#How To Vps Account | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

How I got scammed

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #social engineering #phishing #ai #swiss cheese security #infosec #finance #fraud #carding

10K notes · View notes

mariacallous · 1 month ago

Text

Between the Reply Guys playing devil’s advocate and the shitposters spamming disinformation for fun, today’s trolls play in a completely different league from the keyboard warriors of yesteryear. And they don’t just troll randomly for lolz. They latch on to their targets, hoping to get a rise by spreading their brand of hate—whether racist, sexist, homophobic, or all of the above—relentlessly and more organized than ever before.

Fortunately, a new generation of online avengers has emerged to push back this toxic tsunami of trolling, using all the tools at their disposal. WIRED spoke to some of the internet's most famous (and infamous) combatants, from a science communicator taking on anti-vaxxers to a moderator in one of Reddit’s feistiest corners, about how to win a fight online.

Interviews have been edited for length and clarity.

Derek Guy, aka The Menswear Guy, @dieworkwear

Last week, you wrote a long post on X talking about your life as an undocumented immigrant. Vice President JD Vance made a separate post seeming to suggest you should be deported. You followed that up by posting some photos of him and saying, “I think I can outrun you in these clothes.”

To be honest, that was just a throwaway line. I’m not trying to win an online dunk contest with the vice president of the United States. What stands out most to me in that interaction is not who “won” the exchange but the fact that the vice president of the United States is so intensely online, at least compared to VPs of the past.

That, to me, is one of the more interesting shifts in American politics: A large segment of the Republican coalition—including figures like Charlie Kirk and Matt Walsh—is deeply immersed in online spaces. Even the official government accounts for the Department of Homeland Security and White House appear to be managed by people fluent in the language of Twitter.

I can’t imagine any VP in the past, such as Dick Cheney, “clapping back” or posting memes. Being a highly “online” person is a very embarrassing thing and should be relegated to basement losers.

Do you often get trolled?

I’ve gotten some pretty prominent conservative figures who will say, like, “We’re gonna deport you back to Vietnam,” “You’re brown,” “You’re gay,” all the slurs that are wrapped up into that. I don’t know if it happens on every post, but I do get it every single day. In the early 2000s, if I saw that, I would think, oh, that person’s trolling, they don’t genuinely mean they want to deport immigrants. But now, I do think there are some people who genuinely mean that.

So how do you out-troll a troll?

Sometimes I’ll reply or I’ll retweet and make a comment. Recently, someone said, “You’ll always be a slinty-eyed foreigner,” and then I just made a joke. I said, “My naturally squinty eyes are how I see small differences in clothing no one else notices.” But I’m not going to retweet every person who says something to me, because I think that would be tiring for an audience. So most of the time, 99.999999 percent of the time, I just block. I’m really block-happy. It’s polite to the people who follow you, because they don't want to read a bunch of white nationalists, and I don’t want to read a bunch of white nationalists.

Is there a meme that best represents your online persona?

The “I called your tailor” thing was associated with me. I didn’t really mean for that to be a clapback. Someone had posted that they were wearing a bespoke suit. I looked at it, and I was like, I don’t think that's a bespoke suit. So I called the tailor to double-check, and then I replied. A bunch of people retweeted that, and it blew up. But I just considered it fact-checking.

So, are you a troll?

My approach to the internet is shaped by how I grew up: busting balls and cracking jokes with friends, and then also posting informative things.

Samantha Yammine, Science Communicator, @science.sam

Tell us about your trolls in the science world.

Whenever I post about the science of vaccines or any cool space news, there’s an uptick in troll behavior. To be clear, I think some trolling is good or at least neutral, and some is bad—but it’s always about attention.

I don’t consider it trolling when people ask any type of science question they’re genuinely curious about. Even if it’s far-fetched or tied to a conspiracy theory, I want to be having open conversations with people about science, no matter where they’re at. But it becomes troll behavior when someone is purposely engaging to be mean and/or waste my time.

I’ve had people spam my accounts, share my photo with devil horns because I talked about vaccines, threaten me (which goes beyond trolling at that point), try to neg me into debating them about things they are not experts in and that are not at all up for debate.

Any memorable stories?

My favorite was the time a trashy news site called me “Science Scam” instead of Science Sam. [Eds. note: The post has since been removed.] I think they were mad that I cofounded Science Is a Drag (a drag show) and was hired to train public health researchers on how to share essential science during the pandemic. Anyway, now some of my friends call me Science Scam because we found it so hilarious, though a few others have made the connection and tried to use it to be mean, I guess. I can’t say it lands.

I also recently realized there’s this one guy who's been sending me multiple pictures a day on Instagram. I don’t know what the photos are of because they’re hidden unless you click on them. While I am low-key morbidly curious, the fear of existing as a woman on the internet has held me back from ever checking.

How do you out-troll a troll?

I take scientific accuracy and the way science is used to influence human rights very seriously. But what people think about me online, not so much. I don’t think I’d have survived in this industry very long if I did.

What are some of your strategies to deal with Reply Guys?

My philosophy is to always assume people are engaging in good faith. If they double down and get nastier after that, then they either get a clapback or they get restricted, which is a feature on Instagram that means nothing they comment on your page will be public, but they'll have no idea so they’ll just keep talking into the void and waste their own time. It might be a little petty, but if they're trying to waste my time and can potentially harm others by spreading disinformation, I don't feel bad about it.

I also really believe that when people are rude to you, it says more about them than it does you. Sometimes I just reply to troll comments with, “u ok??” because honestly that is what I'm wondering. “Thanks for the engagement, have an amazing day!” is another fave, just to give people a reality check. I totally get and support how some creators have strict blocking criteria, but I very rarely block people, because I am honestly fascinated in how other people's minds work.

Are you a troll?

I view my engagement online as a form of social currency, so I prefer to spend my likes, comments, and shares on content that I actually like and support rather than wasting time boosting engagement for content I disagree with. There are also so many scientists or science-adjacent people who have grown in popularity by being assholes, and I just don’t want to be a part of that elitist culture.

/u/YoungZaphod, Mod of the Subreddit r/UnpopularOpinion

It seems like people who post on r/unpopularopinion are all trolls. How do you moderate that?

The subreddit deals with a decent amount of trolls, but most of them are pretty low-effort. The classics like “I think Hitler was right” and similar xenophobic, racist, or otherwise ridiculous posts generally get picked up by our autofilter, but occasionally more creative ones come through. One of my favorite posts that we left up had something to do with enjoying the feeling of wet socks. Benign posts like that don't bother me, although leaving one up on the front page for a while does generally incur an influx of more in the future.

Do you respond to trolls that try to spam the subreddit?

I’ve generally learned it’s not worth pursuing a response. I receive quite a few messages a day from people who are annoyed their shitposts aren’t being approved. Every troll thinks they’re God’s gift to the internet, when there’s really nothing to distinguish them from the thousands of other trolls out there.

What are some strategies to deal with shitposters online?

As a rule, I ignore them. It’s not worth getting upset about things on a (mostly) anonymous forum. I do enjoy back-and-forth banter a bit in some of the smaller subreddits I frequent though! If I took time out of my day to respond or read every hate message I got I would be a very busy person.

Is there a meme that best represents your online persona?

A quote from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: “I’d far rather be happy than right any day."

Are you a troll or a shitposter?

I don’t necessarily think I’m a troll, although I do enjoy playing devil’s advocate (probably why I started r/unpopularopinion in the first place). Definitely enjoy shitposting, though, as long as it’s not too serious.

Blakely Thornton, Pop Culture Anthropologist, @blakelythornton

How often do you deal with trolls giving hot takes?

I deal with trolls every single day. That is a consequence of being Black and gay on the internet.

Does it take a toll on you? How do you out-troll a troll?

Ninety-five percent of trolls can’t construct a simple sentence, so I usually just point out that they’ve confused “their” with “there” or “they’re.” I don’t respond to everyone, because there’s simply not enough time in the day, and to quote my mother, “racism isn't the shark, it's the water.”

So how do you deal with them?

I find a passionless recitation of the circumstances of their lives, through all publicly available information on the internet tends to end altercations fairly quickly.

Is there a meme that best represents your online persona?

The girl smirking next to a burning building. Or that little dog drinking coffee saying “it’s fine” as everything burns around him. If the two of them had a baby via surrogate it would be me.

Are you a troll?

Only if you're an oligarch, a bigot, or both.

208 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 4 months ago

Text

So the thing with my job is that we're three companies in a trenchcoat. What happened is that a couple of very wealthy guys who used to work in tech decided they were going to buy up companies and mash them together into a bigger company, which is a not-uncommon way to grow MSPs.

We're going to call the first company the Fluffy Bunnies. They were a very stable, white-glove-service MSP with 10 employees serving 30 high-end clients in San Francisco. They have existed for 16 years but got bought out two years ago.

The second company are the Scrappy Mutts. They were acquired about a year ago. They were a moderately stable group handling around 90 medium and small clients in orange county and san diego, they had 7 employees.

The third company, my company, are the Strangled Bats, and were acquired seven months ago. We were a sinking ship with 5 employees handling 185 medium and small clients and one very big client in Los Angeles.

I'm going to call our current company Frankenstein Inc (FI).

All but two of the Scrappy Mutts have left FI. So when we are talking about people who are "familiar" with the 90 clients from that group, it is one tech and one office admin. We have lost a few clients from that group because when FI took over, the service level changed (turns out the previous owner was providing a lot of free services and free computers, which FI will not and should not do).

All but one of the level three techs from the Fluffy Bunnies have left FI. We have several level two techs from the Fluffy Bunnies still on the team, and they make our white-glove, tier-1 san francisco clients feel very well cared for but there's no real account management going on. We have several big clients from this group who are shaky.

Nobody from the Strangled Bats has bounced. None of our clients have bounced. Gary not only trained us to suffer, he trained our clients to actually pay for their services.

Initially, one of the owner/investors of FI was the CEO. When he brought on the Fluffy Bunnies, he told them they were going to be the leadership and guidance for the company. He told them how he wanted the finances handled and set rules for some procedures. When FI merged the Fluffy Bunnies and the Scrappy Mutts, the Fluffy Bunny management had to scramble to figure out how to distribute workload when they quadrupled the size of their customer base and had to figure out how to merge contracts from the Scrappy Mutt clients to their system. This did not go well.

Because that didn't go well, the CEO hired a Professional Services VP and later a Project Manager. The PS VP got fired about a month after the Strangled Bats came onboard, and the Project Manager had only been there for a month at that point.

About a month after his VP was fired, the project manager looked at what a tire fire the acquisition of the Scrappy Mutts and the Strangled Bats was, and started organizing an acquisition process that we are putting in place for the next acquisition, because the owner/investors very much want to keep acquiring other companies.

Since the Strangled Bats have come onboard, ticket distribution has been shot to shit and MOST clients are unhappy with how we're meeting SLAs.

Because of this, the owner/CEO hired two outside execs, one of whom is a CEO with fortune 100 experience to replace him. These two execs have now been at the company long enough to flip on a lightswitch and see the cockroaches scrambling around.

The Fluffy Bunnies are middle management. They want things to move smoothly and customers to be happy. They are more concerned with service outcomes and dropping everything to make clients happy than they are with stability. The Fluffy Bunny response to the cockroaches is to say "yes that is quite unpleasant but we must overlook that for the moment to make sure our customers feel seen." The Scrappy Mutt reaction to the cockroaches is to go "yes, those do seem to be squirmy things, but I am currently chasing this tennis ball (being run ragged by being the only one who really knows 90 clients)". The Strangled Bat response is "yeah okay I eat cockroaches I guess I can grab those and do everything else" because we have been forced to do exactly that.

I thought I was signing on to a company where I'd get to be a Fluffy Bunny or at least a Scrappy Mutt. I am tired of being a Strangled Bat. But if I can't be a Fluffy Bunny then I can at least take care of the cockroaches because the Fluffy Bunnies are pretending they aren't there and they're busy chewing through our cables.

The new exec team doesn't want us to be fluffy bunnies or scrappy mutts or strangled bats working together at Frankenstein Inc, they want us to be normal human employees of a normal human company that is one company with one set of standards and one way of doing things instead of three companies in a trenchcoat. They are in the process of putting these standards into place, and the friction I am experiencing comes from techs on the ground chafing against change, but it ALSO comes from Fluffy Bunny management.

We have one fluffy bunny who is very hesitant to make decisive action and who doesn't want to bother the CEO. The issue is that they are the main interface with the CEO and I report directly to this person. The CEO is my grandboss and if I reach out to him directly I'm overstepping. This fluffy bunny is a yes-man who gets things done by working 70-80 hours a week instead of escalating or delegating and is unlikely to initiate change when it comes to things like "we need to have a drastic reassessment of how we document the hardware we've sold." The OTHER fluffy bunny manager is supposed to be doing service assignments and wants to be a manager, but does not like being told to act more professional, or working one weekend a month, and when you ask this manager for help the response you get is frequently "I don't care" or "ask the other bunny." I don't report directly to this person, but they have oversight over my tickets and can assign me to projects.

I don't want my outlook on the new execs to be too rosy, but it's such a tremendous relief that other people can see the cockroaches and understand that they need to be addressed. I do genuinely believe that the new execs are looking to promote based on how the team responds to the changes they're implementing, and how people tackle the issues that are coming to light, but they're still business dudes in a business setting and there's every possibility that I could work like crazy until my next review and get a "Great Job" sticker and a cost of living raise (which, hey, still better than Gary, but not good enough to set myself on fire for). Given that these guys have been the only ones to put their money where their mouth is in regard to my employment situation (new CEO is why I got my raise, and because I was making so little before it's still not a huge dollar amount but it was a 15% raise which is not nothing) I'm inclined to trust them at least a little. Buuuuuuut I'm also definitely documenting all the shit that I'm doing and I'm maybe also starting a separate document of when I needed something from fluffy bunny management and ran into a brick wall, because the exec team is very firm that i need to escalate through the bunnies.

I will say, if there's anything on our side, it's inertia. Changing MSPs is a huge giant miserable headache so it takes a lot for a customer to bail on us and we do have a solid customer base. Now we just need to make sure none of their goddamned servers implode because the fucking fluffy bunnies configured RAID 5 with no spares because "my fucking server blew up and you didn't have any plan in place to keep me up and running" is absolutely a reason that companies will drop MSPs.

_____________________

The whole server drive situation was because I was trying to wrangle bunnies; it fell into my lap before my pay raise and title change and after that (and the raid 5 panic) I couldn't get bunnies to escalate it or take it seriously and had to start dragging bats into the mix. The CEO has been very clear that this shit is a cockroach and needs to get handled but I'm not supposed to go around my bunny manager to alert him to cockroaches. My bunny manager's response to the fact that the server was RAID 10 (which was checked and confirmed by a bat) was "Wow that's so funny, I wonder why the system was reporting it wrong in the first place? That's some pressure off, huh?" and that's why I was losing my shit yesterday.

389 notes · View notes

torueater · 3 months ago

Text

homecooked⭑.ᐟ

ᓚᘏᗢ pairing: husband!nanami x reader (master chef!)

~ synopsis: cooking for your husband as a surprise after work doesn't exactly go as planned.

Your husband works too hard.

It’s a truth you’d known long before he’d put a rock on your finger, even before all his promotions. Even now in the position of VP, well on his way to becoming COO, he’s damn near a workaholic, feeding more money into an already fat bank account so you two are more than secure when you retire – hopefully earlier than the usual. It had eased up in the years that had passed but this week had been particularly busy, he couldn’t do much about it.

Attributing the random off day you’d taken to ‘needing to do self care' was an easy way to get him to not question your motives, leaving you in bed earlier in the day with a kiss to your temple to head off to work without you for the first time this week.

A lie, of course. With how hard he worked, he deserved a nice, warm meal. A warm homecooked meal from yours truly.

Meal duties were usually split between you two: You on breakfast or lunch, Nanami always on dinner, with you as his sous chef if need be. Not to toot your own horn, but you were a great cook. Nanami always seemed to die for your breakfast foods so you’d went into confident, of course.

A good ten minutes of research has you choosing a crispy sesame chicken and fried rice recipe, reviews looking promising enough. You figured being good at baking would mean that cooking would come easy, meal printed out and stuck to the nearest cabinets so you could draw reference while moving around the kitchen. How hard would it be to make your husband a simple meal?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

Very hard. Stupidly hard, apparently. You’d underestimated just how hard this would be.

Underestimated may be a little bit of an understatement. You’d first washed the rice till the water ran clear, filled the cooker up using two fingers. Followed all the steps to a T, yet somehow, for whatever reason… the rice had ended up both undercooked and burnt? “Who even burns rice made in a rice cooker?” You huff to yourself, a bit flabbergasted at your clear…lack of talent in this respect.

You quirk a brow in growing frustration, leveling the kitchen with a slow look to get a read on your progress. The chicken for one was a whole other issue on its own – freestyling was so not your forte, as you’d come to find out the hard way. You’re lost on whether the extra seasoning added had fucked everything up or if taking it out to defrost only 20 minutes before cooking it had but it’s insides are somehow still pale despite leaving it on the skillet for so long, the crust barely hanging on to the outside. The veggies turned out okay, the singular saving grace – but you’re not sure that makes up for the skillet still currently smoking, frantically fanning a kitchen towel near the fire alarm in hopes of it not going off.

Your apron’s a mess and you sort of feel like crying, debating whether or not to throw this away before Nanami gets home in 20 minutes or so.

20 minutes from the time flashing red on the stove is usually when he gets home, so hearing the jingle of the keys 10 minutes early has you gut curling all weirdly, glancing between the blackened skillet and the direction of the out of sight door, praying that he’d forgotten something in the car for once. Or.. maybe the patrons in another penthouse had gotten the floors mixed up?

Nope, no mistake. None at all. The locking mechanism of the door releases with a familiar click, footsteps echoing in the foyer. “Sweetheart? I’m home.”

In other instances like this one (minus you nearly burning your shared home down trying to cook), you’d be at the door and all over him when he gets in from work so the confused call for you isn’t much surprise. You’re still fanning at the alarm, hopeful that he’d check the bedroom for you first though it doesn’t give you much time to get rid of the evidence of your failure. You pick up on his slowed footfalls, then an unmistakable sniff. Oh no. You cast a glance at the stove, then the counter, your stomach sinking. This wasn’t the welcome you’d hoped to give him after all his work this week. “...Is something burning?” he asks, getting closer and closer to the kitchen.

“No?” Too unsure sounding, you try again. “No. Everything’s great! Don’t come in the kitchen!” Before you know it, he’s past the living room and bending the corner, looking at a semi panicked you in the center of the kitchen. "...."

“Hi, baby.”

Nanami doesn’t know what to fix his eyes on first. The smoky pot that you hadn’t covered, the burnt looking bits of chicken that you’d plated or the rice cooker. Or well, you: brows furrowed and waving a cloth at the smoke detector, looking like you’re two seconds away from crying out of frustration. “What’s all this?” “Well, this..” The dishcloth shifts wildly with your gesture around the kitchen, cracking a smile, “I was trying to make you dinner,” you finally get out, letting out a too awkward laugh as you avert your eyes. “You’ve been working hard lately – like you always do and I didn’t want you to...come home needing to make dinner for the two of us. I..uh, thought it would be nice. It’s a mess in here.”

He steps further into the kitchen, gaze shifting to the mess with an expression especially calm. And a little amused -- you don’t miss that. Mess is a bit of an understatement but he doesn’t voice his thoughts. “Well…let’s,” He reaches past you to turn the heat off, next hand catching your lifted hand to lower it, “turn the heat off. The oil’s burning still because the heat is still on.”

You’re practically burning a hole into the floor now with how hard you’re staring, biting down into your lip to stop a ramble of out of nowhere, unneeded apologies. “Sorry,” you murmur bashfully, wiping your hands on your apron. “I really thought it would be easy.”

He hums lowly, hands smoothing across your shoulders gently before dipping to your lower back to undo the tie of the apron, pulling it up and over your head. “What do you have to be sorry for, angel? Trying to cook for me?”

You shake your head, becoming increasingly more frustrated with yourself, guilt in your chest feeling heavy. Burning rice? Half cooking the chicken? “I should’ve been able to make you something good. It’s literally chicken and rice and the only thing I got right were boiling the veggies.” You whine, tone heavy with embarrassment. Said embarrassment only growing with the sudden laugh from him. His arms circle your midsection, hand resting gently at the back of your head and leading it to his chest, swaying you lightly. “You’re so precious, really.” He chuckles lowly, laugh rumbling against your cheek. “I didn’t marry you for your culinary skills, you know that.”

You look up at him, face probably hotter than it should be. “Is that your way of calling me a horrible cook?”

“Of course not.” His hand smooths over your head, following up his previous words with more reassurance before you can berate yourself any further, “You don’t need to cook dinner for us baby, that’s my job. All of this,” He gestures around the kitchen, letting you lean back to see like you hadn’t done enough of that, “is appreciated. But you make amazing breakfast and lunch for us already. What more could I want, hm?”

Good dinner from his wife, you’d guess. But his words do make you feel better about your failure. “I wanted to do something nice.” “And you did.” His fingers lace in the hair at the back of your head to angle your face out his chest, peering down at you sweetly. “You’re here waiting for me after work in a pretty dress, trying to make dinner for me for example. And even without this you do lots of nice things for me.” He wonders why you’re even worrying, he’s practically ready to kiss the floor you walked on. What's a little burnt rice compared to everything you already do for him? It means a ton even if it hadn’t turned out the way you’d wanted it to.

Plus you hadn’t even burnt the kitchen down, that’s a win in of itself. “Here’s what, we can try to fix it together. I’ll just give pointers and help in the background so it’s like you’re doing it on your own.”

You accept his offer with a nod, of course, hoping dinner could be salvaged. The rice thankfully is savable, merely tossing the burnt bits and setting the cooker up properly as per his instructions to leave fluffy piles of white.

He helps you redo the chicken completely, not trusting the half charred, half raw mess to sit well in either of your stomachs even if revamped. Rather than the crispy sesame he helps you stir up a simple teriyaki sauce to coat fried chicken in – you’d actually gotten the batter right this time, so it sticks to the chicken. Dinner takes another hour or so but by the time you’re done you’re not upset anymore, steaming food plated in front of both of you.

You eye him as he takes his first bite, your own spoon hovering near your mouth. “Is it good?”

With how slowly he’s chewing you wonder if he wants to spit it out (though from knowing him, you don’t think he’d ever), expression brightening when he nods. “Mhm. Better than any takeout.” “Ha ha, very funny.” You’re grinning despite his exaggeration, finally closing your lips around the hovering spoon to taste it yourself. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“Not joking. It’s good. Barely helped, you did this all on your own.” You’d done a great job for someone who’d burnt rice and almost started an oil fire just an hour ago. The night hadn’t exactly gone to plan but you couldn’t be too upset when he was being as sweet as he is right now.

Operation make dinner for your hardworking husband: Successful (?).

You’d probably stick to letting him handle dinner, though.

#torueater ୨ৎ #ᓚᘏᗢ #jujitsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk nanami #husband nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #domestic nanami #jjk

138 notes · View notes

machine-saint · 3 months ago

Text

the thing is that it's indisputably true that the material conditions of the economy turned a lot of people away from Harris (because she's the same party as the president, and because she was literally his VP) but also Trump has made the economy vastly worse by instituting policies he explicitly said he was going to put in place and which were clearly going to have this exact effect, and is now talking about how we need to accept that we will have fewer things and they will cost more. so I think any materialist analysis of politics has to take into account the fact that the US electorate doesn't actually fucking know anything about economics

#discourse

146 notes · View notes

sh00kspeared · 7 months ago

Text

“Johnny loves female V way more than he loves male V”

“Johnny isn’t bi; he had flings with men but truly can only fall in love with women”

“Johnny and V’s dynamic is less interesting with two men”

“Johnny and V are based off of [X classic literature dynamic], and that’s a story about a man and a woman. It could never work with two men.”

“Johnny is the poster child for a tough male archetype; it wouldn’t make sense for him to have a boyfriend.”

I don’t think people who say these things realize what they’re really doing (all of the comments above are things that I have seen more than one person say, by the way, so this isn’t a passive aggressive callout post for a one or two select people or anything).

As someone with a beloved male V x Johnny ship that I’ve spent hours pouring my heart and soul into— writing lore, doing VP, making art— imagine, guys, how it feels for me to read these comments. For others with the same ship dynamic as me to read these comments. Imagine how it would feel if I went to YOUR fem V X Johnny ship and went ‘ackchully, that could never be canon! Johnny loves men more!” Not good, right?

There are times in the past where people have written literal ESSAYS in comments sections about why my ship is bad. And I’m not gonna sugarcoat it: if you say these things to people who are just trying to share art and headcanons, I’m sorry, but you’ve got some issues to work out with yourself. If you have the time to be so worked up about Johnny holding hands with someone who has a dick that you write a long paragraph about how much better fem V is, then I’m not the problem.

And, by the way, I don’t think I’ve mentioned it till this point, but Johnny is canonically bisexual; I’m not just headcanoning here. He’s made comments about wanting to fuck men, more than once have certain devs + the official Cyberpunk Twitter account liked and reposted images of him with male V, his character was based off of David Bowie (a bisexual person), and the official game guide says that Johnny slept with Kerry and Henry. I am not criticizing people who don’t know this information, think Johnny is straight, and are politely concerned about people disrespecting his sexuality— I’ve met plenty of people who don’t know Johnny’s sexuality and nicely go, “oh, I didn’t know that!” when I tell them. No, I’m referring to the people who know this information and choose to ignore it because they don’t like the idea of Johnny being bisexual, or to the people who don’t know Johnny’s sexuality and instantly lash out at male V x Johnny ships because they assume he’s straight.

It also does a disservice to bi people in general to make so many assumptions about Johnny’s sexuality. I’ve seen people assume that Johnny is too ‘manly’ or doesn’t have enough gay mannerisms to be into men, which is very much stereotyping. It also assumes that him preferring women but still liking men means he’s still straight because he talked about sleeping with women more than sleeping with men (ever heard of the Kinsey scale)? Him having two canon girlfriends does not mean he couldn’t have had a boyfriend in the past or that he wouldn’t fall in love with a man (remember him saying he wished he’d fucked Kerry?).

If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of your female V being with a man who finds men attractive, then I’d recommend finding a different character to ship your V with.

Now, to conclude, I’m not denying that Johnny is likely female leaning, and I’m not saying you can’t think your specific female character is the most compatible match for Johnny. I am simply asking that the ship that I and many others have poured hours of our lives into be respected and treated with dignity, and that Johnny’s sexuality be treated with dignity.

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #male v #fandom wank #tw rant #tw vent #fandom discourse

174 notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 5 months ago

Text

Huffily Ever After: A CindereLloyd Story [7/8]

Chapter Seven - Conversations on the Final Night

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 6.9k Summary: Can you say anything to Helen that can possibly salvage your situation? There's also one more person who still wants to talk to you, and he won't be denied.

SERIES Content/Warnings: modern Cinderella adaptation, unknown identities, enemies to lovers, toxic coworkers, eventual THE SMUT IS HERE CHAPTER SPECIFIC: breaking and entering; explicit smut: kissing, grinding, nipple play, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal penetration, creampie; praise; use of endearments: princess, Cinderella; coarse language

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Your eyes scanned the lobby, searching for Helen's familiar face. She was seated in one of the plush armchairs, her tablet in hand, looking every bit the powerful executive you remembered. When she saw you, she stood, and you straightened up a little taller as you approached the Nexus VP of Strategy and Innovation.

"Hello," she said, her voice calm and measured. "I think we need to talk somewhere private. Shall we?"

She gestured towards the hotel bar, which was relatively quiet at this hour. You nodded, following Helen to a secluded corner of the bar. As you settled into the plush leather seats, a waiter appeared. Helen ordered a sparkling water, and you did the same, your mouth suddenly dry.

Helen folded her hands on the table, her piercing gaze fixed on you. "I've heard some very concerning things in the last twenty-four hours," she began, her tone neutral. "I'd like to hear your side of the story."

There was nothing else for it.

You launched into a detailed account of the events leading up to your firing, careful to stick to the facts as you knew them. You explained your interactions with people from Hansen Global, emphasizing that they were all above board and at no point involved discussing substantive current business.

Helen's expression remained impassive as she listened. You continued into recounting the events of today, explaining how you had learned about Zhongxin’s departure over social media, and then how Amilla had ambushed you with the firing. You were about to launch into sharing what you'd learned from Claude about the disastrous meeting that apparently took place between Zhongxin and Amilla, but at that point, Helen raised her hand to stop you.

“I’ve heard more than enough,” she huffed.

Your heart sank.

“You know I wasn’t slated to come to Paris since I was in Amsterdam meeting with one of our potential new clients.”

You nodded, but didn’t say anything, her point clearly rhetorical.

“But I got a call last night that had me booking the first flight to get here to clean up a catastrophe.”

Helen's expression remained unreadable as she continued, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on her water glass. The soft clink of glasses and murmur of hushed conversations in the bar seemed to fade away, leaving you hyper-focused on her every word and gesture.

"When I got that call," Helen said, her voice low and measured, "I was told that we had lost our biggest international client." She paused, her eyes boring into yours. "You can imagine my shock and disappointment."

Your heart sank further, a cold dread settling in your stomach. The weight of Helen's words seemed to press down on you, making it hard to breathe.

It seemed Helen was about to confirm your worst fears - that your career at Nexus was truly over, that Amilla's version of events had prevailed. You braced yourself for the final blow, your fingers nervously tracing the condensation on your water glass.

"I've known Amilla for years. We started at Nexus around the same time, climbed the ranks together. We weren’t close friends, but close colleagues, and I thought I knew her character, her capabilities." Helen paused, her gaze drifting to the bustling hotel lobby beyond the bar's entrance. "I was wrong."

Helen's eyes returned to you, a mix of emotions flickering across her face. "What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this table, understood?"

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

"My call last night was from Min Ho Song himself," Helen said.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Min Ho, the charismatic head of Zhongxin's marketing division, had always been your primary contact at the company. You remembered countless video calls, his infectious enthusiasm, and the way he'd championed your ideas to his superiors.

"Min Ho felt compelled to reach out to me directly, out of respect for the business relationship we've cultivated over the last year. He wanted to explain why Zhongxin was terminating their contract with Nexus." Helen's fingers tightened around her water glass, her knuckles turning white. "What he told me was... shocking, to say the least."

Your heart raced. You could only hope Claude’s story aligned with what Min Ho had told Helen.

Helen took a sip of water before continuing. "Min Ho recounted a disastrous meeting with Amilla in Shanghai. Her behavior was unprofessional, dismissive, and frankly, insulting. He said it was clear she had no real interest in maintaining the relationship with Zhongxin."

You felt a mix of reassurance and vindication wash over you. Claude's account had been accurate. You hadn’t thought to doubt Claude, but after so much of the ground had shifted out from under you since last night, the fact that you had confirmation here that you could trust your new friend sent warmth into the cracked and fractured parts of you.

"But that wasn't all," Helen said, her voice dropping even lower. "Min Ho also expressed deep concern about some of the changes Amilla was proposing to their marketing strategy. Changes that would have undone much of the innovative work you and the rest of your team had implemented."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "But why would she do that? Those strategies were working well."

Helen's expression hardened. "Because they weren't her ideas. From what I've gathered, Amilla has been feeling threatened by your talent, your potential, and your success since I first assigned you to her team. I was optimistic that she’d change her attitude, but I’m afraid I was wrong, and it only ever got worse.”

You were speechless. You had packed away or deflected so many of your doubts or the moments when you felt discouraged or undervalued by Amilla, Anya, or Holly, determined to muscle through it, immersing yourself in the other parts of your job that were still good - working with the clients, strategizing, building and executing campaigns.

Helen let out a heavy sigh. "I should have seen it sooner. I knew Amilla could be difficult, but she should have been leading her team, not resenting any of them, and I never imagined she'd let her insecurities jeopardize a major client relationship like this."

You sat in stunned silence, trying to process everything Helen was telling you. The vindication you felt was overshadowed by a deep sense of betrayal and hurt. All those times you'd doubted yourself, pushed harder, stayed later - had it all been for nothing?

Helen reached across the table, her hand covering yours. "I owe you an apology. I should have been paying closer attention, should have stepped in sooner. I doubted my instincts, worried that I was just being overprotective and biased because of your history working on my team before I took this new position."

Your eyes widened, and you bit the inside of your lower lip, overcome with emotion, but still on edge, processing information. "So what happens now?" you asked hesitantly.

Helen's expression softened slightly. "Amilla has been terminated, effective immediately. Her actions were inexcusable and a clear violation of company policy and ethics."

Relief washed over you, but it didn’t take away all the anxieties - not yet.

"And what about me?" you asked. “Can I have my job back?”

Helen raised an eyebrow. "No. Your firing was completely baseless, but there’s no way I can bring you back only to put you in your former role.”

Helen's words hung in the air for a moment, and you felt your heart sink. But then, a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes, and she reached into her sleek leather briefcase. "I have a better offer."

With a flourish, she pulled out a thick black folder. The soft glow of the bar's ambient lighting caught the embossed Nexus logo on its cover, making it shimmer like a beacon of hope. Helen slid the folder across the polished mahogany table, its smooth surface allowing it to glide effortlessly towards you.

"This," Helen said, tapping the folder with a perfectly manicured nail, "is overdue. I had HR working on this before the conference, but with everything that's happened, I'm even more certain it's the right move."

Your heart pounded as you reached for the folder, your fingers trembling slightly. You opened it, your eyes scanning the contents. The first page was a formal letter, addressed to you on Nexus letterhead. As you read, your eyes widened in disbelief.

"Team Director and Regional Lead for International Strategy and Innovation?" you breathed, looking up at Helen in shock.

Helen nodded, a proud smile spreading across her face. "It's a new position, one that I've been advocating for since I took on my current role. You’ll direct a team - like I did, like Amilla did - but we’re expanding, and I need a point person for each region who will report directly to me and help shape the strategy and provide leadership for all the teams working with clients in their region."

You continued reading, taking in the details of the job description, the generous salary offer - doubling what you made before, and the expanded responsibilities.

“I knew you had the talent and potential, but now you have more years of experience and have proven at this conference from everything I’ve seen and heard that you can make valuable new connections and expand conversations about what we do and how we do it.”

You felt a rush of emotions - pride, excitement, and a touch of apprehension. This was a massive step up, a role with significantly more responsibility and visibility within the company.

"Are you sure?”

Helen leaned forward, her eyes intense. "I am. You've earned it and no one can question anymore that you would only be promoted because of our history working together.”

The enormity of the opportunity before you was overwhelming. Your mind raced, trying to process all the implications of this new role.

You opened your mouth to speak, but found yourself at a loss for words. How could you possibly articulate the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings swirling inside you? Just hours ago, you had been fired, your world turned upside down. And now, here you were, being offered a position beyond your wildest dreams with two other job prospects waiting with Claude and Maggie.

“Don’t accept my offer now. I always tell people to sleep on a job offer before accepting,” Helen remarked. “And when you contact me in the morning, ask for ten thousand more. I won’t be able to give it to you, but I’ll be able to counter offer with five and your choice of the regions because your my first appointee to the regional leadership team.”

You stared at Helen, stunned by her candid advice. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you processed her words. It was so quintessentially Helen - always pushing you to advocate for yourself, to aim higher.

"I... thank you, Helen," you finally managed, your voice thick with emotion. "This is beyond anything I could have imagined."

Helen's eyes softened, a hint of pride in her gaze. "You've earned it. Your work speaks for itself, and your handling of this situation has only confirmed what I already knew about your character and professionalism."

You nodded, still feeling slightly overwhelmed. "I appreciate your advice about sleeping on it. There's a lot to consider."

Helen leaned back in her chair, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "I imagine there is. The news about your firing has spread like wildfire,” you grimaced at this, “but so have the rampant but credible rumors of offers coming your way.”

You reached for your drink to take a sip.

Helen laughed. “Offers you’ve already received, I take it. Let’s get you something stronger to drink to celebrate then!” And she signaled for the garçon.

you go to dinner with maggie

then you head back to your room

As you approached your hotel room, the events of the day swirled in your mind like a kaleidoscope of emotions. The shock of being fired, the rollercoaster of revelations, and now the promise of an exciting new future - it was almost too much to process. The dinner with Maggie had been a delightful reprieve, filled with laughter and animated discussions about her vision for the think tank. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself drawn to the idea of being part of something new and innovative.

You fumbled with your key card, your fingers still a bit clumsy from the celebratory glasses of wine you'd shared with Maggie. As the door swung open, you were surprised to see a warm, golden glow spilling out into the hallway. Hadn't you turned off all the lights before leaving this morning?

Stepping into the room, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft, warm glow was emanating from the bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. As your eyes adjusted to the dimness, they landed on a figure lounging casually in the armchair by the window.

Lloyd Hansen sat there, one leg crossed over the other, a leather-bound book open in his hands. He looked completely at ease, as if he belonged in your private space. The golden light caught the sharp angles of his face, softening them slightly, and for a moment, you were struck by how different he looked outside of the conference halls - more relaxed, almost approachable.

But that fleeting thought was quickly overwhelmed by a surge of shock and anger. Your heart pounded in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “What are you doing here, and how did you get in my room?” you demanded.

His piercing gaze met yours, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost your way."

He closed the book with a soft thud, setting it aside as he rose to his feet. In the dim light, his tall frame seemed to fill the room, and you found yourself taking an involuntary step back.

"You didn't answer my question," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "How did you get in here?"

Lloyd chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Come on. You're far too clever to think I'd reveal all my secrets so easily. Let's just say I have my ways."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, unsure if it was from fear or something else entirely. Lloyd's presence was overwhelming, filling the room with an energy that was both thrilling and almost dangerous.

"That's not an answer," you said, forcing steel into your voice. "You have no right to be here. Get out before I call security."

Because that’s what you should do, right? Call security.

Lloyd took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now, now. Is that any way to treat someone who's come to offer you congratulations?"

You blinked, confusion momentarily overriding your anger. "Congratulations? For what?"

A slow smile spread across Lloyd's face. "For your new position, of course. Team Director and Regional Lead for International Strategy and Innovation. Quite the impressive title."

Your blood ran cold. How could he possibly know about that? You'd only just received the offer hours ago.

"How did you…?”

“Or are you considering one of the other two offers you already know about? Bennington Corporate Consulting is going to try and catch you in the morning as well.”

Your jaw dropped. “Bennington?” You’d hardly spoken to anyone from their delegation.

He nodded. “You’ve certainly been the bell of the ball this week.”

Your mind flashed back to his comments the day before - “enjoy your flash in the pan conference fame, pumpkin, because it takes more than a couple of clever questions and answers to make it longterm in this business.”

Had that really only been a day and a half ago?

So much had happened since then.

Even between you and Lloyd - a softening last night at the gala, but then fire between you two as things had come crashing down around you this morning.

"Just enjoying my 'conference fame'," you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "That’s what you said, right? But I guess other people saw more than ‘a couple of clever questions’."

Lloyd's smile widened, a glint of something like admiration in his eyes. "Ah, you remember. I'm flattered."

"Get out," you said, your voice low and firm. "Now."

You were done playing games and you didn’t want Lloyd ruining the last hours of your final night, especially not now that you had so much to be excited about again.

But instead of leaving, Lloyd took another step closer, closing the distance between you. You could smell his cologne now, notes of sandalwood and something spicy that smelled familiar and made your head spin slightly. Or maybe that was just the wine from dinner.

"You misunderstand me," Lloyd said. "I'm not here to patronize you.”

You looked up into his face and sighed. “Look, I don’t know or even really care what you’re doing here at this point. Today has been the best of times and worst of times, and I just need you to leave.”

“Today did not go the way I wanted it to,” he replied, unmoving.

Your laugh was bitter. “Your day?” you scoffed. “Your day. Sure.”

“Fuck, I know your day was worse, but it wasn’t supposed to be a shit show. I didn’t want that for you.”

Your chest constricted. What did he mean by that? He hadn’t had anything to do with today, and maybe he would have been able to share some of what Claude had told you about Zhongxin, but…

"Please, Lloyd. I'm tired. I just want to be alone."

He studied you for a moment, his piercing blue gaze seeming to see right through you. Then, to your surprise, he nodded. "Very well. I'll go. But before I do, I have something for you."

Lloyd reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He held it out to you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You hesitated, eyeing the box warily. "What is it?"

"Open it," he insisted.

You frowned, but hesitantly took the box. Your eyes flicked back up to his once more before you tilted the top open.

You gasped.

And then in the next instant, you launched yourself at Lloyd, wrapping your arms around his chest without a second thought, because sitting pristinely in the modest jewelry box in your hand was your mother’s necklace.

Lloyd stiffened for a moment as you collided with him, clearly taken aback by your sudden embrace. His arms hung awkwardly at his sides, and you could feel the tension in his body. But then, slowly, almost hesitantly, his arms came up to encircle you.

His body was warm and solid against yours, the crisp fabric of his shirt brushing against your cheek. For another heartbeat, you both stood frozen, the air between you charged with an unexpected intimacy.

Then you suddenly remembered yourself and that this was Lloyd Hansen, and you let go and stepped back, hastily wiping at tears that had sprung from your eyes at the relief of the return of your most prized possession. “Thank you,” you breathed.

"I found it on the terrace last night after I told Chen off - which, by the way, was thoroughly satisfying. It was lying there in the moonlight, the chain broken," Lloyd explained, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I almost missed it, but it caught my eye as I was heading back inside."

You listened, transfixed, as he continued. The warm light of the lamp softening his usually sharp features.

"I recognized it immediately, of course. I'd noticed it earlier in the evening - it's quite striking, and I know how meaningful it is to you."

Your hand instinctively went to your throat where the necklace usually rested.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the open box still in your hand.

You nodded and handed it to him before turning around, grateful for a moment to have your back to him after the overwhelming surge of gratitude and then the unexpected moment of tenderness between you in that hug.

You felt Lloyd's presence behind you, the warmth of his body radiating through the space between you. His fingers brushed against your neck as he carefully fastened the clasp of the necklace, sending a shiver down your spine. The familiar weight of the pendant settled against your skin, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

"There," Lloyd said softly, his breath warm against your ear. "Where it belongs."

You turned to face him, your hand reaching up to feel the necklace hanging in its right place. "Thank you," you said again, your voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Lloyd's eyes softened, a hint of vulnerability flickering across his face. "I think I might have some idea," he said quietly.

You stared at Lloyd, your mind racing. The way he was looking at you now, the softness in his eyes, the gentleness of his touch as he fastened the necklace - it all felt achingly familiar. And suddenly, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, you realized why.

The man from the masquerade. The one who had swept you off your feet, who had made you feel seen and understood in a way so few people in your life ever had before in the few hours you’d shared together. The one whose kiss had left you breathless and yearning for more. It was Lloyd.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the realization washed over you. The height, the broad shoulders, the way he moved with such grace and confidence - how had you not seen it before? Even his scent, that intoxicating blend of sandalwood and spice, was the same.

"It was you," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "At the masquerade. I told you the necklace belonged to my mother."

“And that she said it would bring you good luck,” he added softly.

Anger flared within you, hot and sudden. "I thought it was you! Last night when we were dancing, I thought…” you took a step back. “But you just deflected me. Was this all some kind of game to you?"

The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with tension. You took another step back, putting more distance between yourself and Lloyd.

"Did you think it was funny?" you demanded, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. "Watching me stumble through our interactions, never quite sure why I felt so drawn to you despite your infuriating behavior? Was it amusing to see me struggle with these conflicting emotions?"

“No!” Lloyd took a step towards you, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "No, I didn’t know until last night at the dinner - it was the first time your necklace was openly on display. But do you think it was a picnic for me this week? Overhearing two people I don’t even know gossip over me at a cafe the first morning of the conference? Literally bumping into that woman only hours later, having her appear in the circle of people I’m supposed to interact with, and - as my father so kindly informed you - take the spot I might have had at the panel yesterday?”

Your mind raced back through every encounter you'd had with Lloyd during the conference. The heated debates, the sharp exchanges, the moments of unexpected vulnerability - they all took on a new light with this revelation.

"So what was all of that then?" you asked, your voice quieter now but still tinged with hurt and confusion. "The antagonism, the competition - was any of it real?"

Lloyd ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed uncharacteristically nervous for him. "All of it was real," he said. "My frustration, the admiration that grew for your intellect, my attraction to you - it was all real.”

You opened your mouth to push against him more, but before you could form the words, Lloyd surged forward. His hands cupped your face as his lips crashed against yours, hard and insistent. The sudden intensity of the kiss stole your breath away, igniting a fire that spread through your entire body.

For a moment, you were too stunned to react. But then instinct took over, and you found yourself responding with equal fervor. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, bringing back flashes of that magical night at the masquerade.

Lloyd's lips moved against yours with a desperate hunger, as if he'd been holding back for far too long. Your hands slid up Lloyd's arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, before coming to rest on his broad shoulders. His body pressed against you, warm and solid, as he backed you up against the wall. The cool surface against your back contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from Lloyd's chest, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers tangled in Lloyd's hair as the kiss deepened, your bodies pressed tightly together against the wall. The heat between you was intoxicating, clouding your mind and making it hard to think of anything but the feel of his lips on yours, his hands roaming your body.

With a low groan, Lloyd broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath. His blue eyes were dark with desire as he looked at you, searching your face.

"I've wanted to do that all week," he murmured, his voice husky.

You let out a shaky laugh, your head spinning. "Even when you were being an absolute jerk to me?"

A wry smile tugged at Lloyd's lips. "Especially then. You're magnificent when you're fired up."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you found yourself pulling him in for another kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving only the electric current passing between your bodies. Lloyd's hands roamed down your sides, settling on your hips and grinding into you.

A soft moan escaped your lips and Lloyd's mouth moved to your neck, trailing hot kisses along your jawline. His teeth grazed your pulse point, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. You arched into him, craving more of his touch.

"Lloyd," you breathed, your voice husky with desire.

He pulled back slightly, his blue eyes dark with passion as they met yours. For a moment, you both stood there, chests heaving, the air between you charged with unspoken longing.

"Tell me to stop," Lloyd murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "One word from you, and I will.”

“No words, just this,” you demanded, pulling him back in for another searing kiss.

Lloyd groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs. In one smooth motion, he lifted you up, pinning you against the wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist. The new angle allowed you to grind against him, eliciting a low moan from Lloyd that sent shivers down your spine.

His lips blazed another trail of hot kisses along your jawline and down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as your fingers tangled in his hair. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the heady aroma of desire, intoxicating you further.

"Bed," you managed to gasp out between kisses. "Now."

Lloyd didn't need to be told twice. His clothing hadn’t done much to conceal his muscles all week, and you experienced now the strength of them as carried you effortlessly across the room before throwing you down on the bed.

You landed on the plush hotel bed with a soft thud, your heart racing as you looked up at Lloyd. He stood for a moment at the foot of the bed, his eyes raking over your body with undisguised hunger. He crawled up to join you, his movements predatory.

Lloyd hovered over you, his intense gaze locked on yours. The weight of his body pressed you into the mattress as he captured your lips in another hungry, searing kiss. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt.

With deft fingers, you began unbuttoning the shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin against yours. He shrugged out of it impatiently, tossing it aside before turning his attention to your own clothing. His hands slid under your blouse, leaving trails of fire in their wake as they skimmed up your sides.

"Off," Lloyd growled, tugging at the hem of your top. You arched your back, allowing him to pull it over your head. His eyes darkened as they raked over your newly exposed skin.

Lloyd's lips descended on your collarbone, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. His hands roamed over your body, caressing and exploring as if memorizing every curve. You arched into his touch, craving more.

With deft fingers, Lloyd unclasped your bra, tossing it aside. His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down the valley between your breasts before capturing a nipple between his lips. You gasped at the sensation, your fingers tangling in his hair to hold him closer.

As Lloyd lavished attention on your breasts, his hand slid down your stomach to the waistband of your pants. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire but seeking permission. You nodded eagerly, lifting your hips to help as he tugged your pants and underwear down in one swift motion.

Lloyd sat back on his heels, his eyes roaming over your newly exposed body with undisguised reverence. The soft light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow across your skin, highlighting every lush curve and dip. You felt a momentary flicker of self-consciousness, but it was quickly extinguished by the raw desire blazing in Lloyd's eyes.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathed, his voice low and husky.

His gaze traveled slowly up your body, taking in every inch of you. He drank in the sight of your full, shapely legs, the soft swell of your hips, the gentle curve of your stomach. His eyes lingered on your breasts, full and heavy, before finally meeting your eyes.

What you saw there made your breath catch in your throat. There was no hesitation, no hint of disappointment or judgment. Instead, Lloyd's eyes blazed with unbridled desire and admiration as they met yours. His gaze was so intense, so full of raw need, that you felt yourself flush under his scrutiny.

"Come here," you murmured, reaching for him.

He did so immediately, but you knew instinctively it wasn’t to comply, but only because he wanted to. He lowered himself over you, his skin hot against yours as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. You reveled in the feeling of his bare chest pressed against you, your hands roaming over the planes of his back.

As you kissed, Lloyd's hand trailed down your body, skimming over your curves before dipping between your thighs. You gasped against his mouth as his fingers found your center, already slick with arousal. He stroked you slowly, teasingly, swallowing your moans with his kisses.

"Lloyd," you whined, reaching for his belt, needing him to be as naked as you.

He chuckled darkly against your neck as your fingers fumbled with his belt buckle. "Patience, Cinderella," he murmured, his breath hot on your skin. But despite his words, he pushed back and knelt on the mattress, allowing you better access.

You made quick work of his belt and zipper, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down his hips. Lloyd shifted off the bed, standing briefly to kick them off completely, and you took a moment to admire his naked form. His body was all hard muscle and sharp angles, a stark contrast to your softer curves. Your eyes traveled down his torso, following the trail of dark hair that led to his impressive erection.

Lloyd caught you staring and smirked, his usual cockiness returning. "Like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Instead of answering, you reached out and grabbed his hand, tugging him back to join you on the bed. He crawled over you once more. Lloyd's body pressed against yours, skin to skin, as he settled between your thighs. The feeling of his hard length against your core sent a shiver of anticipation through you. His lips found yours again in a deep, passionate kiss that left you breathless.

You arched into him, craving more contact, more friction. Lloyd's hand slid down your side, gripping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist. The new angle allowed him to grind against you more fully, and you both groaned at the sensation.

"Lloyd," you gasped against his mouth, your nails raking down his back. "I need you."

Lloyd pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as they met yours. "I’m not fucking you with a condom," he stated, his voice strained with barely contained need.

You shivered at his bold declaration, a rush of heat coursing through you.

"IUD," you breathed and arched up to press against him. "Please, Lloyd. Fuck me already.”

A low growl rumbled in Lloyd's chest at your words and he nipped at your bottom lip. He positioned himself at your entrance and with one smooth thrust, he buried himself inside you to the hilt.

You cried out at the exquisite fullness, your body stretching to accommodate his impressive size. Lloyd stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours as you both adjusted to the overwhelming sensation.

"Fuuuuck," Lloyd groaned, his voice rough with pleasure.

He began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had you gasping with each thrust. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him closer as your hips rose to meet his.

The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure - gasps, moans, and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Your nails raked down his back as the tension coiled tighter in your core.

"Damn, you feel amazing," Lloyd breathed against your neck, his voice strained with effort. "Such a tight, perfect cunt."

His words sent a thrill through you, stoking the fire burning in your veins.The headboard knocked against the wall with each powerful movement, but you were too lost in sensation to care.

Lloyd shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts. Suddenly, he was hitting that perfect spot inside you with each stroke. You groaned, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable point. You slipped your hand down between your bodies to rub your clit, and Lloyd grunted in approval.

"That's a good girl, touch yourself for me," Lloyd growled, his voice husky with desire. "I want to feel you come undone around my cock."

His words pushed you even closer to the edge. You circled your clit faster, matching the rhythm of Lloyd's increasingly urgent thrusts. The tension inside you built to a fever pitch, your body trembling on the precipice of release.

"Lloyd," you gasped, your free hand gripping his shoulder tightly. "I'm so close."

"Let go," he commanded, his blue eyes blazing into yours. "Come for me, now."

As if your body was obeying his command, your orgasm crashed over you in waves of intense pleasure. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as your inner walls clenched tightly around Lloyd's length. The sensation of your release made him snarl and snap his hips faster and more violently against yours. It didn’t take much longer, and then with a guttural groan, he thrust deep inside you one final time, his body shuddering as he spilled himself within you. The feeling of his hot release prolonged the high from your own orgasm, smaller waves of pleasure rolling over you feeling him fill you with his cum.

For several long moments, you both remained still, breathing heavily as the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. Lloyd's weight pressed you into the mattress, and you welcomed it, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You could feel his heart racing against your chest, matching the rapid beat of your own.

Finally, Lloyd lifted his head, his blue eyes meeting yours. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. There was a vulnerability there that you hadn't seen before, a softness that contrasted sharply with his usual bravado.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow but still infused with a potentially dangerous heat, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it. Then he rolled onto his back, taking you with him, holding you against his chest, and he stared up at the ceiling.

You lay there for several long moments, your head resting on Lloyd's chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow. The room was quiet except for the sound of your mingled breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

"Well," Lloyd finally broke the silence, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "That was..."

"Unexpected?" you offered, tilting your head to look up at him.

A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "I was about to say something far too salacious for your delicate princess ears, but unexpected works too."

You scoffed, poked him in the side, and tried to move away from him as he flinched, but he chuckled while easily keeping you trapped with his arm still banded around your back. With his other hand, he tilted your chin up, and kissed you again until you melted against him.

Once mollified, you curled up against him again, settling into the last of the post-coital haze. As it began to clear, the landscape of the situation started to come into focus. You had just slept with Lloyd Hansen - the man who had been an enigmatic menace to you all week, who had prodding you and perplexing you in equal measure. The man who, as it turned out, had also been the mysterious and irresistible masquerade dance partner you had yearned for since that magical night together at Versailles.

You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking down at Lloyd. His blue eyes met yours, a clear level of satisfaction in their blue depths.

“What is it, Cinderella?” he asked, mustache twitching as he smirked at you.

"So you said you didn’t figure out who I was until last night, but why didn't you say something once you knew?”

Lloyd's smirk faded slightly as he considered your question.

"Honestly? I wasn't sure how to approach it," he admitted. "Our interactions had been complicated, to say the least. I didn't know how you'd react if I suddenly revealed that I was the man from the masquerade."

You nodded slowly, understanding his hesitation.

"Plus," Lloyd continued, a hint of his usual cockiness returning, "I enjoyed our verbal sparring. I didn't want it to end just yet."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. "Of course you did."

Lloyd's hand trailed lazily up and down your spine, sending pleasant shivers through your body. "And I’ll admit part of me wanted to win you over as Lloyd Hansen.”

Your chest tightened - but not in an unpleasant way - when he said that.

“Of course my plans were shut down when everything went to hell this morning with Zhongxin and Amilla," he conceded.

You nodded, remembering the chaos of the day's events, including your own unfair vitriol toward him. "So why come here tonight?"

Lloyd's lips quirked into a smirk. "Well, I couldn't very well let my Cinderella leave without her glass slipper, could I?" He nodded towards the necklace still hanging around your neck.

You rolled your eyes at his cheesy line, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "And the breaking and entering?"

“I like my share of villainy.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head at his audacity. "You're incorrigible."

"And you can’t resist it," Lloyd retorted, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You bit your lip, not wanting to admit how right he was. Instead, you changed the subject. "What happens now?"

Lloyd groaned and rolled you over, pinning you beneath him. “Clearly I need to fuck you until your pretty little head is empty so we can stop the inquisition.”

You grinned. “If you think I’m going to complain about a threat like that, you’re wrong,” you replied.

Lloyd's eyes darkened with desire as you spread your legs invitingly. He lowered his head to trail hot kisses along your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point.

"So eager," he murmured against your skin. "I like that."

His hand slid down your body, fingers tracing teasing patterns along your inner thigh. You arched into his touch, craving more. Lloyd chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"Patience, princess," he admonished playfully. "We have all night."

final chapter: DEPARTURE DAY

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #chris evans characters #aspen wrote something #huffily ever after #female reader

138 notes · View notes

cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Note

Could you write an enemies to lovers fanfic with Rafe Cameron x middle class sassy sarcastic chubby reader where reader and JJ are super close which pisses Rafe off but he completely loses it when JJ starts flirting, touching reader somehow, and ask her out. When JJ runs off somewhere to probably get a drink, a few minutes later, Rafe tells reader to come with him because it concerns her “boy” which is just an excuse to get her alone. She sees that JJ has a hand print on his wrist which causes reader to confront him and yell at him for hurting JJ and Rafe confess his love for reader which leads to praise and breeding kink sex. In this story, Rafe and Reader have known each other since she was 16 and he was 18 because she was his classmate at the kook’s academy

Everything Was Blue

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: SMUT and Swearing

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.9K

Masterlist

Ever since he stole her spot as class President in their senior year at Kildare Academy, Y/N has had it out for Rafe. She would’ve been fine if he won the vote because he wanted the position, except he didn’t. He only campaigned for the title once he saw how much she wanted it. He was lucky that being VP was enough for her to get into Harvard because she would’ve killed him on the spot if it had.

The year spent as his Vice President was torture and she made it her life mission to return the favour to him. He would provoke her by sending her out as an errand girl. He would solely focus on the aspects of the job that made him popular with their peers, so when it came to the background work or the less favourable policies, she was left to tend to them. Rafe promised the students to make every Friday casual dress day and Y/N spent a whole weekend by herself working to make that happen while he and the other Student Council Members partied at the Boneyard. She got back at him though by anonymously telling Ward where his bottle of expensive whiskey went.

To add to her distaste for the Kook, he always antagonizes her Pogue friends and her relationship with them. She may be rich enough to afford Kook Academy, but the number in her parents' bank account was not satisfactory for the Kooks so the Pogues took her under their wing. They didn’t care what she had financially; they cared that she had whipcrack remarks against Rafe and would stand up for them against any Kook who tried to mess with them. She was an honour Pogue and proud of it, especially since hating Rafe was one of the requirements.

———

The sand gives way to her shoes as she hops out of her jeep. Music coming in front of her tells her the party is already in full swing and she curses Mr. Robinson for being late coming home from his meeting. She reaches into the car to pick up her phone and keys from the passenger seat, closing the door behind her. She spins around to find Rafe leaning against the car beside hers. “For someone who put time-management skills on her resume, you sure are late to the party,” he teases and then brings the red solo cup to his lips. She glares at him. “Well, for someone who claims to be good in bed, you would assume you could make a girl cum. But, at last, I’ve heard otherwise.” She smirks at the way his eyes narrow and continues her journey toward the gathering of people on the beach. He pushes off the car to follow her. “So you’ve been asking how I am in bed. Why? You want to take me out for a ride?” She laughs at the idea, “More like enough girls have been dissatisfied with the service you provide that they felt the need to complain.”

His mouth gapes and he can’t think of a comeback before she spots JJ in the crowd and makes her way to the Pogue.

“Hi,” she greets, running her hand along the top of his back to drop it on his opposite shoulder. He turns to her with a smile, “Hey, Beautiful. Where have you been?” “Oh, you know how Mr. Robinson is. He tells you he’ll be home by six and he comes home at nine. C’est la vie,” she complains. He laughs and guides her toward the keg near the bonfire. “Ahh, yes. The things you can do as a Kook. Don’t worry, we can get you caught up.” She nods, “I can only have one though. I’m DD tonight.”

After they get her drink, the two of them approach the speaker and begin to dance. His hands are on her hips, swaying with her movement and her head moves from side to side with her eyes closed. They are both caught up in the moment, so they don’t notice the pair of eyes trailing their every move.

Rafe can’t stop staring at her. He never can. He pretends it’s because he is scrutinizing her; his heart disagrees—the blue flowers on her catch his eye first. The corset-like top deliciously hugs her curves and he wants to untie the little bow that rests between her bosom. His sight trails down her body to the skirt of her dress. Its flowing design stops him from being able to imagine what his head would look like between her thighs. The high slit does give him a small glimpse that makes him want more. He finds JJ’s hands on her hips and something grows in his heart. A green spot of envy. What is he doing? He shouldn’t care that Pogue is touching her. He hates her. He has to focus on something else.

Luckily, Hailey sees him in the crowd and wanders over to him. She takes the hand that isn’t holding a cup and places it on her hips, dangerously close to her upper bum. He plays along with her, lowering his face to her neck. His lips ghost her skin. His gaze chances a look at Y/N. His envy flourishes and his grip on Hailey tightens. JJ’s mouth skims the shell of Y/N’s ear and she throws her head back with laughter.

“I’m going to go take a wiz,” JJ informs the girl after making a joke about the Kooks beside them. She bobs her head and steps back. Kiara slips into the spot occupied by their friend and the girls dance together.

A plan starts to form at the sight of the blonde’s departure. He keeps his distance while the Pogue dips into the wooded era of the beach. As soon as his enemy makes a reappearance, he rushes forward. “Dude, come quick. Something happened to Y/N,” Rafe advises. The boy is too drunk to question the older man and his concern overweights his suspicion. He follows Rafe, thinking nothing that he is being led back into the woods.

———

It’s been a while since JJ has returned from going to the bathroom and Y/N begins to worry that he passed out somewhere. She navigates through the sea of people towards where she knows he likes to go to the bathroom when they are at the Boneyard. Her eyes scan every blond, yet she doesn’t detect the one she wants. At the edge of the crowd, she finally locates the man she wants; however, he isn’t in the same condition as he left her in. A purple bruise blooms around his eyes and a red cut on his lower lip drips down his chin. His unaffected knuckles mean he didn’t even get a punch in. “J-jay, what the fuck happened? Who did this?” she worries, taking his chin in her hands. She examines his injuries. “I thought falling face-first into a tree trunk would be fun,” he jokes. “Who do you think did this, Y/N/N? The only person who wants to do this on a fun night out instead of partying.”

She isn’t surprised. Anger seeps into the back of her throat and she searches for the person she wants to let it out on. He is around the fire with Kelce and Topper. She storms over to him. Her finger digs into his chest and he backs him up against the rocks behind him. “Where do you get off?” she screams at him. He chuckles down at her, “Normally in my bedroom, but I’m not opposed to doing it in public if that’s what gets you going.” She scoffs. “Please, I’d rather do it with a cactus before I let you anywhere near you.” He fakes a pout, “Aww, you want a partner with an exterior as prickly as your personality.”

Her hand goes up to grip the collar of his button-up. “I’m not fucking joking around, Rafe. Why the fuck did you beat JJ?” she interrogates. His frown turns irritated and he steps forward. “He is a Pogue. What other reason do I need?” he instigates. She shakes her head and lets go of him. “You know what. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” With her attention no longer on him, disappointment replaces his envy. He can’t let her leave. “Wait.” His hand wraps around her wrist and she stumbles backwards. “What?” she questions. She pivots in his direction with rage in her eyes. He lets go of her and steps back with his arms up. His mouth drops open. He stutters, “Uhh.” His brain panics and forgets all the words. She shakes her head and returns to her leaving. He goes into overdrive, taking her hand and dragging her to the parking lot. Out here, the music is muted here. She rips her hand out of his hold and uses it to slap him. “What the fuck are you doing?” she yells. He rubs the cheek she hit. All the words in the English language, yet he can’t seem to string enough of them together to tell her how he feels.

“I love you?” The declaration sounds more like a question with Y/N spinning her eyes in their sockets. “You can’t be serious. If this is your new attempt at torture, then you have to work on the technique,” she quips, trying again to distance herself from her enemy.

The breath he lets out doesn’t match the length of his others. “August 12th, 2020. At two thirty-four pm, you walked into Bell’s Cafe with Kiara. Your tank top was a blue spaghetti strap tied at the back and your jeans were black with white embroidered flowers. You ordered a blueberry scone and blueberry mint iced tea. You and Kie sat at the booth by the window closest to the door.”

She interrupts him, “What does this have to do with anything?” He doesn’t acknowledge her inference. “She asked you how you felt about entering your senior year and you told her that you felt confident you would get into Harvard, especially if you spent most of your time doing Student Council work. She thinks she pieces together where he is going. “So you decide you would make my life hard to mess with my chances,” she assumes. His head swings, “No. No. Will you let me finish, please?” He waits for a response and she motions with her hand to continue.

“You like the colour blue and anything to do with it. You bite the back of your pen whenever you are in thought. A habit you are trying to stop. You like to listen to audiobooks in the car. I know those things because everything you do catches my attention and everything I do is to get yours.”

She finally hits the bullseyes, “You took the Presidency so that I would notice you?” Hearing her say it out loud makes him feel childish. His hand cups the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s stupid, I know. You were out of my league and my horny ass brain could only think of idiotic ways to be seen by you. You can’t say it didn’t work though,” he admits. She chuckles, “You really think I want to be in a relationship with you after you jeopardized my chances at getting into Harvard and have made my friends’ lives a living hell.” He steps closer to her, boxing her in against the car behind her. His head lowers to mimic the placement of JJ’s. “I think you like that I light a fire in your heart. I think every hateful stare we exchange is to mask our desire. I think that if I put my hand up your dress and under your panties, my fingers are going to come back soaking,” he says while his hand goes dangerously close to her entrance. “Shall I test the theory?”

His gaze bores into hers, anticipating an answer. He catches the small dip in her head and fulfills his requests. As expected, his fingers come in contact with a wet substance. He brings it up to his lips and sucks it into his mouth. His mouth drops back close to her ear, “Look at that, you are as wet as I thought you’d be. As sweet too. Reminds me of blueberry scones, except better.” His hand falls behind her near her rests and cups the doorhandle. He pulls it open, taking her back off the vehicle to shove her in.

A thud resonates in her ears and she crawls back to lie down on the car seat. “Can I have another taste, Pretty Lady?” he begs, his eyes flicking down to her crotch. She exhales, “Yes.” He tuts and places his hand on her soft stomach. “That’s not how you ask politely.” She sneers at him, closing her legs and sitting up. “If you want to be that way, then I’ll find someone else to take care of me. Maybe someone with a better track record,” she postulates. She reaches for the handle. He grabs her wrist and spins her to face him again. He growls, “You are going to regret that.” He pushes her back against the seat, throwing her legs over his shoulders. The hem of her dress pools at her waist and her blue lacy thong is revealed. He groans at the wet spot forming. He drags it down his legs and throws it to his back seat. His eyes peek to where it lands. He grins when he sees they are wrapped around his gear shift. Those aren’t going anywhere.

Her bare pussy shines up at him; he licks his lips in apprehension of his meal. His head dives in, making contact with the sweet substance. She jerks forward in a moan and her fingers attempt to grip his shaved head. The smirk he wears presses against her. The slurping that fills the car is pornographic. She whines at the release of pressure. His chin glistens as he looks up at her, “See, Pretty Lady. You can’t listen to what random people say. You have to get the facts from the source yourself.” Her plump pout has him chuckling and he squeezes her thick thighs.

He focuses on her bud, sucking and nipping like his life depends on it. His saliva pools at the edge of his lip and it drops at the edge of her entrance. He places his tongue inside of her, curling towards him. Her walls start to coil around him. His fingers pass through his mouth and jam them into her hole at a fast pace. This unravels her and she constricts around him, making it hard for him to pull out. His hand rests on the mound above her clit. He messages the skin and she releases a bit to make it easier for him to remove his fingers. He rises from between her legs. His lips press against hers and she tastes herself on him, causing a need to regrow against her. He grinds his closed hard-on against her. “You did so good, Pretty Lady. You make such pretty sounds,” he murmurs to her. “I’m going to fuck you so dumb that everyone knows who you belong to now. Whether that be from how loud you scream tonight or you start singing my praise or your belly rounds with my baby. You are mine.”

One hand is used to take off his belt and he yanks down his underwear with his pants. “You ready, Pretty Lady?” he confirms with his eyes on her. She circles her arms around his neck to bring him near her face and connect their lips. “Fuck me right now, or I’m going to go tell everyone that you can’t even find the hole.” A snicker passes his lips and he lines himself with her entrance. He doesn’t give a warning this time as his hips slam forward, causing their pelvic bones to be flushed. He sits up and raises her hips. The new angle mixed with the pace of his pistoning gets his tip where it needs to be to cause her the maximum amount of pleasure. “You are doing so well, Pretty Lady. You are going to make the best mama for our baby. Can’t wait to see you get all round,” he praises.

His thumb reaches her bud and rubs it clockwise. “Harder,” she orders him, bucking her hips up to meet his motion. He grabs the headrest to anchor himself and drags his cock out so that his tip rests inside of her. His re-entrance is swift and with a harder force than before. “You feel so good, Pretty Lady,” he moans. “I’m not going to last.” She feels the warning jerk that confirms the truth of his words. She clenches around him, helping him to the edge. He spasms inside of her and rides out his high. His limp dick comes out and he is about to lean forward to help her to her second release when she stops him. She uses her hand to bring him up with a shake of her head. “What’s wrong? You didn’t finish, so I was gonna help you out. Can’t have you running around telling people I can’t make you come,” he jokes, trying to get back to work. She kisses him. “It’s okay. I don’t need that right now. All I want is for you to hold me.” He grins at her words and flips them over so she is on top of him. Her head is on his chest. The car is silent and the windows are fogged over from the activities that were happening inside. She decides to get one last word in, “And for you to apologize to JJ.” His grumble has her laughing into the night.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron smut

336 notes · View notes

strikexlightning · 7 months ago

Text

Ryan Howard x Male Reader

notes: this might not be show timeline accurate, I'm not even gonna lie :'), it's supposed to take place in season 6, I had the wiki open the whole time so hopefully it's at least passable, also sorry if the characters are ooc a little, I'm still in the process of rewatching the show.

cws: mention of ryan being into pain, fucking at work, they don't use lube

Your head falls into your hands, overwhelmed by whatever bullshit Jim was doing to Dwight today. Sometimes you found it funny, but on days like today, it made you question why you accepted the accounting position all those years ago. You at least wished you could work in the annex, or in that cozy little closet Jim put Ryan in.

You push back your chair, getting up and walking into the kitchen, deciding to get more coffee because you couldn't possibly think of going back into that area of the office without any sort of caffeine.

“Hey.” Someone behind you says. It makes you jump and almost spill scalding hot coffee all over your hand, and you turn, wondering how you didn't hear anyone walk in before you remember Ryan's “office” is directly behind you.

You give him a little nod in return, not in the mood for listening to his pretentious bullshit. The last time you came into the kitchen, the closet door was open and he made you look at the…interesting pictures he's been taking, trying to be artsy. He literally made you stand there for 30 minutes straight while the phone on your desk rang.

As he looks through the fridge, it's clear he's just pretending, using it to hide the fact that he keeps glancing over at you, trying to see if you acknowledge his presence. As you finish up making your coffee, he shuts the fridge, realizing it's not gonna work.

He passes behind you, leaning against the counter as you clean up the small amount of coffee you spilled. He's too close, his elbow almost touching yours.

“Got any plans after work?” He asks, and you shrug.

“I think everyone's planning on going out for drinks.” You answer, taking a sip from the mug. You weren't really interested in talking to him but you didn't want to be rude.

“Well I was asking about you specifically…silly.” He says, with a weird, awkward laugh. He added the “silly” at the end in a way that made it sound like he was debating on whether or not to say that, and you can tell he instantly regrets saying it as he awkwardly glances towards the film crew when you don't respond and then retreats back to his closet, shutting the door.

You squint at the door before slowly walking back to your desk, Dwight now back in his seat and Jim nowhere to be found. You work for a little bit before you start to get bored, switching tabs to a random game. When lunch comes, a few people leave together, leaving the break room empty because the few people still there were up to other things. You didn't really care, all you heard was ‘empty room all to yourself’.

You grab your food and get comfortable, being the only one in there. You read as you eat, some random fantasy book you had picked up somewhere. It was peaceful, without any shenanigans, no camera crew because they were off filming the interesting stuff.

And you jinxed it, because the second you start to enjoy your lunch, Ryan himself comes striding in, straight towards you. You didn't know exactly why you disliked him so much. He wasn't really that horrible to you, though he did kind of suck, and you didn't really care much about the others’ to hate him for any personal reasons. Part of you wondered if it was some kind of sexual frustration, because he was kind of hot and clearly didn't have anything against sleeping with coworkers. Maybe it was the sex dreams you had of him when he was VP, you just really wanted to put that man in his place, but he kind of did it to himself when he got arrested so after that the dreams kind of just stopped.

The fact that you found him sexually attractive freaked you out, not because he was a guy, but because it was Ryan of all people. The last thing he needed was another ego boost.

He stands in front of the table you're sitting at, staring at you until you look up at him. He sits next to you, getting comfortable and once again, way too close. He's practically on top of you, his hand squeezing your arm tightly, probably so you can't get up and leave.

“Listen, man. I found this new…business venture, let's say. I figured you'd be interested.” His voice is a low whisper, like he's telling you some mystical secret or something, and he stares at you expectantly.

You have literally no idea what the fuck he's talking about.

You stare back at him, a confused look taking over your face. “...you’re not doing coke again, are you?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I just think you and I should…discuss…business strategies. After work. Tonight.”

You're pretty sure he's just trying to fuck you and can't come up with a better reason to get you alone other than straight out asking. You're not completely opposed, so you shrug.

“Sure, I guess.” You glance over and see someone from the camera crew recording you through the window from outside of the door. There goes your undisturbed lunch break.

He grins, letting go of your arm and patting your back, his hand lingering for a little bit. “Sweet.”

You nod in response, not knowing what to say. Now that you're aware of what he's doing, it just makes it weirder that he's doing that rather than coming right out and saying it. You saw how he was with women usually, so you figured he just didn't know how to flirt with men.

He stands back up and stops in his place when he sees the crew filming the both of you, and then he continues to leave. You can see him saying something to them, but you can't hear it. You sigh when you check the clock, realizing your lunch is over and you barely got through the first ten pages of the book. You retreat back to your desk, finishing out the rest of the day playing computer games and avoiding doing actual work.

When it's time to leave, you grab your jacket, relieved that the day was over. You were actually intrigued to see where Ryan was going with his horrible attempt at asking you to come over. You knew it was some kind of sexual advance just by how see through he is to you, but you didn't exactly know how it would play out and it was a little exciting.

“Are you coming to the bar with us?” Meridith asks you as she comes up next to you. You shake your head.

“No, I'm…going straight home. Gonna get some rest. You have fun though.” You respond in a suspicious manner. Luckily she doesn't care and says goodbye to you before leaving with everyone else.

You see Ryan out of the corner of your eye, and you turn your head, not expecting him to be staring directly at you as Michael is trying to talk to him. Michael sees that Ryan is looking in your direction and he waves you over. You give him a small smile as you walk over.

“I was just telling Ryan about that new Mexican restaurant that just opened, we should check it out one of these days. You know, just us three guys. Hangin’ out.” Michael tells you. He seems really excited at the idea of that so you nod along, not wanting to decline.

But Ryan isn't even paying attention, eyes still locked on you. He's basically just eyefucking you, running down your body and back up to your face. He doesn't look away when you stare back at him. The two of you stay locked in a sexually charged staring contest, and neither of you notice when Michael realizes you aren't paying attention to him and leaves.

You make the first move, lightly pushing him against Jim's desk, to which he leans back immediately. That one action seems to awaken both of your urges, urges that were held back for the sake of being professional. He pushes a few things out of the way to fully get onto the desk, pulling you closer by your tie as your hands fall to his waist.

He presses his lips to yours in a heated kiss, letting you get in between his legs as he holds a hand in your hair and the other gripping your arm tightly. You unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie, hands grabbing at his waist and torso underneath his shirt. He wraps his legs around your waist, pulling you even closer as you make out while he bucks his hips up against you, moaning into your mouth. He pulls away, hands unbuttoning your shirt and then sliding down to your belt.

“I've always wanted to do it here.” He says, his face slightly flushed as he catches his breath.

“Why?” You ask. It didn't surprise you that he wanted to though.

Ryan shrugs as he gets your belt off. You do the same for him and he ruts his hips against you again, groaning softly.

“It's one thing you're not supposed to do, obviously I'd want to do it.”

You make a short humming sound to acknowledge what he said as you grab his hips again, grinding your clothed erection against his, straining against his pants. He moans, looking up at you with the most desperate look you've ever seen from him.

You lean forward, lips brushing against the man's neck. He lets out a soft sigh, moving his head to give you access to his neck. You kiss down to his shoulder before biting down, pulling a moan from him. One of your hands comes up to the back of his head, tangling itself in his hair as you kiss and suck at his neck and shoulder, trying not to make marks in spots that could be easily seen.

“Fuck..you can do them wherever, I don't care if people see.” He says, his voice breathy.

You raise a curious eyebrow and then move upwards, your hand sliding up to the side of his head and pulling it to the side more, which he softly moans at. You leave a mark in a very visible spot before you can tell Ryan is getting impatient.

Your fingers loop around the waist of his pants and you pull them and his underwear down, his painfully hard cock springing out. You do the same for yourself, your dick against his thigh. He stares down at it, biting down on his bottom lip. You stop what you're doing and he looks up at you.

“We don't have lube. Unless you have some.” You say. He looks off towards where the closet is, thinking for a minute.

“There's some in my desk.” He responds, but he grabs your arm to stop you from going to get it. “Just leave it, it's fine.”

You raise an eyebrow again. “Are you sure? It'll hurt.”

He looks away from you, grip on you loosening and moving to rub at his eye. “I don't, uh. I don't mind.”

You instantly understand and you even laugh slightly. You wrap a hand around the base of his dick, rock hard and dripping. It throbs when you slowly start to move your hand, pumping it up and down a few times. Ryan bucks his hips into your hand, letting out breathy, desperate moans.

You lift your other hand, spitting into it and wrapping it around your cock. Moving to hold his thigh, you guide yourself into him, making him suck in a sharp breath. He presses a hand to his forehead, and once you're fully in, he releases a high pitched moan. You're about to comment on it but decided against it, slowly starting to thrust in and out.

Ryan's eyes are shut tight, his mouth open as breathy high pitched moans escape him every time you push back in. You start to speed up, your hold on his hips getting tighter as you groan. One of his arms reaches out behind him, looking for something to grab onto and knocking over a cup of pencils and pens in the process. He grabs onto the edge of the desk, the whole thing rocking with you, things falling over and being knocked onto the floor.

You dig your nails into the man's skin, and his head falls back as he cums, landing on his chest and stomach. His cock twitches from the sensitivity when you only speed up more, pounding into him. He moans loudly, not caring if there's anyone still in the vicinity.

His legs squeeze tighter around you as he loudly begs you not to pull out with a lot of expletives. You groan out a “fuck” and bury yourself in him, releasing your load and riding out your high before slowing to a stop.

You both are silent while trying to catch your breath. Eventually, you pull out slowly, and back up, letting Ryan hop off the desk. He stumbles a little bit, his legs weak underneath him. He pulls his pants back up.

“I'm gonna go clean up, I'll be back.” He says, going off to the bathroom. You readjust your clothes, buttoning your shirt back up, and tying your tie back on the right way.

You try your best to fix Jim's desk, picking up all the stuff you knocked over and hoping he doesn't notice something is off. While you wait for Ryan, you think about the fact that you had sex with a coworker. In the place you work at. On top of your other coworkers desk.

You kind of understand why Ryan wanted to now, it was fun.

He comes back out, tie still loose and the top few buttons of his shirt undone, but his hair is fixed and he's less flushed. The two of you walk outside, walking past a few cleaners you did not know were in the building yet. Some of the camera crew are standing outside when you walk out the door and you almost jump. You and Ryan are silent before awkwardly going your separate ways to separate cars, the cameraman zooming into Ryan's marked up neck.

They had a lot of interesting questions to ask on Monday.

#the office x reader #the office x male reader #ryan howard x male reader #x male reader #dom male reader #top male reader #ryan howard x reader

82 notes · View notes

coochiequeens · 2 months ago

Text

Women are incredibly dedicated listeners,” Megan Lazovick, VP at Edison Research, said, noting that the average woman spends nearly three hours daily listening to music. Hispanic women listen even more—over four hours per day."

For American women, music is more than a backdrop—it's a daily companion, a form of emotional support, and a shared experience that connects families and spans generations. And radio continues to be a vital part of that soundtrack.

That’s the picture painted by new findings from Edison Research and SiriusXM Media, presented during a webinar Tuesday exploring how women engage with music and what it means for advertisers.

“Music is omnipresent,” said Megan Lazovick, VP at Edison Research. “Women across all demographics deeply integrate music into their daily routines.”

The study, based on a national sample of 2,500 women age 18 and older who have listened to audio in the past month, found that 84% had consumed music during that time. Among all audio content types, music dominates women’s listening—accounting for 77% of their daily audio time.

While streaming platforms now lead in music discovery, traditional AM/FM radio continues to play a significant role. Nearly half (49%) of women surveyed said they still turn to radio to discover new music—just behind YouTube and social sharing from friends and family. SiriusXM indexed even higher among women aged 55+, reinforcing radio's continued relevance among older audiences.

“Women are incredibly dedicated listeners,” Lazovick said, noting that the average woman spends nearly three hours daily listening to music. Hispanic women listen even more—over four hours per day.

Music’s Dual Roles In Women’s Lives

The study finds music plays both emotional and practical roles. Among respondents, 85% said music is a powerful stress reliever, 81% use it to escape, and 77% say it brings back memories of better times. For many, it's an antidote to daily pressures and an emotional anchor during tough moments. Music also offers a sense of reliability and companionship according to the research.

“Music serves as a form of medicine,” said Melissa Paris, VP of Sales Research at SiriusXM Media. She noted the emotional weight music carries, helping women navigate stress, grief, family challenges, and mental health struggles.

In fact, 87% of women surveyed say they turn to music to cope with life’s difficulties. The top emotional benefits include stress relief (85%), escape (81%), and feelings of nostalgia or connection to better times (77%).

But the relationship isn’t purely emotional—music plays a practical role too. Over half of women say it helps pass time or makes mundane tasks more enjoyable. Nearly a quarter use it to help concentrate on challenging tasks. Music also helps structure family life, with many using it to entertain children, calm them, or establish daily routines.

The study revealed that music is often a shared experience within households. Among women with children under 18, 92% say their kids listen to music, and 89% listen alongside them. “Music bridges generations,” Paris said, recalling dancing with her daughter to Taylor Swift’s “22” at a concert as one of her most cherished memories.

The data showed this bond is especially strong among multicultural mothers. Additionally, 78% of women agree that music improves their child’s mood, and 72% say it helps spark imagination—making music a screen-free way to both entertain and educate.

Women also turn to music to help with daily tasks—whether it’s staying entertained while doing chores or establishing routines for their children. Nearly half of moms surveyed use music to calm or entertain their kids, and 78% agree music is a great screen-free tool.

The study found that music listening is often shared. Among women with children under 18, 89% say they listen to music with their kids. That figure rises among multicultural mothers, who report even higher rates of shared listening. Many say they use music to expose their children to various genres or their cultural heritage.

What Women Listen To

Genre preferences vary across demographics. Women 18-34 gravitate toward hip-hop, indie rock, and Spanish-language music. Women 55 and older prefer classic rock, classical, and oldies—formats often associated with radio. In fact, genre variety and curated playlists are among the reasons many women continue to turn to broadcast and satellite radio despite the rise of streaming.

The study also highlights the growing desire for female representation in music. Among women aged 18-34, 37% say most of the artists they listen to are female—compared to just 8% among women 55 and older. Younger listeners also feel deeper personal connections to artists, particularly when they’re visible in media, collaborate with other women, or support relatable causes.

That emotional connection extends to brands. Women are primary decision-makers in areas such as grocery shopping, health and wellness, and family finance—and 85% recall hearing ads in these categories while listening to music.

“Music offers a uniquely powerful platform for authentic brand connections,” Lazovick said. “The smart brands are paying attention and supporting these young voices.”

Top recalled ad categories included movies and TV, restaurants, and streaming video. Adding audio ads can now be dynamically personalized by genre, time of day, and even weather—giving brands real-time opportunities to be present in meaningful moments.

“Music is not just background noise,” Paris said. “It’s an integral part of women’s identities, relationships, and daily experiences. It's a powerful medium for authentic brand connections.

Ladies, who are you listening to? Please share your recommendations. Especially for women artists

#Women and music

48 notes · View notes

sequencefairy · 1 month ago

Text

It's very weird to work in an industry that is entirely built from vast sums of people's personal identifiable information and to have the senior leadership in the compliance and privacy spaces both be going all in on the "outsource all your thinking to copilot" train.

Listened to an AVP today in a town hall meeting talk about how cool it was to have an AI crawl her calendar and the calendar of the candidate she was interviewing to find a time that works for both of them to have the interview. The whole time I was sitting there like, do... do we need an AI to do that?

Do we need an AI to book our meetings for us? Are we so fucking inept that we can't ... send a meeting invite and do the little back and forth of rejigging the times/dates if the first one doesn't fit?

In the same town hall, I listened to our VP tell us that she uses copilot every day! She lets it write her emails and her departmental communications and I can extrapolate that to mean that she probably lets it write her performance reviews, too. She wants us all to use it for everything we can, and she's very excited about how much time it's going to save all of us.

(Time saved is such a bullshit thing anyway, 'cause no one is actually saving any time by spending forty minutes crafting a prompt for the stupid thing so it won't lie to you and make shit up and then you have to go through everything it did for you to make sure it's correct and didn't lie to you, and by that point, you might as well have done the thing you asked copilot to do in the first place. And don't get me started on how useless it is at like, actually doing anything helpful - you go ask copilot to help you with anything in excel, I'll wait...)

I also listened to our Financial Crimes guy talk about how sophisticated fraudsters are becoming, and how they're using AI to generate audio and video to fool authentication processes and therefore, get control of people's accounts and take their money.

Like? Guys? Bueller? Anyone?

I really don't think that we should be feeding copilot any client data, ever, even if we say it's a captive version that we have isolated from the web and only given it access to crawl what is within the boundaries we have set for it, as a company. I just feel like this is an unacceptable risk and I am not even CLOSE to the most risk averse person in the compliance space.

It just baffles me that this is even a thing we are DOING, never mind, considering. We are actually doing this. People are using copilot every day. People are probably feeding personal identifiable information into fucking chatgpt 'cause they have no idea why this might be a bad idea, or they just think that because they're accessing it on their workplace-sanctioned device, it's fine?

Maybe, just maybe, we could re-learn how to write emails and book meetings and take notes in a meeting and read legislation and rely on our own brains to do our jobs? Maybe.

Also, like, y'know, it's killing the fucking planet.

#things jess says #anti ai #this is an ai hate blog

30 notes · View notes

pinkyjulien · 2 months ago

Text

Some of these S7 members are really lucky because they don't appear in any of the already-out-there screenshots but Man how I'd love to just. Use this opportunity to air out shits with people I've never even talked to.

I've never talked to GloryRide. I don't know what her problem is.

Hey Glory!

Littéralement; je te connais même pas. On ne sais jamais addressé la parole il me semble, du coup c'est quoi ton probléme? Tout ça parce que j'ai bloqué ta copine il y a… 4ans maintenant? Mais t'es complétement bousillée meuf.

On s'en contrefou TOTAL de tes mods. On S'en Fou. Tu crois vraiment qu'on est tous comme tes potes à penser qu'on a quelconque "droit" sur les assets qu'on utilise dans nos mods? Non! Vous êtes tous complétement barjo à penser ça, "Wawawa elle a copié mon OC", "Wawawa il a copier mon mods" - c'est VOTRE problème, et tu t'créer des faux scenarios dans ta tête à propos de moi. C'est vraiment pas mon problème, et j'vais m'répéter; t'es bousillée du crâne.

T'as crée cette "rivalité" vraiment toute seule dans ton coin, c'est pathétique.

Syphon was someone I thought was chill, but welp. He did not say anything bad about me directly, tho passively trash talked my friends and supported old dramas that happened against me/us. I know he's following my blog or at least lurking and interacting, that's a fucking shame.

Hey man, I know we're not friends, never been, but that's not cool. We only had chill interactions in the past, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised anymore.

Also, Synthpeach:

You're literally a fucking idiot. If you knew what I was talking about, aka the video I fucking linked in the post y'all were giggling pissing about, you'd know I meant it as in "the Y2K trend coming back into mainstream".

I don't use Tiktok, so I assumed this was only a Cyberpunk/Modding thing because people liked the aesthetic, not something happening on a larger scale. Fucking moron.

Wolv is a funny one.

So, Wolv was actually a guy I looked up to, I really liked his VP at the time was following his Instagram account.

He would often make VP involving Mitch, and it was never a problem. I was interacting, leaving likes, even commenting to compliment his work.

But you can't expect dumb people to understand what "I'm not comfortable with ships and I can't do anything about it because it's a mental issue" means.

It's sooo funny to mock someone's mental struggle <3 It's soooo cute it's sooooo girlboss and kiki to mock something you don't understand! They are all Such Great People

I saw that render! It was a cool reference.

You're probably wondering why I blocked you ""out of the blue"" years ago and I'm guessing that's what caused you to hate me this much, because we all know Blocking is equal to Drama and Death Sentence to y'all for some reasons.

Wolv, you trash talked me in Gonkposting, again, out of nowhere, while we were still randomly interacting on instagram and on the modding server. A friend that was in the server at the time told me about it. "Ooh I'm scared of posting Mitch, he'll attack me haha"

You're a pathetic clown who latched into the "Let's hate pinky" bandwagon to gain friendship points, and you got them, congrats!

There are so many people in there that turned out to be nasty, y'all already saw the main things, but I wanted to point out those three in particular. Because they don't appear in any of the others pics, and I think it's important to know that they're just like the rest.

They like to accuse others of being "chronically online" and "drama hungry" but y'all were actively participating in all those trash talk involving stuff that happened fucking 4 years ago.

Please move the FUCK on already, I hope this leaks will teach y'all a lesson, people are TIRED and despite saying the same, you are all obviously So Attached to these mad up problems.

Now that I've let the steam out, if any of you actually want to reach out and clear the air once and for all, whatever it is, I'm open to it.

#S7 leaks #GloryRide #Wolv3D #Syphon #fandom wank #long post lol #don't mind me I'm just letting out some stuff cause I'm literally. tired of this shit

29 notes · View notes

secretworldofmiabee · 28 days ago

Text

SIC EP12

🤯 The very beginning of the episode was packed between revelations about Hye-eun and flirting with Jun-hyeok. He somehow managed the perfect balance.

🥰 I really enjoyed speaking to Jun-hyeok. Our chemistry is indeed off the charts. We're comfortable with each other, and there's real trust between us that makes opening up to each other easy. The more I get to know and understand him, the more I love him. We've basically admitted we want to end up together, though the game won't take that into account.

🤯 Hye-eun is even worse than I thought. She's a self-centered, entitled gold digger with zero manners. Though they were in the same group of friends, she never spoke to him until he was made VP of his family business. Says a lot about her.

😶 Jun-hyeok, sweetie, I love you, but you're way too naive. Hye-eun not speaking to you until you were made VP, should have been enough not to take her on a date. Thankfully, she wasn't shy about showing her real self on the one date she got. You really dodged a bullet. Also, if you don't want women going after you for your money and status, don't take them to exclusive restaurants on first dates. Having the money doesn't mean you have to flaunt it. The poor little rich boy act is kind of cute, but it's time for a reality check.

😡 Jun-hyeok and I were getting closer, and of course, just as we're about to kiss, the master of Inferno had to interrupt. I love that Jun-hyeok tried to be positive about the interruption, but I wasn't amused.

🤣 Hye-eun took Kyoung-won to Paradise, thinking she could steal him from me. It backfired. It's clear Kyoung-won didn't fall for her tricks and wants nothing to do with her. I'd have felt sorry for her seeing how clearly shaken she was by the experience if she hadn't been such a biatch.

🥳 I enjoyed making Hye-eun's mask crack thanks to Jun-hyeok's tip that questioning her gracefulness would shake her confidence. I loved even more the complicity I shared with Jun-hyeok by doing so, and the fact that I got you defend Kyoung-won from Hye-eun's vicious attack in the process.

😡 I wish the game would stop pushing Gun-woo on me. Why would he think I would want to pair up with him for the challenge? I've been done with him for a while now. I wish he would leave me alone. I wish I was given the option to tell him he should pair up with Chae-won. I ended up pairing up with Min-seo in whom I have zero interest, and I told her as much when asked.

🙄 I never for one second trusted Hye-eun when she pretended she had a flag for me. I knew she was up to something. Joke is on her. I'm not into Min-seo, and I don't trust her (Hye-eun).

🙃 I thought I would get sent home, but instead, I got sent to Inferno 2. That's much better. I actually prefer the setting of Inferno 2. It is much more intimate and much more conducive to forming a deeper connection.

😁 I liked my Inferno 2 crew. Especially Ji-hu. The boy has always had my back. Knowing he was going to be there made it better.

😍 Inferno 2 with Ji-hu was a revelation. I can't believe he gave up his flag so he could be with me. Between trying to break into the dorm, spearfishing together, his gift of the pearl, truth or dare, and the bonfire, we really grew closer to each other. Ji-hu is the ultimate LI. I didn't see Kyoung-won or Jun-hyeok give up their flags to be with me.

😡 I hate how the game doesn't really take into account our choices. When I left for Inferno 2, Kyoung-won said, "Be safe," but Jun-hyeok didn't even interact with me. Given the interaction on the beach, especially our almost kiss, I would have expected him to say something to me, even if it was just him chocking on my name out of sadness.

😶 Seo-jun's arrival could have thrown a wrench into the harmony we had found on Inferno 2. However, since we stuck to our guns and decided to be civil to him, it didn't happen.

😶 Who would have thought? Seo-jun actually has a sense of humour. I don't think he's that bad, to be honest. He's just someone who is actually very insecure and constantly self sabotages. There's no way I would ever choose him over Ji-hu, Jun-hyeok, or Kyoung-won. Over Gun-woo? Maybe. I'm glad however that he is trying to change.

🤣 Ji-hu pranking Seo-jun was funny. I like that I have a partner in crime in him. I love his mischievous side.

😍 I love that I got to see other sides of Ji-hu. He is very resourceful and caring. I love that he doesn't give up easily. He seems determined to win me over despite the number of people vying for my attention. After our Inferno 2 experience, I'll admit that I'm very tempted to give him a chance.

🤯 We're heading back to Inferno 1 already? That was fast. I wonder what the surprise is.

😵‍💫 Just an observation. Funny how everyone but MC gets to change clothes. We were all supposed to be in swimwears but MC was still wearing a dress. Before that, MC was in physical challenge clothes while Jun-hyeok and Su-bin were in evening wear. In other games, everyone keeps the same clothes while MC gets to change. In SIC, everyone changes clothes while MC keeps the same clothes on. Very peculiar.

#single's inferno game #single's inferno choices #netflix games #episode 12

19 notes · View notes

max-levchin · 2 years ago

Text

Shamir Secret Sharing

It’s 3am. Paul, the head of PayPal database administration carefully enters his elaborate passphrase at a keyboard in a darkened cubicle of 1840 Embarcadero Road in East Palo Alto, for the fifth time. He hits Return. The green-on-black console window instantly displays one line of text: “Sorry, one or more wrong passphrases. Can’t reconstruct the key. Goodbye.”

There is nerd pandemonium all around us. James, our recently promoted VP of Engineering, just climbed the desk at a nearby cubicle, screaming: “Guys, if we can’t get this key the right way, we gotta start brute-forcing it ASAP!” It’s gallows humor – he knows very well that brute-forcing such a key will take millions of years, and it’s already 6am on the East Coast – the first of many “Why is PayPal down today?” articles is undoubtedly going to hit CNET shortly. Our single-story cubicle-maze office is buzzing with nervous activity of PayPalians who know they can’t help but want to do something anyway. I poke my head up above the cubicle wall to catch a glimpse of someone trying to stay inside a giant otherwise empty recycling bin on wheels while a couple of Senior Software Engineers are attempting to accelerate the bin up to dangerous speeds in the front lobby. I lower my head and try to stay focused. “Let’s try it again, this time with three different people” is the best idea I can come up with, even though I am quite sure it will not work.

It doesn’t.

The key in question decrypts PayPal’s master payment credential table – also known as the giant store of credit card and bank account numbers. Without access to payment credentials, PayPal doesn’t really have a business per se, seeing how we are supposed to facilitate payments, and that’s really hard to do if we no longer have access to the 100+ million credit card numbers our users added over the last year of insane growth.

This is the story of a catastrophic software bug I briefly introduced into the PayPal codebase that almost cost us the company (or so it seemed, in the moment.) I’ve told this story a handful of times, always swearing the listeners to secrecy, and surprisingly it does not appear to have ever been written down before. 20+ years since the incident, it now appears instructive and a little funny, rather than merely extremely embarrassing.

Before we get back to that fateful night, we have to go back another decade. In the summer of 1991, my family and I moved to Chicago from Kyiv, Ukraine. While we had just a few hundred dollars between the five of us, we did have one secret advantage: science fiction fans.

My dad was a highly active member of Zoryaniy Shlyah – Kyiv’s possibly first (and possibly only, at the time) sci-fi fan club – the name means “Star Trek” in Ukrainian, unsurprisingly. He translated some Stansilaw Lem (of Solaris and Futurological Congress fame) from Polish to Russian in the early 80s and was generally considered a coryphaeus at ZSh.

While USSR was more or less informationally isolated behind the digital Iron Curtain until the late ‘80s, by 1990 or so, things like FidoNet wriggled their way into the Soviet computing world, and some members of ZSh were now exchanging electronic mail with sci-fi fans of the free world.

The vaguely exotic news of two Soviet refugee sci-fi fans arriving in Chicago was transmitted to the local fandom before we had even boarded the PanAm flight that took us across the Atlantic [1]. My dad (and I, by extension) was soon adopted by some kind Chicago science fiction geeks, a few of whom became close friends over the years, though that’s a story for another time.

A year or so after the move to Chicago, our new sci-fi friends invited my dad to a birthday party for a rising star of the local fandom, one Bruce Schneier. We certainly did not know Bruce or really anyone at the party, but it promised good food, friendly people, and probably filk. My role was to translate, as my dad spoke limited English at the time.

I had fallen desperately in love with secret codes and cryptography about a year before we left Ukraine. Walking into Bruce’s library during the house tour (this was a couple years before Applied Cryptography was published and he must have been deep in research) felt like walking into Narnia.

I promptly abandoned my dad to fend for himself as far as small talk and canapés were concerned, and proceeded to make a complete ass out of myself by brazenly asking the host for a few sheets of paper and a pencil. Having been obliged, I pulled a half dozen cryptography books from the shelves and went to work trying to copy down some answers to a few long-held questions on the library floor. After about two hours of scribbling alone like a man possessed, I ran out of paper and decided to temporarily rejoin the party.

On the living room table, Bruce had stacks of copies of his fanzine Ramblings. Thinking I could use the blank sides of the pages to take more notes, I grabbed a printout and was about to quietly return to copying the original S-box values for DES when my dad spotted me from across the room and demanded I help him socialize. The party wrapped soon, and our friends drove us home.

The printout I grabbed was not a Ramblings issue. It was a short essay by Bruce titled Sharing Secrets Among Friends, essentially a humorous explanation of Shamir Secret Sharing.

Say you want to make sure that something really really important and secret (a nuclear weapon launch code, a database encryption key, etc) cannot be known or used by a single (friendly) actor, but becomes available, if at least n people from a group of m choose to do it. Think two on-duty officers (from a cadre of say 5) turning keys together to get ready for a nuke launch.

The idea (proposed by Adi Shamir – the S of RSA! – in 1979) is as simple as it is beautiful.

Let’s call the secret we are trying to split among m people K.

First, create a totally random polynomial that looks like: y(x) = C0 * x^(n-1) + C1 * x^(n-2) + C2 * x^(n-3) ….+ K. “Create” here just means generate random coefficients C. Now, for every person in your trusted group of m, evaluate the polynomial for some randomly chosen Xm and hand them their corresponding (Xm,Ym) each.

If we have n of these points together, we can use Lagrange interpolating polynomial to reconstruct the coefficients – and evaluate the original polynomial at x=0, which conveniently gives us y(0) = K, the secret. Beautiful. I still had the printout with me, years later, in Palo Alto.

It should come as no surprise that during my time as CTO PayPal engineering had an absolute obsession with security. No firewall was one too many, no multi-factor authentication scheme too onerous, etc. Anything that was worth anything at all was encrypted at rest.

To decrypt, a service would get the needed data from its database table, transmit it to a special service named cryptoserv (an original SUN hardware running Solaris sitting on its own, especially tightly locked-down network) and a special service running only there would perform the decryption and send back the result.

Decryption request rate was monitored externally and on cryptoserv, and if there were too many requests, the whole thing was to shut down and purge any sensitive data and keys from its memory until manually restarted.

It was this manual restart that gnawed at me. At launch, a bunch of configuration files containing various critical decryption keys were read (decrypted by another key derived from one manually-entered passphrase) and loaded into the memory to perform future cryptographic services.

Four or five of us on the engineering team knew the passphrase and could restart cryptoserv if it crashed or simply had to have an upgrade. What if someone performed a little old-fashioned rubber-hose cryptanalysis and literally beat the passphrase out of one of us? The attacker could theoretically get access to these all-important master keys. Then stealing the encrypted-at-rest database of all our users’ secrets could prove useful – they could decrypt them in the comfort of their underground supervillain lair.

I needed to eliminate this threat.

Shamir Secret Sharing was the obvious choice – beautiful, simple, perfect (you can in fact prove that if done right, it offers perfect secrecy.) I decided on a 3-of-8 scheme and implemented it in pure POSIX C for portability over a few days, and tested it for several weeks on my Linux desktop with other engineers.

Step 1: generate the polynomial coefficients for 8 shard-holders.

Step 2: compute the key shards (x0, y0) through (x7, y7)

Step 3: get each shard-holder to enter a long, secure passphrase to encrypt the shard

Step 4: write out the 8 shard files, encrypted with their respective passphrases.

And to reconstruct:

Step 1: pick any 3 shard files.

Step 2: ask each of the respective owners to enter their passphrases.

Step 3: decrypt the shard files.

Step 4: reconstruct the polynomial, evaluate it for x=0 to get the key.

Step 5: launch cryptoserv with the key.

One design detail here is that each shard file also stored a message authentication code (a keyed hash) of its passphrase to make sure we could identify when someone mistyped their passphrase. These tests ran hundreds and hundreds of times, on both Linux and Solaris, to make sure I did not screw up some big/little-endianness issue, etc. It all worked perfectly.

A month or so later, the night of the key splitting party was upon us. We were finally going to close out the last vulnerability and be secure. Feeling as if I was about to turn my fellow shard-holders into cymeks, I gathered them around my desktop as PayPal’s front page began sporting the “We are down for maintenance and will be back soon” message around midnight.

The night before, I solemnly generated the new master key and securely copied it to cryptoserv. Now, while “Push It” by Salt-n-Pepa blared from someone’s desktop speakers, the automated deployment script copied shard files to their destination.

While each of us took turns carefully entering our elaborate passphrases at a specially selected keyboard, Paul shut down the main database and decrypted the payment credentials table, then ran the script to re-encrypt with the new key. Some minutes later, the database was running smoothly again, with the newly encrypted table, without incident.

All that was left was to restore the master key from its shards and launch the new, even more secure cryptographic service.

The three of us entered our passphrases… to be met with the error message I haven’t seen in weeks: “Sorry, one or more wrong passphrases. Can’t reconstruct the key. Goodbye.” Surely one of us screwed up typing, no big deal, we’ll do it again. No dice. No dice – again and again, even after we tried numerous combinations of the three people necessary to decrypt.

Minutes passed, confusion grew, tension rose rapidly.

There was nothing to do, except to hit rewind – to grab the master key from the file still sitting on cryptoserv, split it again, generate new shards, choose passphrases, and get it done. Not a great feeling to have your first launch go wrong, but not a huge deal either. It will all be OK in a minute or two.

A cursory look at the master key file date told me that no, it wouldn’t be OK at all. The file sitting on cryptoserv wasn’t from last night, it was created just a few minutes ago. During the Salt-n-Pepa-themed push from stage, we overwrote the master key file with the stage version. Whatever key that was, it wasn’t the one I generated the day before: only one copy existed, the one I copied to cryptoserv from my computer the night before. Zero copies existed now. Not only that, the push script appears to have also wiped out the backup of the old key, so the database backups we have encrypted with the old key are likely useless.

Sitrep: we have 8 shard files that we apparently cannot use to restore the master key and zero master key backups. The database is running but its secret data cannot be accessed.

I will leave it to your imagination to conjure up what was going through my head that night as I stared into the black screen willing the shards to work. After half a decade of trying to make something of myself (instead of just going to work for Microsoft or IBM after graduation) I had just destroyed my first successful startup in the most spectacular fashion.

Still, the idea of “what if we all just continuously screwed up our passphrases” swirled around my brain. It was an easy check to perform, thanks to the included MACs. I added a single printf() debug statement into the shard reconstruction code and instead of printing out a summary error of “one or more…” the code now showed if the passphrase entered matched the authentication code stored in the shard file.

I compiled the new code directly on cryptoserv in direct contravention of all reasonable security practices – what did I have to lose? Entering my own passphrase, I promptly got “bad passphrase” error I just added to the code. Well, that’s just great – I knew my passphrase was correct, I had it written down on a post-it note I had planned to rip up hours ago.

Another person, same error. Finally, the last person, JK, entered his passphrase. No error. The key still did not reconstruct correctly, I got the “Goodbye”, but something worked. I turned to the engineer and said, “what did you just type in that worked?”

After a second of embarrassed mumbling, he admitted to choosing “a$$word” as his passphrase. The gall! I asked everyone entrusted with the grave task of relaunching crytposerv to pick really hard to guess passphrases, and this guy…?! Still, this was something -- it worked. But why?!

I sprinted around the half-lit office grabbing the rest of the shard-holders demanding they tell me their passphrases. Everyone else had picked much lengthier passages of text and numbers. I manually tested each and none decrypted correctly. Except for the a$$word. What was it…

A lightning bolt hit me and I sprinted back to my own cubicle in the far corner, unlocked the screen and typed in “man getpass” on the command line, while logging into cryptoserv in another window and doing exactly the same thing there. I saw exactly what I needed to see.

Today, should you try to read up the programmer’s manual (AKA the man page) on getpass, you will find it has been long declared obsolete and replaced with a more intelligent alternative in nearly all flavors of modern Unix.

But back then, if you wanted to collect some information from the keyboard without printing what is being typed in onto the screen and remain POSIX-compliant, getpass did the trick. Other than a few standard file manipulation system calls, getpass was the only operating system service call I used, to ensure clean portability between Linux and Solaris.

Except it wasn’t completely clean.

Plain as day, there it was: the manual pages were identical, except Solaris had a “special feature”: any passphrase entered that was longer than 8 characters long was automatically reduced to that length anyway. (Who needs long passwords, amiright?!)

I screamed like a wounded animal. We generated the key on my Linux desktop and entered our novel-length passphrases right here. Attempting to restore them on a Solaris machine where they were being clipped down to 8 characters long would never work. Except, of course, for a$$word. That one was fine.

The rest was an exercise in high-speed coding and some entirely off-protocol file moving. We reconstructed the master key on my machine (all of our passphrases worked fine), copied the file to the Solaris-running cryptoserv, re-split it there (with very short passphrases), reconstructed it successfully, and PayPal was up and running again like nothing ever happened.

By the time our unsuspecting colleagues rolled back into the office I was starting to doze on the floor of my cubicle and that was that. When someone asked me later that day why we took so long to bring the site back up, I’d simply respond with “eh, shoulda RTFM.”

RTFM indeed.

P.S. A few hours later, John, our General Counsel, stopped by my cubicle to ask me something. The day before I apparently gave him a sealed envelope and asked him to store it in his safe for 24 hours without explaining myself. He wanted to know what to do with it now that 24 hours have passed.

Ha. I forgot all about it, but in a bout of “what if it doesn’t work” paranoia, I printed out the base64-encoded master key when we had generated it the night before, stuffed it into an envelope, and gave it to John for safekeeping. We shredded it together without opening and laughed about what would have never actually been a company-ending event.

P.P.S. If you are thinking of all the ways this whole SSS design is horribly insecure (it had some real flaws for sure) and plan to poke around PayPal to see if it might still be there, don’t. While it served us well for a few years, this was the very first thing eBay required us to turn off after the acquisition. Pretty sure it’s back to a single passphrase now.

Notes:

1: a member of Chicagoland sci-fi fan community let me know that the original news of our move to the US was delivered to them via a posted letter, snail mail, not FidoNet email!

522 notes · View notes