being above average for 86% of the planet. This was largely driven by excessive amounts of ocean heat. (From post by Ben Noll on X.)

(From another post by Ben Noll on X.)

Sea level rise (SLR) is accelerating.📈 30 years of satellite data show that the global mean sea level has risen with 11 cm since 1993. This may not sound like much. However, the problem is not just the rise itself, but the fact that it’s accelerating. (From the Bluesky pages of Daan van den Broek.)

Annual average U.S. temperature by year, 1895-2024. The contiguous U.S. has warmed by around 1.7 degrees Fahrenheit (0.9 degrees Celsius), slightly less than the planet as a whole, over this 130-year period. (Image credit: NOAA/NCEI)

Rankings of average annual temperature in each contiguous U.S. state for 130 years of records going back to 1895. Darker red colors indicate hotter conditions. (Image credit: NOAA/NCEI)

NOAA’s U.S. weather/climate summary for 2024 showed 27 U.S. billion-dollar weather events, one short of the record of 28 set in 2023. After adjusting for inflation, Hurricane Helene ($79 billion in damage) ranked as the nation’s seventh-costliest weather disaster in history; Hurricane Milton ($34 billion) ranked 15th.

The U.S. Climate Extremes Index reached an all-time annual high in 2024. (Image credit: NOAA/NCEI)

[edutainer2022]

UNREQUITED Ch 7

Co-written with @janetm74

Ch 6

AO3 (1-7)

This installment found a place in the tapestry of a vaster story, thanks to the amazing insight of @janetm74, making the implications so much more exciting to ponder and to explore further!

(Page Six)

Ever since Kat Kavanaugh buried a hatchet and wasn't chasing conspiracy theories about them on Global Holovision anymore, watching the news live was a once in a blue moon activity in Casa Tracy. They followed the major world events through John and Eos (maybe a bit of social media on a relatively quiet morning), and they were likely to be part of those in some capacity at least a third of the times. Sometimes a half.

But it was one of those days. A relative lull in rescues compiled with the exhaustion of the previous fortnight streak of disasters bred mildly numb boredom. Batteries too low to pursue their usual hobbies, they gravitated to the lounge.

Scott was ever at the desk with holo screens full of quarterly budget reports, because their biggest brother did stock market numbers for LEISURE, apparently. Virgil was playing, as usual, but the music was slowly fading to a halt. Alan was gaming, or pretending to be while napping, his VR goggles on. Kayo was going through some specs, half leaning on the couch cushions. Even John was in a quiet lull up in orbit, his hologram just bobbing at the comms unit, hanging out with everybody, but not really a part of any conversation.

That left Gordon scralling lazily through newsreels. The sudden yelp sent Alan tumbling on the floor and Scott at least half an inch closer to a cardiac arrest under thirty. A keen observer would have noticed Kayo reaching for a knife in the ankle holster. The piano music keened on an abrupt note and stopped. Several pairs of VERY unamused eyes stared Gordon down.

The Fish was on his feet already, bursting with excitement, sending the news holo to the center of the lounge.

"Did you guys know Fischler has a brother?!?!"

The assorted grumps and groans across the lounge indicated that they not only didn't know, but weren't in the least thrilled by that information.

Only John and Kayo shared a quiet look, because OF COURSE they would know.

Gordon surveyed the lounge in triumph, setting the stage for a punchline.

"He has a brother and he's getting married!"

"Who, Fischler?"

Alan was still scrambling up from his hardwood landing and making a show of rubbing an ouchie. Scott at least looked ready to switch gears to the full "hurt brother!" mode. Gordon was not deterred.

"No, dummy, not Fischer! His brother is getting married!"

"And that's any of our business how?"

Alan was still not ready to relinquish attention from his boo-boo. Not with so many big brothers in attendance. But John, Kayo and Virgil were already sharing concerned LOOKS.

Any widely publicized event with cameras rolling and hundreds in attendance, involving Fischler, could potentially turn into a showcase of his latest "invention", or ten. Which would mean potential casualties and work for IR. They would need to be on the look-out and on standby. Scott waved at the comm to get the volume up.

The holo displayed a close pic of a younger and significantly more polished version of Langstrom Fischler, hair sleecked back, but a weaselly smile just a tad on the manic side.

The celebrity news anchor was gushing about a "dashing fresh face on the World Senate, a philanthropist and patron of innovation, a devoted brother and a consummate athlete, setting off to be a force of a positive change in the world" and "his drop dead gorgeous fiancée, a once Miss Brazil runner-up, who dedicated herself to the selfless life of service, decorated for honor and courage".

The picture on the screen changed to an official GDF snapshot of a tall young brunette in dress blues. The insignia on the collar indicated the rank of Captain and breastplanks - several high ranking awards for valor. The picture switched to a series of candid paparazzi snaps of the "happy couple".

The show host droned on with one corny cliche after another about the "match made of dreams" and a " high profile dream wedding" scheduled to take place on a cozy remote island.

Gordon interrupted the stream of saccharine platitudes:

"Huh? How come we're not invited? Scott, you know like everyone in the World Senate!"

His voice was drowned out by the deafening snap of the metal stylus, broken in Scott's fingers. The sound of the desk chair hitting the floor, as Scott stood up and all but ran from the lounge, was even louder.

"Huh?!"

Gordon, yet again, surmised the bewilderment of everyone present.

Jade eyes squinted a fraction as Kayo watched Scott's outburst and hasty retreat.

Virgil was half out to follow Scott, when a ping came through on Gordon's comm. The sign flashed pink.

"Yay! Looks like I'm going after all! Penny needs a plus one! John, can I borrow your tax?!"

John half waved his brother off, brows furrowed and hands already flying over invisible files, when another pink ping came through. It was Kayo's turn for a "Huh?" moment.

"Looks like Penny needs a plus two, as well. I'm invited".

That deflated Gordon's initial excitement enough to notice Virgil leaving in the general direction of Dad's office, where Scott had locked himself.

Before Virgil reached the door to try and reason with big brother to talk about... whatever that was, John sent two files to his comm.

One - a picture they all saw a hundred times on Dad's desk back in Kansas, but it didn't compute out of context. Scott's Airgroup Wing after a training flight. All hugging and laughing, still in flightsuits. Scott and the girl from the news today - Fischler Jr.'s fiancée - at the center.

The other Virgil never saw before. It would figure since it was a screenshot from, what he recognized with some dread, was Dad's old phone. There was a picture sent to a private chat with Dad of the same girl, in a sundress, and Scott in a polo shirt, apparently both on leave. An almost ten years younger Scott was smiling like he could power up a sun. The message to Dad read "SHE SAID YES!!!".

The date of the message indicated about a month and a half before Scott's mission to Bereznik.

Virgil sank to the floor, leaning on the wall, never going through with the knock on the locked office door.

***

It was such an unbelievable cliché it felt surreal. The thunderstorm, the lightning, the lash of downpour across his face. Then again, it was fitting, as his world was going crashing down around him. Yet again.

There was nothing surreal about the hard edges of Mom's ring she just gave him back.

For about six weeks he was the happiest man alive. Dad's IR project was well underway, and he was to share that dream not only with Dad and brothers, but with the love of his life. He should have known better...

The words were real too - hard and ruthless. About Dad yanking his leash, and expecting nothing but dutiful following in his footsteps and his vision, concealed by his looming shadow, and giving up what they both dreamed about and worked so hard for - test flights, command ranks, career in service.

The echo came back to him often, in one dark hour or another, after his world shattered to pieces yet another time.

Dad voiced his reservations clearly, but did agree to give him Mom's ring. "When you know, you know". Wasn't it how he and Mom got married?

It WAS too soon, they WERE too young, and frateenization within a unit WAS an issue, but with IR lifting off that wasn't to be a problem, once he told her the full scale of the classified project. He should have known better...

He last remembered the ring yanked off his neck with the dogtags chain by a smirking Berezniki guard.

He put up a hell of a fight for that and was beaten within an inch of his life. The first time.

Next time he found it, inexplicably, in Dad's safe on the island, after the search for Zero-X was called off. He meant to ask Kyrano, as he wasn't conscious or coherent enough for the extraction op, or for months after, but the man never returned his calls anymore, sending in a resignation after half a year of following leads on the Hood.

There wasn't much room in his mind or hours in his days to give it more thought for years after. Or more pieces for his heart to break into. He should have known better.

And now she was getting married. To someone bright and promising, changing the world for the better, who wasn't him. The story of his life!

He should have known better as well.

The sound of glass shattering against the wall and a visceral scream finally sent Virgil in, wild-eyed, breaking past the lock.

***

John lifted an eyebrow in a perfect quizzical arch, putting the tablet down, as the "wedding party" poured, or rather, limped into the lounge.

Gordon's tuxedo sleeve was torn clear off, his bowtie, undone, served as a makeshift tourniquet. Parker sported cuts, bruises and a glorious shiner. Penelope's elaborate updo was in disarray, one heel of a golden pump broken. Kayo's slip dress hem was torn, exposing a garter holster.

As John hurried to the kitchen for the first aid kit, he heard her hiss something to the effect of "You should have seen the other guys".

The villa was quiet. Grandma had Alan on the mainland for the weekend. Virgil chased Scott up the volcano. There was a good chance biggest brother and his stormy mood was best quarantined at the Round House for the rest of the day.

John was waiting in the lounge for the fallout, one way or another. He wasn't quite prepared for the sight on display, handing out ice packs.

Gordon hissed too and bit off a curse, as John set about cleaning the bullet graze on his arm.

"Pen, do all your friends whip out a standard issue gun at the altar and read the groom Miranda rights instead of vows?"

Lady Penelope was busy trying to look poised while breaking the second heel off a designer pump, to make them even.

"It was a deep undercover mission to round up a drug and slave trafficking ring. A destination wedding was a most fortunate venue for the occasion."

Kayo looked up from the kitchen isle at that, not pausing to stop extracting a considerable arsenal of throw-knives from her bodice.

"Looks like the Fischler brothers were bankrolled by mafia. The crazy inventions AND the World Senate election. In exchange for some... perks."

Kayo snorted and went back to her inventory of weapons.

Gordon perked up as the anesthetic cream kicked in and forgot to NOT wave the injured hand around to assist his narrative.

"It was actually kinda cool! The bride barked out "Hands up!" instead of "I do"! The bridesmaids all dropped their bouquets and brandished guns. The bridal party were all Organized Crime and Counterterrorism. Well, and us... A little  heads up wouldn't have hurt, Penny. Then all hell broke loose. Rose petals and confetti everywhere. You should have seen Fischler's face!"

Gordon was nearly flailing with excitement, so John's hands pushed him mildly back into the seat. Turquoise eyes found Penelope's line of sight, studiously avoiding Kayo:

"So... no wedding?"

"No wedding indeed."

Up on the Tracy Volcano Virgil's comm vibrated, switched to silent mode hours ago. John's message read "No wedding."

Virgil exhaled a sigh, but didn't yet know how to break the subject with a brother, seated next to him on the sun-warmed boulder, overlooking the ocean. Blue eyes were fixed on a point far away in the distance, or maybe far away in the past, Scott still wouldn't talk about. 

[mariacallous]

We are seeing a worrisome rise in mental distress among young people in the U.S., a trend that began in 2011. Various studies show that young people are now the country’s most unhappy demographic, with unprecedented increases in anxiety, depression, and suicide. In a recent ranking of happiness in countries around the world, American young people came in at 62, behind Bulgaria, Ecuador, and Honduras.  

What explains this rise? The usual sources of blame are all too familiar: smart phones, pandemic precautions, and declining church attendance, among others. In addition, political polarization, toxic debates, and misinformation increasingly influence our civic discourse and discourage the young from participating in civic life. There is also a stigma against admitting emotional problems—particularly for males—and a shortage of affordable mental-health treatments when people do.

Yet the root causes for this crisis run deeper. They include rising education costs, uncertain employment prospects and declining wages, particularly for those without a college degree, and the absence of a sense of community in many places. In a recent Brookings paper economists Anne Case and Angus Deaton found that the life expectancy for the college educated in 2021 was eight-and-a-half years longer than for the two-thirds of American adults without a bachelor’s degree—more than triple the gap in 1992. Most of the jobs available to those without a B.A. do not offer health insurance, part of the explanation for the mortality gap. These trends result in losses in human welfare and productive potential. They also exacerbate the uncertainty many young people feel about their futures.

While there is no magic bullet for this crisis, most suggested policies focus on better regulation of social media, programs that support civic engagement among youth, and better mental health care access. But an important and underreported part of the solution is restoring hope. The crisis stems in significant part from a lack of hope that often is fueled by a sense that higher education—and the economic and life expectancy benefits it brings—is beyond reach of many. My research finds strong linkages between hope and better long-term outcomes in education, health, and mental well-being, with hope more important to better outcomes of those with limited access to post-high school education and mentorship.

My recent research on populations and places vulnerable to misinformation, for example, finds that they share two linked challenges: the lack of opportunities for higher or vocational education and community-wide despair (and related deaths), with young people lacking a pathway to a better future particularly vulnerable. Solutions on the education front not only require reducing costs and increasing access to post-high school education opportunities but mentorship that supports young adults seeking more education to achieve their aspirations and suggest pathways to the kinds of employment opportunities that can give them better future lives.

Jose Santana’s story is telling. In early 2022 he was thinking about dropping out of his Bronx high school. He simply did not see a purpose in going to college. That changed the summer after he participated in Youthful Savings, a New York and Santa Monica-based program that educates low-income students in middle and high schools about economics and entrepreneurship, mental well-being, and ethical business. After completing the program, he started his own business, helping young entrepreneurs better organize and utilize web and graphic design tools. Jose earned his high school diploma this June and plans to major in business at Andrews University in Michigan.

While Jose believes the skills that he learned were valuable, what most influenced him was the mentorship he received from the program’s founder, Somya Munjal, who is a champion of educating youth about financial literacy. She shared with Jose her own struggles to pay for college and business school and how that led to what she does to support low-income youth get ahead.

On the surface, Youthful Savings may not look like a way of alleviating the mental health crisis that is plaguing American youth. Yet the program is part of a proliferating trend that has the potential to bolster young people’s mental well-being while fostering their immediate goals of acquiring more education. Somya’s ability to expand Youthful Savings was supported by Civic Wellbeing Partners, an initiative which facilitates opportunities for the young and supports well-being in low-income populations.

Somya grew up in Chicago, the child of Indian immigrants. From the time Somya was in high school, influenced by her parents’ struggles, she worked 40 hours every week. Given her strong performance in school, her parents dreamed of her attending Harvard but lost their savings during the 2001 recession. She attended Northern Illinois University, majoring in accounting. She was frustrated with her studies until she found her passion in a class about the role of education as a change agent. In Jose’s words: “Hearing Somya’s story … inspired me to continue and stay in higher education.”

Macomb Community College (MCC) outside Detroit provides another example of how to support young people in school and train them for meaningful work. The college pairs every incoming student with a mentor, which ensures that even those who need help or counseling but are reluctant to ask for it get ready assistance. Its university hub—founded in 1991—hosts several Michigan universities offering courses on its campus, providing students a more affordable route for gaining credits towards their degrees. Roughly 65% of transfer students from Macomb, many of whom remain on the home campus to get their degrees from the partner schools, complete a bachelor’s degree.

The hub—the first of its kind—has since been replicated by several other community colleges around the country, such as Lorain (Ohio) and Temple College (Austin). While some modalities have changed due to the increase of online learning, an important focus continues to be streamlining the pathway from associate to bachelor-degree completion to eliminate waste of time and money.

Macomb County, traditionally a political hotbed, has a population that is divided by three very different populations: retired autoworkers, a historically discriminated African American Community, and an influx of new immigrants. The Legacy Project at MCC invests in the civic engagement of these communities as a source of learning, credible information, and reasoned discussion. Jim Jacobs, president emeritus and legacy founder, noted that “the real value added of community colleges is how well they can convince young people that their aspirations for a better a life can be obtained within their communities. It is not only more education—but the belief they can use their skills.”

Communities—and their colleges—are an important source of support for low-income populations and their youth, providing mentorship and employment opportunities, among other things. They also play an important role in stemming the tide of loneliness that is linked to mental illness, as the data from the U.K.’s Campaign to End Loneliness shows.

Dunya Kilano, the daughter of immigrants from Iraq, came to Macomb as a child and later attended the college: “College wasn’t something that felt like a clear pathway for me. I was the first in my family to go. My parents supported me although … they would have been OK if I decided to take over their business instead.” Transferring to Oakland University while still taking courses at Macomb made a four-year degree more affordable. Her college experience laid the groundwork for her career with Face Addiction Now (FAN), a community organization that provides resources, education programs, and hope to those recovering from substance use disorder. “Education …[was] helpful but the connections I made are what led me to the work I do … An advisor suggested I take a social work class; I ended up becoming president of the Social Work Club and received a leadership award. Social work was my calling.”

Another example, focused on middle and high school youth, is the BeeWell initiative in schools and communities in the U.K.’s greater Manchester District. BeeWell introduces skills such as self-esteem, adaptability, and strategies to combat loneliness into school curriculums. It has yielded significant positive effects on both the mental well-being and academic performance of the students.

The combined emphasis on individuals and communities is key to the success of these initiatives. Macomb’s focus on civic engagement helps break down barriers separating the county’s diverse populations and enhances the chance that newly educated youth will live and work there. And communities are becoming a critical part of efforts to address the mental health crisis, as the traditional individual doctor-patient model is unable to keep up with the increasing demand for services.

Reversing the decline in youth mental health and addressing the uncertainties they face are daunting challenges. While we cannot immediately resolve them, providing youth with the skills they need to navigate them is an important step forward. By helping young people gain agency, skills, and connections through education—critical links to better outcomes—these efforts show that restoring hope and improving mental health is not just a pipe dream.

[jayflrt]

i LOVE sunoo don't get me wrong, but i just need to know how he got 1st in the global rankings every vote. he deserves it but i don't remember him getting a lot of screen time! i thought someone like heeseung would be more popular

okay wait i'll give u my take on this as someone whose first iland bias was sunoo 🫣

1. right off the bat in the first episode sunoo was super cheerful and entertaining during everyone's unit entrance performances. and i personally think crown unit did the best and sunoo rlly stole the show with his expressions and vocals

2. he is so CUTE like everything he did was so charming. he was def popular with the korean fans because they love aegyo but i feel like sunoo's one of those idols who can make aegyo not feel cringe for international fans LOL also even when he was in ground he was so funny and lighthearted while still working hard and being competitive. there was this one scene of him complaining about not having much time in the center for a performance so he literally spent all his time in front of the camera perfecting that move and entertaining the viewers which was a rlly smart move

3. i heard this from addy but apparently he blew up for his visuals before iland started when they released the profiles and stuff :') BUT he didn't let anyone write him off as someone who could by with visuals and was consistently in the debut lineup even with the producers, and eventually was the producer's pick to be in enha

4. on that note his singing was sooo good like not many ilanders could hit clean high notes but sunoo was always really good with that. and he's confident about his skills too like when one of the grounders was like "who can even hit those high notes?" for save me and sunoo so casually just went "me" 😭

5. he's surprisingly a very good leader and decision maker. all of his picks for chamber 5 were all calculated, like he didn't just go for people who were consistently ranked high. and he had some sixth sense about sunghoon showing another side during chamber 5 and he fr did 😭😭 not to mention all the chamber 5 unit members debuted 🤭

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

as a disabled person who can't regularly change her sheets and yet somehow manages to *not* be horribly antisemitic on account of the fact that being antisemitic is unrelated to physical ability: thank you very very much for calling that instance of rank ableism what it was, and I'm sorry that person doubled down on their ableism when you went out of your way to be as gentle as possible and take them in the best faith you could. I appreciate you. 💜

yep this is why i said it! those words do not hurt me as a disabled person who struggles immensely with physical hygiene but there's people that can be hurt by that. you deserve to be treated like the human that you are no matter what you may struggle with. even if you can only clean once every five years. also being jewish, esp in a time like now, i understand how important it is to try to bring jews closer to our community rather than pushing them away. mindless acts of hatred just make disabled jews and other jews with intersecting identities feel unwelcome.

i could probably argue with this person more and waste time on that but i wont because ive already said my point. if they wanna continue to be full of anger and hatred then that's on them.

plus that comment also is a misrepresentation of how antisemitism functions but that's a whole different subject. it reads like antisemites act that way because theyre just too stupid or helpless to know otherwise, rather than it being a systemic issue heavily ingrained in global culture that can affect even people who are outwardly intelligent and well put together.

yeah sure we can all be assholes to each other! why should we though?? what do we gain from that besides a fleeting sense of power over someone?? when this person is inevitably disabled someday i hope someone shows them the kindess that they refuse to show disabled people now

[starkraivennemad]

Wide Awake With The Beginning

It was one in the morning when Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade sent his partner Sargent Sally Donovan home. Unfortunately, he woke up at his desk nearly two hours later.

God, you’re starting to get too old for these late nights, Greg my boy. Starting to? Shaddup!

As always, before he went home for the night, he did his nightly checks.

Sherlock Holmes would be annoyed should he ever find out; Greg did not care.

Watson would semi-jokingly accuse him of spying, but the good doctor had long ago resigned himself to the facts of hidden cameras in his life.

Anthea would say he was being a ridiculous mother hen, but he knew she was the reason he was allowed it.

He needed to know where people were before he could go home and lay his own head down.

He pulled out his tablet, checking both GPS and cameras.

His sisters were in their respective homes with their families, asleep as most people would be that time of morning.

There were no visual cameras at Anthea’s on purpose. Mycroft had informed him of the time he found grounded-up camera pieces silently served with his morning tea. That politely dissuaded him from doing such again, but the thermal imaging was allowed to remain as a compromise. Greg only had access to her phone GPS, thank goodness - because he did not want to imagine what she would feed him in vengeance if he had visuals.

At Baker Street, Watson was also asleep, but Sherlock puttered about the kitchen. Sherlock’s focus was on what seemed to be entrails dangling from tongs. Greg mentally shuddered at whatever insane experiment the genius was about. No surprise that Sherlock was awake. His sleeping habits, though much improved since sharing a flat with Watson, were still deplorable.

Pot-Kettle Greg, leaving work at near three. He chastised himself as he closed that tab and opened the final one. A tab he noticed was added a year ago, and not by him, for someone revered with as much importance as the previous.

Mycroft Holmes.

Uber intelligent. Enigmatic. Posh. Mycroft was a reserved man, many thought of as cold - and he is, especially to those who do not get the honor to know the true him. To the few of the public that see him regularly he is a cold exacting man. One who does occupy a minor office with the British government - he even has an official ID, paperwork, and occasional meetings to prove it. It a far cry from his true occupation as political analyst who wielded immense power in his manicured hands. Power that has caused royalty, dictators, and other high-ranking people in global politics to take heed – or else. Over the years Greg has been blessed to see the dry biting wit. The little quiet ways Mycroft shows his care for his parents and Anthea. The loving exasperation in how he and his little brother, Sherlock, deal with each other when out of the public eye. Greg knew he was one of the very few graced to know the man beyond the public persona and forged a quiet friendship from what was once a very acrimonious association between them.

Greg knew, originally, he had been tracked simply as another way for Mycroft to potentially locate his brother when Sherlock would cut off all other means of tracking when so inclined, which was often. Like John he had become resigned to his life being somewhat under surveillance by the enigmatic man because of his association with Sherlock.

Greg was eventually given access to the cameras for Sherlock and John as a quid pro quo courtesy. A year ago, he had been given access to Anthea’s GPS - only when she was in London of course -  for when Mycroft is incommunicado, but wanted to secretly let Greg know they were in fact in London without calling unless absolutely needed. It was a surprise to discover when the last tab appeared, and Greg had direct access to Mycroft’s GPS. Again, only when in London, but it was better than being reliant solely on Anthea for emergency contact. He completely understood the level of trust being given to have it and he was honored.

Greg does not know when he added Mycroft to his nightly check routine, but there the man was…

Wait… Why is he there so late…? Oh…

The GPS told Greg where the man was: at his office in Diogenes.

The hidden cameras, the only visual cameras for Mycroft he had been allowed access, told him why he was still there: he had fallen asleep at his desk.

Oh, that cannot be good for his back.

Mycroft, always impeccably dressed, had removed his jacket in the privacy of his office. It was the first time Greg has seen him so and Greg almost felt he was spying on something illicit as he watched the gentle rise and fall of the man’s body in slumber.

You work so hard Mycroft, taking care of the world. Who takes care of you?

It was not the first time Greg has had that thought.

Would you let me take care of you?

Nor was it the first time Greg has had that thought. Read rest the on AO3...

Mystrade Monday Prompt #73 For January 22, 2024 - "You know that’s not the case.”

[beardedmrbean]

The 19th century Austrian socialist Ferdinand Kronawetter once remarked, "Antisemitism is the socialism of idiots." He was not wrong, but I believe even he would have been surprised that most of these idiots are either celebrities or attend the West's most prestigious educational institutions.

From Greta Thunberg to Harvard yard, you can barely throw a stone without hitting someone holding an anti-Israel rally. Apparently, we also have normalized Jewish students needing to be locked up in university libraries for their own "safety," or the BBC regularly publishing blood libels, first about a supposed bombardment of a hospital in Gaza by Israeli forces, and a few weeks later with the claim that Israeli Defence Forces are intentionally targeting medical personnel and Arabic speakers.

But even that is, in fact, old news: In January 2009, the French public broadcaster France-2 aired footage of Palestinians killed in an Israeli air raid on New Year's Day. As it turned out, however, the recording was from 2005 and not 2009, and the victims were not killed by the IDF but an "accident" of Hamas explosives detonating prematurely. And on it goes: Recently, pictures showing the carnage inflicted on the Syrian people by the Assad regime made the rounds claiming to show destruction in Gaza.

Who needs the "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion" when you have the mainstream media?

Sometimes it seems as if no ideology evolves as quickly as antisemitism: Before Israel, the Jews where hated for being rootless and without national allegiances. Now that they have a state, they are hated for that. And if the last Jew were to leave the Middle East tomorrow, some other reason would be found to justify Jew-hatred.

In fact, after 1948, Jews had to leave most of the Middle East and North Africa: Once thriving communities from Morocco to Iraq ceased to exist after the regimes of these countries drove out their Jewish populations. Many of them moved to Israel, the only state in the region that actually allows Muslim Arabs and Jews to live side-by-side.

Alas, if you are Jewish, it is never enough: Unless all of the Middle East is "Judenfrei," the Jews will always be painted as oppressors and everyone else as oppressed.

So in some ways, it's not surprising to see antisemitism thrive in the ranks of the global leftist elite. When global climate celebrity Greta Thunberg blabberers on about "no climate justice on occupied land," she is only revealing the next iteration of Jew hate. It turns out that for the "environmental movement," the solution to the "Jewish Question" seems to be more important than addressing climate change.

Similarly, in the famously tolerant Netherlands where government advisors are openly pushing for the normalization of paedophilia, the line needs to be drawn somewhere: Several filmmakers pulled out of the International Documentary Festival in Amsterdam after the organizers refused to allow their stage to be used for promoting the eradication of Israel.

Pot, porn, and paedophilia are all a go for the Dutch, but being pro-Israel? One should be careful not to go too far!

Another turn-of-the-century Austrian who would have a lot to say about this would probably be Sigmund Freud: If the West is suffering from the pathologies of historical guilt for all the alleged sins of its past, Israel and the Jews are the favourite object of projection. If the Jews are as bad as the Nazis and European colonialists, then opposing them is like re-running history, but this time those Westerners on college campuses can finally be on the side of the oppressed.

Both Israel and the Palestinians are just extras in an exercise of excessive narcissism that allows one to stand "on the right side of history" and virtue signal at no cost. Of course, this doesn't apply when Arabs are slaughtering Arabs. There were no protests for the peoples of Syria or Yemen or when ISIS was committing an actual genocide against the Yazidis.

That's what this all comes down to: a rewriting of history so that the Jews' oppressors can absolve themselves of guilt and claim to be the oppressed. During the Holocaust, the Jews experienced the worst that men can do to their fellow man, and many in the West are itching for the opportunity to find historic salvation in creating a moral equivalence between the Nazis and the state of Israel.

Neither Greta Thunberg nor her acolytes have any clue about Middle Eastern or Jewish history, because it is not about that—just as her climate activism was never about climate, but the usual Leftist tropes from colonialism to social justice.

In 1968, Eric Hoffer wrote about a premonition that would not leave him: "As it goes with Israel, so will it go with all of us. Should Israel perish, the Holocaust will be upon us." After all we have seen in recent weeks in in Western capitals and college campuses, I am afraid that he was right.

[solarwynd]

With that anon on the IFPI ranking means that he did not accomplished the "Global Pop Star" status that Army in propagating 😐 too bad he had to enlist after that massive promo that he got. to think he had the chairman of hybe and his a&r is the ceo of hybe america 🙃

Well to me, that “global pop star” title has more to do with impact rather than equating it to a factor of ranking high on IFPI. (K-pop groups no one cares about rank high on those charts) Success is still a factor, obviously, and objectively he has that. Him not ranking higher is still odd though considering they did everything to make sure seven was super successful. The most successful song of last year even, yet other songs outcharted.

And enlistment isn’t gonna hinder Scooter or bang from promoting jk. That’s evident by the drawn out usher collab for SNTY plus the CK global campaign they have lined up for him rn. They can’t risk him *not* constantly being in public eye because they need his image and name out there. Which actually shows the lack of impact that he left to live up to said “global pop boy” title

[knowledgdenext]

Understanding Google Algorithm Updates: What You Need to Know

Google is the most dominant search engine in the world, handling over 90% of global searches. One of the key reasons behind its success is its ever-evolving search algorithm. Google constantly refines its search engine algorithms to ensure that users get the most relevant, high-quality results for their queries. But what exactly are Google algorithm updates, and why should you care? More importantly, how can businesses and digital marketers adapt to these updates and stay ahead in SEO?

In this article, we’ll dive into the history of Google algorithm updates, explore some of the most impactful updates, and offer insights on how to optimize your website for these changes. Plus, if you’re looking to become an SEO expert, we’ll show you why joining CADL’s SEO courses in Zirakpur is the perfect way to learn everything you need about mastering Google algorithms.

1. What Is a Google Algorithm Update?

Google’s search algorithm is a complex system used to rank websites and deliver the most relevant search results to users. It takes into account various factors such as the quality of the content, relevance to the search query, page speed, mobile-friendliness, backlinks, and user engagement.

Google regularly updates its algorithm to improve the accuracy and quality of its search results. Some of these updates are minor and go unnoticed by most, while others can significantly impact website rankings. These updates aim to enhance the user experience by filtering out low-quality content and rewarding websites that provide real value.

Key Insight:

Google's algorithm is constantly evolving. By joining CADL's SEO course in Zirakpur, you’ll learn how to optimize your website to meet the changing demands of the algorithm and stay competitive in the digital landscape.

2. History of Google Algorithm Updates

Over the years, Google has rolled out several significant algorithm updates, each with a specific goal in mind. Some of these updates have become famous for the dramatic impact they’ve had on search rankings. Understanding these updates is crucial for any SEO professional.

Here are some of the most impactful updates in Google's history:

a. Panda (2011)

The Panda update was introduced to reduce the rankings of low-quality sites, such as those with thin or duplicate content. It focused on improving search results by promoting high-quality, valuable content and penalizing sites with too many ads, low word count, or keyword stuffing.

b. Penguin (2012)

Penguin targeted spammy link-building practices. Sites that engaged in black-hat SEO techniques, such as buying backlinks or participating in link schemes, saw a sharp drop in their rankings. This update emphasized the importance of natural, high-quality backlinks in improving SEO rankings.

c. Hummingbird (2013)

The Hummingbird update brought a shift towards understanding the meaning behind search queries rather than just matching keywords. Google started to emphasize “semantic search,” which aimed to understand the context and intent behind user searches. This made Google better at answering questions directly and delivering more accurate results.

d. Mobilegeddon (2015)

With mobile search growing rapidly, Google rolled out the Mobilegeddon update to prioritize mobile-friendly websites in search results. Websites that were not optimized for mobile devices saw their rankings decline, while responsive sites got a boost.

e. RankBrain (2015)

RankBrain introduced machine learning into Google’s algorithm. It helped Google better understand ambiguous or complex search queries by identifying patterns in how users interact with search results. RankBrain is now considered one of the top ranking factors.

f. BERT (2019)

BERT (Bidirectional Encoder Representations from Transformers) is an update aimed at better understanding the nuances and context of words in search queries. It allows Google to interpret the meaning behind user queries more effectively, particularly for long-tail keywords or natural language searches.

3. Why Google Updates Matter for SEO

Google algorithm updates are designed to improve the user experience, but they can also cause significant fluctuations in website rankings. SEO professionals need to be aware of these updates to ensure their strategies align with Google’s goals. When an algorithm update rolls out, some websites might see a boost in rankings, while others may experience a drop.

Why Do Google Algorithm Updates Matter?

Maintaining or Improving Rankings: A new update might penalize websites with poor content or shady link-building practices, while rewarding those with high-quality, relevant content. If you're not keeping up with updates, your website may lose visibility and organic traffic.

Adapting SEO Strategies: Each algorithm update comes with new guidelines. For example, after the Penguin update, websites had to shift away from spammy backlinks and focus on building genuine, authoritative links. Not staying informed means you could be optimizing your website incorrectly.

Enhancing User Experience: Google’s updates are always focused on improving the user experience. By aligning your website with Google’s vision, you’re also ensuring that users have a better experience when they visit your site.

Key Insight:

Staying on top of algorithm updates is essential for anyone involved in SEO. CADL’s SEO training in Zirakpur will give you the knowledge to understand and adapt to these changes, keeping your website ahead of the competition.

4. How to Adapt to Google Algorithm Updates

Now that you understand the importance of Google algorithm updates, the next step is learning how to adapt. Here are some strategies to ensure your SEO practices remain up-to-date and effective:

a. Create High-Quality Content

Google's ultimate goal is to provide users with the most relevant and valuable content. Focus on creating in-depth, informative, and engaging content that answers users' questions and solves their problems. Avoid thin content, keyword stuffing, and duplicate pages, as these can negatively impact your rankings.

b. Focus on User Intent

With updates like Hummingbird and RankBrain, Google is increasingly focusing on understanding user intent rather than just matching keywords. When developing content, think about what users are looking for and how you can meet their needs. Answer common questions, provide solutions, and offer valuable insights.

c. Optimize for Mobile

With the Mobilegeddon update and the rise of mobile-first indexing, having a mobile-friendly website is no longer optional. Ensure your site is responsive, loads quickly, and provides a smooth user experience on all devices.

d. Build High-Quality Backlinks

Backlinks remain one of the most important ranking factors, but quality matters more than quantity. Focus on earning backlinks from authoritative, reputable websites in your industry. Avoid participating in link schemes or buying backlinks, as these practices can lead to penalties under updates like Penguin.

e. Monitor Your Analytics

After every algorithm update, it's essential to monitor your website's analytics to identify any changes in traffic, rankings, or user behavior. If you notice a drop in traffic or rankings, investigate whether your site is affected by the update and adjust your SEO strategy accordingly.

f. Stay Informed

SEO is an ever-evolving field, and staying informed about Google algorithm updates is crucial. Regularly read SEO blogs, attend webinars, and join online communities to stay updated on the latest changes and trends. At CADL, you’ll gain access to resources and training that will keep you on top of every important SEO update.

5. How CADL’s SEO Course Can Help You Stay Ahead

As Google continues to refine its algorithm, SEO professionals need to be proactive in adapting to these changes. Whether you're just starting in the field or looking to improve your existing SEO skills, joining CADL's SEO course in Zirakpur is the ideal way to master the strategies necessary for success.

Here’s what you can expect from CADL’s SEO training:

Comprehensive Curriculum: Learn everything from the basics of SEO to advanced techniques for optimizing content, backlinks, and technical SEO.

Real-Time Updates: Stay updated with the latest Google algorithm changes and learn how to implement the best practices that align with these updates.

Hands-On Learning: CADL provides practical, hands-on experience, allowing you to apply what you’ve learned to real-world SEO scenarios.

Expert Guidance: Get guidance from experienced SEO professionals who will help you understand the intricacies of Google’s algorithm and how to work with it, not against it.

Conclusion

Google algorithm updates are an integral part of the SEO landscape, and keeping up with them is essential for maintaining and improving your website’s rankings. From Panda and Penguin to RankBrain and BERT, Google’s updates have transformed the way websites are ranked, putting user experience at the forefront.

If you’re serious about excelling in SEO and staying ahead of the competition, joining CADL’s SEO course in Zirakpur is the best decision you can make. You'll gain the skills and knowledge needed to navigate Google's ever-evolving algorithm, ensuring long-term success in the digital marketing world.