#of backlog for two companies

[ceasarslegion]

My rambley raccoon came in!

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pictures and things

[aqueousablution]

(September 2024) Two of them

Two of them

(I fully blame @doodlemancy's word choice for this drawing and definitely not my own fondness for the "two of them" meme, definitely her fault, she made me do this. Telepathically or something. 100%.) #(I don't think Sykes's burns are as visible as they should be to make him recognizable but I made an attempt)

[chameleon-sting]

the funniest thing about my experience with hades i think is how my feelings toward zagreus immediately went from "[grips desk with force enough to compress stars into atoms] I need something unspeakable to occur." to "he is my friend and i like him and he is my friend and i want good things to happen to him he is a good person and he is my friend :]" upon exposure to his actual character rather than constructing something with literally only this specific image and the hair flip from that trailer as my reference points for him for like two years

[legendary-guest]

I can second this, well, mostly from the perspective of having read Bad is Good and Good is Bad and The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie and enjoying them thoroughly. Really fantastic building blocks in-place for a young Shego, just great. The two stories linked, prequels to The Company You Keep, are Shego-centric and explore the formation of her hero identity from its inception to its destruction, essentially. Something that I really appreciate, too, is that young Drakken is very ambitious, but not only that, he's also distinctly creepy, unsavoury, serving as the very last push that Shego needs to exit heroism and enter villainy. He is also her safety net, unknowingly. It's this fine balance, on a really precarious edge. Her dynamic with her family is strained, you feel the pressure and burn out, even in just six chapters. It's this powder keg, ready to blow. I particularly love her exit in The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie, that was a great way to end the story, very memorable. I really recommend, at least the prequels, to lovers of Shego-centric angst and inner turmoil. I would also recommend to people who love more serious, dangerous takes on the series and the pairing. Really great writing, not just in terms of content, but prose, too.

Hey, so I just discovered your The Company You Keep series on Ao3 a few days ago and it has massively overtaken all of my free time. I rush to finish my homework so I can devour another chapter. I'm really trying to pace myself and not spam you with comments on Ao3 but these are honestly the best Drakgo fics I've read (and I've combed through quite a bit in my few weeks hyperfixating on this pairing). You write Shego so well. I love seeing hints of the competent, fully realized woman that she is in her young, brash, wild teen years. My favorite thing about how you write her is that you don't brush over her hero background at all. I truly see the conflict within her. She's wrestling with herself like her duties to her family and her yearning for freedom. You just portray her falling into the allure of villainy so deliciously well. I feel so bad that I wasn't around and reading this while you were writing it in 2019. I would've been one of your regular readers cheerleading you on, chapter by chapter. I understand that you lost your motivation to write more for this verse since the fandom is quite old and inactive. But what you've put out is amazing and so well written, I'll come back to it for years to come, I just know it.

…oh i should check my ao3 email…. so it turns out I'm naming my first born after you

alsdfugh you say such nice things klsdufgh Thank you!!! I'm glad you enjoy it! Makes me so happy I can't put it into words. I cried. I do still love TCYK and wish to continue it someday, but a lack of time and energy to devote to it put a damper on it. I'll probably cycle back eventually, but I'll be thinking of you! ;O;

[shatterdome-underscore]

I keep thinking about how wild the Watcher trying to be Dropout thing is because like, Dropout working at all was a miracle in itself. Dropout came from the ashes of a 20+ year old company getting torpedoed right before the pandemic. They had much more content, much more talent, and what appears to be lower production values, a massive backlog of stuff, and still produce free content. Also, everyone knew Dropout was a hail Mary play to save a company and a dozen or so people's careers while the Watcher thing came on the heels of them announcing they hired more people to eat gold plated food and plan on taking trips to Europe. I don't think Dropout was even profitable for the first year or two? Literally what were they thinking? I know YouTube is making it harder to earn money but Dropout came from such a specific set of circumstances that it's not really possible to emulate its path.

[reiderwriter]

At Long Last Love Has Arrived

Final Chapter of That's What You Get

Summary: After a hard case, the team gathers in a celebration of love and friendship.

Warnings: suggestive content, no smut. Spoilers for Seaaon 7 Episodes "Hit" and "Run."

A/N: This is it! This is the final chapter! It's been a long journey and I'm so thankful to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged, and generally followed along with the story! And to anyone who is here now that it's finished: Thank you as well! For now, this is everything I have planned for this series, but I might add a few epilogues a few months down the line!

For everyone waiting for my last week of kinktober content, thank you for being so patient! I'm hoping to get it all finished and the backlog up this weekend, so let's just count this as a super special weekend special!

As always, you can find my masterlist here and the series masterlist here!

It was late in the day when the case finally wrapped, and you'd never felt more relieved to have come out of a case unscathed. 

JJ was a wreck, obviously, having had her family targeted and believing on multiple occasions that she was about to lose her partner. Emily was acting strange, too, and you were growing more concerned with her, especially after she'd put herself in harm's way to save Will. 

The team was exhausted, and you gladly slunked away that night, practically falling into your own apartment as you tried to bury a day of close calls. Spencer followed you, of course. The two of you sat silently together after the days events, just thankful to have company, really. 

Your husband (you were still warming yourself up to that title) sat, jaw tensed, on your couch, book in hand and hair a mess as you sat beside him, slowly sinking further into the couch as you thanked the gods that everyone got through that, but especially him. 

"Spencer," you whispered, looking at him to see if he'd notice your small sounds. No reaction.

"Spencer." You tried again, still in a whisper, but he still didn't make a move. Sighing and falling further into the couch, you decided just to go for it and laid your head in his lap quietly, closing your eyes and finding a comfortable position. He didn't bat an eye, though, simply tangling a hand through your hair and gently stroking it until the comforting repetition pulled you into a dreamless slumber. 

He tried to wake you up gently a few hours later, but the shrill ring of his cell interrupted his gentle touches. You gasped and startled up, almost headbutting him but instead ending up face to face, close enough to hear the hitch in his breath as he caught you just before you collided. 

"Sorry… I must've fallen asleep." Your voice was low, mostly because you'd let your gaze fall down to his lips, getting distracted by his proximity. 

"You did." He said, stroking your back and looking just as distracted. 

"We should probably pick that call up, right," you suggested, but you were already being drawn into his orbit, noses practically touching.

"Maybe we should," he replied, but instead of moving to do so, he simply tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and pulled your face up to his. The slant of his lips against yours was calming, so sweet and familiar, and so goddamn good that it helped drown out the pitchy screech of his phone. His hand stayed firmly on your jaw, controlling your movements and showing you exactly what he wanted in these stolen moments.

As the kiss went on, it grew hotter, a gentle flame searing your chest as you begged his lips to put it out, needing more and more of him. His hand left your jaw, falling instead to your ass as he pulled you on top of him fully, letting you straddle him as he kept your lips connected. 

You were entranced, letting him devour you to your heart's content. You wanted to move your hips to feel more of him at your core, but he had a firm grip and wasn't letting you go that easily. 

"Talk about topping from the bottom," you laughed into his ear as you pulled away for a second, pushing your hair behind your ear before he grabbed you and pulled you down for another hungry kiss.

"Don't get bratty, Y/N, we both know you're a pillow princess," you laughed at that and he took advantage, pressing his lips to your neck as he finally let your hips fall to meet his. Your laugh morphed into a hiss as you desperately clung to his shoulders, head thrown back in the bliss of what was to come. 

The ringing had stopped, thankfully, and honestly, it was so far from your mind that you'd almost completely forgotten what had woken you in the first place.

Until it started again, except this time it was vibrations in your pants and you practically moaned out loud before clapping a hand over your mouth and bolting from Spencer's lap, grabbing your phone as fast as you could while Spencer barely contained his enjoyment of the situation. 

"This is Y/N." You said into the receiver as you glared daggers at him. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but considering Doctor Reid just let my call ring out, I think I might have." David Rossi's barely contained mirth was evident even through the phone, and you mouthed some bad words at Spencer as he grabbed you and pulled you down into his lap again. 

"Since that wasn't a question, I won't be dignified it with a response. Is there anything you need, Rossi?" You asked, tipping your head back against Spencer’s shoulder but not letting yourself relax just yet. You'd never be able to live it down if you made any mistakes on this call. 

"Somehow, the knuckleheads around me keep getting engaged and married, and as a generous soul, I find myself wanting to help them." 

"Who got engaged?" You said, suddenly perking up. It'd been a tough day. Some good news and a celebration were direly needed. 

"Relax, I'm getting there. Are you and your now seemingly permanent husband free tomorrow night? A little birdie may have told me about a certain blonde finally giving into a proposal today. That same birdie may also have already flown out a Mrs. Jareau to bare witness."

"David Rossi, has anyone ever told you what a wonderful man you are?" 

"Not enough, I'm sure."

"We'll be there. What time?" He told you the details, and you whispered them into Spencer's ear, knowing that was just as good as jotting it down on paper. 

"And Rossi?" You said, as you were about to say your goodbyes, "thank you. For everything." The call ended and looked back up at Spencer from your place on his lap. 

"I think we have another shotgun wedding to attend." 

–X– 

Waiting for JJ to come down in her wedding dress, you were reminded again of what a truly wonderful choice of husband you had made. 

The two of you had arrived together at the wedding, but had made a small attempt to separate yourselves for now, not wanting to take the attention away from JJ and Will on their big day after their nightmarish week. You'd had a quick wink from Penelope, though, and a wiggle of the eyebrows from Emily, which made you chuckle as she handed you a flute of champagne. 

"You look incredible, Mrs. Reid." She said under her breath, and you giggled a bit but called her off as best you could. 

"Laying low for now, so keep your mouth shut, Agent Prentiss." She stuck her tongue out at you, and the two of you burst into laughter as you enjoyed the peaceful ambience Rossi had created in his back garden. 

"If Rossi ever re-retires, he should think of pursuing a career as a party planner. I know writing is working out well for him, but damn, that man could make a killing." Emily joked, catching your attention for a second, but you were distracted, eyes watching Reid from across the lawn. 

He was crouched down beside Henry, showing the eager, bright-eyed boy a magic trick. He looked so happy, so genuinely engaged with Henry, focusing his entire attention on him, that you couldn't help but watch on fondly. You knew how it felt to have his attention devoted entirely on you, and you felt your skin grow warm as you imagined how he would be with his own children. 

With your children. 

"Looking a little feverish there, Y/N. Baby feverish." In embarrassment, you looked away, letting your eyes fall around the lawn to anything but Reid as you tried to stammer out a response. 

"Whatever could you mean? Oh, would you look at that, Hotch is calling me over, see you." 

A skilful exit it was not, and now you'd forced yourself to go and make awkward conversation with your boss for a few minutes to escape the cackles of laughter escaping Emily behind you. You felt your ears glow red as you slowly marched across the lawn, convinced that someone was going to try and extinguish you before you reached your destination. 

Luckily, Beth saw you approach before Hotchner did and called out to you, extending a smile and a greeting. 

"Y/N, you look lovely. It's great to see you. How have you been?" You exchanged pleasantries and chatted for a while before Hotch cut in again. 

''Beth, I think the ceremony is starting soon. Would you mind finding Jack for me while I discuss something with Y/N?" He dismissed her effortlessly, and you suddenly dreaded the conversation that was about to come, noting your slip up from a few nights before. 

"Y/N, I don't mean to pry, but I've been meaning to ask you about your relationship with Spencer." Your eyes opened wide as you blinked at him again for another second. 

"Hold on, you don't know?" He looked down at you with a furrowed brow, somehow thinking you'd both misunderstood the conversation and where it was headed. 

In all honesty, you'd jumped to the conclusion after his warning over the phone the day before that he'd known about your relationship with Spencer. It didn't really make all that much sense to you, but you thought he must've been your second witness, only because there were very few people with the power to keep Penelope Garcia silent. But now, you wondered if you'd been wrong.

"Don't know what? Y/N, I'm simply asking a question about your physical relationship with Reid and if you think it will color either of your judgements on cases." 

"Physical… oh my god." You begged the earth to swallow you whole at that point. 

"I'm correct in thinking you two had relations whilst we were staying in Las Vegas, am I not?" His brow stayed furrowed as he fished for more information.

"How… How did you know?" 

"Spencer babbled about Star Trek in the lobby that last morning in Vegas. He seemed nervous, and combined with your suspicious attitude, it wasn't exactly a well-kept secret. Plants aren't great hiding spots, Y/N." 

"Oh god," you groaned again, a hand falling to your mouth to cover your shocked face as you took everything in. He'd practically known from the start, even if he hadn't really known. "So you want to know if we can be trusted to stay impartial in the field." 

"Simply put, yes, it is a concern of mine. The FBI technically frowns on casual hookups between employees, but in this case, if you can work professionally-" 

"We're married," you blurted out before you could stop yourself. You almost enjoyed the shock on Aaron Hotchner's face as you dropped that bombshell, as momentary as it was. 

"That certainly��changes things." He considered your words for a moment before opening his mouth again. "We can talk about this in the office on Monday. For now, congratulations are in order." 

As you clicked your glasses together awkwardly, Rossi gathered everyone's attention, ready to begin the ceremony. You took your place next to Spencer and let him grab your hand and squeeze it for a moment, sharing a look before you turned your gaze back to JJ and watched as her mother walked her down the aisle to marry the love of her life. 

His hand in yours was warm and constant, and he held you so softly that you felt like you were floating. He'd been worried that morning that you'd feel slightly forlorn at the wedding ceremony. After all, you didn't have much of one, even if he'd promised you 100 do-overs and vow renewals. 

But standing here with him, you found yourself feeling thankful simply that he was there with you. Your wedding had been perfect, and you gladly applauded JJ and Will as they finally kissed at the altar, wishing them all the bliss that you felt in that moment. 

The party was a blast and you had an amazing time eating, drinking and dancing with all your guests, gladly taking the opportunity to hog Spencer for a few dances, enjoying how you were able to shamelessly cling to him with no one batting an eye. Your joy and laughter spilt out every time he swung you around and pulled you into him, abuzz with love. 

You were almost glad when JJ called you all in for a quick speech, grateful to let your feet have a rest - Spencer may have been dancing enthusiastically, but he was still Spencer, and your toes had been attacked a few times in the course of your few dances. 

"I want to say thank you for coming here tonight, and, of course, thank you, Rossi, for hosting this beautiful wedding. It's not every day we get to celebrate a wedding in the BAU, let alone two in one year, so I'm just thankful we got to come together to celebrate like this." 

Will looked perplexed by her side as she raised her flute to start the toast. 

"Hold on, who else got married?" 

Your eyes widened as you stopped your champagne flute by your lips, suddenly catching on to the thread of conversation. 

"Oh my god, it was you!" You shouted, jumping up and probably confusing every single guest in attendance. "JJ, you- you were the other witness!" You stood there shaking a pointed finger at her, semi shocked. 

"Witness to what?" Morgan asked tentatively, wondering what he'd been left out of for a second. 

"I guess the cats out the bag. Sorry, Spence." 

"Why are you apologising to Spencer? Who got married?" Derek's questions were going unanswered, though, as you blubbered in the middle of the crowd suddenly put the pieces together. 

"You know, the FBI really shot themselves in the foot when they let you go over to Homeland. You're good." You cracked a smile at JJ, and she smiled back, just as you felt a hand on your back. 

"We didn't want to announce it here and hijack your wedding, but since you kinda let it slip first, would you mind if we…?" Spencer vaguely gestured between you, just as JJ let him take the floor, her and Will standing off to the side as Spencer turned the both of you around to face the crowd. 

You tried to meet his gaze as he did  but his eyes stayed trained on the crowd in front of you instead. Still puzzled, he began to talk, and you listened. 

"Last month, we chose to get married in Las Vegas," he started and braced for impact as he looked out at the audience. "And- and it seems like most of you knew that?" He'd theorised that most of your team knew already, but he wasn't prepared for just how many of them stood looking back at him with a sheepish 'yes, we know' look on their faces. 

"Wait, how do so many of you know?" He glanced around the crowd, landing on Rossi's gloating face first. 

"Don't look at me kid, you told me about it, and I kept my mouth shut."

He turned to Emily next. "Y/N sent me a text meant for someone else, and I tortured the information out of her after that." 

Exasperated, he looked down at you before shaking his head and looking at Hotch. 

"I expressed some concerns about your… involvement earlier, and Y/N informed me about your relationship status." He explained, tone serious in that mocking way only he could carry off. 

"And I was there, and so was Penelope." JJ filled in the gaps, leaving you feeling particularly bashful at Spencer’s side.

In a second, though, you were consumed by giggles as Morgan whipped around on Penelope dramatically. 

"Et tu, baby girl? Am I seriously the only one who didn't know?" Morgan glanced around receiving pats on the back from the crowd as they slowly trickled back to the dance floor, picking up extra drinks as they went. 

"No, I'm there with you, Morgan. JJ didn't even tell me you guys were dating." Will said, looking genuinely taken aback once again. 

"Oh, well. That's probably because we didn't actually date. We just got married." You replied, feeling your face flood with heat as you stuttered the words out once again. 

"You're telling me I had to almost die to get JJ to agree to marry me, even after 7 years of dating and a child, and you managed to convince a woman to do it in one night in Vegas?" Will seemed genuinely impressed, and with a laugh, gave Spencer a clap on the back awkwardly as he offered his congratulations. 

Penelope led Morgan away to console him, and the other happy couple walked back to the dance floor again as well, leaving you in the arms of your husband, as you finally had to face your small mistakes. 

"So, Mrs. Reid, whatever happened to keeping this to ourselves for a while?" 

"Honest mistakes, both of them, I swear." He took your hands in his and pulled them up so he could kiss your wrists before gently dropping them and pulling you in at the waist. 

His mouth fell to your ears as he spoke again. 

"And I was so looking forward to using one of the methods we brainstormed the other night." You stood confused for a second as he pulled back to watch your expressions, your mouth twitching the second you realised what he meant. 

Ring. Motel. Loud sex. And breeding you until he knocked you up. 

Clearing your throat, you wrapped your arms up and around his shoulders, hanging yourself off him, putting yourself at his mercy as you fluttered your eyelashes up at him. 

"Well, I wouldn't want to spoil your enjoyment now, would I? I'm sure we can still find the time to try those methods out." 

The excitement in his eyes was almost comical, and you genuinely yelped as he literally swept you off your feet. 

"Spencer, what are you doing? Put me down!" 

"No, you're coming home with me, Mrs. Reid. Sorry, it's official now. You're mine."

"And I'm not going to forget it easily, now put me down." 

"And let you go back on your promise to let me do some very dirty things to you? Never." 

With another startled squeak, he carried you through the crowd and right to the doors, carrying you all the way into your new life together.

At long last, your love had arrived, and he was carrying you away into your future.

🏷 @w-windyy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @daddy-dotcom @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @ghostheartbeat @casss2111 @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @academiacoffeelover @softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @wakaladjarin @ratbastardchild @mcira @danika1994 @stargurl99 @whovianwholikesgirls @whovianwholikesgirls @doriantomybasil

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pinkslump linkdump

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

We're less than a month into 2025 and I'm already overwhelmed by my backlog of links! Herewith, then, is my 25th linkdump post, a grab-bag of artful transitions between miscellaneous subjects. Here's the previous 24:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Last week's big tech event was the Supreme Court giving the go-ahead for Congress to ban Tiktok, because somehow the First Amendment allows the US government to shut down a speech forum if they don't like the content of its messages. From now on, only Mark Zuckerberg and Sundar Pichai and Elon Musk and Tim Cook and the faceless mere centimillionaires running companies like Match.com will be able to directly harvest Americans' most private, sensitive kompromat. The People's Liberation Army will have to build their dossiers on Americans' lives the old fashioned way: by paying unregulated data-brokers who will sell any fact about you to anyone and who know everything about everyone.

After all, the reason the American market matters so much to Tiktok is that America is the only rich, populous country in the world without a federal privacy law. That's why an American is the most valuable user an ad-tech company can acquire. Keep your wealthy Norwegians: sure, they're saturated in oil money and thus fat prizes for ad-targeting, but they're also protected by the GDPR.

If you're an American (or anyone else, for that matter) who wants to use Tiktok without being spied on, Privacysafe has you covered: their Sticktock tool is a private, alternative, web-based front-end for Tiktok, with optional Tor VPN tunnelling:

https://sticktock.com/

As Privacysafe's Sean O'Brien explains, Sticktock is an free/open utility that's dead easy to use. Just change the URL of any Tiktok video from tiktok.com/whatever to sticktock.com/whatever, and you're have a private viewing experience that easily penetrates the Great Firewall of America:

https://bitsontape.com/p/sticktock-share-tiktok-videos

O'Brien – founder of the Yale Privacy Lab – writes that Privacysafe built this because they wanted to help Americans continue to access the great volume of speech on Tiktok, and because they knew that Americans would be using ad-supported, spyware-riddled VPNs to evade the Great Firewall.

Sticktock is a great hack, but it only defends your privacy while you're using Tiktok. For other social media, you'll need to try something else. For example, Mark Zuckerberg is the last person you want to entrust with your data, and always has been. Never forget that as soon as Zuckerberg's Harvard-based nonconsensual fuckability-rating service TheFacebook was up and running, he started offering copies of all his users' data as a flex to his buds:

Yeah so if you ever need info about anyone at Harvard Just ask I have over 4,000 emails, pictures, addresses, SNS

What? How'd you manage that one?

People just submitted it. I don't know why. They "trust me" Dumb fucks

Don't be a dumb fuck! Lots of people can't manage to leave Meta platforms because they love the people there more than they hate Mark Zuckerberg, and Zuck knows it, which is why he keeps turning the screws on his users. That doesn't mean there's nothing you can do. Over the years, various law enforcement and regulatory agencies have forced Meta to add privacy controls to its services, and though the company has implemented these as a baroque maze of twisty little malicious compliance passages, all alike, it is possible to lock down your data if you try hard enough. My EFF colleague Lena Cohen has a walkthrough of Meta's privacy settings, AKA the world's worst dungeon crawler, which will see you through safely:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2025/01/mad-meta-dont-let-them-collect-and-monetize-your-personal-data

If this kind of thing interests you, you can spend a whole weekend learning about it, chilling and partying with some of the most fun-loving, fascinating weirdos in hackerdom this summer. 2600 magazine's semi-annual Hackers on Planet Earth (HOPE) con – now in its 31st year! – has gone annual, and they're pre-selling tickets at a freakishly low earlybird rate:

https://store.2600.com/products/tickets-to-hope_16

I keynoted HOPE last year and it was every bit as much fun as I remembered. Sure, DEF CON is amazing, but you can't really call a 40,000-person gathering in the Las Vegas Convention Center "intimate." HOPE is a homebrew, homely, cheap, cheerful and delightfully anarchic hacker con with deep history and great people.

Speaking of weird ancient history, my pal Ada Palmer – sf writer, librettist, singer, and Renaissance historian – blew my mind this week with her article on the tower-cities of medieval proto-Italy during the Guelph-Ghibelline wars (1125-1392):

https://www.exurbe.com/the-lost-towers-of-the-guelph-ghibelline-wars/

Once upon a time, Italian city-states were forested with tall towers, like miniature Manhattans. Rich families built these stone towers as a show of wealth and a source of power, since the stone towers were taller than nearby homes and far less flammable, so the plutes of the day could drop flaming garbage on their neighbors, burn them out, and emerge triumphant. This ended with cities like Florence banning towers above a certain height, forcing their warring oligarchs to decapitate their fortresses down to compliance levels.

The images need to be seen to be believed. Ada's got a new book about this, Inventing the Renaissance, "which shows how the supposed difference between a bad 'Dark Ages' and a Renaissance 'golden age' is 100% propaganda, but fascinating propaganda with a deep history":

https://www.adapalmer.com/publication/inventing-the-renaissance/

Palmer is one of the most fascinating writers, thinkers, performers, and speakers I know. This is the book for every history nerd in your life, and also a magic artifact with the power to transform normies into history nerds.

Speaking of scholars finding nontraditional ways to do technical communication to the general public: this week, 404 Media's Emmanuel Maiberg reported on Zara Dar, an OnlyFans model who's racked up millions of Pornhub views for videos that consist of detailed, accessible, fully clothed explanations of machine learning:

https://www.404media.co/why-this-onlyfans-model-posts-machine-learning-explainers-to-pornhub/

Dar's videos cover a variety of poorly understood, highly salient mathematical subjects, like this introduction to probability theory:

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=65cfae54411b9

Dar's got a pretty straightforward reason for posting her explainers to Pornhub – it pays about 300% more than Youtube does for the same amount of viewership ($1,000 per million views vs. Youtube's $340 per million). But it comes at a cost. Other platforms like Linkedin have banned her for discussing the economics of posting videos to Pornhub, without explanation or appeal.

The reason Dar's in the news now is that the Supremes didn't merely ban Tiktok this week, they also heard arguments about the red state "age verification" laws, in which Alito asked if looking at Pornhub was analogous to reading Playboy, which was famous for interleaving softcore pornography with hefty, serious reporting and editorials. Can you really look at Pornhub "just for the articles?" Seems like the answer is a resounding yes.

These "age verification" laws are jaw-droppingly reckless. Red state lawmakers – and ALEC, the dark money org that wrote the model legislation they're pushing – envision a system where each person who looks at porn is affirmatively identified as a named adult, and where that identity information is indefinitely retained. The most common way of gating services to adults is to demand a credit-card, which means that these weirdos want to create highly leakable databases of every one of their constituents' sexual kinks, which can be sorted by net worth by would-be blackmailers. Remember, any data you collect will probably leak, and any data you retain will almost certainly leak. Good times ahead.

Of course, it wasn't all gruesome policy malpratice this week. In the final days of the Biden admin, antitrust enforcers from multiple agencies launched a flurry of investigations, cases, judgments, fines and sanctions against companies that prey on the American public. The FTC went after John Deere for its repair monopoly:

https://www.404media.co/ftc-sues-john-deere-over-its-repair-monopoly/

And the FTC sued to end a system of secret noncompetes, where employers illegally collude not to hire each others' workers, something the workers are never told:

https://prospect.org/labor/2025-01-17-building-service-workers-ftc-stops-secret-no-hire-agreements/

That's just for starters. Matt Stoller rounds up the "full Tony Montana" of last-week enforcement actions undertaken by Biden's best appointees, an all-out assault on pharmacy benefit managers (most notably Unitedhealth), junk-fee-charging corporate landlords, Capitol One, Cash App, rent-rigging landlords, Southwest Airlines, anesthesia monopolists, Experian and Equifax, private equity plunderers, lootbox-peddling video game companies, AI companies, Honda finance, politically motivatedd debanking, Google, Elon Musk, Microsoft, Hino Motors, and more:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/out-with-a-bang-enforcers-go-after

This is all amazing, but also frustrating, as it exemplifies what David Dayen rightly calls the "essential incoherence" of Bidenism, a political philosophy that sought "balance" between different Democratic Party factions by delegating enormous power to people with opposing goals, then unleashing them to work at cross-purposes:

https://prospect.org/politics/2025-01-17-essential-incoherence-end-of-biden-presidency/

What to make of a president whose final address warned the American public of an out-of-control oligarchy, but whose final executive order was a giant giveaway to the biggest AI companies – and their oligarch owners?

And what to make of a president who oversaw a genocide in Gaza, fronting for an Israeli regime that made a fool of him at every turn, laughed at his "red lines," and demanded (and received) fresh shipments of arms even as they campaigned for Trump?

This had nothing to do with sound electoral politics. The vast majority of Americans supported a cease-fire in Gaza, and have done virtually since the beginning of the bombings. Harris – who reportedly agreed not to criticize Biden's record as a condition of Biden stepping aside – made it clear that she would ignore voters' horror at the mass killing. Voters responded by staying home in droves: 19 million 2020 Biden voters simply refused to cast a ballot in 2024:

https://www.dropsitenews.com/p/kamala-harris-gaza-israel-biden-election-poll

A Yougov poll showed that 29% of the "non-voters" who turned out for Biden in 2020 refused to vote at all in 2024 because of Biden's support for genocide in Gaza. Polling during the campaign made it clear that Harris would improve her electoral chances by promising a cease-fire, but that was a bridge too far, even during an election "where democracy was on the ballot."

America is famously a country where legislators and leaders ignore the policy preferences of voters and give elites everything they want. In that world, not voting – even when "democracy is on the ballot" – makes a lot of sense:

https://www.vox.com/2014/4/18/5624310/martin-gilens-testing-theories-of-american-politics-explained

But Biden did do some popular things that elites hated – fighting corporate power, price-fixing, rent-gouging, and other forms of predatory business conduct. The "compromise" the Biden administration made with its elite backers was to call as little attention as possible to all this stuff. The Biden admin did more on antitrust in four years than all the preceding administrations of the previous forty years, combined. Just last week, the Biden admin did more on antitrust than any presidential administration did in a four-year term. And yet, they barely whispered about it.

This is a great example of what Anat Shenker-Osorio calls "Pizzaburger politics." Imagine half your family wants pizza for dinner and the other half wants burgers, so you make a disgusting pizzaburger that makes them all equally miserable and claim that everyone being mad at you is proof that you've been "fair":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/29/sub-bushel-comms-strategy/#nothing-would-fundamentally-change

Handing billionaires a bunch of voter-enraging gimmes and sucking up to ghouls like Liz Cheney didn't buy the loyalty of America's tower-owning, neighbor-incinerating princelings. They gave millions to Trump, whom they knew would hand them billions in tax breaks and a license to loot the country. Worse, this pizzaburger strategy caused voters to stay home by the millions, convinced that they couldn't trust Biden or Harris.

We're heading into another four years of planet-incinerating, human-rights-destroying, immigrant-pogroming, mass-imprisoning misery. The incoming dictator has promised to throw all kinds of people in prison, so maybe we should learn a little about how America's prolific, crowded, nightmare penitentiaries actually function.

David Skarbek is a political scientist who studies prison gangs. In a fascinating interview with Asterisk, he describes the forces that led to the rise of race-segregated prison gangs, from virtually nonexistent for 100 years to ubiquitous:

https://asteriskmag.com/issues/08/why-we-have-prison-gangs

It boils down to this: in small prisons, it's possible to enforce a social code among prisoners that maintains order. Each prisoner can keep track of the trustworthiness of others and of the safety risks they pose. But once we started building larger prisons, this system broke down, requiring hierarchical, authoritarian structures – gangs – to keep people in line. Gangs are brutal, but they also keep the peace, regulating financial disputes, contraband trade, and the use of violence.

Skarbek thinks that building more, smaller prisons would eliminate gangs – as would increasing the number of guards, which would give the institution the capacity to step in and fill the regulatory void filled by gangs. He's not saying prison gangs are good, but he's explaining why they emerged and why they have remained.

There is no pleasure quite like reading the work of top-flight scholars explaining their areas of research. That's why I subscribe to the RSS feed for Matthew Green's blog about cryptography. Green is a great explainer who works in fascinating areas.

In his latest post, Green talks about the way that AI interacts with end-to-end encryption. After decades of rising catastrophes, mobile device makers and cloud providers finally standardized on end-to-end encrypted cloud storage, meaning that your data in the cloud is so scrambled that the cloud provider can't even guess about what it is (which means that if the cloud gets breached, none of that data can be read by hackers or sold on the darknet):

https://blog.cryptographyengineering.com/2025/01/17/lets-talk-about-ai-and-end-to-end-encryption/

This works great for cloud storage, but it poses a serious impediment to cloud computing. You can't offload computationally intensive tasks onto someone else's giant data-center if you scramble your data so thoroughly that it can't be read or understood by the computers there. This is especially salient when we're talking about "AI," which involves a lot of data-processing that exceeds the capacity of your phone or laptop.

This presents a serious privacy risk, because it implies that AI companies are going to abandon the idea of end-to-end cloud encryption. They'll need the capacity to decrypt (and possibly retain) all the data you ask their "AI" services to munge in some way. Green uses this conundrum to discuss Apple's solution to this: a "trusted computing" server environment.

I've been fascinated (and horrified) by Trusted Computing ever since a group of Microsoft engineers came by EFF in 2002 to explain their plans for something called "Next Generation Secure Computing Base" (AKA "Palladium") to us:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/05/trusting-trust/#thompsons-devil

The idea was to put a second, secure computer into every device. This "trusted platform module" (or, sometimes, "technical protection measure") would be tamper-evident and tamper-resistant, contain some factory-installed, non-modifiable cryptographic signing keys, and run an extremely limited set of programs. It would observe and record the code your computer ran, from the bootloader to the OS and on up.

Other computers elsewhere in the world could "challenge" your computer to prove that it was running an OS and programs that would behave in certain way (for example, that it would block screenshots of confidential messages). This challenge would include a long random number. Your computer's TPM would combine that number with hashes of all the other elements of your computer's operating environment – it's bootloader, OS, etc – and cryptographically sign that using its signing keys. This is then sent back to the other computer as a "remote attestation" about how your computer is configured.

Notably, it's an attestation that is outside of your own control – you can't override it or falsify it. That TPM in your computer isn't loyal to you, it doesn't take orders from you. It's a snitch that tells other people truthful things about your computer, including things you'd rather it not disclose.

Over the years, variations on this idea and its applications have popped up. TPMs aren't necessarily a second chip anymore – these days, they're more likely to be a "secure enclave" – a rectangle of logic gates on your computer's CPU that is designated as "secure" and subject to more strict testing and scrutiny than the rest of the chip. These secure enclaves are used to prevent you from installing a third-party app store on your games console or phone, and to prevent your car from being serviced by an independent mechanic.

But despite all these anti-user applications, Trusted Computing remains a fascinating subject. For example, you could use Trusted Computing to ask a remote technician to assess whether your phone had been infected with spyware, and the spyware (theoretically) couldn't hide from that helper.

This is how Apple proposes to solve the privacy/AI conundrum. Its remote AI servers are outfitted with their own TPMs, and before your phone sends them your data to be AIed, it can challenge the server to send it an attestation that proves that it is running software that will not leak or retain that data, or use it in any way other than for the task you're asking it to perform.

Apple calls this "Private Cloud Compute" and if it comes into widespread use, it'll be the first time in a quarter century that there is a major pro-user application for Trusted Computing, something the industry has touted as on the horizon since the first days of the second Gulf War.

That said, Green writes that he's "not thrilled" with Apple's privacy solution:

it still centralizes a huge amount of valuable data, and its security relies on Apple getting a bunch of complicated software and hardware security features right, rather than the mathematics of an encryption algorithm.

Nevertheless, this is way better than the approach of Apple's competitors, like Openai/Microsoft, who are just YOLOing it. Green points out that even if this works, it's only one of the many privacy issues raised by AI, notably the use of private information in AI training, which this does nothing for. He also worries that techniques like this will cause lawmakers to insist that "client-side scanning" (where your device runs a program that scans it constantly for illegal content and uploads anything suspicious to the police) can be done in a "privacy-preserving" way. It's not true, but it's easy to see how bad-faith would-be spies could spin, "There is a way to do some AI stuff in a more-private way" to "there are no privacy risks with this other AI stuff."

It's a gnarly issue, and like I say, it's one you can easily spend decades chewing on (or at least, one that I have spent decades chewing on). It's interesting how many of the fundamental tech policy questions have been with us since the start of the internet age. This week, I happened on a viral 1994 post explaining the difference between "the internet" and the promised "information superhighway":

https://www.wired.com/1994/11/q-what-is-the-information-superhighway/

It's not entirely prophetic, but it sure lands some blows that still sting, 30 years later:

It's just like the Internet, except:

* It's a lot more expensive. * You can't post, and there's no killfile. * There's no alt.sex or alt.drugs. * The new rec.humor.funny has a laugh track. * There's a commercial break every 10 minutes. * Everything is formatted to 40 columns for TVs. * The free software costs you US$2 per Mbyte to ftp, more for long distance. * There's a commercial break every 10 minutes.

It's just like cable TV, except:

* It's a lot more expensive. * The picture isn't as good. * There are 500 channels of pay-per-view and home shopping. * You can watch any episode of Gilligan's Island or any Al Gore speech for only $2. * There are no public-access channels. * There's a commercial break every 10 minutes.

It's just like renting videos, except:

* It's a lot more expensive. * There's only 1 percent of the selection. * There's no porn. * There's no pause, fast-forward, or rewind, and it costs you another $3.95 if you want to watch something twice. * There's a commercial break every 10 minutes.

It's just like the telephone, except:

* It's a lot more expensive. * There's no one to talk to. * Every number is a toll call. * There's a commercial break every 10 minutes.

(Image: Jen, CC BY 2.0, cropped)

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/18/ragbag/#reading-pornhub-for-the-articles

[kairiscorner]

bc i feel like it

overworked salary man miggy o'hara hcs

before he met you, he loathed getting up in the morning; the only thing he really looked forward to was getting his fix of coffee, because working for a company that doesn't acknowledge you exist outside of being another cog in the machine and having to work non-stop from 9-5 really changed up his brain chemistry, and so all he wanted to do was drink coffee in the morning and think of nothing else.

he'd forgets to get breakfast at times, so before lunch, there's always a pivotal hour when his hunger worsens and he gets angry. like he becomes an entirely different person, he's no longer 9:30 miggy, he's aggressive and hangry miggy at 11:15.

he barely gets spoken to in the office tbh, the only people who interact with him are the ones who go to his table to pass him their empty paper coffee cups because he's the only one with a big trash bin in their wing so they give him the duty of paper cup disposal 😭😭😭

when he met you, tbh, he found a reason to get out of bed that wasn't just to get his fix of coffee and brush his teeth–he had something to actually look forward to in his day, someone who'd finally look his way and talk to him like he existed, like he meant something to them–that he was worth talking to.

it's because of you that he actually remembers to get breakfast every day after he met you and enjoys it. especially if you two go get breakfast from your recommendations, like man, he swears, you are have the best taste in food.

you make the commute to the office and back home so bearable, like he hates having to deal with the overcrowding, the noises, the bright lights in train stations–but when you're here with him, and you're comforting him, sharing an earphone with him, listening to comfortable noises or music with him to fall asleep to or just try to shift his focus away from the noise and all.

when you two walk home together, before you go on your own way, he always thinks of asking you out to dinner. he wants to impress you for once with his own food taste, even if he thinks you have better taste compared to him, but he wants to treat you to a lovely night where two aren't bogged down with work or backlog or anything else annoying.

when his tie is loose or is falling apart, he loves it when you tie it for him. he might or might not purposefully keep it untied at times, just to feel you close to him, experience you tie it for him and be so close.

when you're working overtime, he volunteers to stay behind and help you work. it's not just because he pities you and understands what it's like to be bogged down with work, but because he... he loves you and wants you to be rid of these shitty work burdens.

he encourages you to shit talk your crappy managers, bosses, and just general asshole higher-ups. he does the same, and you feel a lot more carefree around him.

he's always lending you stuff from his cubicle, he never gets mad or irritated about it when it's you–to everyone else, it's off-limits to borrow his stuff. he actually sometimes hopes you need to borrow his stuff, it's his excuse to see you :>

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/14/2024

"surely this will be the worst book i read as part of this gay and lesbian erotica project," i say with faint hope. while i was discussing it with my bestie via facetime mackintosh completely gave up killing mr cactus so i can only assume she was KO'd by this book too

patch notes: split up the reading section into "article" and "not an article" for easier navigation

listening

another one for the "SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (GAY)" playlist. just fun horny pop with some sick riffs. thank you spotify weekly recs.

-

reading (article)

sometimes i think i've found a completely new type of guy, and then i find out what flavor of engineering he's retired from (metallurgical) and it suddenly makes him a known and cataloged typed of guy and i know where to shelve him. very charming home website, very charming writeup about buying out failing pinball businesses, the difficulties of production, and just like the love of the game? as a loving maintainer of things myself, i am fascinated by other loving maintainers.

i also had some very loose thoughts about cycles of games in various categories of play in general but then looked up some stuff to make sure i knew what the fuck i was talking about and guess what! i don't.

"There's a cycle of pinball. It's like a seven-year cycle, ups and downs and so forth," Young said. "Peak might have been about 1992 if you look at the number of games produced. It was like 120,000 games." But, from there, Young said, it was a steady decline of roughly 10 percent per year. ... Young eventually bought out Gottlieb's backlog of parts and numerous pieces of manufacturing equipment, operating a revenue share with the company for a time before taking outright control of the inventory. That's how The Pinball Resource became the de facto source for all things Gottlieb, but it wouldn't end there. "We've picked up all these pieces as the pinball business has shrunk and fallen apart," Young said. "I sat down once with a yellow pad, and I started writing down the number of distributors that I bought their stock, right? And I filled the side of the page and turned the page over before I got done." ... "This is probably one of the world's largest collections of schematics," Young said. "Every Gottlieb schematic in the world is in that filing cabinet." Schematics from other manufacturers sit nearby, along with endless manuals covering games from many brands and eras. I told him that the 1986 Williams machine High Speed was my favorite. Ten seconds later, he had the original manual in hand.

-

reading (not an article)

and now for the erotica. this has four stars on goodreads and i have zero fucking clue why.

this is published in 2010 by Intaglio and is the author's eleventh novel. it is difficult to believe this is her eleventh novel and that she had beta readers (who she thanks) bc there is very little internal consistency. unpleasant paper texture also.

Professor Tess Rawlins spent the last twelve years teaching agriculture in California, away from Montana and her heart. When she’s called back to the sprawling Double R cattle ranch and her ailing father, Tess is thrown back into the world she had nearly forgotten since the death of her brother two years earlier. Unsettling memories boil to the surface for Tess, and her only pleasant distraction is the new cook Claire Redman and her son Jack. However, there is more facing Professor Rawlins than dealing with the memory of her brother or her attraction to Claire. Tess must figure a way to save the Rawlins’s five thousand acres of rich grassland. It has thrived for five generations, when her great-grandfather started the dynasty in the 1880s; now she may lose it all to an unscrupulous land developer. Set in the foothills of the Bitterroots, Tess and Claire find themselves in the fight of their lives—for love and the sea of grass.

the only fun bit of construction is the beginning, with a prologue starring Tess's beloved great-uncle at the university he teaches at, and then a time skip to his great-niece in the same room teaching at the same university worrying about a lot of the same things. other than that, not a well constructed book, from a technical standpoint. in the first eighteen pages: seventeen laughs, ten grins, seven smiles, four cheek kisses, and three regular kisses. and a partridge in a pear tree. this will continue throughout the book. sometimes people will laugh more than once in a sentence. sometimes three people will laugh as a dialogue tag back to back. it has a very Go Dog Go early reader feel at times. it is difficult to believe real alive humans would say some of this dialogue. erotic. EROTIC. extremely erotic!!!

not a lot of internal consistency either: they get very worried about how they lost more calves than they thought they would and then ten pages later they are like actually we lost almost none! there are abrupt seasonal changes from what is established to be early April with snow on the ground to a blazingly hot afternoon necessitating dunking your whole head in a water trough within a (again, established! In the text!) week. one chapter it’s September and the next chapter they’re talking about the Fourth of July rodeo next month. i had to reread a page three times to figure out how they teleported to the middle of the pasture from the middle of the kitchen and not in a “and they found themselves outside” way. someone goes from leaning on a counter to leaning on a fence post.

the murder mystery resolves by someone going to jail but we never actually find out what happened. like ever. there is a fade to black after a fight in the street bc Tess has a hunch and suddenly the guy is in jail. how did her brother die? and why? who knows! the romantic progression also makes wild stuttering leaps forward. there is a very halfhearted jealousy subplot with a man. there is a third act breakup for no plausible reason, and the love interest is essentially kidnapped off a train, dragged back to the ranch, and everyone claps. literally claps.

not very coherent or detail-oriented. some of the most lackluster sex scenes i have ever read. not really sure why this one is sandwiched between two fade to black scenes.

this made me appreciate last week's book way more bc while it was not for me, it was at least coherent and had interesting progressions of both characters and events.

-

watching

Night Train to Munich (1940, dir. Reed).

Carol Reed’s Night Train to Munich is a twisting, turning, cloak-and-dagger delight, combining comedy, romance, and thrills with the greatest of ease. Paced like an out-of-control locomotive, Night Train takes viewers on a journey from Prague to England to the Swiss Alps as Nazis pursue a Czech scientist and his daughter (Margaret Lockwood), who are being aided by a debonair British undercover agent, played by Rex Harrison. This captivating, long-overlooked adventure—which features Paul Henreid and a clever screenplay by Frank Launder and Sidney Gilliat, best known for writing Alfred Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes—is a deftly concocted spy game that could give the Master of Suspense a run for his money.

i don't think it's as briskly paced as the criterion collection (above) thinks it is, but it was a good, tense watch. darkly, dryly funny-- there's a copy of Gone With The Wind on a newsstand between copies of Mein Kampf.

THE most high-stakes fake dating ever devised. they are constantly swooning over each other and the instant they are alone they are hissing at each other about how if you could FIND it in your HEART to find me ANYWHERE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF ATTRACTIVE, maybewecanwiggleoutofthispickle!!! i do not typically like fake dating but this fucked, thank u carol reed director of my heart

-

playing

i have been playing genshin impact since 1.0 and this week have discovered one chest in each of the two earliest areas. do i have eyes at all. do i know how to use them. the first case i had to pick every carrot in a patch, in the second case i had to kick some medium-strong enemies to the curb before accidentally knocking over an archery target. and apparently i have not done either of those things for four fucking years! it's kind of wild how much the game has moved away from hidden chests and puzzles like that.

one other annoyance: this game Does Not Want to let me climb on balloons. this is in the teapot, a place where you can stash furnishings and companions and make little scenes, but can i go to the cool balloon? no. fuck you.

-

making

my allergies have been acting up even after diligent cleaning and filter changing and vigorous cat brushing and letting the debri from all that die back down. have YOU ever taken all the little glass shades off all your ceiling fans and bathroom light fixtures and put them through the dishwasher? i don't think anyone had ever cleaned the fans in this apartment. ever.

[irisbleufic]

Let’s talk structure on Caldera for a second, because there’s some shit going on with this piece of work that I’ve never contended with in any of my previous fandom projects. It’s frankly baffling and neat as hell to me that I need to take these elements into consideration.

Item One, which is a question I’ve recently been asked: I do know where the story goes from here. The back half is as ambitious as the first half, but the good news is that it has clear parameters. I finish what I fucking start; my backlog of works in other fandoms bears that out.

Item Two: as of this completed 50k-word-even Rashid/Sam-focused flashback novella installment that falls chronologically before all of the other stories, there are now 22 pieces total. Those 22 pieces total 235,200 words. The neatest thing about these 22 stories, objectively, is that you can start with either #1: Not the Good Guys or #22: The Quick Ones and read through in a perfect circle. And keep rereading in a circle, perpetually, for this first half.

AO3 structure-wise, this has me thinking that maybe I should split this into two Series that fall under a Collection. If I treat these currently existing, completed 22 stories that form a first-half arc that can be read in a narrative circle as Volume 1, then I can set up a Volume 2 series container for the back half and attempt to do the same thing with the stories yet to come (i.e. have a Volume 2 arc that can likewise be read in a circle, but which will also wrap up the story arc across halves).

I’ve never really had the chance to do something this unusual or fascinating, I guess. It’ll be my single longest project in any fandom to date, even longer than my most substantial Good Omens series or my most substantial Gotham series, and that’s saying a lot. All told, I expect Caldera to end up over 400,000 words if the second half runs just as long.

(This post is intended to serve as a diary of my thought processes here at the midpoint, because I’m trying to journal more about my writing when it hits odd milestones. However, readers can definitely weigh in about structural matters and preferences here if they’d like to. You’re part of it, too, and I’ve been extremely grateful for the company 💙)

[hwaightme]

The meaning of 'Jeong'

☔ pairing: yunho x f!reader ☔ genre: comfort, fluff, angst ☔ summary: jeong (정/情) - the intimate and warm feeling, the closeness and affection arising from one's relationship with another person. ☔ wordcount: 5.8k ☔ warnings/tags: stress, a lot of work stress, burnout, disregard for own health, language, a little arguing, yunho driving, yunho singing, business, office, implied office disrespect, no need for words when yunho knows, knight in a shining automobile, snow and rain, on the verge of a breakdown, starry night, unedited, lmk if anything else~ ☔ taglist: @doom-fics @legohwa @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven ☔ network tags: @k-labels @ateezlovenet @kflixnet ☔ a/n: hello there, sometimes we are in need of some yunfort~ warmest hugs, and much love! All reblogs, comments, thoughts, notes appreciated~ Thank you so much Sky for ideating with me, inspiring me, and fueling first my San, and then my Yunho brainrots <3 would not have happened without you~

It seemed that no matter what you did, everything served to further agitate you - another penny in the bottle of emotions that was threatening to overflow if you as much as hinted at your utter exhaustion. With all your might you wanted to convince yourself that this was temporary, you were trying your best and that no matter what happened, it all would end up being for the better. But sometimes, too much was just what it was. Too much.

Your troubles had wounded themselves tightly into an impossible knot, weighing you down until you were in a hopeless crawl, barely sentient and resorting to existing on autopilot just so you could avoid tearing up in a public place. You were not about to give your colleagues the sadistic satisfaction. With hefty heaps of sarcasm and barely concealed impatience, you waded through meeting after meeting, discussing projects that had backlogs larger than your anger. Somehow, as the day progressed, what you had already deemed to be a ‘not so good day’ had managed to one, two, triple-up itself.

First, you were notified, twenty minutes before the official launch of a function update in an internal, company-wide application, that there was a severe bug found, and the release would have to be delayed until further notice. Nothing new for a product manager to hear, but considering that you had just spent two hours in a metaphorical grill with your own senior manager, as well as the director of the department, you were not about to ‘not take things to heart’. The pressure only built as you were pinging person after person, with your dual monitor glowing from all the messaging windows, fighting against the torrent of your subordinates’ uncontrollable procrastination, all an attempt to reconfigure task assignment to fit in the same sprint. You cursed the ‘agile’ framework time and time again as you upped the severity on at least seven story points for your team, and hesitantly, transferred a hefty number to yourself.

This was a never-ending cycle. One which you would never break no matter how hard you tried. Such was your job; at least that was the excuse you gave it, since the monetary compensation was good enough to be motivated to put up with was clearly draining. In calls from early morning until late in the evening. Constantly juggling everyone’s workload and having to keep your finger on the professional pulses of at least fifty people, globally. You were no stranger to having meetings at awkward hours of the day, either. As you watched your colleagues beginning to pack up and leave for home, chatting away about their families, or about some new restaurant that opened in the area, or about some sports game, you realised you were completely deflated. Looking at your calendar, there was only one meeting – with partners in the US, to go, but it felt like an impossibly daunting task. Exhaustion was weighing heavy on your eyes and tension in your neck made it impossible to sit comfortably. But you still did it. Still sat there, in your office chair, accompanied by the squadron of chronic overtime workers whose heads were dotted across the floor as far as your eye could see, and pretended like it was not nearing nine o��clock at night.

You had promised your boyfriend that you would stop drinking coffee at weird hours, him having been horrified at how you could handle the bitter beverage, while you would pretend you did not see him sneak sweetener into his mocha. But with both of you getting busier and busier, and with you additionally trying to drown out the noise that came with not seeing him as much as you would have wanted, you slipped into your routinely coffee machine visits. The rumble of the artificial barista as it brewed up your only source of energy was soothing – the one sound in the workplace that did not pose a threat to your mental health, nor to your growing headache. Every sip was a temporary lull in an otherwise chaotic corporate fiasco you had found yourself in. Oh, how you wished you could tap out; this was your only conclusion to the dull, monotonous interlocution where not once, but twice did one of your co-workers abroad show their complete ineptitude in all things technology related by failing to share screen and check chat.

As you bid farewell to the last of the officemates who you agreed to mutual acknowledgement with, you leaned back in your chair and sighed. With the pitch black night outside, the artificial fluorescence that illuminated your pallid, tired skin appeared to be stronger, drying your eyes. If you were to stay frozen for a while, they would turn off until the next sudden movement, and maybe you could catch up on a much needed nap, cutting your sleep debt by at least a few minutes. But at the same time, could you afford those few minutes? When you were left alone with your mind, the notion of productivity and achievement became skewed, and what you would previously deem to be okay, or good enough, easily moving on to the next task, now metamorphosed – daunting, demanding monsters that haunted you, highlighting their inexistent faults in a dark crimson, covering your vision. If there was free time, that was time that could be spent working, perfecting, editing. And if it was not spent in that way, it was time wasted. Simple as that. Inadvertently, you became a lethal collaborator of the very cycle you dreaded waking up for the last couple of weeks, and were now in the process of breaking it, twisting it into a downwards spiral. You were aware of this, and yet, you remained passive, dismissing all alarm bells as overdramatization. The increase in cooling coals in your ambitious fire did not phase you, for you decided you had more important things to focus on. Like staring at your emails, unable to conjure a single coherent thought.

The words were swimming in front of you, the caffeine no longer doing anything to serve you. All that was left was the chocolatey aftertaste – you had your coffee snob colleagues to thank for campaigning for having proper beans be ordered, so everyone could travel to faraway places at least through the notes the beverage had, the harvest, taste the sun that blazed down on the rolling hills proudly bearing the farmlands. Only the memory of the dark roast sticking to the roof of your mouth, an unpleasant dryness settling along with the realisation that there was no chance you would be making any more progress. You heaved another displeased sigh, and after rolling your shoulders a couple of times, pressed on the power button, seeing how your distorted reflection appeared before you as the screens went black.

It was easy to imagine ghosts waving you goodbye, as the click-clack of your heels resonated through the main reception on the ground floor of the skyscraper where you were one of the many ants. A lonely security guard stationed by the turnstiles nodded you his farewell, hearing the beep of your id card being accepted. You nodded back. He was one of the more approachable-looking guardians of the money-making machine, you had seen him shake a joke with his fellow suited-up brethren a total of two times and you were not about to discourage yourself with the accompanying thought that you had been working in the company for just over a year now. You have not had the share of your favourite megawatt grins that would have dispelled your grim disposition, so every bit of negativity had to be treated with caution. You were a ballistic missile being transported in a rickety mule-drawn cart with one wheel falling off. Bit by bit. Step by step. You just needed an uneventful commute home, so you could collapse into your bed and forget about today, until tomorrow would inevitably remind you, and so the loop would start again.

But there it was. The cherry on top of the disgusting cake. Of course, the weather had to fit the atrocious mood. Even though your calendar explicitly stated spring, and you had been more than excited to welcome the longer days and the blooming trees and bushes, the temperamental elements were bestowed upon you as what could only be an evil prank. A cocktail of clumped up snowflakes and icy cold rain beating down on the side walk, the light emanating from a nearby streetlight gaining the appearance of static due to the rapidly cutting streaks. You cursed under your breath, already saying goodbye to your felt trench coat and blaming yourself for being too optimistic and not metaphorically gluing an umbrella to your hand. It was difficult to hold the tears that began to well up and inevitably blur your vision, turning the puddles and buildings into an urban soup. You had always wanted to see yourself as strong, or at least strong enough to be able to sustain yourself and be proud of your perseverance. But as you stood there, a stride away from being soaked by the downpour, you were trying to accept that you were fated to be ‘that one passenger’ on the metro, wavelengths of stress and misery vibrating out of you. The passenger who would have everyone sitting as far as possible and obviously concerned. You looked down, watching a stray shiny wrapper float down to the curb on a stream of water, stopping once it reached the sewage drain and the holes ended up being too small. Your hands clenched into weak fists, and you trembled, the nervous lump in your throat becoming painfully noticeable and spurring on a growing flood of apprehension. Under the stormy night sky you were so small. A tiny dot that would not leave as much as a footprint, insignificant against the menacing, ceaselessly falling drops of water, like a barrage of nature’s heavy artillery. As you were about you turn up the collar of your coat in attempt to do something, anything to protect you against the rain that you were about to step into, a voice called out, in part muted by the battering of concrete, but you would still recognise it anywhere.

“Would be cool if you could answer your phone sometimes.” Your head turned sharply to the right, in the direction from which you heard the sweet, deeper set tone.

Face slightly obscured by the edge of the huge umbrella that was loyally protecting him, there, approaching you, ambled the man who you would not dare expect to spontaneously visit you. Sure, you had your share of fantasies about how it would be like to have your boyfriend pick you up from work, or to meet up for lunch together, but both you and Yunho had phenomenally chaotic work schedules, and even calls lasting for longer than five minutes had to be planned well in advance. And while you were over the moon when you could spend time with him, the recent scarcity had led into a mounting pressure for you, to maintain a lighthearted disposition, to not let your troubles interfere with him and his life outside of a busy, demanding career. While that could have been your pride talking since such an approach took courage, your comfort was not at the forefront of your mind when you chose to not tell the full story to Yunho, when you faked a smile and covered the bags under your eyes.

"You know I can't use my phone in the office." You huffed, stuffing your hands into your pockets and feeling for the device, which you preferred to keep on do not disturb unless you knew someone was meant to be contacting you.

"Well, you are not in the office anymore, Y/N. But it’s alright, I completely get you. It’s late enough for you to not even bother with it until tomorrow, honestly." Your boyfriend shrugged his shoulders, and as he joined you under the roofing that protected the entrance from the mid-March cries of winter, he lowered and folded the black umbrella, revealing himself entirely to the streetlamp, and dim light emanating from the glass that guarded the reception area. You took in his divinely sculpted form, his smiling eyes and lips, and, in shock, realised that it had been far too long since you had seen this wondrous man in person.

He was dressed as though he had just stepped out of the dance studio, which, knowing Yunho, he very much might have. A beige hoodie, black tracksuit bottoms and some dual-toned sneakers to tie everything together he looked dangerously cuddly, which only further agitated you. Why did he have to come here without warning? Why did your ray of sunshine have to show up when you were nothing but a seething, thunderous raincloud?

"Thanks, Yun. But how and why are you here, exactly?" you did not mean to sound irritated, but your spent nerves were getting the best of you and took control of your speech. Yunho quirked an eyebrow but dismissed his perplexity in favour of lightening the atmosphere and cheering you up.

"My spidey senses told me you might need a knight in a shining automobile. And judging by how you don't have an umbrella, I think I'm right."

It was much more than just the lack of an umbrella; at your happiest, you were the type of person who would sing in the rain. It was the awkward hours at which you responded to his texts, the evident struggle you went through to keep your eyes open whenever you two would video call after work, but most of all it was how you so obviously held information back from Yunho that prompted him to approach his manager and carve out the time he otherwise would not have. If there was anything he learned over the half a year, and counting, of your relationship, was that you were a fighter, much like him - an energiser to a fault. You would give, give and give some more until there was nothing left for you, and then would lead yourself into the illusion that you were just being lazy when you were actually falling apart. You were putting on a brave, calm and collected face, and your hesitation to drop the mask in front of him was unnerving. If there was anyone in your present life who should be your pillar of support, a person you could trust, depend on, lean on be it emotionally or physically, it should be him. In Yunho's eyes, work and some pre-determined timetable was always adjustable when a loved one was in trouble, and hell, you were of the same opinion: when it came to racing across the city in the middle of the night just because he hinted at the fact that he had sustained an injury, you would stop the universe. So why did you not consider the basic healthy principle as something that was not applicable to you?

"But aren't you busy?" your inquiry sounded rhetorical. As though you had already formulated an answer for yourself and were unwilling to accept any other. To be frank, yes, Yunho was busy. So were you. Such was life. However, this element of your lives did not define you, nor did it imply having to take a secondary position in another’s life. Yunho shook his head, stepping closer to you until your arms were almost brushing.

There was a melancholic air to you. Days passing in minor chords, accumulating into a tune, then a song, then a symphony. Your sonata filled with dreams falling flat, and sharp comments forcing you to adjust your dynamics and rhythm. Yunho had fallen in love with the beautiful music of your heart – a beacon of kindness, selflessness and positivity, you had always been the first to encourage him, sometimes messaging or calling him before his members even had a chance to turn in his direction to wish him luck. An innate, deeper sense of what was around you, Yunho noticed time and time again how you elegantly navigated social landscapes, reading people, places and striving to simply do what was best for the situation you faced. You were one to intuitively know something was going on before it could even have the chance to consciously register.

But that also made you prone to wearing yourself out. Sacrificing yourself for those who did not deserve it, and not leaving enough to perform even the most basic human functions. Your boyfriend was always in awe of you, and how you could possibly have so much love contained in your body. As he gazed at your form while you rocked back and forth on your feet – a habitual action that he had realised was one of the most telling signs for your worry bubbling over, the strong urge to erase whatever parasitic dissonance was taking up space in your magnificent mind grew and grew until he could not resist to take your hand in his, smiling when he noticed your lips curl into the ghost of a smile as your fingers intertwined.

"Not busy to love you. No come on, let's get you home, you spent enough time in the glass box as is." He tugged on your hand, ready to open the umbrella again to lead you to the car he had parked around the corner, but you would not budge.

"I swear you had prac-"

"I am here. Okay? Here, now." He desperately wanted to bring you back into the present. What was outside of your control, and was not your decision to make should not preoccupy you, and yet if you caught onto as much as a hint of being the source of inconvenience for another, it sent you into a grim spiral. Not this time, Yunho was not going to let you keep doing this to yourself, even if it took a lifetime.

"It must have taken you so long to get here I-" your voice was growing quieter and quieter as you focused on the sensation of Yunho’s warm hand pressed against yours.

You had not realised how much you missed the feeling, and the reassurance that came with it. He was here, indeed. He was here with you. He was there for you. You raised your head as soon as he squeezed your hand a couple of times but struggled to maintain eye contact due to the evident concern written in his glimmering orbs. The tender, compassionate eyes, irises a dark mahogany hue, a safe haven in your hardship. You wished you could fall into those pools and drift into the blissful serenity they offered. At the same time, it was terrifying how he was peering right into your soul, making it seem as if your vulnerabilities were right there, on display, just for him. A shiver ran down your spine despite the layers you were wearing.

"If you checked your phone, you would now that my schedule changed." He commented, gleaming.

"Oh, so you are saying I'm wrong for worrying now?" you tried to pry yourself away, but Yunho strengthened his grip. He was not about to let you float into that headspace again.

"I don’t mean to make you angry here, just pointing a thing out." Voice level, the dulcet timbre silently posed a question to you – what was the rush? Why were you trying to run from affection?

"I am not angry! Just why is it that out of the blue you decide to appear? I would have been fine-"

"What, have other plans?"

"Uh, no? Going home?"

"So, what is there to stop me from popping by to see my girlfriend?” he pursed his lips, pulling you towards him so that you were facing him directly. Spontaneously interested in everything but his piercing scrutiny, you took to studying the white drawstrings of his hoodie.

"But… uh… well… There is like, a lot happening right now, isn’t there? For both of us? I mean… you have all that filming to do, the comeback to prepare for… you literally just came back from tour and…” you caught yourself rambling, and trailed off into the sound of rainfall.

"Hm. Figured."

Yunho nodded to himself, clicking the tip of his umbrella against the ground as though dotting a full stop on a page. Confused, you attempted to prompt him for an elaboration.

"Excuse me?"

"That you are burned out."

The phrase was a scalding hot iron thrown at the barriers you had painstakingly been building around your mind palace. You knew that it was true. Hell, if someone had just asked you to speak the truth about what you were feeling, this was the first thing that would come to mind, but were you going to say it? No. Never. What you were feeling and what influenced you was nobody else’s problem.

"Am not." It was childish, but it was the only response you could conjure without making tears well up in your eyes. Yunho was too close, too attentive, too much for your distressed and hurt heart.

"Are too."

"Look I am fine. There is nothing-” you peered at the darkness on the other side of the street. Tuned into the rustling of the trees that lined it, and wished for yourself to become part of the scenery instead of having to confront what Yunho was trying to get you to admit.

“You said there is a lot happening for both of us, and then you just list things off about me,” he was not going to let you go this easily, both in discussion and physically as he removed his hand from yours and instead placed it on your waist, “I am perfectly aware of them. I know my limits, and I know that I am managing fine only because I am honoured to have so many people supporting me. And now, I want one of these people to tell me what this ‘a lot’ means to them, and why they are now looking in the other direction.”

Your head snapped back to Yunho, revealing your misty-eyed state. Immediately, his expression softened, and he pulled you in, keeping you flush against his chest as he absent-mindedly rubbed your back with his thumb, while his other hand was keeping the wet umbrella a safe distance away from your clothing. You bit your lip as you took in Yunho’s comforting scent. He never wore any particular perfume, instead opting to smell like a mixture of fresh laundry and a miniscule hint of soap. And yet, if you could bottle this and keep it, you would in a heartbeat. To you, this was what the aroma of home, of safety was. If he wished to make you unravel your ball of troubles, this was the way to do it, you confirmed as you felt yourself automatically melt into his touch, blinking away tears that you were tired of holding. Not exactly aligned with your scheduled ‘half an hour of breaking down when you get to your apartment’, but who were you to complain about Yunho staying here with you, in the cold, adamant on defeating your inner voice that otherwise would have led you into a further darkness.  

"Let's continue this in the car, yeah?" His voice wavered, dropping into the softest whisper which jolted you out of your guards entirely, and you let yourself be guided by him to his car.

As you ambled, side by side, you were enveloped in a total silence, the raindrops forming an abstract beat on the umbrella above you. Arm around you, fingers landing just under your shoulder, Yunho was afraid of letting you go even for an instant, the fragility in your steps and fumbling for a response as he asked if his hold felt alright for you exposing your inner dejection. And once he had you and him settled in the front and driver’s seats respectively, he put the key into ignition, but did not turn it just yet. As the rain painted a blurry masterpiece on the windshield, he tilted his head, and looked at you.

“Tell me about your day.” A simple ask, but to you it felt like one of those unsolvable mathematics problems. You could lie, and on any other occasion you probably would with a classic ‘I’m fine thank you and you’, but you would be foolish to think that Yunho would buy that. If anything, he would explicitly label the nonsense for what it was and encourage you to give him a real answer with nothing but those gorgeous, hopeful eyes of his.

“It was… you know what, it was a lot. Too much even. Really, the last couple of weeks have been too much.” You uttered, annoyance starting to boil within you as you recalled the rollercoaster of events.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want to weigh you don’t with it. Really, this is nothing. It will pass.” You fiddled with the buttons on the blazer, now within reach as you had unzipped your coat. Though your words were grammatically correct, nothing made sense to you. What was it that you were saying? Learned phrased out of the automatic deflection compartment, lines of defence in an effort to avoid discussion.

“Then why are you giving it so much power?” Yunho persisted.

“Uh… I don’t know, maybe because it is my job?”

“So, you get paid to have burn outs?” while he asked this in a joking manner, his smile did not spread past a brief flash. When you did not send a retort in his direction, he motioned for you to continue. You hated to admit it, but you agreed. As of late, this was exactly what your job had turned into. You being a hamster stuck in a wheel, running ceaselessly with no rest breaks in sight. Running in the hopes of there being a finish line. A success. A milestone. But all there seemed to be was more paperwork, more reporting, more meetings, more conflict, and more doubt.

“Well, now that you say that…”

“I am not one to judge professional choices and perfectionism. In fact, I respect you so much for being so dedicated, and being such a hard worker. But a siren is going off right now, okay? You are on the edge of a cliff, and we do not want you to fall off it, yeah?”

“What cliff?”

“I am an idiot for not picking up on this sooner, but now that I have, I must tell you: you are being pushed way past your limit, and you need a break. It is basically doctor’s orders.”

“But it’s just wo-”

“Tell me, what was the last thing one of your colleagues had said to you? About your work?” Yunho was no stranger to office gossip, through you having occasionally divulged to him the drama occurring in your workplace, and through the myriad of dramas he had watched with you and noticed that you often reacted to what was happening on screen as if it hit very close to home.

“Uhm… but it was not a nice thing so…”

“Say it.” Interest turned into a demand, and Yunho leaned closer to you.

“I only overheard it…”

“And? You still heard it.” Dropping his voice low, he rejected your subconscious devaluing of what had obviously been harm incurred.

“That I was trying too hard to please my boss…” a mumble escaped you, followed by a ragged sigh. Why was this so hard?

“That is fucked up.”

“…even though I was literally just doing my job. I was asked to do this report and all there was that was extra to it was me wanting to make it look pretty.” While you were not saying anything particularly heart-breaking, at least not by your definition, you choked up and had to force each word out with the strength you had left.

“I swear, humans are strange creatures,” Yunho mused out loud before chuckling, “says I, a human.”

“But that’s exactly why you can say it. And besides, you are a thoughtful human. Pretty much a blessing, Yunho. So don’t even.” Finally, a genuine grin graced your features, reminiscent of the first rays of sunlight after a merciless storm. Basking in the glow, Yunho returned it twofold and proudly wore the blush that started to rise on his cheeks. But he knew better than abandoning his mission so early on.

“Not to be cringe or anything, but to hear that coming from an angel is quite the honour.” He wiggled his eyebrows as you laughed airily. But the moment, unfortunately, did not last long, and your day was once more overcast by rumination. Yunho did not speak, waiting for you to give him as much detail as you felt comfortable with sharing.

“Sometimes, even if I am trying my hardest, I get this sense that I might be better off shutting up and giving the others the reins.”

“So, they are disrespecting their own manager?”

“I guess it's because I am younger than them or something. I mean, I get it, it is a gnarly economic period for the company, and everyone is losing their marbles, trying to stay above the water, but it would be good if they at least took my advice into consideration.”

If looks could destroy, then the glare that Yunho sent your office building would have set it ablaze. To curb his anger, he drummed out an abstract pattern on the steering wheel, though the grip that followed it told all. He blamed himself for not having been there sooner. For letting this pain pile on until it turned to a ball and chain that progressively set out to ruin what had been your dream career. If only it was as easy to wipe away cutting words and agonising actions like faint graphite etchings on a piece of paper.

“They should know their place, that’s what," he hissed, giving the wheel one final thump before pushing himself into his seat and turning to you, "You are being too soft on them, in my opinion. And that is why they are acting out. Promise me this, you will show them that you are a frontline manager, and you are more than capable of keeping things under control-”

“I’m trying-”

“-by taking a break. People can sense weakness, especially people who are not so kind to you. And while I cannot fix their attitude, I can try my best to help you. And before you say it, you are not coming into the office on the weekend, I am booking you up.”

"How do you know I do that?"

"Over the months of video calls you really think I did not memorise that one conference room you use to call me?" He shot back, smirking as you were at a loss, the only option being to roll your eyes and give yourself up to a legally mandated holiday.

“Yunho, you are too selfless, please, I just need a couple more hours of sleep and I’ll be all sorted."

“No, I will be selfish and take care of you. So, sit back, relax, and think of happy things. And that’s an order.”

“But that is not how selfish works?”

“It does in our world. Besides, don't you want to show them who is the boss?" The cheeky boyish grin won you over, and you beamed, whispering an amused:

"Unbelievable..."

Falling in love with Yunho did not give you butterflies in your stomach. If anything, it calmed the anxious knots that accumulated over however long the time between you being in each other's presence was. Sure, you would be okay without one another. Living life, achieving what you wanted to achieve. Brought down by the gloomy days but rising again. But together, those days were just so much less gloomy. The, what could only be described as innate, trust that you had formed in one another, was the invisible string tying you together in the gift that was your present. Falling and being in love with Yunho was like a warm day in the spring, a promise for new life, for blue skies and for a warm breeze caressing the blossoms of affection. It was like the starry night sky in the early summer, with you and him sitting on the rooftop of the apartment building where you lived, on an old bed sheet because you were yet to invest in a proper picnic blanket, but still the happiest people in the world.

As he closed the gap between you, running his fingers over your jawline before cupping your face to get a better angle, you closed your eyes and gave into the adoration that emanated from him. In the subtlest of gestures, in the sentimentality that translated into him understanding you better than how you understood yourself, he was every bit a man head over heels in love. And while either of you were yet to say the words, each action and inaction both screamed it. Perhaps it was something more than love. A proximity of the souls that was built in the quietude, in the shadows of an emotional flurry. In the hustle and bustle of common terminology, labels and anniversaries, a little world that could only come into existence with genuine intent and care became a reality. This cozy corner that housed only you and Yunho. 'Did you eat?', 'I will take care of you', 'I'm outside with medicine' were all manifestations of this unspoken devotion. And as he placed one final kiss on your rosy lips before starting up the car, you were entertained by the fascinating coincidence in the only term you could think of to describe this feeling being the exact same as your boyfriend's surname.

Flickering lights, neon signs and a revelation that the cycle could stop. Though you were on the verge of somnolence, barely resisting drowsiness settling on your eyelids like the snowflakes outside, you watched as Yunho masterfully spun the steering wheel while singing a melody which you recognised to be Standing Egg's Starry Night, one which you had made him repeat again and again as soon as you had heard it once. Upon noticing your gaze resting on him, he broke into a chuckle and fell quiet until the next red light.

"Mmm, why did you stop?" You asked and pouted, glancing at Yunho's arm as he pulled on the handbrake.

"Because I want to look at you as I sing it:

Here we are close to star

I want to stay with you forever like this

Here we are close to star

The endless starry sky and you and me..."

As he sang, in the air hung a promise. One which you did not need for him to say out loud to understand, for more often than not, the feeling itself was the true, and magical meaning.

[girlactionfigure]

⭕KINDERGARTEN HIT, PREEMPTIVE RUMORS - Real time from Israel  

ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( VIDEO - Kindergarten HIT by a Hezbollah rocket in Acre. )

❗️For the 2nd time in a week, Hezbollah HIT a kindergarten, this time in Acre.  Fortunately the little children were not killed. But, as in the last case, the explosion was in the playground where the children were a minute before.  We await the condemnations and indictment for war crimes.

🔸CEASEFIRE NEWS.. US envoy Amos Hochstein will arrive in Israel tonight to discuss a Lebanon ceasefire deal.  However, those close to the speaker of the Lebanese Parliament told Sky News in Arabic: There are agreements on almost 80% of the issues.

.. Hezbollah Secretary General Naim Kassem on the cease-fire proposal: We have forwarded our comments, stopping the war now depends on the Israeli response.

.. Senior officials in Israel: The two main controversies, pertaining to Israeli freedom of action in Lebanon in the event of a violation, and the composition of the supervisory committee in Lebanon.

▪️OPPOSITION MK EISENKOT.. submitted a bill to finance academic tuition for combatants and supporters of combat, failed in the plenary following opposition from the coalition. Earlier, the coalition asked to postpone the vote in order to examine whether the proposal is possible in terms of budget - but he refused.

Likud: The law "Dimensions for studies" established 100% funding for a bachelor's degree for combat soldiers, passed on Dec. 2023.  Why is the opposition creating a false image?

▪️UN SEC COUNCIL.. attempted to pass a resolution demanding an immediate ceasefire in Gaza without immediately returning the hostages - but with Israel releasing Palestinian terror prisoners.  US veto’d. 

▪️I.C.J.  .. Prof. Malcolm Shaw, head of Israel's defense team at the International Court of Justice in The Hague, at the Security and Democracy Conference of the Israel Democracy Institute: "At the international level, Israel's position is weak. Israel is not Russia. Russia can afford to break the law and get away with it."

▪️MILITARY INDUSTRY.. The aerospace industry reports a backlog of orders of about 25 billion dollars - an all-time record. Among other things, the company presented an increase of about 74% in the net profit in the first 9 months of 2024, this in relation to the corresponding period last year.

❗️IRAQ - reports of Israeli preparations for a pre-emptive strike in Iraqi territory against the Shia militias supported by Iran. Transportation of heavy Iranian missiles to these militias in recent weeks.

♦️LEBANON - Wave of airstrikes through the day.

♦️SAMARIA - JENIN - forces carrying out works to expose terror infrastructures and destroy them, and eliminate terrorists.  IED’s encountered.

♦️SYRIA - significant airstrikes in Palmyra, central Syria.  Enemy report: a meeting was held that included officers from the regime with members of the Iranian militias.

⭕ROCKET HIT - Kiryat Shmona - apartment building seriously damaged.  No injuries.

[inkformyblood]

guess (COD Kinktober 2024 Day 14)

Canon Era, Soap x Ghost x Price x Gaz, (Poly141). Sex toys. Lime.

“Package for you, Cap. And one for you, Lieutenant.” Gaz’s arms are loaded high with the recent mail delivery; backlogged for three months with their recent spate of missions and Soap can barely remember half the items he’d ordered while he’d been on leave. Some fresh paints possibly, a new sketchbook given that he was starting to run out of space in his current one and layering fresh drawings over old. 

Gaz drops a handful of parcels onto the table in front of Soap, a few letters mixed in, and Soap grabs for them before Gaz’s words could register.

Between the five of them, Gaz receives the most mail — a combination of a larger family and a minor addiction to the late night shopping channels — then Soap — his own family fairly well-spread, if disorganised, and his artistic hobbies lending themselves to infrequent purchases — but Price almost never receives mail, same as Ghost.

“What did you get?” Soap leans forwards, his own mail abandoned and tips Ghost’s package towards himself, peering at the shipping label. He only gets a glimpse, simplistic text on a plain background, nothing more than a company name, before it’s pulled away, Ghost snapping his fingers in front of his face. 

Gaz nudges Soap back into his seat, dropping onto his lap with a sigh. He’s a solid weight, Soap’s arms falling to his hips then wrapping around Gaz’s belly and squeezing him tight as he presses his forehead to the back of Gaz’s neck. The other man smells like the cheap toiletries in the communal showers, a lingering hit of rich smoke from Price’s cigars, and Soap lifts his face to bite at Gaz’s shoulder, just for something else to do as his mind races. 

Gaz sinks further down, tips his head back to allow Soap better access to his skin. “Same parcel that Price has got,” he murmurs, his gaze darting between the other two men. There’s something brewing between them, the parcels opened just enough to slide the invoices free and they have swapped them, dragging their fingers over the small text. Price is holding his far enough away that it could be grabbed easily…

“Don’t even think about it, lad.”

Fair enough. 

Ghost glances over his invoice, his eyes dark, and a shiver rolls up Soap’s spine, his teeth tight in the fabric of Gaz’s shirt. “Might as well test them out now.” Ghost tears his parcel open without another thought and crooks his fingers at them both. “Doors locked so bend over the desk and you’ll see what we’ve got.”

There’s a strange thrill to being any degree of naked in the main areas of the base, Soap and Gaz folded over the meeting room table and their trousers drawn down to the ankles. 

“Opening scene to a porno ain’t we, Gaz.”

Gaz catches his eye, grins wide. “Have we been naughty boys, sirs?”

A broad hand smacks against Soap’s arse first, low enough to catch the meat of his thigh, and he yelps, jerking forward on the table. Gaz groans into the second impact, burying his face into his hands and raising his hips up. Something rests against Soap’s spine, cool but not metal, a slightly tacky sensation as he shivers and it moves. 

“Eyes front,” Price barks. “Got a surprise for you, lads. Couple of toys for you to test out, but.”

“But, sir?” Gaz asks, chewing over his lower lip, slightly shifting against Soap as he sways his arse, raised high in the air once more. 

“You’re going to guess the size of the toy we are fucking you with. At stake are bragging rights and you can pick the movie tonight.”

[a-sad-mage]

How would the shane gang treat one of their own if they were sick, and how would they act if they were sick themselves?

Collectively when it comes to looking after a sick teammate, there as considerate as they can be. maybe a little teasing lol

Eli, Trixie, and Junjie would be insistent that sick person rested, and if they needed anything to just ask.

Kord would check in more often, see if the sick person needed anything, keep them company, and make sure they took their medicine

Pronto would be dramatic about it lol the Mole is wearing a face mask, goggles and rubber gloves as he hands the sick person a bowl of Molenoid soup he SWARS will insta cure them.

as for the gang being sick...

Eli, I'm not sick, Shane needs to be strapped down to his bed to rest because he will try to go on missions even though he looks like he's two seconds away from passing out. whenever he tries to do anything the Slug's rat him out.

Trixie is more accepting of her fate lol. She'll get cozy in bed, and watch SlugNet videos or take it as an opportunity to edit and post a backlog of Slugisodes she's been meaning to get to. The guys do bug her, checking in to make sure she's fine. Sometimes she dose take advantage of the fact she in the only girl on the team and guilt the guys into buying her snacks or acting in Slugisodes.

Kord is the kind of guy that just works through his sickness, he's like me frfr lmao. he will take his medicine, but he will continue to work on the Mech and Blaster upgrades without a care in the world. the others will tell him to take a brake but he's not going to.

Pronto is a drama queen. holds himself up in his room, to 'not infect the rest of his precious companions with his grave illness!' he's watching rom-coms and eats ice cream just waiting for the sickness to pass.

Junjie is literally the only one who's normal about it. he's coming down with something? Gee Wiz! guess he'll take it easy on the Slug-Fu for a bit, just the basics no advanced stuff, take his medicine, make and drink some herbal tea, take a nap, spend some time fiddling with his gauntlets, quality time with his slugs, maybe read a book, who knows! but what I know is that his hair is down and you can try to pry this HC from my cold dead mage hands because Junjie with his hair down is everything to me-

[implausiblyjosh]

Cohost Criticisms

The following was posted on cohost, which you can find here:

Being upset that people are like "why aren't the financial updates on time, why aren't you explaining the downtime" is baffling to me. They built this site on transparency! Their funding comes with the expectation of financial transparency! Regardless of if people should put faith in the four randoms running the website, people have and it's definitely worrying when the "here's the forecast on how long the lights stay on" post isn't on time.

Additionally, it's totally fine to worry about adding on a ton of extra workload to the site. Remember when the bug report page was overrun with viagra and gambling spam for weeks because no one kept up with it? Or when the site was down with no communication. Apparently paid Artist Alley posts got backlogged. It took someone making two posts on here about horribly bigoted comments on a staff post before moderation happened because the official moderation channels were not working (and the one moderator of the site was a bit of a self-admitted coward in handling moderation of a bigoted comment!). And now you're telling me you're adding tag wrangling, a feature that AO3 seemingly needs a volunteer army for, to your site with no plans of making it sustainable? Y'all seemingly couldn't get one of the other three people of the four person team on the ball with the financial transparency posts that are part of your funding agreement, why should we be excited or hopeful for this new feature?

I get people really want this site to work for them. I'd love for any new social media site to work for me! But unless something drastically changes, the writing is clearly on the wall that this is not that site.

The following is new for you, people reading on Tumblr:

There's a lot of stuff busted with Cohost, and while I think a large part of it comes down to culture issues, there are genuine issues at the foundation of the site. The company that owns it is an LLC, despite being labeled as a "not for profit" operation. But that really doesn't matter, they will never get a change to make a profit, because they're paying themselves "tech workers in silicon valley" money to run their site that makes no profit. Additionally, they have not found a way to crack that nut of profitability, being only funded by some pseudonymous wealthy friend, and with no clear path to "making enough money to get out of debt and/or pay staff", let alone profit.

So there are core issues foundational to the site, but Cohost diehards get extremely upset about the concept of criticizing or talking about cohost in ways they don't like, trying to paint people as bad faith as soon as possible. It's incredibly frustrating! A lot of those Cohost diehards are friends of the owners, so every criticism of cohost is an attack on the friends. You can see this here, where one of said friends of the owners is in my comments defending their "if you don't like it, just leave and stop criticizing my friends business" comments. At one point, people were saying that complaining about accessibility features was like whining to McDonalds cashiers and trashing bathrooms... when the site is worked on by the owners. There are no cashiers, just well-paid owners trying to sell you on a nonprofit fantasy so you'll buy ads or get a subscription.

I want the site to work out because I would like for there to be a semi-permanent place for me to exist online. However... it doesn't seem like that's gonna happen if they refuse to change and they keep up this shitty culture.