#why use an employment agency

[theflyingfeeling]

stupid stupid stupid stupid I am so fucking stupid

(LONG rant in the tags. originally a little longer still but apparently there were too many tags so tumblr deleted the rest lol)

[reasonsforhope]

Federal regulators on Tuesday [April 23, 2024] enacted a nationwide ban on new noncompete agreements, which keep millions of Americans — from minimum-wage earners to CEOs — from switching jobs within their industries.

The Federal Trade Commission on Tuesday afternoon voted 3-to-2 to approve the new rule, which will ban noncompetes for all workers when the regulations take effect in 120 days [So, the ban starts in early September, 2024!]. For senior executives, existing noncompetes can remain in force. For all other employees, existing noncompetes are not enforceable.

[That's right: if you're currently under a noncompete agreement, it's completely invalid as of September 2024! You're free!!]

The antitrust and consumer protection agency heard from thousands of people who said they had been harmed by noncompetes, illustrating how the agreements are "robbing people of their economic liberty," FTC Chair Lina Khan said. 

The FTC commissioners voted along party lines, with its two Republicans arguing the agency lacked the jurisdiction to enact the rule and that such moves should be made in Congress...

Why it matters

The new rule could impact tens of millions of workers, said Heidi Shierholz, a labor economist and president of the Economic Policy Institute, a left-leaning think tank. 

"For nonunion workers, the only leverage they have is their ability to quit their job," Shierholz told CBS MoneyWatch. "Noncompetes don't just stop you from taking a job — they stop you from starting your own business."

Since proposing the new rule, the FTC has received more than 26,000 public comments on the regulations. The final rule adopted "would generally prevent most employers from using noncompete clauses," the FTC said in a statement.

The agency's action comes more than two years after President Biden directed the agency to "curtail the unfair use" of noncompetes, under which employees effectively sign away future work opportunities in their industry as a condition of keeping their current job. The president's executive order urged the FTC to target such labor restrictions and others that improperly constrain employees from seeking work.

"The freedom to change jobs is core to economic liberty and to a competitive, thriving economy," Khan said in a statement making the case for axing noncompetes. "Noncompetes block workers from freely switching jobs, depriving them of higher wages and better working conditions, and depriving businesses of a talent pool that they need to build and expand."

Real-life consequences

In laying out its rationale for banishing noncompetes from the labor landscape, the FTC offered real-life examples of how the agreements can hurt workers.

In one case, a single father earned about $11 an hour as a security guard for a Florida firm, but resigned a few weeks after taking the job when his child care fell through. Months later, he took a job as a security guard at a bank, making nearly $15 an hour. But the bank terminated his employment after receiving a letter from the man's prior employer stating he had signed a two-year noncompete.

In another example, a factory manager at a textile company saw his paycheck dry up after the 2008 financial crisis. A rival textile company offered him a better job and a big raise, but his noncompete blocked him from taking it, according to the FTC. A subsequent legal battle took three years, wiping out his savings. 

-via CBS Moneywatch, April 24, 2024

--

Note:

A lot of people think that noncompete agreements are only a white-collar issue, but they absolutely affect blue-collar workers too, as you can see from the security guard anecdote.

In fact, one in six food and service workers are bound by noncompete agreements. That's right - one in six food workers can't leave Burger King to work for Wendy's [hypothetical example], in the name of "trade secrets." (x, x, x)

Noncompete agreements also restrict workers in industries from tech and video games to neighborhood yoga studios. "The White House estimates that tens of millions of workers are subject to noncompete agreements, even in states like California where they're banned." (x, x, x)

The FTC estimates that the ban will lead to "the creation of 8,500 new businesses annually, an average annual pay increase of $524 for workers, lower health care costs, and as many as 29,000 more patents each year for the next decade." (x)

Clearer explanation of noncompete agreements below the cut.

Noncompete agreements can restrict workers from leaving for a better job or starting their own business.

Noncompetes often effectively coerce workers into staying in jobs they want to leave, and even force them to leave a profession or relocate.

Noncompetes can prevent workers from accepting higher-paying jobs, and even curtail the pay of workers not subject to them directly.

Of the more than 26,000 comments received by the FTC, more than 25,000 supported banning noncompetes. 

[sttm99]

A NEED TO PLEASE

Prohero!Bakugo x Intern!reader

CW? Oral sex(both), p in v, inappropriate relationships, power imbalance.

You, who's so desperate to please, who takes one look at the pro hero Dynamight, Bakugo Katsuki, at his unchanging smile, disapproval in his every stride, and you just know that even just a single line of praise from him would fuel you, scratch every itch in your body.

It had you becoming an overachiever when you began interning for him, despite all the warnings from your coworkers. You came in earlier than everyone, left later than everyone, took on so many tasks, and did them well.

And you had to sleep earlier too, to be ready for the day and do it all again. You stopped going out much, used social media less, when you weren't working, you were resting, you were thinking of Dynamight, day dreaming.

You devoted your world to him, going off on the small nods he gave you when you handed him paperwork, the way he furrowed his brows when he looked at all the documents handled by you, surprise that you could take on so many tasks and do them well.

Every passing glance of his, every hum of approval had you itching to work harder, had you forcing your thighs closed from the arousal.

The extra effort paid off when you were offered full-time employment at his agency, by him no less.

Bakugo was already frustrated, with a recent nasty split between him and another prohero, speculations of abusive tendencies, it had his agency working overtime to keep up his appearances.

Your work caught his eye instantly. He never offered interns full employment. He was notorious for that, which was why they had never worked so hard for him.

But you? He noticed you quickly. You came earlier than everyone, and left later, he noticed you through his office window on the top floor. He watched you go around handling tasks seamlessly.

And at first, he'd thought you to be some college overachiever, greedy for academic validation. But when he had you in his office, sitting at the other side of his desk opposite him, thanking him for the employment offer, he saw it.

In your eyes, every time he listed a good quality of yours, tasks that got him to notice you, there was a shine and a little glaze over. He saw how your fingers fidgeted, how you pressed your thighs closer.

He smirked as you stood to leave. How thirsty were you for his validation?

"Lock the door, YN." He called out from where he sat, smirk widening when he saw the first spark of excitement in your eyes.

He knew this was wrong and inappropriate. You were an intern, and he was your boss. You were a young college girl, and he was a thirty something year old divorcee.

"Come over here."

But when you were standing over him so timidly whilst he sat back in his chair, legs spread wide before you, dark grin on his face, he couldn't resist.

"You're hardworking," he began, buttering you up, enjoying your face, "Such a good worker, a good girl for me." He said softly, his voice husky and low. "Take care of me, will you?"

He was frustrated, and you were needy. This was just convenience, he thought to himself as he had his hand in your hair, pushing your face further into his groin, your mouth widening to accompany his size, his tip in your throat.

"Good girl..." he groaned, eyes squeezed shut as you sucked him off in his office, your mouth so good and tongue so warm, enveloping him so sweetly, so softly, so nasty.

He looked down at you, at your blown pupils and dazed eyes, tears falling down your cheeks and cum falling down your jaw, and yet you never stopped. You kept sucking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and draining his dick.

Your tongue licked along the vein, underneath the mushroom tip of his cock, swirled along his shaft.

How good a college girl's mouth was.

How good your mouth was.

He came hard, his dick pulsing on your warm tongue, and his groans only made you wetter.

It was the start of the end, with Bakugo having you suck him off every day at work, with Bakugo burying his face in your little pussy when he'd had a long day.

He fucked you and fucked you, ramming his dick into you mercilessly as you lay sprawled out on his desk, pressed against the walls, hanging off his arms as he had you prone bone.

He bred you animalistically, filling you up with his cum again and again and again till you were full, and then some.

And you ate it all up, because after all, this was what you'd wanted from the very start.

[drdemonprince]

since u said to ask u questions about money. i’ve been struggling with whether/how to save for retirement. my boomer parents have been prepping for retirement and encouraging me to have retirement funds but it’s hard to balance with a lot of doomer feelings about the future. like the “why throw money at a retirement i may not even have” type of feeling. do you have a take here?

Saving for retirement is not *just* so you have resources when you are 67 or whatever. It's also so you are not as dependent upon an employer now. I strongly strongly recommend that anyone who does have the means to save research the FI/RE movement, and specifically throw some money into high interest savings accounts (Vanguard's money market account is a good one) or an index fund -- my investments are literally up 14% this year, it's money you're completely leaving on the table if you just have it sitting in a checking or even a low-yield savings account. If you're socking any money away at all, it should be working *for* you and generating income, otherwise that savings is losing value over time due to inflation. It's really all about having some cushion that makes you less dependent upon any single employer or your family or a spouse, so you can walk away if anything gets hairy. It's also so you have a slush fund to take care of emergencies and your friends. I really wish that more left-leaning people wouldnt just throw their hands up and conclude that exercising any kind of financial agency is useless, bc that thinking makes us way easier to starve and exploit! The wealthy people exploiting us want us throwing every last penny away and feeling powerless.

I recommend reading Mr Money Mustache, the book Boggleheads, following the financialindependence and leanfire subreddits, and finding the Socially Conscious Mustachians facebook group.

[jezabelle9299]

Caretaker S.R x fem!Reader

Reader is hired as a live-in caretaker for Diana. Describes when she accidentally flooded the apartment, but I kind of mess with canon and plot. Could kind of take place after prison other than that. Diana ships Reader and Spencer. Reader is a graduate student in an online program.

C-Ws: Diana slaps reader, descriptions of alzheimer's and schizophrenia, Spencer is not used to people trying to take care of him and thinks he'll scare away reader.

(I've worked in a memory care/assisted living facility, and have a few relatives with alzheimer's and schizophrenia. But this is based on my still somewhat limited experience. And I have no medical experience, mostly just hospitality and comfort based work)

You had finally gotten to the address the agency gave you, after waiting a short eternity in the Washington traffic. It was a live-in caretaker job of a woman with schizophrenia and alzheimer's, living also with her son who traveled often for work. Your contact at the agency said the son, Dr. Reid was very nice and was ok with your slightly more limited experience. You buzzed and after a little while the man you assumed to be Dr.Reid came to the door. 

“Hi, you must be Ms.Y/L/N from the agency, I’m so glad you’re here.” He looked both shocked and relieved, like he thought you wouldn’t actually show up. While you were trying not to notice (Or at least trying not to show) that you thought the doctor was particularly gorgeous. But he would not only functionally be your employer, but also a sort of roommate. Plus you really wanted this job, you were a little new to being a live in caretaker after working in assisted living facilities since high school. You were in a grad program now, one you were completing online that allowed you to have caretaking as your career. 

“I’m happy to be here! You must be Dr.Reid?” 

“I am, and this is my mother Diana Reid.” He gestured to the woman on the couch, who had yet to even look at you. I mean you were kind of invading her house, so you couldn’t blame her. But you were determined to make her like you, I mean this job is a huge opportunity, and as you were new to the city the live in position was a two-birds-one-stone situation.  

“Hi Ms. Reid, I’m Y/N, it’s lovely to meet you. Your son has told me so much about you.” You gave her a nervous wave as you walked in front of the couch, still attempting to give her space while being in her line of sight. 

“I’m sure he has. I don’t need a stranger hovering over me.” She then stormed into the adjoining room, shutting and locking the door behind her. Dr.Reid attempted to chase after her, finding the door locked from the inside and calling out to her. 

“Mom, please just meet her! You’ve chased off every other nurse from the agency!” he got no reply, and solemnly turned back towards you. He was exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and he looked utterly dejected. 

“I’m sorry to waste your time, I understand if you’d like to leave.”

“I’ll stay, unless you’d like me to leave.” confusion and hope clouded his expression, you weren’t giving up that easy.

“That was just a first meeting, I get that she doesn’t want me in her space, but she might warm up to me. Plus, one of the best ways for me to get to know her right now is through you.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much. Today is one of her worse days, she’s not usually like this I swear.” He looked elated at the fact you didn’t leave so you knew you were getting the job. He just needed the help too much, and you were determined to get this woman to like you. From what Dr.Reid had already told you over the phone, she seemed like a wonderful woman you’d actually really like to know. She just had to not hate you first. 

“It’s ok, just a bad day. I totally understand she’s upset. Why don’t you and I talk until she comes out?”

“Yes, here have a seat, and I’ll grab you some water.” He hurriedly cleared some books off the couch so you could sit, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a glass of water a few moments later. While he was gone you pulled your work notebook and some pens out so you could take some notes. 

“Thank you Dr. Reid, that’s really sweet.”

“Of course, and you can call me Spencer.” 

“Alright, really quick just like my experience and such, I’m sure the agency told you most of it. I’m a little new to being a live-in caretaker, but I have experience at a couple assisted living facilities. I’ve taken care of a few family members with schizophrenia as well as alzheimers so I have experience with that as well. I’m a graduate student so I’ll work on some classwork during times when your mother is resting but it’s all online so it shouldn’t interfere with anything.”

He nodded along patiently as you basically read him your resume, and then responded in kind. “That all sounds great, I travel as part of my work so I may be gone for a few days to a week at a time, but it should never be for too long, and as this is a live-in position I’ll leave a card you can use for anything you or my mother need while I’m gone.” 

“That’s very kind, thank you. So, could you run me through a regular day for your mother? Just all of it, the activities she likes, medications, food times, all that good stuff so I can be prepared, and not change her routine too much.” You bounced back and grabbed a pen to start taking notes to help you remember all of the information. 

“Absolutely, yeah. Does this mean that you’ll take the job?” He looked so full of hope at the sentiment.

“If you’re offering, then yes I’d love to. I can start whenever you’re ready.” He lit up and pulled you into a hug you were not at all prepared for. He smelled really good, which was only made more noticeable by the sharp inhale you took in surprise of the gesture.

“Oh. Hi.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say during the hug to cut the tension you were feeling. He clearly took this as discomfort and pulled away. 

“Sorry, I jus- Thank you. That is amazing, thank you so much.”

“Of course, I really need to thank you for the opportunity. I look forward to getting to know your mom.”

You talked about different logistics, as well as him giving you a short tour of the house before you had to leave, before Diana would re-emerge. You started the next day, with Spencer there to start to ease the transition in the morning. After he left you and Diana, confident that she was having a good day, he headed for work. 

Diana did not have a good day after getting some rest after lunch. She needed to take one more medication, but when she woke up, she didn’t remember you. At least not as you the person her son hired to take care of you, she thought that you were using her son to get information on her. She thought you were there to manipulate the both of them, so when you offered her medication she wouldn’t take it. 

You did all you could do, you waited. And then after a short window had passed you gave her a drink with her medication in it, which after she drank, she realized it was the medication. She called you a fascist, and then unfortunately, slapped you. This wasn’t the first time a confused elderly person had gotten physical with you, so you attempted to keep your professionalism in tact. She ran to the bedroom, and you sat against the wall, reading to her from a collection of poetry Spencer said she loved. 

When you went to check on her and she was safely asleep, you continued cleaning the mess from the previous day. A small flood spread through the apartment, damaging several books and leaving towels littered around the room after Spencer had collapsed from exhaustion about the time you finished unpacking for the night. Spencer came home about the same time, to towels freshly in the wash, and you attempting to start repairing the books. You had a friend who was a librarian, and between a phone call with her and extensive research on the internet you’d made some progress. Books were spread out around you, in various states of drying and re-drying. You only noticed when you heard the door shut that he had come home, not hearing the key turn in the lock like you thought you would. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, uh-what are you doing?” He was carrying a leather satchel that he was now setting on his desk, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. His brow cocked in confusion as he looked at you.

“Oh, I noticed the books that got damaged, and your mother is still resting so I thought I’d get started on the drying process. I promise I asked my friend, she’s a librarian so that I wouldn’t make it worse.”

“Wow, that is really sweet, thank you Y/N. I really appreciate it.” He was walking closer to where you were sitting on the floor in the living room, carefully avoiding the spread-out books. 

“How’s mom doing? Did the rest of the day go alright?” He turned on the lamp by the couch, before moving a few of the books to sit. You had just started talking about his mother’s day, when his expression completely changed. He noticed the small mark on your face, and sprang off the couch, moving to the floor near you. 

“What happened?” You didn’t realize what he was talking about immediately, looking down to see if something was wrong you hadn’t noticed. When he gestured toward his own cheek, you remembered. 

“Oh yeah, Diana woke up from her nap after lunch and she got a little confused. She thought I was someone else, and that I was trying to get information about her. She slapped me, but it’s really no big deal. She just got confused is all. 

“No. No, that most certainly is a big deal.” He said it firmly, like there was no room for argument. But you jumped to yours, and his mothers, defense. 

“It’s really not. It’s common when alzheimers or dementia patients wake up not knowing where they are. She didn’t mean anything by it, I read to her, through the door, that poetry collection you mentioned yesterday. I think she liked it, and she felt better after she took her meds, she at least got some more rest.”

“That’s great- but I don’t want you to feel trapped here. If something isn’t alright, you can tell me, and I would understand if you wanted to leave.” You nodded to let him know you understood, and then followed it up with leaning back against the front of the couch and a small smile.

“You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.” Your attempt to lighten the mood was not really helping. 

“No!-Believe me, that is not what I was saying. I really appreciate you helping my mom and I out, but I just want you to be here because you want to be.” 

“Well thank you, Spencer. But it’s really ok. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise.” You made a small cross-your-heart motion to convey the truth of your sentiment. 

Now, why don’t you help me with these books, while I switch out laundry.” you pat him on the shoulder as you walked by. The first time the two of you had touched since the hug he thought had made you uncomfortable. His sweater was soft under your skin, his shoulders firm. But you kept walking, you were on the clock after all.

When you walked back you started gathering the restored books to put back, and tried to get back to work related conversation, or at least tangentially related to work. “Alright, towels are in the dryer, and I’m sorry I can’t quite figure out what your system is for these books. Could you point me in the direction of where these go?” You gestured to the small stack in your arms, and he immediately got up. 

“It’s a combination of the dewey decimal system, and a little bit moved around based on sentimentality, I can put these away. Thank you again for helping me dry them. I know it’s not really in your job description.” Ok has no one helped this man? He is very over appreciative of the little things, and he looks like he’s scared you’ll run away any second. It’s sweet, but my god. 

“I like to be helpful, and there was also a little selfish motivation. I was curious about your taste in books. I mean you have so many, I had to be a little nosey.” You kind of attempted to add a flirtatious tone, but you were still hoping this crush would go away. This was a job, and it would be nice if you didn’t get overly attached to him. Although it was a little late for that. 

“I don’t know if i’d call it nosey, it’s nice that you’re curious. What did you think?” He was looking between you and the floor, while blushing. Maybe he liked you too. Wouldn’t that be nice. 

“I mean I’m no profiler, but I can take a guess.” He had told you about his job and what it entailed as it required him to be gone for long periods of time. So you kept the flirty undertone, somewhat under the guise of silliness, as you two moved closer together, whether consciously or otherwise. 

“I think you read A LOT. Like more than I probably could in a lifetime, and since I know you don’t exactly have excesses of freetime, you have incredible reading comprehension. Speed reader maybe? And some were in a few different languages, so maybe a linguistics major in college? Could be your doctorate. Also the style of the books is contributing to the apartment both functionally and as a decoration. They’re as much comfort objects as they are entertainment. So if I had to guess, you were a shy kid who read a lot.”

“Alright, not bad at all. Although my doctorates are in mathematics, engineering, and chemistry. The languages are easier because I have an eidetic memory. I am a speed reader, as our subconscious minds can process significantly more than our conscious minds.” There was one part consciously left out. He couldn’t have forgotten, he told you so himself. But you couldn’t resist, you wanted to know him. More than accomplishments and accolades.

“And the last part?” He looked upset, and you regretted asking it. It must have really bothered him, really been over the line.

“Yes, I was a big reader as a kid. I was a prodigy so making friends wasn’t easy, and I’m sure you noticed I’m kind of- well- odd.” odd? I mean interesting, or extraordinary sure, but odd wasn’t the word you’d use. It felt so…negative.

“I don’t think you’re odd. The prodigy aspect makes sense though, especially since I know you have 3 doctorates instead of the 1 I assumed you had. Also, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of speaking from experience. I had more books than friends when I was little too.” You were sharing a small smile as you stood near the wooden shelves, until you heard the bedroom door open, and you stepped away from each other, gaining back the space you lost. 

“Hi Diana, did you sleep ok? Is there anything I can get you?” She gently shook her head, confused, but piecing it together as she woke up. 

“No, thank you. Spencer, who's your friend? Is she- is she your girlfriend?” She spoke in a hushed tone for the last part, like it was a fun secret between the 3 of you.” He looked like an embarrassed teenager, as he turned toward his mother. 

“No, mom. This is Y/N, she’s taking care of you, you guys spent the day together?” She started to understand, but kept giving Spencer a look like she didn’t quite believe him. 

After you cooked dinner, something Spencer also tried to convince you wasn’t necessary. Seems like he wasn’t used to being taken care of. You cleaned the kitchen, giving Spencer some time with his mom before you all resigned to bed. You didn’t cross paths again for a few days, with Spencer leaving before dawn for a case. 

When he returned a few days later, after many call and text updates on his mothers condition (that occasionally strayed to more personal topics of your life, but you wrote it off as him being polite)  he found you and his mom sitting on the couch, like the best of friends flipping through her scrapbook as she told you stories from Spencer's childhood. It was a good exercise to keep her mind sharp, as well as helping her feel more comfortable with you. 

“Hi Spencer, how was work?” He looked confused, and he was moving cautiously like he didn’t want to disturb the fleeting moment of happiness. His mother was happy, and the woman he had an ill-advised crush on were spending time together. In his home. It was perfect.

“It was good, it looks like you two had a good day?” His mother nodded her approval, and gestured for him to sit down.

“We did. Your mother read me some of her favorite books. And I didn’t know you could do magic! We were just looking through her wonderful scrapbook.” You directed the last part to Diana, wanting her to know how much you appreciated her trust. Spencer had the same embarrassed teenager look he did the previous day. 

“I’m glad you’re home Spencer, but it is late and I’m going to go get some rest.” His mother got up from the couch, and gave him a hug goodnight. Once she had disappeared back into the bedroom, you turned your attention back to Spencer. 

“There’s a plate for you in the fridge if you’re hungry by the way.” He still looked surprised, like he couldn’t believe you’d cook for him when he wasn’t even home. 

“Thank you, I have to finish a little bit more paperwork, but that sounds wonderful.” 

“It’s really no problem, I hope you like it. But before you start your paperwork, I’d like to request a magic trick.” He seemed perpetually confused. And he was. He couldn’t believe you, so happy, so sweet, and so kind. You wanted to see his dorky magic tricks and fix his books and talk to his mom. He knew you were being paid, but it wasn’t that much. Not enough for most people to go this far above and beyond. This was all you.

“You really want to see my magic?” 

“Yeah, I’ve never seen a magic trick in person, that’s really cool. And it’s a little easier to practice inside than the trapeze.” You both laughed, and his blush grew even deeper. He grabbed a set of cards from a prized spot on his bookshelf, part of the very small space not crowded with actual books.

He offered the cards, fanned out to you and asked you to pick one. You picked the ace of hearts. 

He pulled the 2 of diamonds, looking confident for maybe the first time since you met him. “Is this your card?” A part of you really wanted to lie. He looked so happy, but you just muttered a quiet no. He tried again, looking confused as to how he got it wrong the first time. This time he pulled the 6 of clubs 

“Is this your card?” You shook your head and he flipped through the deck, cards still facing down. Looking through as if something was missing, his brow furrowing as he did. You could see the moment realization struck, it was as if a cartoon lightbulb appeared over his head.

He leaned toward you and your breath hitched. Once your faces were so close you could’ve leaned forward and made contact, he pulled the correct card from your hair. And when he held it up for you, he smiled when you lit up. 

“Is this your card?” He spoke a lot quieter now, and he moved the little bit of hair that had fallen into your face during the trick back over your shoulder. When you thought you’d explode if he stayed this close without moving any closer, he did. His stubble grazed your face as he connected your lips. His were a little bit chapped, but they still felt soft the way he moved them. He sighed when he pulled away and you were worried you did something wrong. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so-so sorry.” 

“Why? I mean I know why the situation isn’t ideal, but why are you sorry?”

“Because you are currently relying on me not only for employment but for a place to stay, and I shouldn’t have just put that pressure on you. I lost control, and I’m so sorry. I understand if I made you uncomfortable.” He sat back down on the couch, but this time you followed him. You really liked him, even though you’d only known him a couple of days. 

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t feel pressured, and I didn’t kiss you back because I’m currently staying in your house. I kissed you back because I wanted to, I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you hugged me when I accepted the job.” He finally looked back at you, with those big brown puppy dog eyes, and you grabbed his hand. 

“Really? Are you sure you want that?” 

“Certain. Spencer, I really like you. And if you like me too, then we can talk about how that would work logistically. We could figure something out. If you don’t want that or don’t feel the same way, we can forget about this. We never have to talk about it again, and we can just keep it professional.”

“No!” He rushed out, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat, straightened his posture and started again. “I don’t want that, I do like you too. And I definitely want to figure this out.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. He liked you too. It felt so high school, but that made you want to either squeal with joy, or tackle him onto the couch. 

You settled on a cool neither, instead giving him a kiss on the nose as you got up from the couch. And he watched you, hesitantly letting your hand go, like he thought you said all that just to leave. 

“We are definitely having that conversation…tomorrow. You haven’t eaten and, cute as you may be, you look like you  haven’t slept in days. So we will finish this tomorrow, whenever you’re ready.” You pulled his plate from the fridge, placing it in the microwave so that he could eat something. He looked at you like you were the sun, the moon, and the stars. 

“You think I’m cute?” 

“Yes Dr. Hot stuff, I think you’re cute. I thought we just went over this?” He blushed even more at the doctor comment. You looked at each other until the timer snapped you out of it. You set the plate on the table and wished him a goodnight, as you moved to the guest bedroom. You couldn’t sleep, you were so excited. But you wanted him to be in the best possible headspace, this was a big decision. 

When Spencer finished his dinner and his paperwork he moved to the master bedroom, still buzzing with excitement. When he closed the door his mother stirred. She spoke quietly, still half asleep. 

“Spencer, you really should take Y/N out. I think she has a little crush on you. And you deserve someone who can take care of you.” Then she drifted back to sleep, but Spencer was still beaming. 

[spiderhanzzz]

"I'M FUCKING SPIDERMAN, BABY" — han jisung.

who would've guessed that the guy you've been texting on tinder is spiderman?

word count: 2.7k

pairings: spiderman!han x journalist intern!reader

genres: humor, fluff, slight angst, comfort, kind of fake dating???

warnings: swearing, drinking, han is referred to as peter, reader and han are both uni students, mentions of vomit and violence, mild injuries, lowkey blackmailing if u squint, no use of y/n & gender neutral reader, han calls reader "pretty" once, usage of "baby" and "sweetie" too

playlist: les childish gambino, dare gorillaz, novacane frank ocean, i bet you look good on the dancefloor arctic monkeys, making the bed olivia rodrigo

a/n: my first fic raaahh!!! >:3 so so excited for u 2 read all these crazy ideas swirling inside my head

“...whoever provides the information on Spider-Man’s real identity will receive a cash prize of $1,000 US dollars…”

Your gaze bores to the glow of your old crappy TV. You haven’t had the time nor funds to purchase a new one, given that your only employment at the moment is a journalistic internship. It’s a good agency, the same one reporting on screen right now, and you acknowledge how hard you had worked to get the position. Nevertheless, you wish you prioritized financial gain over prestige, because now you’re stuck in your run-down apartment in New York, investigating the biggest issues for no money at all.

So you guess it’s not that big of a deal that you have no leads on who the hell Spider-Man is. If any higher-ups scold you, you could just hit them with those snarky remarks you’ve kept in the back of your mind all this time. How do you expect incentive from me if you’re not even paying me? I’m writing all your scripts because everyone else is a damn deadbeat! Maybe then they’ll start appreciating you.

You released a heavy sigh. All this nonsense is giving you a permanent headache, and it doesn’t help that you spend most of your free time scrolling mindlessly on your phone, which lights up with a new text notification the moment you start thinking about it. Perhaps you’ve spent so much time on your phone it’s becoming a part of your brain?

Peter Han: hahah tbh im pretty busy this week, but i’ll let u know for sure :)

A light shade of embarrassment tints your face when you catch yourself smiling at the text message. Usually Peter— the cute guy you’ve been texting on Tinder�� never uses any emoticons. In fact, he’s been acting pretty uninterested and dry with you, which wouldn’t bother you as much if it weren’t for the fact that you desperately need a date to your friend’s birthday party next week.

Despite your humiliatingly destitute lifestyle, you pride yourself for your unmatched abilities to blend into any crowd. So like any other New Yorker, you decided to surround yourself with upper class Manhattan socialites. They like you; they don’t need to know about your financial status.

But with great power comes great responsibility, and with great social life comes great expectations. Last week it was a certain Kate Spade wallet with the intentions to match with the whole group of girls, and the week before it was table manners at a European restaurant (how in the hell were you supposed to know which fork to use for a crème brûlée?) This week, though, they gave you the most impossible task of all: get a date.

And you would. Truly, you would. It’s not like you’re particularly unattractive or unlikeable or anything like that. It’s just that you haven’t dipped your toes into the dating pool since university started, and you’re too far gone now. Your peers are fluent in these unspoken rules of dating and you don’t even really know what a situationship is.

Thus why you’re acting a little bit too desperate with Peter.

As you draft a response to him— is it better to use two or three y’s in hey?— your train of thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud on your balcony, followed by a shadow of vibrant colours. Your couch is situated safely so you can see right out the window, but angled in a way that someone outside wouldn’t be able to see you inside. You found this hack on social media on a particularly paranoid rush of nerves and thanked whoever that person was every single night.

Hesitating for a minute, you consider your options: a) attempt to fight off whoever is in your building, b) run out and alert security, or b) pretend like you didn’t hear anything and pray you don’t see your own face on TV tomorrow instead of Spider-Man’s.

If you were acting rational you would have chosen the last option. After all, it’s New York— if there’s anything prevalent here, it’s crime. But you are just so fucking bored. 

So you grab a baseball bat and swing open the window. 

“Get the hell off my balcony, dude!”

To your surprise, you stand face to face with a pair of dangling Converse All-Stars (really dirty ones, too). In your spur of confusion you come to the conclusion that whoever is sitting above your flat has the ugliest red socks you’ve ever seen in your life.

“What the fuck, man?” The person exclaims. “You bruised my knee!”

“That sounds about right for messing with my place, no?” You say, stepping out onto the balcony to get a good look at the stranger.

Just when you think you couldn’t get more disoriented, you realize the man you’re looking up to is not a stranger at all. It’s none other than Peter Han, in a full on Spider-Man suit.

“Peter…?”

The stranger, AKA Peter, breathes out a nervous laugh, raking his hand through his messy hair. Cute, you think.

“I think you mistook me for someone else. I’m not Peter.”

“Okay…” You say dubiously. “Why are you wearing a Spider-Man suit then?”

“I’m a… uh… cosplayer?”

When his eyes meet yours, the truth sings: he’s been caught. Peter Han is Spider-Man.

He’s terrified, you can tell. You don’t blame him— you would be too in his position. But it’s not just the fact that you know now; it’s also the mischievous glint twinkling in your eyes. Just what the hell are you thinking about that could be so amusing right now?

“W-what’s that look for?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. Maniacal laughter bursts out of you like you’ve been possessed by the spirit of a circus clown, and you have to hold on to the balcony railing to stop yourself from falling over. “Oh, Peter, you naive little fool.”

Peter’s brows furrow in confusion. You mentally curse yourself for admiring how handsome he looks when he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m on the case to find out Spider-Man’s identity. Well, your identity, I guess.”

“You did not tell me that.”

“Yes, I did.” You cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a judgemental look. “You’d know that if you paid any attention to what I have to say.”

“Look, listen…” Peter braces his lean arms on the side of the window to lower himself on your balcony. Standing face to face, you note that he’s not as tall as you thought. “I know I haven’t been the warmest person to you, but I would literally get on my knees and beg for you to please not tell anyone about this.”

You hum in amusement, taking a step closer to him and raising your chin with undoubted sanguine. Like this, you’re almost the same height as him. “As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather have you doing something else for me.”

Peter chuckles in disbelief, eyes wandering to the sky as if to ask God what have I done to deserve this absolute nonsense? His palms rest upon your shoulders when he looks you dead in the eye and says, “You are not blackmailing me, sweetie.”

“That’s a lot of confidence for someone who has very blackmail-able secrets.”

“That’s not even a word!”

“Whatever.” You peel away his hands from your shoulders, straightening your posture and pulling your shoulders back. Peter faces you with a puzzled gaze as you offer him your hand, clearing your throat and stating, “Peter Han, I would like to make a deal with you.”

He doesn’t move. “And that is…?”

“Date me.” Seeing his face contort into an even deeper state of befuddlement, you follow up with elaboration. “One date to a party next week, and just a few meet-ups and texts to prove that our relationship is going strong. In return, I’ll pretend this whole exchange never happened.”

You’re both silent for what feels like hours, eyes fighting a silent mental battle, until Peter’s rough palms finally envelop your own. You’re aware of how crazy and delusional you sound, but you swear he pulls you in just a little bit closer.

“Deal.”

It’s your third year in the city, and you’re still not fully familiarized with the parties. Contrary to your expectations of drunk sweaty bodies dancing up on each other, your friends’ definition of parties consists of low warm lighting embracing their glittered luxury brand dresses as they swirl their fancy little martinis and cosmopolitans. You appreciate it, really, since you don’t have to use up your voice every other night just to shout over the deafening electronic music. However it’s much harder to appreciate the pressure it puts on you to behave a certain way— dance like nobody’s watching, but be aware that they are.

As you slowly walk to approach your friends (rule #32: no running in public spaces, you’ll look like an idiot) you feel a large hand brush softly against your waist. You turn to face your date for the night, warmth creeping up your cheeks as you take in his appearance. The only suit he’s wearing now is an all-black tuxedo with no tie, the first three buttons of his shirt opened. His black hair is brushed down smoothly, pieces of it falling just right to frame his glowing face.

“You clean up well,” you remark, circling your arm in his as you guide him towards the bar where your friends are sitting.

“I could say the same to you, pretty.” With the sleek black shoes he’s wearing, he’s a few inches taller. Slightly looking down on you, he gives you a subtle wink.

God, he’s such a heartthrob.

Your friends round up to give you hugs and kisses to welcome your presence, ever so politely. One of them acknowledges Peter’s companionship. “You must be the date.”

“That I am.” Peter returns the approach, showing off his adorably heart-shaped smile. “Peter Han, pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of the night runs as it does in your dreams the night before. By the time you had arrived, your friends were already buzzed enough to pay no mind to the way the leather is peeling off your only pair of formal shoes nor to the typo on your fake branded bag. Just the way it’s supposed to be.

Peter doesn’t leave your side the entire night, only lifting his arm around your waist to grab more drinks for the both of you. Occasionally you catch him absentmindedly rubbing your back, and occasionally you catch yourself wondering how someone who spends so much of his life fighting can be this gentle.

During a small bathroom break, one of your friends pulls you aside and whispers, “He looks at you like you hung the stars, you know.”

If you weren’t so swept up in the feeling of finally belonging under the subtle incandescence of a high-end bar in Manhattan, you would have noticed the way Peter’s eyes darken when he read a notification off his phone, or the way his lips press into a tight line when he gazes at you, laughing your heart away amongst your friends.

So you’re nothing short of confounded when he wraps his arms around your waist and leans down to mumble, “Baby, I have to go, there’s a work emergency. I’ll catch you later, alright?”

Your friends bid him farewell and you press a chaste kiss to his cheek, immediately turning away when you feel his body tense. When he walks out the door, you keep your eyes focused on how his soft hair loses its shimmer as he walks out into the night.

And you try to enjoy the warm liquid pouring down your throat for the fifth time tonight, savoring the way you can almost taste a bit of yourself pull away from reality each time, knowing at least one of the people around you will walk away tonight asking, “don’t you think that Peter is a bit cold?”

You sit on the edge of your balcony, something you never do unless you’re going through an existential crisis or drunk off your ass. Tonight it’s both. As usual, the distant sirens and exclamations of curses wrap a tight band around your head. You’re dizzy; either from the alcohol or situation or both.

The ocean of fluorescent lights from the streets of Queens drift your mind to recall just how you ended up here. Three years ago, you were a fresh high school graduate with a million opportunities in front of you. Now you’re broke and rely too much on the validation of your non-broke friends to fulfill the void inside you. The thought of eventually having nobody but yourself after you graduate makes you wanna vomit on a passerby’s head.

“Hey, baby.” A particularly resonant voice startles you out of your thoughts. Peter is swinging from your balcony railing, a pair of gray sweatpants and zip-up jacket slung over his Spider-Man suit. “Sorry for ditching early. I got pizza and flowers to make it up to you, though.”

He swings himself to sit down next to you, placing the box of pizza and bouquet in front of your crossed legs. When he pulls his mask over his head to remove it, your eyes glance over his cuts and bruises. They definitely weren’t there earlier.

“What happened?” You unconsciously bring a hand up to his face, brushing your knuckles tenderly over the sensitive areas. It’s only when he winces that you drop your hand back down to your lap.

“Some guy tried to rob a bank.” Peter shrugged, refusing to meet your gaze. “Turns out he brought a bunch of other guys to back him up.”

“Did you win, at least?”

Though his face is turned down, you can see Peter’s eyes crinkle into a smile underneath his tousled hair. “Yeah, ‘course I did. Who do you think I am, a loser? I’m fucking Spider-Man, baby.”

Ten minutes later you’re seated face to face, still on your balcony, with you dabbing a cotton pad onto his injuries. No words were exchanged; you just went in and out to grab your emergency medical kit and grabbed him by the chin. The pizza box is left unattended, but neither of you care much about the hunger puncturing your insides.

“Why do you look so down?” Peter inquires as you place a Hello Kitty bandaid on his cheekbone, giggling breathlessly as you do so.

“Do I?”

“Yeah.” He brings his own hand up to your face, brushing away the strands of your hair on your forehead. “I mean, you’re smiling now, but your eyes have this sadness to them. So, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

What the actual fuck? It literally takes you every nerve in your body to fight the urge to propose to this man right then and there.

“Hey, come on,” he urges, delicately pulling your face an inch closer to his. His thumbs run down your flushed cheeks, and it takes you a while to notice he’s brushing away your tears. “I said talk to me.”

“Well, you’ve probably already noticed that I’m different from my friends.” You wrap your fingers around his wrists. “I guess I thought I could pull off the whole socialite act, but I’m starting to feel so…”

When you can’t find the words, Peter finds them for you. “Lost?”

He presses his forehead to yours as you nod softly. “This might not be the best time, but I think you’re a star.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you shine the brightest amongst everyone else’s shadow. And your friends probably see you that way too. Also that I really, really want to take you out on a real date.”

“You were right, it’s terrible timing.” You fake pout, pretending as if your heart didn’t skip a beat at his words.

“Sorry, sorry!” Peter laughs, setting distance between the two of you once again. There is no inclination to pull him back, though; the space devoid of someone else finally feels comfortable.

“My answer is yes, by the way, you can take me out on a real date. Unfortunately no blackmail this time, though, I think I'm gonna quit that dumb internship.”

Both of you share a fit of affectionate laughter. The temperate scent of food merges with that of the flowers and caresses your senses as Peter opens the box of pizza. “If they ever make fun of you for not being rich, we can always stage one of them as Spider-Man. We'll even get $1,000 from it, then you'll actually be rich."

“I’ll take you up on that offer, Spidey.”

[jpitha]

New and... Improved?

This is a continuation of the universe in

Voiding the Warranty

Whatever Happened to Lauren Ingram

They Can't Edit All of Us... Can They?

The shipyard was gigantic. Humans always built large, even when they didn't have to. Spindly, long beams reached out through the midnight blue of space, illuminated with harsh shadows by massive lights. When the shipyard was in sunlight sharp double shadows were cast, which caused an optical illusion about how many beams there really were. Well, for humans at least. Most other Coalition species didn't have the same issues with their brains lying to them like the humans did. Peme wondered if that was part of the reason for why they acted the way they did. If you couldn't even believe your own eyes, it makes sense you'd want to verify and experiment and prove everything you saw.

There were only three ships currently under construction in the shipyard. Even if they never built more than two or three ships at a time, the shipyard could support the construction of more than a hundred. When asked why, the Humans would do that annoying half smile they do and say something pointless like "You never know."

Agent Peme stood in the runabout, behind the pilot as she was shuttled to a ship in the rear of the shipyard. It was about Frigate sized - small for humans - but still about the same size as most of the cargo ships Peme used to command before signing on with HIDA. She didn't know what to expect when the human agency extended an offer of employment to her, but with what she had seen, she felt like she couldn't go back to her old life.

They were surprisingly welcoming and she had quickly learned that there were quite a few other non-humans employed by the Human InterDimensional Authority. She even had the card that explained that she could commander any Coalition vessel at any time if she felt that it was necessary for the "dimensional integrity of the Coalition's existence" like all the other Agents. It weighed heavily in her uniform pocket. She still couldn't believe that the Coalition agreed to them.

Her Mentor, Victor Henrick lounged in the passenger seats a few meters back from the pilot. "Come on, Peme, there's no need to loom over the pilot. They know where we're going." He said, smiling. Peme walked back and sat heavily in the seat that was just a touch too small for her - human designed.

"Victor, I don't like it. Why are we all going to see this ship? HIDA hardly ever sends more than one agent, and Dispatch has sent three of us."

As she spoke, Shimmering Heat, one of the other nonhumans in HIDA glanced up from his pad and regarded Peme. "If you read your brief, Peme, you'd know why we're going." Even speaking Belanic, his voice was musical, lilting.

Peme's fur bristled. "I did read the brief, Shimmer. You know what I mean. Why are three of us going - specifically two who have witnessed an Editing and one who probably knows the most about them?"

Victor raised his hands, making a conciliatory gesture. Victor was raised in space, and grew up in a pressure suit. As such, a lot of his speech was peppered with spacer gestures. When you can't read body language, you develop other ways to subtly express things. "Friends, please. Shimmer is right in that the broad strokes of why we are here are in the brief-" Shimmer's crest flicked, like a smug smile "-but Peme is also correct that the true details were left out for security reasons." Peme's fur lowered slightly. "Now." Victor looked down at his pad and touched it a few times. The Pilot raised his right hand without turning to look at them, and unplugged his headset. "We can speak freely. You are correct that there is a reason why you two are coming to see this ship, especially since you are a freshly minted Agent, Peme. You two have witnessed the consequences of when a human tinkers with a FlashWarp drive."

Shimmer's feathers rippled. He was the only person in existence who remembered his human. She had upgraded the FlashWarp drive on his ship and was rewarded with being edited out of reality. Peme's human survived, but only with the help of a HIDA agent who was onboard.

"The ship we're going to tour - the Terms of Service - has been outfitted with a new kind of FTL drive."

Peme stared at Victor, and then out the window at the ship they were approaching, and then back to Victor. "A FlashWarp drive? I thought humans could not use them?"

Victor grinned. "Well, we weren't licensed to use them. No matter who they think are, the owners of the FlashWarp drive can't limit physics - as much as they'd like to. But no, it's not a FlashWarp drive as such. We're calling it a FlipWarp drive. Ideally, it combines the speed of our Flip drive, with the reliability and ease of use of the FlashWarp drive. Most importantly, if it works, We're releasing it to the Coalition, open source. We're going to break their monopoly."

****

Shimmering Heat didn't like The Terms of Service. It had a smell. A sharp, chemical smell, overlaid with some kind of odd artificial floral scent. Shimmer tried to close his nostrils to it, but it didn't really help. He never spent a lot of time on human starships, and had never been on a new one, let alone one that wasn't finished being built; it was unpleasant. It was too bright, the decorations were the wrong color, the floor clanged oddly, and the beds looked uncomfortable.

The three of them received a tour from the acting captain, a tall woman with a no nonsense attitude. She was wearing the same overalls as the rest of the construction crew and the only sign of her rank was some bars on her collar. Shimmer was only mildly interested in what he was being shown; the unpleasantness of the ship was a distraction. It was a ship. The shape of things and the colors might be different, but it still had Environmental systems, still had thrusters, still had crew quarters, still had weapons. Peme - who had only ever been on cargo ships and tramp freighters - was much more impressed with the Human built Naval frigate.

The Captain led them to the command deck. "And here we are, the heart of the TOS, and where you will conduct the shakedown cruise." She turned towards the three of them. "Before I relinquish command, do you have any questions?"

Victor turned to Shimmer and Peme. They locked eyes with him and said nothing. "I don't think so, thank you for your hard work, Captain. I will assume command."

She saluted sharply. "Captain. you have the ship." immediately her demeanor changed. She loosened up and smiled widely. "Glad that's done. Watch out for the hab, the climate still needs to be dialed in, and the grav over in Weapons makes me nauseated. Other than that, we need a half a solar day to button things up, and then we'll leave."

"What about the crew?" Shimmer asked, looking around the command deck. Even though it was a small human ship, it was still larger than most Coalition ships Shimmer had ever been on. Hundreds could live and work here.

"Oh, you'll be receiving a skeleton crew for the shakedown cruise. All HIDA members and contractors if I am not mistaken." she said, looking at Victor. He nodded. "Well then. You have the place to yourself until tomorrow and then the crew will embark."

She left and the command deck felt empty. The new stations, still with plastic on their seats felt impersonal, clinical. Shimmer thought back to the ships he used to operate. They were all many solar cycles old, some generations old. His favorite was new centuries before Peme's people even joined the Coalition. A new ship felt wrong.

True to form, the construction crew finished cleaning and putting paneling and flooring in place, and without any fanfare left the ship, leaving the three of them to it.

****

Victor didn't like the skeleton crew. They gave off an aura of misplace competence. Victor walked around the ship, inspecting in person before departure and watched how they moved, how they worked. Everyone could to the job - that was not in question - but they moved with the robotic precision of people who were digitally trained. He had read all the reports, digital training was equivalent, implanted muscle memory was just as good as natural, et cetera et cetera. They didn't move like a well oiled crew though. He also didn't like how each one was not-so-subtly armed. Shoulder holsters, small of the back holsters, everyone on the skeleton crew carried a gun and - worrying Victor - a knife. The armory was completely stocked as well, and the Capital weapons were completely operational. They didn't even have more than portable rations for the shakedown cruise, but they had enough firepower to take down a quarter of the Coalition. Someone was expecting Trouble and Victor didn't like it.

"Is this related to what I saw on my ship?" Peme asked. They were in a conference room right off the command deck. It was just the three of them and the door was locked. Victor was the captain officially, but he still locked the door behind them.

"It is. We don't know what will happen when we activate the FlipWarp drive. It's not a FlashWarp drive per se, but we did do a little bit of reverse engineering and a slight amount of license violation. Now, humans were specifically prohibited from signing the license agreement, so technically we are not beholden to the agreement, but we don't know how much the license holders care about that. They seem to have it out for us."

"Why is the crew so heavily armed?" Shimmer glanced at the locked door, and a ripped passed through his feathers.

"HIDA ordered it. Everyone has been loaded with skillsofts for how to run the ship, but they're all soliders through and through."

"That explains why the armory and weapons are complete, but we don't even have a kitchen yet." Peme frowned. She didn't know that there wasn't going to be a kitchen and was going to have to live off generic Coalition nutrient bars for the week. There was very little human food she could safely consume. Shimmer was better off, but only slightly. Food was going to be boring for a while.

Victor nodded. "I don't like it either, but this is an order over my head. HIDA thinks that there is going to be Trouble when we activate the drive and wants to be ready."

"But why are we doing this then?" Shimmer flapped his arms once in exasperation. "It seems like we would have been fine to just let the FlashWarp drive be and keep you using your Flip drive. We're inviting trouble, for what?"

"For a few things Shimmer. One, the FlipWarp drive is going to be better - if it works - and we're always trying to shrink interstellar space. Anything we can do to bring the Coalition peoples closer is a net good. Two, we don't like that they have a monopoly on FTL and won't let anyone else even look at it. The prohibition specifically mentions humans, but we have records of other Coalition people's being Edited. It just happened more to us because we tinkered more. Three, humanity in general doesn't like bullies. They're using the FlashWarp drive to artificially limit Coalition Space and stymie growth."

"Humanity doesn't like bullies unless they're the ones bullying." Peme said, her ears twitching.

"Hah, that's fair." Victor said. "But regardless, humanity is doing this, HIDA is at the forefront and you work for HIDA. We're not stopping now." Victor stood. "We're going to depart the shipyard in a few minutes and then run the FlipWarp drive. The rest of the command crew is going to be armed, do you two want a weapon?" Peme and Shimmer blinked in surprise, and Peme's laquered claws slid out of their sheaths just a bit.

"N-No thank you, Victor. I'll stay unarmed." Peme said, sliding her claws back in.

"Actually, yes Victor. Do you have a weapon that I can use?" Shimmer's eyes shone, and his nostril holes in his sharp beak opened more.

"I do, Shimmer; one moment." Victor went over to a cabinet and took out a case. Placing it on the table, he took out a small pistol with an odd grip, designed for Shimmer's claw like hands. There was also a belt that went around his shoulders - Victor showed him how to put it on - and the pistol hung under his left wing/arm. "It's a human design, modified for your use. Let me know how you like it. We are thinking of selling them."

Shimmer scoffed. "Of course you are. Still-" He grasped the pistol in his hands. "-It is comfortable. I'll take some time at the range and let you know how I like it."

Victor unlocked the conference room and the three of them re-entered the command deck. The skeleton crew was in place at their stations as Victor sat in the commander's chair and Peme and Shimmer took up station behind him. "Helm, are we ready to depart?"

"Aye Captain. We have been unmoored from the shipyard and are free floating." The helmsmen was a young human, with a very closely cropped haircut. Peme noticed what Victor had said. Everyone on the skeleton crew looked more like a shock trooper than a ship's crew.

"Take us out of the yard, and then engage the FlipWarp drive then."

"Aye Captain. Destination?"

"Hey Shimmer, any requests?" Victor turned in his chair and grinned wildly. "Wanna go home and show off?"

Shimmer's feathers poofed out in surprise. "S-Sure? I haven't been to our homeworld since I fledged, but... yes, I would like to go there. Set course for Belanium, Helm."

"Aye. Course set. Estimated time of arrival is two human hours."

"Two hours? It's weeks away?" Shimmer said.

"It was weeks away. If all goes well, we'll be there in two hours." Victor winked at Shimmer. "Helm, execute."

****

Peme had Flashed many, many times. It was completely routine. They'd set the course, activate the drive, there would be a prismatic flash of color out the window for the duration of the trip, and then it was just a battle against boredom until they arrived.

This time was different. There was still the prismatic flash, but it was... colored different? It was hard to describe. It felt different. There was also a sensation of motion, that was unusual. Maybe that was the Flip drive part? Still other than the different colors and the feeling of motion, it looked to be - once again - a boring trip. At least it wouldn't take too long.

It seemed like the whole crew exhaled as they soared through Flashspace. Maybe nothing would happen after all. Just as Victor leaned back in his chair and flipped his display out to monitor the systems, there was a noise like tearing cloth and before them... was a being.

Peme recognized them. It was the same bilaterally symmetric type of person she saw before. Two arms, two legs, covered in a prismatic field - one that was colored the way she expected. The being crossed their arms as the rest of the crew drew their weapons and trained the guns on them.

"Really? Guns?" They scoffed. "As if those are going to stop me." They paced across the room as they spoke. "I can't believe you had the temerity to reverse engineer the FlashWarp drive! We warned you not to do it, and you did it anyway. We told you what would happen if you did."

Peme remembered. Last time they did something to annoy the creators of the FlashWarp they had threatened to revoke everyone's license to use the technology, stranding them wherever they were in space.

Victor didn't seem worried. He slowly closed the display he was using, and looked up at the being. "You did not ask permission to board."

"I don't need permission! When you are in Flashspace you are in our realm."

"Technically, we're not in your Flashspace. This is an amalgam of the Flip drive and the FlashWarp drive."

"It's a distinction without a difference! You would not have been able to generate the field without reverse engineering the metacompensator. That is proprietary and you are in violation of the license agreement!"

"Humanity wasn't allowed to sign the license agreement, remember?"

"Humanity is a Coalition species and as such is held to the license agreement previously signed. We do not require every new Coalition species to sign it again." The being pointed at Victor "Do not get clever with me, human. We know about your lawyers and we are not impressed."

"Okay, fair." Victor touched something on his wrist. "Does this impress you then?"

Peme wasn't sure what he did, but what she saw was another prismatic flash and then there was... just a person standing before them. The prismatic field that they were covered in was gone, and they looked much less impressive. They honestly looked... kind of...

"You're human?" Peme's claws slid all the way out as her fur bristled. Shimmer's eyes locked onto the person and his head tilted in a very old way so that his eyes could both see what was in front of them. To their credit, the humans did not waver, their weapons still pointed at the humanlike person in front of them.

"I am not human, and I am frankly insulted that you lumped me in with those primitives!" The being, who looked like a human male said, as he crossed his arms - a very human gesture - and leaned against an empty seat.

"But you look like one." Shimmer pointed out.

"He's right you know. You do look very human." Victor said. He was clearly enjoying this immensely.

They tisked. "Maybe, at one point, deep in our past we might have been human, but we have evolved beyond mere base humanity. We are the next evolution. We are your future."

This time, Victor scoffed. "Next evolution my ass. You are a bunch of humans who found - or stole - some precursor's technology and you're using it to fleece the Coalition and extort wealth from them."

"I never! I cannot believe you are making this accusation of us! We-"

"Peme, do you remember the voice of the FlashWarp being you heard when you prevented your human from being Edited? Does it sound like this person?" Victor turned and looked at Peme, ignoring the - seemingly - human in front of them.

"Yes, they sounded just like this person. Almost identically."

"I thought so. We estimated that there are only a dozen of them or so, and they have only one precursor ship."

"You knew this would happen?" Shimmer's beak is agape.

"We had a hunch. Remember Shimmer, there are levels of secret. There are things that even I don't know in HIDA." This time Victor crossed his arms. "Here's what is going to happen. You're going to go back to your crew, let them know the charade is over, and relocate back to human space. You will turn over your precursor ship and technology to humanity and we will share it with the Coalition. You will disable the tamper prevention on all FlashWarp drives, and will release the Coalition from their contract. If you do this we won't look too hard into the wealth you've extracted from the Coalition."

"And if we refuse?" All pretense dropped, he looked much more human. Peme thought he looked young for a human, younger than Victor at least. His body language was puzzling though. Like he was almost pleased he was figured out.

"If you refuse, then we will continue to reverse engineer FlashWarp, we will disable the tamper prevention ourselves, and we will cut you off from returning to Coalition space. You will be marooned with your ship and your crew."

"L-Let's not be hasty here! There's no need to threaten us with starvation. I'm sure we can come to an agreement." His body language immediately changed, Peme was impressed. He went from confident to worried for his own life in practically no time at all.

"We sure can. Agree to my terms, and Flash back to Sol."

"...Dammit. It was nice while it lasted." The human shrugged. "Okay, we agree. We'll Flash back to Sol and explain everything. No jail time?"

"Probably not."

"Probably?"

"Depends on how you got ahold of the ship in the first place and who you fucked over to keep it."

"Fine." He touched a glassy square on his wrist, frowned, and tapped it again and looked up at Victor.

"Oh, sorry." Victor gestured to one of the soliders. He pressed a few buttons, and the human's prismatic field snapped back into place. With another sound like cloth being torn, he disappeared.

"There we go." Victor stood from his chair and inclined his head towards the door. "Now that's finished, let's go get something to eat."

****

"How did you know he was human?" Shimmer said around his dinner. The three of them were alone in the canteen. Once they arrived at Belanium, Shimmer had signaled that not only did they have a new FTL drive to demonstrate, but that they had a need for takeout. The humans could eat their food, so dinner was brought for everyone. Shimmer attacked his with gusto and even Victor had to admit, it was pretty good, if a bit fishy.

"Like I said, we had a hunch. Given Peme's description of them, and the words and phrases they used, we had an idea who they were."

"And the Precursors?"

"Don't know much about them. We found one station in space we think was theirs and some ruins on an otherwise empty planet. Looks like they had a pretty large territory if were we found their stuff is to be believed."

"And you didn't tell the Coalition?" Peme said, surprised that she wasn't surprised.

"Come on, Peme. You're working for HIDA. We're not unique among Human Authorities. You know how we work. Secrecy is our stock in trade." Victor took a sip of water. The Belanic food was pretty dry.

Shimmer swallowed quickly and gestured with is implement. "What I don't understand is how they set up Flash Incorporated and sold the Coalition FlashWarp technology more than two thousand solar cycles ago. Way before we met humanity."

"They have a time machine." Victor said simply.

Shimmer started coughing. Peme jumped up and thumped his back. He put up a hand, and took a sip of water.

"They do not. That's a fantasy. The math never works." Peme said, firmly.

"It works if you ignore some certain parts of vacuum theory." Victor said carefully. "We know about it."

"You're telling me humanity has a time machine? Shimmer had awe in his voice.

"No, I am very definitely not telling you that." Victor said. "I am saying that we know about the technology, and we surmise that the precursors had it and that the folks with their ship used it to jump back and sell FlashWarp to the Coalition. Regardless-" Victor stood. "We're going to FlipWarp back to Sol and wait for our friends to arrive, and we can write our reports to HIDA." He smiled and patted them on their backs as he walked out. "Nice work, you two. I'm proud to work with you.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Big news! The US, and right after it, Canada, Australia and Italy, as well as the UK and Finland, have ALL frozen their financial support of UNRWA, following evidence presented to them that some of the UN agency's employees participated in the Hamas massacre.

To add to the news, this is NOT the first scandal involving this agency. UNRWA facilities have been continuously used for terrorist activity, UNRWA teachers and employees have been repeatedly called out for their support of antisemitism and terrorism, the same goes for UNRWA textbooks and schools, where antisemitism and terrorism are encouraged. It's even been asked why UNRWA still exists. Palestinians are the only ones who get their own refugee agency. Every other refugee, from every other country in the world, including ones suffering far greater humanitarian disasters, are treated by the general UN refugees agency, UNHCR. And unlike UNHCR, UNRWA does not look to solve the plight of the refugees it claims to help. If it's not enough that it's unclear why should Palestinians get their own agency, and why does it perpetuate the problem of Paletsinian refugees rather than help solve it, or why is there a separate definition for Palestinian refugees than for all other ones, Palestinian refugees also get more funding (through UNRWA) than any other refugee in the world. Just to highlight the absurdity, celeb millionaires Bella and Gigi Hadid, and their millionaire father Mohamed, are all still considered Palestinian refugees according to UNRWA's definition, despite obviously being well integrated into other countries.

Something I wanna add is about proportions within the UN and UNRWA employment. Globally, the UN says it directly employees 37,000 people. UNRWA's website says over 30,000 people work for it, and most are Palestinians, "with a small number of internation staff." That means UNRWA seems internation and impartial thanks to being counted as a UN body, but in reality, it is a Palestinian orgnization. It could never be impartial, like it wants to appear. But then it gets quoted endlessly by other UN bodies, as if UNRWA's data is impartial and reliable. It's been said more than once that many Hamas members are also employed by UNRWA, and in fact, Hamas has already voiced its displeasure over the funding to UNRAW being stopped. If Hamas is unhappy about it, when Hamas has been killing its own population, that says Hamas has its own vested interest in this organization.

Funding for UNRWA has been frozen before, but then restored. So that's not a solution. This time, the UN should be pressured to dismantle UNRWA, and move Palestinian refugees to the same definition, the same budget and the same kind of care and solution granted to all other refugees under the UNHCR.

Just a reminder that thanks to the anti-Israel demonization, Jews are not safe anywhere. In London, three people were recently attacked for simply speaking Hebrew. So here's your reminder that Hebrew is the native language of Jews, there are many Jews who try to learn and speak it, and targeting people for just speaking Hebrew is by its very nature antisemitic.

A new study shows that about half of the Israeli citizens evacuated from the north are suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. I don't know of a similar current survey regarding the Israelis evacuated from the south, but given the massacre they survived, one can only assume the situation among them is even worse.

These are Lior (right) and his 79 years old dad Chaim Perry (left).

Lior's brother was murdered during the Hamas massacre on Oct 7, and his life long peace activist father Chaim was kidnapped. Lior was asked today what he thought of the International Court of Justice's call yesterday for Hamas to return all of the Israeli hostages, immediately and without any conditions. He said he also calls for the same thing, and it's about as effective.

This is Irena Maman.

She's a resident of the northern Israeli city of Kiryat Shmona, but when most of its people were evacuated, Irena refused to. With her husband's help, she's still working as a tailor, and inviting soldiers who need their uniforms fixed to come see her, offering her work to them pro bono.

These are Aviad (left) and Gideon ("Gigi," right) Rivlin.

Four Rivlin brothers went to the Nova music festival together, Aviad, Gigi, Yochai and Yinon. When the terrorist attack started, they were giving the wounded water. At a certain point, they dispersed, with each brother running in a different direction. Aviad and Gigi did not survive. In an interview, their father said he's stopped asking himself why did he lose two sons, and started being thankful for having gotten two back. Gigi was named after his uncle Gideon, who was murdered by a terrorist from Gaza.

May their memories be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[strawberrystepmom]

Fukuzawa x F!Reader. CW: implied age gap (reader is in her late 20's and he is his canonical age), alcohol mention and consumption, takes place from his bedside while he's ill during the Cannibal arc. weird situationship vibes, switches between past and present tense.

WC: 2.9k | divider by cafekitsune

“What are you doing here?”

Yukichi’s voice is little more than a whisper when he speaks, the dryness of his throat marking his usual baritone with a rasp that causes you to arch a brow.

“Visiting, standing vigil, whatever makes it seem more heroic.” Making a show of licking the tip of your finger and using it to flip to the next page of the book sitting in your lap, you glance up from the page and tilt your head to the side.“Why are you so surprised to see me?”

“You shouldn’t be here. I’ll have Ranpo escort you out.” 

The continued dry rasp of his voice makes you spring into action, snapping the book in your lap closed and reaching for the small carafe of water by his bedside. Pouring a glass, you slide it in his direction and look away when he moves to pick it up. The suggestion that Ranpo be the one to escort you out makes you chuckle to yourself considering he is the one who let you in to begin with, holding out his hand for the promised sweets your sister mailed from overseas. Sweeter and stickier than anything he can find here, probably melting in the palm of his hand.

Finally, you sigh and lean back in the chair as much as the cramped object will allow.

“If you want me to leave, you can just say so. I can show myself out. No escort necessary.” 

You want to hear him deny you in his own words for once, anticipating the rejection that has yet to come, a breath caught in your throat. Instead you listen to the gulp of room temperature water travel down his throat, eyes fixed to the closed cover of the book in your lap. 

It has been more than six months since your employment with the Armed Detective Agency ended and you’ve managed to wheedle your way into two personal visits with its President in that time. Two times you attempted, yet again, to show him you are invested in him as Yukichi Fukuzawa, the man and not merely as a former boss.

----------------------

The first was over dinner; a simple message sent with intention.

You: I made too much and always forget about my leftovers. Have you eaten yet?

What is he if not an old moth to a hopeful little flame? 

Logic warned him to decline but his just shaky enough to be from low blood sugar mid-evening hands betrayed his judgment. What could it hurt to humor you a little bit? He has never been outright oblivious to your feelings although will always believe them to be misguided. 

YF: You are too generous with your time and groceries. I can be there in twenty minutes.

You showed him your humble abode for the first time and fed him bites from your plate insisting you were almost too full to move. Your cat climbed into his lap and he dared to daydream for a breath it were the needy creature’s owner instead, steel blue eyes tracing your every move while nimble fingers stroked between the cats’ ears. The soft melody of your record collection set the soundtrack and you swayed gently, nursing a glass of wine between two of your fingers.

“Thank you for coming tonight.”

Whatever trance the gentle purr of your cat had him in severed the moment he heard your voice. He watched your form gently sway to the music, soft and melodic from the decade before he was even born making it far older than you.

“Can’t let good food go to waste.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you smiled at him with narrowed eyes. He has imagined you performing this exact motion often, every day even, looking over your shoulder while swaying gently to your favorite music. If he weren’t so concerned about appropriateness, he’d rise to his feet and join you, wrap his arm around your waist and sway with his chin on your shoulder.

“You think I’m a good cook?”

From your couch, he glanced over his shoulder at you and sighed softly. If he were to speak the words he wants to say, they’d almost certainly tip this over the edge he has spent so much time desperately trying to avoid, so he picks the easiest ones available:

“Yeah, you are.”

The way you smiled at him weighed on his mind for the rest of his fitful night, that grin lighting up nightmares and daydreams alike.

----------------------

“Why are you here?”

Fukuzawa rarely makes a second request for an answer, even from you, and the breath caught in your throat becomes a sharp exhale the moment he speaks. He glances in your direction and sees the anxious twitch in your fingers, how you desperately wish to fiddle with your appearance or jewelry to seem undisturbed and confident. Fukuzawa is an intelligent man by nature and he carefully watches to expose all of a person’s subtleties, even yours. So much of your behavior is a veneer to make yourself appear non threatening.

Truth be told, he’s astounded it works as well as it does although even the greatest minds have fallen prey to beautiful women with sharp wit and pretty smiles. Not that you are a predator to him in the slightest.

“Because I care about you,” you start, snapping your mouth shut to avoid saying more. Instead of fiddling with your clothing or earrings, you jiggle your foot and the book in your lap bounces with each movement. You are too vulnerable for your own good, tender hearted to the core. “I wanted to see how you’re doing for myself instead of getting the sanitized version of the story from Kunikida and the dishonest one from Dazai.”

Fukuzawa attempts to push his glass back onto the table and you reach to pluck it from his hands, fingers touching while you do. It reminds him of the second occasion he enjoyed your company before tonight, skin buzzing with the ghost of your touch instead of the dull throbbing pain of his illness. A soft gasp escapes him and he settles back against the pillow under his head, silver hair sweeping his shoulders.

“That’s fair,” he admits, fiddling with the blanket that is loosely wrapped over his body. 

You giggle despite feeling entirely out of your element, insecure and young despite your nearly three decades, dabbling in adoration for a man you have no business being interested in to begin with. 

“If you’d like to be alone, I can leave.”

He makes you feel as though you’re nude in front of him while he’s fully clothed, baring every crease and dimple of yourself, supine and ripe for his consumption. It’s what you want, after all. A single glance that leaves you stripped to the bones.

It’s why you cannot leave him alone.

----------------------

The second time you were fortunate enough to be graced with Fukuzawa’s presence as a friend was a tad less honest on your end. 

“Hello?”

Fukuzawa knew who was on the other end before he even picked his phone up to answer the incoming call, a stirring feeling in his gut he should have perhaps taken as a warning letting him know what was coming next.

“What are you doing tonight?”

He exhaled loudly through his nose in response to your question, the closest you have ever come to drawing a real laugh from the man. He has always played off his enjoyment with tight smiles and acknowledging nods, hiding his upturned lips behind the ceramic of a choko.

“I’ll take it that means you’re free?” 

The sound of a pen being tossed down onto the desk below it clanged through the speaker of your phone. You sighed the sound away, listening for further stirring on the other end. Seconds passing have conditioned you to expect a rejection when it comes to him, a gentle let down the way only he has managed to seem less like a “no thank you” and more of a “you’re so kind to ask” in the effusively polite way he has perfected.

“Tell me what I’m going to be getting myself into before I answer, please.”

You were not being asked to explain yourself, you were being told to do so. A small smile danced across your lips while smearing on berry colored lipstick in your bathroom mirror, your phone pressed against your blush dusted cheek.

“So there is this sake tasting…” A sigh from Fukuzawa interrupted your words and you sighed back, pouting at your reflection in the mirror. “Can you at least let me finish?”

He cleared his throat, leaving you to picture him sitting in his office at the Agency with a bemused smirk on his face. You’ve never seen him smile but your mind is quick to expel the effort it takes to pretend that you have. Does he have dimples? Lines that mirror those beneath his eyes that carve valleys around his mouth? You’ve always hoped you’d find out.

“Thank you.” 

He hummed a response to your polite words, shifting in his own seat.

“I booked it expecting a friend would join me but something has come up and they can’t. I could go alone but I also just so happen to know a man who is very fond of sake and knows more about it than I do who would be the perfect company.”

Another hum was all he graced you with. You wrinkled your nose at your reflection and mouthed a swear word, certain your flimsy story was about to be dead on arrival. It wasn’t your best story and you knew going into this it was risky to lie to begin with but what else could you say? 

“Oh Fukuzawa, I’ve been dying to drink alongside you in hopes it loosens your tongue enough to reveal your deep mutual love for me.”

No. You would have rather died than admit these words aloud where he could hear them. He has always had access to far too much of you and has granted you far too little to him. 

“And this friend? Who are they?”

A giggle bubbled out of you while you closed your lipstick tube, tossing it on the counter in front of you haphazardly. Should you choose your words carefully to prolong the mystery of this friend, the same one you claim you’re drinking with when you’re really drinking alone and calling your former boss and current flame?

“They’re nobody important,” you settled on. He knew immediately you were lying, your true good hearted nature giving you away yet again. You’d never call your friends unimportant, no matter how frustrated you may have been over being stood up which seems to happen with this mysterious friend often.

“Hm. Interesting.”

You knew you’d been caught. The tone of his voice was more of a guilty verdict than any you could find in a courtroom. The warmth rushing to the front of your face, something you’d almost consider shameful if you had any shame left, convinced you to suspend any further untruths and you instead opted to rush into the next part of your offer full speed ahead.

“It starts at eight. If you aren’t busy, that is. Just say so if you are, I’m a big girl who can handle rejection.”

Yukichi smiled from his office. It dimmed as quickly as it spread across his face, drawn to life by the assertion you can handle rejection. Only someone who has ever been rejected can handle rejection. You are rarely denied what you want. Is he really going to be another hashmark keeping track of how many you’ve won over?

“Are you going to keep me out all night?”

This won him a laugh from you, a sound that warmed his bones and made his mind race at the same time. 

“Depends, do you wanna be out all night? This is just a tasting but I have a bottle and you know where I live…”

Singing the last word of your sentence, you devolved into a fit of giggles over your own sillness and if he wasn’t actively debating on how appropriate his association with you is, he probably would have laughed along. 

“No. That’s not necessary, I’m sure the tasting will give me all the excitement I can handle.”

The tasting only made him yearn for you more strongly, fingers brushed against one another while passing ceramic cups to lips. Discussions of clean flavor, light and neat, bright and warm, lent to the warm landscape spent at the side of a woman he cannot seem to shake no matter what happens to him.

----------------------

“I don’t want you to leave.”

The breath caught in your throat leaves you as a sharp exhale, finally. 

The truth always finds its way to light, the lamp on the bedside table casting a glow over the side of Yukichi’s face. He’s more frail than you have ever dreamed of seeing him, complexion nearly translucent in its currently pale hue. Your thumb twitches, itching to rub the skin around his eyes that is etched with fine lines, to reassure him you will not be leaving his side until you’re certain he’s alright. Instead, you tuck it inside your fist to keep the urge to yourself.

“Good because I honestly don’t want to.”

You fiddle with your bag that is draped over the back of the chair, reaching for the newspaper you swiped off of the desk of the Agency after making your deal with Ranpo earlier in the day. You’d show up after everyone else went home or was otherwise occupied and he’d let you in to avoid the gawking that would come with everyone knowing that you are visiting for pleasure and not for business. 

“I brought the paper if you want me to read it to you,” you offer and Fukuzawa hums, the faintest sight of a smile on his lips. The corners twitch so minutely you believe you imagined the movement but look down all the same, warm faced, grateful that your mind was correct in assessing him. Dimples and little lines are visible on each of the corners of his mouth. 

“Anything interesting happening?”

Flipping the pages open, your eyes widen and you search for something interesting, muttering to yourself. Traffic conditions, weather, reports of minor crime throughout Yokohama. None of these things will improve his condition or keep him from worrying so you flip the page again, shaking your head when the stories come up empty for one you’d like to read.

“Don’t they put the horoscopes in the paper anymore?”

He chuckles and you can tell it hurts him, his chest heaving from the effort. The paper is quickly discarded, fluttering to the floor beside your chair. You lean forward and place your elbows on the side of his bed, daring to get close enough you can look over him from inches instead of feet. 

“Are you okay?”

Fukuzawa stiffens and you have to further fight the urge to dote on him. Your fingers itch push his moonlight colored waves off of his face and your palm practically throbs, wishing to be pressed to his likely clammy skin. It’s in your nature to cluck at the things you care about like a worried hen.

“I have to believe that I will be.”

Nodding your agreement and punctuating it with another sigh, you lean forward and rest your chin on his bedside. The intrusion surprises him but it isn’t completely unwelcome, those eyes you love to feel upon you glancing downward and focusing on the tip of your nose, gradually climbing upward until your gazes meet. 

“I’ll believe double, just for good measure.” Smiling, you press your cheek to the scratchy fabric of the blanket wrapped around his legs and half of his torso. “I’ll bring you a nicer blanket tomorrow.”

Raising a brow, he keeps his gaze fixed on you.

“Tomorrow?”

Scoffing, you nod. The question isn’t a jab although it may feel like one and you have to reason with yourself that he is merely giving you a hard time. 

“Tomorrow, if you’ll have me.”

Shaking his head, he idly reaches in your direction and brushes his thumb over your cheek before placing his hand back at his side. Again, a movement so quick and discreet you believe it imaginary, yet the sensation burns across your skin. Fighting the urge to bury your face into the bed like a schoolgirl with a crush, you choose instead to face him head on and let your gaze soften.

“Next time just ask me if you can come, no need to get Ranpo involved.” You shrug and laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

Yukichi nods and permits his eyes to drift from you to the door. It was obvious from the moment he realized you were in the room who graciously allowed for you to be there, the man on the other side of the door loudly munching whatever you bribed him with.

“You aren’t as great of a liar as you think you are.”

Laughing, you shrug.

"Caught me. At least I'm a good cook and decent company instead."

Fighting the urge to reach out and touch you again, he keeps his hands at his sides and ponders the correct way to respond. His time on earth could be fleeting from this moment forward, his minutes numbered by a threat his entire team is working to figure out. He could leave his cards on the table. Tell you he feels the same and he hasn't had this much fun since he was a far younger man getting into far more trouble.

Instead, he settles back into the pillow beneath him and shifts his face to look at you. He'll save these matters of the heart until after there is no more looming danger.

"Thank you for coming."

You sit up and away from the bed, leaning back into the chair you're sitting on. He doesn't want to discuss feelings or the two of you any further and you respect that, dropping your arm over the side of the chair and fish for the newspaper you brought with you, plucking it by one of the folds and pulling it into your lap.

"Now where were we? Oh yeah, horoscopes."

Whatever you're saying fades into background noise while he shuts his eyes tightly. He has to make it through this, you're waiting for him on the other end of it.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Once the AI bubble bursts, that doesn’t mean chatbots and image generators will be relegated to the trash bin of history. Rather, there will be a reassessment of where it makes sense to implement them, and if attention moves on too fast, they may be able to do that with minimal pushback. The challenge visual artists and video game workers are already finding with employers making use of generative AI to worsen the labor conditions in their industries may become entrenched, especially if artists fail in their lawsuits against AI companies for training on their work without permission. But it could be far worse than that. Microsoft is already partnering with Palantir to feed generative AI into militaries and intelligence agencies, while governments around the world are looking at how they can implement generative AI to reduce the cost of service delivery, often without effective consideration of the potential harms that can come of relying on tools that are well known to output false information. This is a problem Resisting AI author Dan McQuillan has pointed to as a key reason why we must push back against these technologies. There are already countless examples of algorithmic systems have been used to harm welfare recipients, childcare benefit applicants, immigrants, and other vulnerable groups. We risk a repetition, if not an intensification, of those harmful outcomes. When the AI bubble bursts, investors will lose money, companies will close, and workers will lose jobs. Those developments will be splashed across the front pages of major media organizations and will receive countless hours of public discussion. But it’s those lasting harms that will be harder to immediately recognize, and that could fade as the focus moves on to whatever Silicon Valley places starts pushing as the foundation of its next investment cycle. All the benefits Altman and his fellow AI boosters promised will fade, just as did the promises of the gig economy, the metaverse, the crypto industry, and countless others. But the harmful uses of the technology will stick around, unless concerted action is taken to stop those use cases from lingering long after the bubble bursts.

16 August 2024

[collapsedsquid]

In the U.K., the Health Security Agency recently raised its threat level to 4 out of 6, the stage immediately before large-scale human outbreaks. In Europe, countries are proactively vaccinating dairy and poultry workers against infection, with 15 nations already securing a total of 40 million doses through the European Commission. In the United States, despite having a stockpile of those vaccines, we are not distributing them, instead focusing on standing up voluntary supplies of seasonal flu vaccines to frontline workers. (The hope is that this will prevent animal infections of human flu that might aid in the further mutation of H5N1.) The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has cited the low number of cases to justify its inaction, but it has also moved remarkably slowly to promote the kind of widespread surveillance testing that could actually identify cases. Only recently has the agency begun to mobilize real funding for a testing push, after a period of months in which various federal groups batted around responsibility and ultimate authority like a hot potato. And as was the case early in the Covid-19 pandemic, the C.D.C.’s preferred test for bird flu “has issues.” Three months into the outbreak, only 45 people had even been tested; six weeks later, the total number of people tested had grown only to “230+.” [...] Most farms aren’t supplying N95 masks, goggles or aprons to protect workers, either, and when Amy Maxmen of KFF News surveyed farm workers to ask why they weren’t getting tested, “no one had heard of bird flu, never mind gotten P.P.E. or offers of tests,” she reported. “One said they don’t get much from their employers, not even water. If they call in sick, they worry about getting fired.” Last month, a crew was deployed to slow the spread of the disease by killing every last chicken of 1.78 million on a large Colorado farm where H5N1 had broken out and six of the workers contracted the virus, partly because the gear they’d been provided was hard to use in the punishing 104-degree heat. In June, Robert Redfield, former director of the C.D.C., echoed many epidemiologists in predicting that “it’s not a question of if, it’s more of a question of when we will have a bird flu pandemic.” In July, Brown’s Jennifer Nuzzo warned that the steady beat of new cases “screams at us that this virus is not going away.” Tulio de Oliveira, a bioinformatician who studies global disease surveillance, marveled that the American effort to track the spread of the disease was absolutely amateurish and the country’s apparent indifference “unbelievable.”

[readyforevolution]

IF YOU DIDN'T KNOW THIS YESTERDAY THEN TODAY WOULD BE A GOOD DAY TO LEARN THIS.... "All stories don't have a happy ending"

In 1866, one year after the 13 Amendment was ratified (the amendment that ended slavery), Alabama, Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, Georgia, Mississippi, Florida, Tennessee, and South Carolina began to lease out convicts for labor (peonage). This made the business of arresting Blacks very lucrative, which is why hundreds of White men were hired by these states as police officers. Their primary responsibility was to search out and arrest Blacks who were in violation of Black Codes. Once arrested, these men, women and children would be leased to plantations where they would harvest cotton, tobacco, sugar cane. Or they would be leased to work at coal mines, or railroad companies. The owners of these businesses would pay the state for every prisoner who worked for them; prison labor.

It is believed that after the passing of the 13th Amendment, more than 800,000 Blacks were part of the system of peonage, or re-enslavement through the prison system. Peonage didn’t end until after World War II began, around 1940.

This is how it happened.

The 13th Amendment declared that "Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction." (Ratified in 1865)

Did you catch that? It says, “neither slavery nor involuntary servitude could occur except as a punishment for a crime". Lawmakers used this phrase to make petty offenses crimes. When Blacks were found guilty of committing these crimes, they were imprisoned and then leased out to the same businesses that lost slaves after the passing of the 13th Amendment. This system of convict labor is called peonage.

The majority of White Southern farmers and business owners hated the 13th Amendment because it took away slave labor. As a way to appease them, the federal government turned a blind eye when southern states used this clause in the 13th Amendment to establish laws called Black Codes. Here are some examples of Black Codes:

In Louisiana, it was illegal for a Black man to preach to Black congregations without special permission in writing from the president of the police. If caught, he could be arrested and fined. If he could not pay the fines, which were unbelievably high, he would be forced to work for an individual, or go to jail or prison where he would work until his debt was paid off.

If a Black person did not have a job, he or she could be arrested and imprisoned on the charge of vagrancy or loitering.

This next Black Code will make you cringe. In South Carolina, if the parent of a Black child was considered vagrant, the judicial system allowed the police and/or other government agencies to “apprentice” the child to an "employer". Males could be held until the age of 21, and females could be held until they were 18. Their owner had the legal right to inflict punishment on the child for disobedience, and to recapture them if they ran away.

This (peonage) is an example of systemic racism - Racism established and perpetuated by government systems. Slavery was made legal by the U.S. Government. Segregation, Black Codes, Jim Crow and peonage were all made legal by the government, and upheld by the judicial system. These acts of racism were built into the system, which is where the term “Systemic Racism” is derived.

This is the part of "Black History" that most of us were never told about.

[autumnmobile12]

My Hero Academia: Healthcare?

I don't know if any fanfic writers will find this useful or not, but I think the information is interesting and worth speculation in the My Hero setting. This also applies to any fanfic writers in the anime fandoms who want to have more immersive and in-depth writing. Obviously, writing fics that are 'accurate' is not a requirement since the point is to have fun, but here's some knowledge to use (or not use) if anyone is interested.

Obviously, Deku's been in the hospital a lot. A lot of the characters are injured and in the hospital a lot. But for all the hospital visits, nobody in the series is going to be bankrupted by astronomical healthcare costs. (Yes, that's a jab at America's system.) And it's not because the Pros, especially the popular ones, have money.

Here's why:

Quick rundown of how healthcare in Japan works: Everybody receives healthcare, everybody has health insurance. In Japan, your employer is legally required to provide you with health insurance. If you are unemployed, you will be on a community healthcare plan. There is also a plan for citizens over the age of 75. This also applies to foreigners who have established permanent residence of three months or longer.

Article 25 of Japan's Constitution is paraphrased as follows:

“all people shall have the right to maintain a certain standard of healthy and cultured life” and that “the state shall try to promote and improve the conditions of social welfare, social security, and public health” for this purpose.

I'm not going to reiterate the system in its entirety, but if you would like to learn more, this site here (the Article 25 quote I used is also found on that page) has a brief and comprehensive explanation of how healthcare is handled. However, one thing I am going to mention that is relevant for Deku and other Pros is the threshold out-of-pocket expense.

In Japan, citizens enrolled in healthcare do not spend more than ¥90,000 per month out of pocket, protecting them from financial disaster.

(To Americans, this may sound like a sweet deal, but hold your horses because Japan also funds this system through heavy taxation. Medical procedures are expensive and people will be paying for them one way or another.)

The question that needs asking now is how does this system apply to the hero society? Well, first off, since My Hero does take place in a slightly futuristic setting, we could take into consideration the system has been revised.

Assuming not much as changed, are heroes that operate their own agency technically considered business owners and are required to insure their employees and sidekicks?

Or...

Because they are all government employees, is the Safety Commission responsible for insuring all heroes and sidekicks no matter what they rank in their popularity?

Personally, I think it would be the latter since, in the coldest sense of the word, the heroes are essential to the Commission in upholding their system. So that makes them an asset. The Commission would want to protect its assets because as shady as they are, their own system could work against them. They certainly don't want heroes going on strike for lack of benefits or complaining the government doesn't take care of their people. So I assume it's the Commission who is covering insane healthcare costs on behalf of heroes.

(And since the system is probably funded by taxpayers' money, that also feeds into the prevalent societal discontent that's ongoing throughout the series.)

Now what about Deku and his classmates since they have not graduated and are not officially licensed yet? Honestly, I think it's probably UA itself that insures the students. That probably has to do with accreditation and so on, which is another matter entirely, but again, the backing is likely coming out of the Commission (and taxpayers') pockets.

And there you have it. Happy writing, happy research.

[heich0e]

the heart is but a winding road p.3 - shouto todoroki/f!reader (2k) pro-hero shouto, approx late 20s early 30s-ish, this is a begrudging father figure fic bc i can, fluff, someone pls give takahashi a raise

p.1 - p.2 - YOU ARE HERE - p.4 (upcoming)

It’s still raining.

The gloomy weather doesn’t necessarily bother Shouto, it just… is. There’s not really much point in sulking over something unchangeable, so he doesn’t—even if he does grumble a bit as he towels off wet his hair after his patrol for the nth day in a row, trudging from the locker room at his agency up towards his office.

Takahashi meets him as the lift doors open onto his floor, bowing in greeting.

“Welcome back, Shouto-sama.”

“Hello,” Shouto greets his secretary, letting his towel rest looped around his neck. “It’s late, why are you still here?”

“I have some paperwork to hand off, and felt compelled to stay until you reported back for the day.” The two men begin making their way down the corridor towards Shouto’s private office, falling easily into step with one another after so many years. “Besides, there is another matter…”

Shouto pauses in the archway leading towards his personal office space. Takahashi’s desk sits just outside his office door, neatly organized as it usually is. There are a few plants in the tiny vestibule—though Shouto’s uncertain as to who actually put them there or tends to them—and a small seating area along one wall for anyone waiting for meetings with the pro-hero, even if he rarely schedules them.

Unusually, there’s someone sitting in those generally unoccupied chairs today.

A woman.

“She’s been here for most of the afternoon,” Takahashi says, keeping his words low and inconspicuous, spoken just on the edge of his breath. “She insisted that she’d wait to see you.”

Shouto blinks.

The visitor has spotted the two men now, and peers at them almost in surprise from across the room—like she scarcely expected to see the two of them at all, though she’s the interloper in this particular place. Shouto’s eyes flicker down to the small box held carefully on her lap, and the umbrella leaning up against her chair.

Oh.

You.

“Shall I ask her to return another day?” Takahashi quietly asks the man at his side, looking between his employer and the unexpected visitor in turn.

“No,” Shouto says, having emerged from his momentary stupor of surprise. He takes a step in your direction. “This is fine.”

You stand as the Pro Hero approaches, and he can’t help but notice you seem a little nervous.

“Hello, Shouto-san,” you say, bowing politely as he nears. “I’m sorry to turn up unexpectedly.”

“It’s no problem,” Shoto says, “Takah—my secretary informed me you’ve been waiting quite a while.”

You make a sheepish little expression. “I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to return, and it was important to me to see you in person.”

“I see,” Shouto nods, glancing once more at the box you’re clutching tightly in your hands. 

It’s quiet—ungracefully so—for a moment. Across the room, Takahashi clears his throat lightly.

Shouto lifts his hand, pointing a bit too briskly towards his office door for the gesture be considered elegant or well-practiced. “Would you like to speak inside?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” you nod. “I really do apologize, I know you just got back from patrol. I don’t mean to take up much of your time.”

Shouto steps towards the door to his office, holding it open for you to enter before him. You hesitate once you’ve crossed the threshold, uncertain what to do next. In the doorway, Shouto similarly hesitates—carefully contemplating whether to leave the door open or closed.

He doesn’t often welcome people into his office, and among the few he does, they’re certainly not civilians and even less frequently are they strangers. His office is fairly sparsely decorated, because he’s never really felt the need to decorate, but Takahashi keeps it tidy while he goes out on patrol. Shouto used to insist to the secretary that he didn’t need to do it, but he’s grown to appreciate the straightening up—and file alphabetizing—and has learned to accept it without complaint.

He's never had reason to be insecure about the austere nature of his workspace, but he's exceedingly conscious of it now that he doesn't even have a seat to offer you.

You suck in a breath before him, as though gathering your nerve, and Shouto’s eyes flicker over to you.

“I came to say thank you,” you tell him, and Shouto is taken aback by your air of sincerity. “For the gifts.”

He clears his throat, looking away from your overly earnest gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he says. ”Did your son like them?” 

“Are you kidding?” you blink, your expression startled like you can’t believe he’d even ask. “Nao loved them. He was so excited the first night he hardly slept, and he insisted on bringing all of them into bed with him—there was barely enough room for him to squeeze in.”

Shouto feels a certain peculiar sense of satisfaction hearing that.

Takahashi really had outdone himself in securing a variety of Recycling Hero merchandise for Shouto to have sent to you and Naoyuki. Frankly, Shouto wasn’t even aware that there was a Pro Hero with such an extensive array of branded goods—besides possibly All Might, and more recently Dynamight (though the majority of those products were unlicensed and manufactured by fans.) There were all the usual items—like keychains, figurines, clothing and other wearable accessories—but Reductro has recently branched out in a variety of ventures, like lunch boxes, reusable water bottles, and even adhesive bandages that are all made of organic compounds and can biodegrade. All of his merchandise is made of sustainable, organic materials, in the spirit of his environmentally conscious ethos.

Your eyes land on a rather large pile of packages next to Shouto’s desk, and your gaze traces them in relative alarm.

Ah. 

He’d forgotten about those.

“Um, are those for…” you trail off, your attention flittering over to him nervously.

“Oh, no,” Shouto replies. “Those belong to me.”

The pile of Reductro merchandise beside his desk is comprised of duplicates of what he’d had Takahashi secure to send to Naoyuki. When his secretary had sent him a list of items for him to choose from, he simply told him to purchase two of each: one for the boy, and one for himself.

You look at him a bit strangely then, though Shouto’s not entirely sure why.

“You’re a fan of Reductro?” you ask him.

Shouto nods. “I wasn’t overly familiar with him, but recently have become quite interested in his work.” 

He surveys the pile of packages beside his desk, and then his eyes flicker back to the box in your hands.

“It was largely thanks to your son.”

You laugh then—a bright, happy sound. Shouto wasn’t expecting it, so he startles slightly, his eyes snapping up to your smiling face. 

“Nao would be really happy to hear that, you know,” you say to him.

Shouto stares at you for a moment, until eventually you look away.

“We made these for you,” you say next, holding out the little box in your hands. “Nao and I.”

Shouto reaches out and takes the offering from you, though he’s hesitant. 

You would have had to pass security before entering the building, and he’s fairly confident you don’t seem the type to do him harm, but he’s still a bit wary as he lifts the lid of the container and peers inside.

“They’re cookies,” you tell him, a bit shy. “We weren’t sure how to say thank you, and they were Nao’s idea…”

Shouto isn’t sure what to say.

His experience tells him he shouldn’t accept the gift. Poisoning is a real threat for public figures, especially Pro Heroes. Even if the gift had passed security, they wouldn’t have been able to test for illicit ingredients or toxins, and sending them downstairs for testing would likely be troublesome—assuming that the research and development department of his agency even has the tools required to screen them.

But he can’t remember anyone making cookies for him before.

“It’s a recipe from Reductro’s cookbook, in case you’re wondering why they’re green—“ you step forward to explain, pointing down towards the little box of baked goods that Shouto is still blankly staring into.

His head pops up.

“There’s a cookbook?” 

You laugh, your hand coming up to cover your mouth, and then you cough lightly as you look away. After a moment you peek back at him, nodding. 

“A few months ago, when we first got it, Nao refused to eat anything that didn’t come from it,” you say, smiling a little as though you’re reflecting fondly on the memory. “I’ve never seen a kid so excited to eat leafy greens.”

In his mind, Shouto makes a note to have Takahashi look into this as soon as possible.

“Well,” you say, clasping your hands together in front of your coat. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, and all the kind gifts you sent to Nao.”

Shouto shakes his head lightly. “Don’t mention it.”

“I’ll leave first,” you say, dipping in a bow. “Thank you very much for the work you do, Shouto-san.”

You step towards the office door—left ajar since Shouto never did decide whether he should leave it opened or closed.

“Um—“

You pause when you hear Shouto speak again, turning back towards him from the doorway.

“Please tell Naoyuki-kun that I’m grateful to him,” Shouto says, his brow furrowed like he’s deep in thought. “For introducing me to Reductro’s work.”

You smile softly. “I'll let him know.”

“And also for the cookies,” Shouto adds after another moment of thought.

“I'll tell him that too.”

Shouto nods, satisfied he’s said all he needs to say. 

“Goodnight, Shouto-san.” You dip your head in a final bow of parting, and then you slip out through the door.

Shouto stands in the centre of his office for a while after you depart, the box of cookies still open in his hands.

He plucks one out, surveying it closely on all sides—and then sniffing it for good measure. He glances towards the door with the cookie held to his lips, half expecting Takahashi to appear and chastise him. When he’s confident the secretary is not lurking just out of view, he takes a bite.

It’s… strange.

It certainly has the consistency of what Shouto would consider a cookie, but it’s not quite as sweet as he was expecting. He contemplates this thoughtfully as he chews. There’s also a distinctly vegetal flavour that lingers once he swallows the mouthful down, but he can’t say with any certainty what ingredient might be imparting that particular taste.

He appraises the cookie in his grip, missing one semi-circular bite mark. 

He likes it.

He pops the rest of the baked good into his mouth, shuffling towards his office door.

“Akahahi-han—“ he calls as he pokes his head out into the vestibule, and his secretary turns in his seat towards the sound of his name—or what was supposed to be his name, but was garbled thanks to the food in Shouto's mouth. He quickly swallows down his mouthful. “Where’s the nearest bookstore to here?” 

Takahashi turns to his computer, tapping away at his keyboard for a moment. 

“Six block northeast—located in the shopping centre where you apprehended the pickpocket with the adhesive-type quirk two weeks ago,” Takahashi relays his search results faithfully from his screen. 

Shouto nods, dipping back into his office.

He reappears a moment later with his jacket on, a baseball cap in his hand, and his little box of green cookies tucked safely under his arm. 

“I’m leaving first,” Shouto calls as he passes his secretary’s desk.

“Shouto-sama, is there something you require at the bookstore?” Takahashi rises swiftly from his seat and pursues the young Pro Hero towards the elevators. The two men stop and wait for the elevator to arrive once Shouto pushes the down arrow. “I’d be happy to retrieve it on your behalf.”

The doors slide open and Shouto steps in, pulling his baseball cap on over his head.

“There’s no need, you can head home for the day,”—the elevator dings as the doors begin to slide closed, Takahashi’s usually placid expression markedly perplexed at his employer’s peculiar behaviour—“I just need to pick up something for dinner."

[mariacallous]

Content warning: This article includes scenes of physical and sexual harassment and assault.

The trouble in Antarctica started in Boston. It was August 1999, and Stanford geologist Jane Willenbring was then a 22-year-old self-described “country bumpkin.” She had just arrived to start her master’s in earth science at Boston University. As an undergrad with an oboe scholarship at North Dakota State University, she’d studied beetle fossils found in Antarctica and learned how, millions of years ago, the now frozen continent once pooled with freshwater lakes. “That’s not so different from the conditions we might expect in the future,” she says. She wanted to explore this critical science. “It seemed really important for future global climate change,” she says.

Of all the geologists, few were more renowned than the one Willenbring had gone to Boston to study under: 37-year-old David Marchant. Marchant, a scruffy professor at BU, was a rock star of rock study. He was part of a research group that rewrote Antarctic history by discovering evidence of volcanic ash, which showed that Antarctica had been stable for millions of years and was not as prone to cycles of warming and cooling as many thought. To honor his achievements, the US Board on Geographic Names approved the naming of a glacier southwest of McMurdo Station, the main research base on Antarctica, after him.

Willenbring says Marchant had insisted on picking her up at the airport, an offer she thought was nice but strange. It got stranger when he started making her feel bad for his gesture, which she hadn’t asked for. “I’m missing a Red Sox game,” she recalls him chiding her. “You really should have picked a better time to fly.” He asked whether she had a boyfriend, how often she saw him, and whether she knew anyone in Boston or would be alone. In a few months, she’d be heading with him on a research trip to Antarctica and the region with his big chunk of namesake ice. “It was almost like a pickup line,” she recalls, “‘I have a glacier.’”

But it’s what happened in the glacier’s shadow that led Willenbring to take on Marchant and become the first to expose the horrors faced by women at the bottom of the world. A report released in August 2022 by the National Science Foundation, the main agency funding Antarctic research, found that 59 percent of women at McMurdo and other field stations run by the US Antarctic Program said they’d experienced sexual harassment or assault. A central employer, Leidos, holds a $2.3 billion government contract to manage the workplaces on the ice. One woman alleged that a supervisor had slammed her head into a metal cabinet and then attacked her sexually. Britt Barquist, a former fuel foreman at McMurdo, says she had been forced to work alongside a supervisor who had sexually harassed her. “What was really traumatic was telling people, ‘I’m afraid of this person,’” she says, “and nobody cared.”

With a congressional investigation underway, Willenbring is sharing her full story for the first time with the hope of inspiring others to come forward and claim the justice they’ve long deserved. But even now, decades after she first got into Marchant’s car, she can’t help asking herself how, and why, the nightmare happened in the first place. “You never hear a women-in-science panel where people are talking about stuff like I do,” she says, “because they’re smart enough to fucking run.”

[theresattrpgforthat]

Tabletop Trick or Treat!!

Ohoho let me treat you my friend!

Let me introduce to you Doll.Bod, by Curatrix Ribston.

This game is a quintessential example of why I love what I do.

I found this game because someone had asked about Helpful Detriments in games, and I stumbled across Doll.Bod as I flipped through my cyberpunk games. Doll.Bod is an excellent and unique example in how it translates a theme of the game directly into its mechanics.

In Doll.Bod, other players control your character. This is meant to represent how your character has had to sell their body to a corporation in order to keep themselves alive, and now the corporation can use you however it likes.

I think Doll.Bod as a premise is super interesting, because it takes something that is so precious to many a role-player - agency - and rips it out of their hands. It's also an excellent metaphor for how living under capitalism requires you to sell your body to your employer, and you often don't get a say over how ethical your employer's business practices will be.

Overall, it's a fascinating game, and it deserves a top spot on my to-buy list.