#How to create company in Tally

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🏢 Mastering Company Creation in Tally Prime: The Ultimate Beginner’s Guide for Indian Businesses

Tally Prime starts with a crucial first step: creating and configuring a company profile. Whether you’re a startup, SME, or a large enterprise, this setup Company Creation in Tally Prime) lays the foundation for accurate books of accounts, statutory compliance, and seamless report generation. ✅ Basic Requirements to Get Started To create and configure a company in Tally Prime, ensure you have…

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Are you now or have you ever been (Sam Winchester x female reader)

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Chapter 1 - The Angel

Gadreel, fallen angel of the Lord, the lowest of the low, who allowed the Garden to become corrupted, walks towards the old farmhouse, intent on washing at least some of his sins clean.

It’s the middle of the night, only the stars keeping him company. The old wooden floor creaks beneath his feet, and not for the first time, Gadreel is reminded of the limits of the human body. How a wrong step can make a sound that will give him away, or a bone can be broken with barely a snap of his finger. How an essence can be burned out, the eyes melting, the pain unimaginable.

No wonder this vessel let him in so willingly. The man was ravaged by alcoholism, so deep in debt that he saw no way out. Gadreel found him with a gun in his mouth sitting at the foot of his bed, offered him another chance. He took it without a second of hesitation.

Gadreel felt bad when he left him, but he needed to. He didn’t enjoy tricking Sam Winchester, either, but Gadreel is one thing above all others: someone with a mission. Someone who has to make up for a crime that might be as old as the stars above, but has not lost any of its severity.

Of course, as these things go, the atonement he was trying to make led to more sins, more pain. He keeps trying to make up for them, but somehow he can never catch up. The tally always rises, and he cannot pay quickly enough. Maybe that’s why this vessel called to him. Because he’s the same.

The floor of the old house is dirty and there’s wind coming in through the broken windows. Gadreel will have to fix that, he thinks. He doesn’t mind, but a human won’t be comfortable here. And he wants you to be comfortable.

He kneels in the middle of what used to be the living room. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out small pouch with the powder it’s taken him weeks to create. He had almost all the ingredients together when the man who was supposed to sell him the tears of a saint started haggling. Gadreel couldn’t risk not getting the last ingredient. He got carried away. Just another sin to add to the list.

There was a time when dragging a soul from Hell would have been easy for an angel. He would have shot downward, like a diving bird, grabbed you and simply been gone again in the next second. But that was before the Fall. Now, Gadreel needs to use spells and tinctures and powders like some low-class witch. It doesn’t matter. He’ll do what’s necessary.

He opens the small pouch, pours the powder out over the floor. Then he lays his hand flat on the cold wood. His right hand. The one he used only a little while ago to kill the prophet Kevin Tran.

He closes his eyes. Says the incantation. This needs to work. He knows what he’s done, knows how many people he’s hurt. He’s seen inside of Sam Winchester’s head. Seen the turmoil, the pain. The lies and regrets and the doubt. The shame.

But he also saw you. Gadreel thinks, no, knows, that your presence in the hunter’s life will heal him. And it will make Gadreel feel like he has done something right.

He doesn’t expect the glaring light, the feeling of a jet of flame briefly enveloping him, filling out the room. It’s not real fire, which is good, considering he’s basically standing inside a pile of kindle.

Back in his glory days, hellfire couldn’t touch him. Still, now, he coughs at the intense smell of sulfur. Many people think it’s the smell of demons, but it’s actually what Hell smells like. The demons only carry the stench to the surface.

You’re on the ground, naked, knees pulled up to your chest. Your eyes are closed and you’re shaking. There’s soot covering large patches of your body, your hair, your face. Streaks of tears have washed some of it away.

Gadreel takes off his jacket, lays it over you and you flinch at the touch, a small whimper coming from between your chapped lips. Like waking from a long sleep, you slowly blink your eyes open, and look up at him. Gadreel’s never met you, but your face feels as familiar to him as his own.

“Welcome back,” Gadreel says.

Sam’s staring at the book on the table before him, but he hasn’t been reading for a while. This happens to him, more often now than it used to. He’ll zone out, drift away, and then a sound or sensation will bring him back. He doesn’t like it. Sam’s not one to lose concentration. It reminds him too much of what it was like when that angel possessed him. Coming back to himself, unsure where he had just been.

He clears his throat now, reaches for the beer standing on the table. It’s a little too warm to still be enjoyable, but he takes a sip anyway. Not that he’s ever really enjoyed drinking as much as Dean, but even less now. He doesn’t like how disoriented it makes him, and if it doesn’t make him disoriented, it makes him sad. He puts the beer down, wipes his mouth. He’ll pour it out or Dean will drink it later.

Speaking of, his brother walks in with his usual noisiness. Sam leans back, arm going behind his head, half stretching, half just a gesture to show that he is awake, that he’s here. His right hand scratches at his neck, kneads the skin there. The hand he can remember killing Kevin with. He quickly puts it back on the table.

Since Dean’s been back in the bunker, he and Sam have done their best to be courteous with each other, but things have been weird. There’s a distance between them that’s different that anything they’ve ever gone through, not even the previous times they’ve been apart. Dean’s mad at himself and looking for redemption down a self-destructive path. And Sam is hurt, he’s angry too, but more than that, he’s just tired.

Things have always been hard. Being a hunter and a Winchester both isn’t a recipe for a long, happy life. But the last years have been harder than all the years before, and it just seems like they can’t catch a break.

Sam nearly going crazy, Dean going to Purgatory, the trials, Kevin. And you. Sam clenches his hand into a fist. No. He’s not in any condition to be thinking about you today.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, coming towards where Sam is sitting at one of the library’s tables. Sam breathes in, then shakes his head.

“Nothing much,” he says, his tone aiming for neutrality but coming out somewhat dismissive. Dean nods, says nothing. Points at the beer next to Sam.

“You finished?” he asks. “Want another one?” The gesture feels loaded, and Sam should say yes just to keep the peace. But he shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he says, and a look passes over Dean’s face like somehow that’s a personal insult. Like he’s wondering why Sam can’t just have another beer, for Christ’s sake. Why he can’t just do things the way Dean does them.

That’s where their conflict started – Dean not understanding why Sam didn’t look for him. Because Dean powers through trauma and loss like a high-powered steam train through a herd of cows – blindly, violently and speeding up even as the collateral comes into sight. But Sam’s not like that. He’s never been like that. The time he spent on his own while his brother was in Purgatory proved that to him over and over.

With you gone and Dean gone, Sam slipped into something that could barely be called living. For those months that he was on his own, he was a shell. He traveled but never went anywhere. He just needed to keep moving, needed to be somewhere else, somewhere different from where he was.

When he stayed too long in one place, he always wound up sitting at the side of his bed, gun in his hands. So he never stayed. His grief and depression were so thick and intense that he had no idea how to do anything else.

Dean being back lightens the load somewhat, and it also makes everything harder, because now Sam knows he can’t end it – he can’t do that to his brother. Sam has tried to explain, tried to make Dean understand but then he always stops, because he tires of touching that dark part of him. Dean doesn’t need to know, and never does, what those months were like. What Sam thought about doing. He can never know.

He had a chance to end it all, when he tried to close the gates of Hell. But even then, Dean couldn’t let him go, an act Sam knows, in all his love for his brother, wasn’t entirely unselfish, same as letting an angel possess Sam to heal him. But Sam can’t say these things because they go against the very nature of who Dean believes he is.

What’s right is wrong, and what’s wrong is more wrong, Dean said a little while ago. It’s true in ways he can’t even imagine.

Again, Sam finds his thoughts are far away, and when he comes back to himself, he’s worried Dean has asked him something, noticed that he isn’t listening. But Dean’s still where he was, looking at his phone, reading a message. The beer is still there, condensation making the bottle drip wet. Suddenly, Sam needs to stand up. Dean looks up at the scrape of the chair.

“Left a book in my room, I’m just gonna get it,” Sam says. Not that he needs to justify himself. But he still does.

He walks down the hallway of the bunker to the room he sleeps in. This place is strange, wonderful and weird at the same time. It’s the first place he’s stayed for longer than two weeks at a time since he was in college. Sometimes it makes him feel restless.

He walks into his bedroom, closes the door behind him and sits on the bed with a deep sigh. God, he’s so tired these days. He rubs his hand over his eyes. He just wants a goddamn break. Something nice, something soft. To lay down to sleep and for once wake up rested.

He knows he shouldn’t do it. Knows that no matter how good the immediate relief feels, he’ll pay for it later. Pay for it in the darkest thoughts a person can have, debilitating grief and longing making his body feel heavy. But he can never stop himself.

He stands, goes to his dresser. Opens the middle cupboard, gets the little cardboard box out, then sits back down. He looks at the content, and immediately he feels that soothing wave come over him.

“Hey there,” he says, taking one of the pictures out. He took it when the three of you had to hike into that reserve where you suspected some werewolves were nesting. You were a little annoyed at him when he took the picture, saying you were sweaty and gross, but Sam couldn’t disagree more. There’s a light blush to your cheeks, and you’re squinting in the sunlight. He thinks you look absolutely beautiful.

This is all the things of yours he has. There’s some clothes he kept, tugged into their own little drawer, slowly losing the smell of you. Not for the first time, Sam wonders if getting rid of them would help him move on. But the truth is, he doesn’t want to move on.

There’s a thin gold chain in there that you always wore, that used to be your mother’s. The delicate band ripped on the night you died, but Sam kept it anyway. Kept meaning to get it fixed, but never did. The comb that was in the bathroom. It’s a silly thing to keep, Sam thinks, but he has so little of you that it feels important.

The next picture he takes out of the box is of the two of you. Sam remembers he was sitting down, and you came up behind him to pose, which is why he isn’t looking at the camera but you are. Garth took that photo – the only hunter Sam knows to do something like that regularly, who knows the importance of mementos like this. He sent it to Sam after he heard about your death, along with a letter telling him how sorry he was, how good you were, always seeing the best in people, always fighting for what’s right. Sam doesn’t know what happened to the letter. There’s long stretches of that time he doesn’t remember.

He puts the box down and leans back until his head hits the pillow, holds the picture up over himself. He’s terrified he’ll forget what your face looked like, what your voice sounded like, what you felt like in his arms. It’s been over two years, maybe this is just what happens. But if he can do anything to stop it, he will.

So he indulges himself, just a little. Lays the photo on his chest, closes his eyes. Thinks of your laugh, your earnestness. The way your voice sounded when you fought with Dean over something trivial. The way you told him, back when the two of you were only friends – although the truth is you were never just friends – that he better get a move on and ask you out on a date, before someone else had the same idea.

That’s what he tries to focus on. But when he closes his eyes, that’s not what he sees. He sees your face in front of him, tears running down your cheeks in the moments before you knew you were going to die. He sees you on that motel room floor, empty eyes staring at nothing. He sees a rerun of all the times in that year before you died where you seemed distracted, sad for no reason. And he had no idea. Had no idea what you’d done for him.

What he sees when he closes his eyes is how utterly he failed.

The small mirror in the bathroom is dirty and you wipe at it. There’s no electricity so the man – Ezekiel he says his name is – has brought you some candles that you can clean yourself by. There’s water, quickly cooling in the night air, a few towels. You locked the bathroom door, but the guy is big – you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have any trouble breaking it down if he wanted to. He seems like he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you know not to trust appearances. You’ve been in this game for too long.

Which is why, when you put on the clothes he brought you – a man’s work shirt and jeans that are roughly your size – you also tug the shard of glass that has fallen out of the mirror’s frame into the back of your pants.

Quietly and carefully, you step out of the bathroom. There’s candles in the living room too, and Ezekiel is kneeling by a small camping cooker, heating something from a can. The smell makes you queasy. You wrap your arms around you as he looks up.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, regarding you carefully. You nod slowly, take a careful step towards him.

“What day is it?” you ask, voice scratchy. Then you shake your head. “I mean, what’s the date?”

Ezekiel stands up, still looking down at where the food is cooking. You’re not sure if he heard you but then he speaks. The way he talks is strange. Like he needs to think about the words before saying them. Like he hasn’t talked in a long time.

“It’s been two years,” he replies, his eyes going up to you. He doesn’t need to clarify what he means. You remember perfectly. Still, the impact of what he says makes you feel ill.

“Two years,” you repeat. Two years. It’s nothing. It’s an eternity.

Ezekiel watches you, maybe waiting for you to speak. He’s almost unmoving when he’s not talking. It’s unnerving.

“Where is everyone?” you ask, not sure if he knows who you’re talking about. “Where’s… where’s Sam?” Ezekiel takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

“You can see him soon,” he replies, which doesn’t answer your question. “Dean and Castiel, too. I just first want to make sure you’re…” His sentence tapers off. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Make sure I’m what?” you say, unable to hide the suspicion in your voice.

“Make sure you are… whole,” Ezekiel says, and the words make a shiver run down your spine.

“What does that mean?” you ask, hating that your voice sounds so quiet. Ezekiel looks down, thinks about what he wants to say, maybe.

“The magic I used to bring you back is complex,” he finally answers. “It’s violent. I want to make sure you are alright before you see them.” You wrap your arms a little tighter around yourself.

“And what if I’m not alright?” you ask. Ezekiel takes a small step towards you, and it takes you everything not to move backwards, away from him.

“You are,” he replies, then adds: “You will be.” You just watch him. The light of the candles dances on his face. He doesn’t look convinced.

“Who are you?” you ask, the question that’s been burning in you this whole time. He told you his name, or told you a name, but you have no idea who this man who claims to have brought you back from Hell is. He takes another step forward, his features softer.

“I’m a friend,” he says, like that explains anything. Still, you nod.

“I want to leave, Ezekiel,” you say, knowing that this might be the turning point. That now you’ll find out who he really is. “I want to see my family. I need to know that they’re okay.” You see him raise his chin a little.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s either a good actor or he, in some messed up way, actually is. “You can’t.”

“So I’m your prisoner?” you ask, but Ezekiel has the nerve to shake his head.

“No,” he answers quickly. “This is… like a stay at the hospital. I’m keeping you under observation to make sure you’re alright. And when I know you are, you can go. You can go to Sam.”

The mention of his name from this stranger’s mouth makes you tense. Sam. He’s out there somewhere. You try to swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Why can’t Sam come here?” you ask, noticing you’re trying to haggle with this man, meaning you’re already accepting the reality he’s proposing to you. “Is there… is there something wrong with me?” Flashes of blood, screaming. Your skin tearing. No. Don’t think about that.

“You are fine,” Ezekiel answers, contradicting himself. He said he doesn’t know. “And you are no longer in Hell. You are free.” You clench your jaw.

“Except I can’t leave,” you point out.

“Yes,” he says, voice full of regret.

“You know what I think, Ezekiel?” you say, now taking a step towards him. He’s an armlength away from you. You’re not sure if it’s close enough. So you take another step. Your entire body is rebelling against it, telling you to stay away from this strange man. But it’s what you need to do. You look up into blue-grey eyes.

“I think you’re full of shit.”

Despite wrapping a scrap of one of the towels around part of the mirror shard, you feel its sharpness press into your palm when you pull it from its hiding place. It doesn’t matter. A cut in your hand is like a fleabite to you these days. You ram it into his chest just above his heart. The next second you’re running towards the front door. You don’t make it far. 

He’s behind you with a speed that baffles you. One of his hands wraps around your arm and drags you back when you’re just two steps from the door. You spin around, hoping to punch him, fight him, anything. You stop when you see the bright blue light coming from his eyes.

“You’re an angel,” you gasp. Instead of answering, Ezekiel brings his free hand up to the glass shard and pulls it out of him with a grunt. There’s some blood, but then the wound closes. He turns to you.

“Yes,” he says, an expression like you just hurt his feelings, rather than stabbed him, on his face. “Like I said, you can trust me.” You almost laugh.

“There’s only one angel I trust,” you say, almost snarling. “And that’s not you.” Ezekiel frowns at you. You’ve seen that look before. On other angels when the monkeys just won’t do what they’re told.

To your surprise, his features soften as he studies you. He watches you so intently that you need to look away.

“I know your instinct is to fight,” he says, voice low and soft. “But you don’t need to. I’m here to help you.”

You’re not gonna make it out of here, you realize. Blood. Screams. You just exchanged one prison for another.

Gadreel doesn’t know how to get you to trust him, and the frustration nearly drives him mad.

He knows about humans, of course, although his position in the Garden didn’t allow for a lot of contact with them, with notable exceptions. He approves of the concept of them, but never had particularly strong feelings about any individual ones.

But you. You manage to make him sigh and rub his face in frustration. It’s only been a day, but the way you have locked yourself off from him is astounding. The way your eyes narrow every time you look at him makes him feel like, despite the fact that you don’t know him, that he gave you a wrong name, that you wouldn’t even know him under his real name, that you somehow know who he is. What he’s done. Yes, he’s made sure you can’t leave. But don’t you understand that is for your own best?

Because you’ve been in Hell. Dragged down there by one of the disgusting mutts his lying snake of a brother made his own. Tortured for what, in your limited human experience, must have felt like a quarter millennium. Longer than Sam and Dean Winchester combined, and yet you seem fine. You’re quiet and refuse to eat, a problem he will have to deal with sooner or later. But other than that, you seem to be doing well. All he wants is to help you, heal you as much as he can.

He turns the corner of the hallway of the farmhouse and sees that the door to the room he has designated your bedroom is closed again. He sighs. He’s clearly instructed you not to close the door. Even though he can hear you through the walls, he doesn’t like that you even feel it necessary to close the door. What do you think he’ll do?

He knocks, because he knows if he wants you to trust him, he cannot simply barge in. No answer. He knocks again, listens closely. He hears whispering. So he opens the door.

You’re sitting on the old bed frame with the thin mattress. Your feet are on the floor, your hands in your lap and you are staring at the wall opposite you. There is nothing there as far as Gadreel can see, so he takes a step closer. Says your name. No reaction again. Is this some kind of trick? Will you try to escape again?

You don’t react until he lays his hand on your shoulder. He expects you to be startled, but you’re not. You simply turn to him, then look up at his face.

“Hmm?” you say, the shadow of a polite smile on your face. Despite himself, despite being an angel of the Lord and thousands of years old, Gadreel has the sudden urge to look at where you were staring. He knows there’s nothing there. But he wants to know what you saw.

“Are you alright?” he asks, expecting you to lash out at him like you did earlier. But you don’t. You simply nod slowly.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Just tired.” With that, you move, lay yourself on the mattress. It must be dusty, Gadreel thinks, and it probably smells. He’s not sure if it’s comfortable. There’s one scratchy blue blanket at the foot of the bed, and when he picks it up he swears to himself he will get a nicer one. He opens it and lays it over you. Tries to look at your face, but he would have to walk around the bed. So instead, he walks out of the room. Leaves the door open.

In the night, he hears you whisper again. He walks to your room. You’re lying on your back, lips moving slightly. He’s sure he’s perfectly silent, but he must be wrong because your eyes look his way suddenly, and you go quiet. Gadreel leaves and when he reaches the living room, he hears you whisper again.

The next morning, you seem more yourself. Gadreel makes you some breakfast and you actually eat. Drink a large glass of water. He feels relief unlike he has felt in a long time.

After breakfast, he sits you down. Again, you’re strangely pliant. He kneels before you, then gently lays his fingertips against your temple, one hand on each side. You blink, confused, but let him. Gadreel closes his eyes and concentrates.

Physically, you are fine. Yes, you could stand to eat some more, but you are healthy, your body being, for all intents and purposes, new. Sam salted and burned your corpse when you died, and part of the spell was about restoring it. So no surprises there.

But when Gadreel moves to examine your psyche, he frowns. He looks and searches for the woman he expects to find from the time he possessed Sam. Strong, fierce even, optimistic. A fighter. What he finds instead, is a battlefield. Everything that makes you you shattered into a million pieces. You should be a drooling mess, banging your head against the wall. Why aren’t you?

He drops his hands and looks up at you. You look back at him, slight curiosity in your eyes.

“How do you feel?” Gadreel asks, hoping you’ll answer truthfully. You look past him, eyes moving back and forth while you think of your response.

“I feel fine,” you say. Gadreel looks back at you, studies your face. He can only take your word for it.

A few days later, and nothing has changed. He wonders if this means he should let you go, bring you to Sam. He hopes that Sam will see you, understand what Gadreel did, and be able to find some forgiveness in his heart. Remember him for something other than violating his body and killing his friend.

But you can’t go as you are. Gadreel makes sure you are clean and warm, but there’s comfort to be desired. He’s also running out of food for you. You don’t eat a lot, but Gadreel doesn’t know how much humans need and he underestimated it. He wants to buy some high-caloric food in the hope that you might put on a little bit of weight, look healthier.

He doesn’t like leaving, so he doesn’t tell you. The farmhouse is two miles from the next road where Gadreel has parked the car he drove here. He should be able to leave and be back in two hours. He looked in on you earlier and you were sleeping under the blue blanket again. Gadreel watched you for a second, watched the slow rise and fall of your chest, the calmness of your face. Remembered, suddenly, what your breathing felt like against Sam’s chest when you fell asleep next to him. Your little noises and movement when you had a dream. He needs to almost shake himself out of the memory. A memory that isn’t his.

So he leaves. Hurries. He still wants to get you another blanket.

He comes back to the house in the late afternoon, the sun already beginning its descent and the moment he crosses the threshold, he knows something is wrong. He drops the bag of groceries, something in it spilling when it collides with the floor. Then he rushes to your room.

The door is closed. How many times has he told you not to close the door? He pushes it open but you’re not there. He locked the house, made sure you can’t leave. But where are you?

He hears you in the bathroom. You’ve lit a few of the candles, since the bathroom has no window and it’s otherwise impossible to see. Gadreel sees the smashed glass of the mirror and he curses himself. How could he be so stupid. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone?

You are sitting against the tub, legs outstretched in front of you. Most of the color has already drained from your lips and your eyes are falling closed. Gadreel kneels down next to you, not sure where to put his hands first. Finally he takes the shard from your hand, tosses it away so that none of the blood on it gets on you. It’s pointless of course. Your entire lap is red with it already.

“What did you do?” he says, even though he knows the answer. He thought you were fine because you weren’t climbing the walls, weren’t screaming at things that weren’t there. How wrong he was. He really has a lot to learn about humans.

“Please,” you mumble, as he gently takes your hands in his, takes a closer look at the deep cuts along your wrists. He can heal them without a problem, but for some reason, the sight of them still shocks him. “Please make it stop. Please stop hurting me.”

Gadreel realizes that you don’t recognize him right then. You are speaking to someone else. Maybe the same person you spoke to during your first night. Your torturers. Gadreel understands enough about the metaphysical realities of Hell to know that other souls damned to it will have been allowed to hurt you, as well as demons. What a perfidious system his brother came up with.

He moves one of his hands over your first wrist. You barely flinch at the contact of his skin with your wound. While he heals you, he looks at your face. You are looking at him, sadness so deep it makes him feel like something is breaking apart in him in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says before he knows what he wants to say. “I’m so sorry.”

He wanted to bring you back to do something good. For Sam, but also because for all intents and purposes you and him are on the same side. You are just another soldier in the fight against evil. Bringing you back seemed like an act the goodness of which could not be doubted. But it seems, once again, Gadreel’s judgement has been off.

He heals the other wound, then brings his hand up to your face, holds it. You let him, but he’s not even sure you realize he’s there.

“I’m sorry,” he says again as his thumb touches your cheek. “You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” An almost gentle smile spreads over your face. He wonders what you’re seeing now. Wonders if it’s Sam.

So Gadreel concentrates again, burrows into that deep part of you. Takes the pieces of what you were and uses them. Uses them to build a wall.

He feels your pain then. Feels it pulsing through you. It grasps at him. He only feels a tinge of it, but it reminds him of his own torture in Heaven’s prison so much that he keeps going, keeps building. Builds the wall higher and higher until almost all pieces of you are a part of it.

Gadreel opens his eyes. He sees you blink. Sees life in your eyes.

“Let me do this for you,” he says as he puts the final piece of you into the wall. “Let me do something good.”

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #58] Obstinancy

warnings: heavy petting, starluvrs r sooooo in luv, and i am in luv with them!

wc: 5.4K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Look, we raised enough money," Jeongguk stresses into the room, though he isn't directly addressing anybody. He's refusing to look anyone in the eye, which is strange considering he'd die for every single person within these four walls without hesitation. 

In the backrooms of the gallery, the last duty to undertake is finalising the bids—and he saved the best until last.

The main light is off, expertly placed lamps illuminating the meeting space in a warm hue. Whoever designed the space did a fantastic job creating a calming ambience; even so, Jeongguk is still on edge. He's pacing the room.

"Rescind the bid," he says as he finally stops to face you all, though he isn't looking at you. After all, you're not the person who made the bid. "It's okay."

You're sitting beside Seoyeon, who's watching Jeongguk just as intensely as you are—though he isn't looking at her, either.

The auction had continued with bemused chatter and daring bids. Opening it with such a huge donation set the tone. Got people a little reckless; eager to show off their financial prowess. By the time the final tallies were in, enough had been raised to match that first, unbelievable bid.

Wire transfers complete, the business account (which had previously just had some of Jeongguk's savings in it) is now bursting at the seams. Contracts have been signed, business emails exchanged. Namjoon's advertising space was auctioned off to the Ryu marketing team. Jimin's newest client is some finance bro who definitely buys all of his homewares in black or chrome because he doesn't know how to style anything else. Taehyung's art now has half a dozen new homes. It had been a roaring success by all metrics.

Still, Jeongguk is being stubborn about this one.

We are the company we keep, and Jeongguk's stubborn nature was nurtured by someone equally intransigent.

It comes as a surprise to absolutely no one when Yoongi defiantly shakes his head.

"Me and Seoyeon ran the numbers," he shrugs, pushing forward the proposal plan he'd been stewing on for the best part of a week. There's a slight bend to the centre, where it's been curved into his blazer pocket for the entire evening. This wasn't done on a whim. Nothing Yoongi does ever is. "I've been after a new unit away from the workshop, and the building you're after has what? Space for three commercial units? Four, if you convert the apartment on the top floor."

"Yeah, but—"

"But what?" Yoongi deadpans, knowing that Jeongguk is being an idiot. "It makes sense. I've got the capital to buy the building outright. It gives you the premises you want, and me the space to expand. I'd be forking out just as much wherever I ended up. This way, at least you're free from the barrier of relying on the banks, or anyone else."

"But we've raised enough—"

"You haven't," Yoongi says again with such stoic command that you know he's already been over this plan a hundred times in his own head. Knows the pros and the cons, the ins and the outs. Again, nothing Yoongi ever does is on a whim. "Take away my bid, you're left with what? 125mil, give or take? It's good—great, even—but you have to factor everything else into that, not just the building. This way the building is taken care of. You rent the space from me, no rent until you guys are up and running, and it means you can spend the rest on shit you need, like actually fitting out the space."

"But—"

"Gguk!" Yoongi sighs. In his head, it's a no-brainer. He's failing to consider that even though he's been over the numbers a dozen times, this is new information for Jeongguk to digest. He hadn't even considered this as a possibility—which is funny, because Yoongi saw it as an inevitable outcome ever since they first started discussing the restaurant. Even if he got funding from the bank, he'd have still offered a similar move. "Do you not want the unit? Is that it?"

"No," Jeongguk sulks a little. "I want the unit."

He doesn't mean to be a baby. Really.

It's just that he wanted to earn it.

Similarly to you arranging the auction, it feels like other people are doing the hard work for him.

When it comes to motivations in life, Jeongguk has always been intrinsic in how he seeks gratification. Superficial rewards like money don't bother him. He sets goals, and his brain is scratched just right when he achieves them. It's like a sharp pencil ticking off a box, or a gold star being smoothed onto a fridge chart. He wants to be the one to do it. There's no fun in watching other people score the winning goal, when he knows damn well it should be him to do it.

He's set in his ways. Bull-headed. Was born in the year of the ox, so it's only natural he should share such tendencies. Knowing him as well as you do, and well-aware of exactly the issues you ran into when he found out you'd been planning the auction, it comes as no surprise.

"I was gonna wait to bid until my offering—save me having to make furniture for anyone else—but you being a stubborn git forced my hand. Don't be a twat. Accept the bid."

"Look," Seoyeon interjects, knowing that Jeongguk and Yoongi can both be as bad as one another when it comes to sheer stubbornness. They both have well-weathered heels that love to get stuck in the mud. Instead, she looks at and offers a smile. "Why don't you two speak about it? I'll go get the car running. C'mon, Yoongi. Give them a little time."

"But—"

"C'mon," she interrupts Yoongi, much like he had done to Jeongguk. No matter how assertive Yoongi may be, they both take it in turns to wear the pants, or so to speak. She gets to her feet and encourages Yoongi to do the same. "We're giving you a ride, right? To your place?"

"Think so," you confirm, knowing that it had always been the intention. Seoyeon hasn't been drinking—is on a post honeymoon detox, apparently—so is the designated driver for the evening. Glancing over to Jeongguk, he throws you a quick nod, still stewing in his stubbornness.

After all, it's not your place you're heading to. It's his. Seoyeon just grouped you in together, and funnily enough, neither of you noticed.

You place your hand over Seoyeon's as she gives your shoulder a squeeze, before she drags Yoongi out of the room with her.

"Don't be too long," she says.

Realistically, she doesn't expect you to actually discuss much of the night at all. Just thinks that Jeongguk needs a few moments alone with you.

Jimin had invited everyone back to their place, so peace and quiet really won't be an option for the rest of the evening. It's a night of celebration, and yet Jeongguk looks as if you've just told him his favourite coffee place is closing down.

When the door clicks shut, Jeongguk turns away from you. Walks to the window. Presses his palms against the windowsill and lets his posture ease.

"Y'know for a guy who just got given a golden ticket, you don't seem very happy."

You're met with silence, an unmoving Jeongguk continuing to look out of the window at the sprawling blanket of midnight veiling this part of the city. Building lights twinkle, and light pollution stops the stars from shining quite as brightly as they should do.

Still, as you get to your feet and walk around the table, Jeongguk doesn't need to see the stars to know they're there. Can feel them infuse his bloodstream as your arm slinks around his waist.

Relenting, Jeongguk lifts one of his arms to drape it around your shoulders. Presses a kiss into the side of your head. Squeezes. Derives a comfort from you that can't be found anywhere else. Concedes, "It's just a lot, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you softly agree. "It's a lot."

He could be talking about the money. Could be talking about the evening as a whole. It doesn't matter. You don't ask for clarification.

There's no point in trying to talk him down from this state of stubborn resistance. He needs to feel it; to process it. You know him like the back of your hand at this point, and are certain that he doesn't need you to be reasonable or rational on his behalf. He just needs you to hear him.

"It's a big burden on Yoongi, too," he hums. "If the business goes to shit, it's a wasted investment. He's putting his ass on the line. I feel bad."

You don't think he should. Yoongi is more business savvy than the rest of you combined—it's how he managed to grow his business so well—and so you know this won't be a hastily made decision on his part.

Squeezing your arm a little tighter around his waist, you decide against telling as such. Instead, you simply say, "Your friends love you, Gguk. There's nothing to feel bad about, okay? And Yoongi aside, you've got more in your business account than the bank was ever prepared to give you. Gguk, this is happening."

Standing up straight, you pull away from him ever so briefly to get him facing you. Reaching up, you rearrange a little bit of his hair, preening him for no reason other than loving him.

While a smile so soft Jeongguk thinks you must be made of stardust, you whisper, "You did it."

There's a sweetness to the bashful smile that blossoms on Jeongguk's lips. He's trying not to count his eggs before they hatch, but god damn, it feels amazing to hear you say that. He begins to play with your hair now, preening you for no reason other than loving you right back.

" We did it."

Balmy in the way he looks at you, Jeongguk's eyes are full of so many galaxies it feels as if you've just started studying astronomy. Full of wonder, you can't quite believe that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you. That he considers his achievements to be yours, too.

"Course we did," you smile. "We're, like, the dream team."

"Oh yeah?" He grins, now, pulling you closer. Nudging his nose up against yours, Jeongguk is in just as much disbelief as you are. If he'd have been told on that first night he met you that you'd end up here, he'd have objected. Wouldn't have believed it. Would have said that shooting stars are impossible to catch—yet here you are, in his arms. "Dreamy, huh?"

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you nod and rise to your tiptoes. Let your nose nestle in beside his. "The dreamiest."

Lips sinking between his, it's as if a star is whizzing through your nervous system. Everything sparkles. You, him, the way you both feel.

The way in which Jeongguk kisses you is cosmic. Always has been. Time and space ceases to exist for those moments you spend lost in his embrace. Perhaps it's why it's always been so easy; perhaps you've found exactly where you belong. Nothing else felt comfortable, because nothing else was him.

"Dreams aren't as good as this," he husks against your lips. Hands reaching down to your thighs, he leverages you into a position that is far more indecent. Wraps your legs over his hips, and presses you against the window pane. Grunts as your hands tangle in his hair. Pulls away just to say, "Pretty, perfect star, aren't you? Keep makin' wishes on you and they keep coming true. How'd you do it, baby?"

If Jeongguk actually wants you to speak, he's got a funny way of showing it. Has his tongue in your mouth as soon as he's done making such unreasonable demands. Renders you speechless.

The window you're pressed against is thick, but part of you worries about a freak accident that'll have you transforming from a star into a meteor. You're less concerned about prying eyes. The office space is to the back of the gallery, with only a mountain and the moonlight for a voyeur.

Pulling back from the kiss, you soften the intensity of it all. Whisper, "Magic."

"Magic," he agrees. Doesn't get the memo about potential death. Kisses you again. "And it's all mine, isn't it?"

"Surely it's mine?" You retort with a smile in between the barely-there kisses that he's intent on delivering every half-second.

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, letting his nose nudge against yours. "What's yours is mine."

"We're not married."

"Doesn't matter," he tells you. Believes it. Knows that this is the kinda love you take to the grave, marriage or not. "Mine. Isn't it?"

As sweet as he is, you'll never let a man claim you like that. Will never reduce yourself to be the possession of someone else. Would rather die than say—

"Yours," you needily mumble against his lips, because apparently feminism is taking a day off.

"Yeah, you are," he arrogantly agrees, and doesn't give you a chance to argue back.

Jeongguk has a point to prove. Lost a bidding war earlier and somehow equates it to losing you. Needs reassurance. Confirmation. Obscene affirmations.

His kisses are cardiac, and you're not sure how long your body will be able to survive before it succumbs to everything he is.

He's always thought you'd be the one to eclipse him. If you knew that, you'd think he was mad. How the golden haze of Jeon Jeongguk could ever be tainted, you'll never know. The sun to your stars, he shines just as brilliantly—if not more so.

"Koo," you whine as his hips begin to rut up against you. The buckle of his belt is pressing against you. Gets you feeling all kind of fucked up. Gets you keen. Needy. Wet.

"Yeah, baby?"

"We can't," you tell him, as your hands aren't cupping his jaw, and you're not pulling him back in for more kisses.

They're feverish. Feral. You're a mess of lips, tongue, and teeth, and neither of you cares to be pretty about things. It's beyond that point. Truth be told, the desperation you have for one another only serves to make it an even more gorgeous display of intimacy.

"Told you earlier," he says, his lips dipping to your throat, as he begins to elicit the loveliest of sounds from you. "We ca—"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, get a room," Yoongi almost gags as he barges on into the room, door handle hitting the wall.

You scramble down instantly, beyond thankful that Jeongguk hadn't pulled the front of your dress down like you know he was just about to. Though you're standing now, trying to smooth your dress out, Jeongguk remains in the same position. Hands pressed either side of your head against the window, he's keeping you trapped in. Preserving your dignity, though there's not that much left.

"Do you mind?" Jeongguk grits back to Yoongi. His head hangs a little low, but he casts his eyes to yours to ensure you're okay. Cheeks blushed, your teeth are pressing into your bottom lip, holding back a giggle. He fights a smile, 'cause he's still annoyed with the entire situation, but just can't help himself. Gives in. Silently says, "Love you."

You wanna kiss him again. Tell him you love him too. Tell Yoongi to fuck off—but you owe him one.

As annoyed as he is, Jeongguk knows he owes Yoongi, too.

Turning to face him, Jeongguk keeps you covered. Reaches back. Tucks you a little further in.

It's sweet, admittedly, but it's unnecessary. You don't need protecting, not from Yoongi. Clasping his hand, you walk out from beside him. Stand side by side. Wince a little as you notice the incredibly parental look on Yoongi's face.

"On a technicality," you cheekily reason. "We did get a room."

Though his stern expression persists, there is a slight tremble to Yoongi's lips. Approval, almost.

"I thought the laser tag place was bad, but this was worse," he assures you. "I swear to God, if I walk in on you two going at it one day—"

"You'll owe us," Jeongguk says. "People would pay good—"

He's cut off by the back of your hand lightly tapping his chest. "What Jeongguk means to say is 'you won't'."

You really hope you're right. Walked in on Danbi and Taehyung once. Still carry the mental scars. Never want to inflict that on anyone else.

"Good," Yoongi snorts as he leans against the doorframe. "'Cause I'm already giving you fuckers enough money. Now, are you ready to go?"

"Not before you say sorry," Jeongguk asserts.

The demand takes even you by surprise. Glancing up to Jeongguk with a look of bewilderment, you recognise the look on his face immediately. He's stropping, still. Was annoyed earlier, and is now doubly annoyed for being interrupted. You're not gonna ask, but you'd hazard a guess that his cock is painfully hard in the constraints of his formal trousers. You also don't glance down, for fear of embarrassment if it's obvious.

It's not like Yoongi isn't aware of exactly what the pair of you get up to when you're alone, it's just that no one wants to see their friends' boners.

Or at least, most don't. When you and Jeongguk were just friends, you wanted to see it all the time. Just bestie things, really.

"Sorry?" Yoongi laughs. "I just saved your ass—"

"You made me look like a shitty boyfriend!"

Jeongguk is too busy pouting in Yoongi's direction to notice that you're holding back a laugh. Yoongi did no such thing. Yes, he interrupted the bidding war between Jeongguk and Seokjin, but everyone was too shocked by the bid to care about why Jeongguk might have been bidding in the way that he was.

Realistically, Jeongguk doesn't care about anyone's opinion. Just doesn't want your shitbag of an ex to ever try and use it against him in a pissing contest. Can almost see the smug look on Seokjin's infuriatingly good-looking face as he'd gotten outbid. He did then also realise he'd been outbid, and ended up slinking out of the gallery shortly after.

Jeongguk has never experienced Seokjin's finance bro social circle in the way that you have. He doesn't realise that they'll be reminding Seokjin of his pathetic failure to win on a weekly basis for at least the next six months, or until the next time one of them loses everything to a crypto collapse.

"No," Yoongi corrects Jeongguk. "I sacrificed the money I was gonna make Seoyeon bid on my furniture for bloody painting date instead." He looks at you and grits his teeth apologetically. "Sorry. No offense."

"None taken."

Yoongi nods in your direction, then looks back to Jeongguk and continues. "You know what I was gonna do, Gguk? Was gonna win that furniture, and fit out your restaurant, free of charge. But now? Now I have to make a fuckin' dining table for some rich wanker who wants it shipped to his holiday home in Jeju. Jeju! I'll need to get a shipping container!"

"Or," Jeongguk suggests, 'cause he forgets he's supposed to be having a tantrum. Remembers quickly enough to deliver his solution with an attitude, but not to stop himself from giving a solution altogether. "Go on holiday to Jeju and make it there."

Yoongi purses his lips. Narrows his eyes. Really doesn't want to laugh, but Jeongguk's petulant nature gets under his skin and tickles at his ribs.

"You're annoying," he tells Jeongguk—but he is grinning, now. "C'mon, Seoyeon's waiting in the car. We'll talk business tomorrow. Jimin's got enough alcohol to open that damn restaurant, apparently."

"He has?"

Yoongi nods. "Mhm. He just called. Wanted to know where we were. Said he'd popped to the mart on the way home. Put it all through on the card you guys use for bills. Drinks on you, or so it would seem."

Jeongguk purses his lips. Scrunches them up towards his nose. Wants to play petulant still, but you're tugging on his hand and walking to the door.

Turning back to face him, you smile. Refuse to let him sour this moment with his own stubbornness. "C'mon. Let's celebrate."

And while he can say no to Yoongi, it's far harder to say no to you.

He manages it, though, even if just to say, "Yoongi just give us like, five seconds. Please."

"Five seconds," Yoongi calls back, walking ahead. Knows he walked in on something incredibly illicit and isn't dumb. Knows there are things that need sorting that concern no one but the pair of you.

As soon as the coast is clear, Jeongguk turns away from you. Fiddles around a little, sorts out the angle of his boner so that it doesn't fuckin' ache, and then tosses you your underwear. 

"You'll probably want these in their car."

"You're probably right," you awkwardly agree as you also sort yourself out.

"Want them back later, though," he mumbles as you drag him out of the office space and through the hallways of the gallery.

Though his feet are heavy, and he whines all the way back to the car, Jeongguk'll go wherever you drag him. Down to hell, or across the seven seas. He'd go anywhere. Everywhere. Insane, if he had to.

But as he rubs his thumb over yours in the backseat of Yoongi's car, you know you really don't have to try all that hard.

By the time you arrive, drinks are flowing. Jimin's got a playlist running through speakers, and the sink is full of ice and cans. A few bottles, too.

With one in his hand, Jimin cheers as he notices you all walk in.

"The man of the hour," he beams. Could be talking about Jeongguk or Yoongi. Truth be told, even he doesn't know who he's talking about.

One thing he is sure of is that cheap alcohol needs to be drunk quickly and in abundance. Passes over the bottle he's been swigging on to Jeongguk. It's some shitty cava that Jeongguk is pretty sure should be legally labelled as sparkling wine, 'cause there ain't no way this is the authentic stuff. He grits his teeth as he takes a swig and finds it goes down just as terribly as he thought it would.

Still, he passes it over to you. Says, "tastes like piss."

You drink it regardless. Grit your teeth and hiss a little bit just like he did.

"It's not that bad," you almost choke.

Jeongguk laughs, and takes the bottle from you, swigging down another mouthful. Jimin's already acquired another bottle, so this one belongs to the pair of you now. You could get glasses to drink from, but what's the point? Who cares?

Almost all of the seats in the living room are taken. Danbi and Taehyung have squeezed onto the sofa right between Hoseok and Namjoon, much to their dismay. S'what they get for downplaying this whole totally not a crush thing they have going on.

Jeongguk pulls on Jimin's ear, pulling him out of the armchair across from the sofa.

"Ow, ow, ow," Jimin hisses as he hops up, body contorting into the strangest positions.

Jeongguk turns to face you, then nods towards the now empty chair. "Sit."

"Don't!" Jimin tries to assert, but Jeongguk pinches his ear with a little more strength, and Jimin starts wailing again.

With a terribly hidden grin, you do as you're told. Let the pink of your cheeks blossom quite marvellously, both embarrassed and proud of how easily you fold to Jeongguk's demands. Embarrassed, because letting a man dictate your moves is shameful. Proud, because you know he'll never instruct anyone else like he does with you. There's a confidence to him that he didn't have this time last year. Rejection isn't something he fears, or so it would seem.

"You two dating is the worst thing that's ever happened to me," Jimin sulks when Jeongguk finally lets go of his poor ear.

"Us?" You question. Look to Jeongguk, and are pleased to see him mirroring your expression of utter confusion. "Dating?"

"Oh my god," Jimin groans.

"Jesus, have you taken something?" Jeongguk says with just as much bewilderment. His eyes are so wide that you're surprised they're still in his skull. With a laugh and a shake of his head, Jeongguk continues, "No, no no. We're just frie—"

"Mum," Jimin calls out, very much aware that his mother isn't in the room. It's not who he's calling for. "Dad. They're doing it again!"

Sighing, Yoongi and Seoyeon give each other a subtle look of helplessness—and then they both look at you and Jeongguk with the exact same expression.

Holding his hands up, even though one of them is still wrapped around the neck of the bottle, Jeongguk feigns innocence. It's enough to satisfy them, and as soon as Jimin takes a swig on his drink, he's distracted by Taehyung and Danbi's conversation, of which he quickly inserts himself into.

He also inserts himself into the sofa, right between Danbi and Taehyung. Gives them a taste of their own medicine. Namjoon and Hoseok are further squished into the sides, both just as woebegone as the other.

"He's really quite impressive, isn't he?" You muse as Jeongguk perches on the arm rest. Both of you are looking towards Jimin with bemused smiles on your faces.

"He sure is something." Leaning back, Jeongguk hushes his voice. Says, "Impressive is a stretch. If you need reminding, I'll take you to his room right now—"

"Shut up," you laugh, softly tapping his arm with the back of your hand. He twists slightly in his position so that his arm can rest on top of the chair, allowing for you to cosy into him. Feet on the seat, knees up, your hand slinks over his thigh. It's not indecent or inappropriate in any fashion, just a very undeniable indication of how much you care for one another. "Behave yourself."

It's an unnecessary request, for everyone is letting you and Jeongguk indulge in privacy—or as much as they can when you're in the same room. They just haven't seen this smile on Jeongguk's face in a long time, and nor has Danbi seen a similar one on yours for just as long. It'd be cruel to tear you apart.

"I am," he promises, his eyes glittering with sincerity. Or maybe just with reflections of you. It's hard to tell. "You're the one touching me up."

"Oh, so I can't even touch my boyfriend, now?"

Jeongguk hasn't thought about dying in a little while. Maybe, like, a whole 6 hours. One little acknowledgement of precisely who he is to you? Oh, call the funeral directors. Get Yoongi crafting a casket. He's done for.

"Do you think they'll notice if we go to my room?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"No," you laugh, prizing the bottle from his grasp to take a sip. "I told you to behave."

"I am," he insists, a slight pout on his pretty pink lips. You shake your head, passing him back the bottle, of which is instantly pressed to those lips of his you love so much.

It doesn't take much for his insatiability to rub off on you. The glisten of a little alcohol on his lips, and the way his eyes are so soft despite the stern look he gives you, just gets your tummy feeling all funny. His lips press in on themselves as if he's giving serious consideration to the situation.

Squeezing his thigh, you shrug. Give him a look that his brain instantly translates as trouble—and then his tummy is feeling all funny, too.

"Be a good boy for me tonight and I'll show you how much I appreciate it when we get home," you quietly assure him.

He sinks into the chair like a deflating balloon. Groans. Whines. "B."

"What?" You giggle, as if you don't know exactly which buttons to press. "You gonna behave for me?"

"I'm gonna die," he says. "That's what I'll do, and it'll be all your fault."

"Please don't," you say, then grimace. "I like my men alive."

"Plural?!"

"Stay alive and it'll be singular."

"Fine," he huffs, narrowing his eyes. Shakes his head. "Gonna be the death of me one day, babe."

So wrapped up in your own conversation, you don't notice the occasional glances that find their way to you.

There's not a single soul in that room who doesn't cast their eyes in the direction of you and Jeongguk at some point or another. Nonjudgmental. Kind. Quiet observations of a couple who are somehow both quiet in their affections and yet so abhorrent loud it's almost distasteful.

It's not that your PDA is excessive, or that your conversations are overly loud, or anything like that. It's just that people's eyes are naturally drawn to the brightest stars in the sky.

When Hoseok glances at you, and finds you both smiling in a way that wouldn't look out of place on a dental hygiene ad, he frowns. Isn't sure he's ever looked at anyone like that. Wonders if he ever will. Has had—and currently has—crushes so potent they lingered for months. Has had relationships that did the same. Yet he's seen the way you two amplify the very best of one another without reservation or competition and knows that it's special.

All of your friends know it. Most of them knew before you did.

It's a relief to see you together like this.

As much as Jimin likes to whine and moan about the pair of you, he wouldn't have it any other way.

But by the time he's drunk his bottle dry, he does decide he'd rather have the pair of you being insufferably sweet together in the darkened shadows of Dionysus.

"Not got long left to use your tab," he tells Jeongguk, as if Jeongguk is actually the one who uses it. "C'mon. Let's go."

"Y'know, me and B might just stay—"

"Nope," Jimin interrupts, and before Jeongguk's tipsy brain can react, Jimin's pinching his ear. Getting his own back. Pulling Jeongguk towards the door. "You too, DB. Off we go."

Casting a glance to Danbi to check she's coming too, you sigh. Roll your eyes with a smile.

All you want is to be alone with Jeongguk. It's not even the sex that you're wanting. Just him.

"If you dip after a drink or two, I won't tell him," Danbi whispers, letting go of Taehyung's hand and looping her arm around your waist instead. You reciprocate, glad to be with the people you adore the most in the world.

By the time you're out of the apartment, you're perplexed to see Jeongguk and Jimin both pinching one another's ears. Waiting by the elevator doors, neither of them are enjoying it very much—but they're both very much enjoying the discomfort they're causing one another.

"Toddlers," Yoongi mutters as they waddle into lift together.

The elevator isn't full, and you can all fit, but you need to walk some of the alcohol off. You know your friends and also know damn well that there's no such thing as 'one or two' drinks. You'll be getting starfuckers. That much is a given.

"Gonna take the stairs," you say without much thought.

Jeongguk drops his grip on Jimin instantly. Tugs away and reveals that he could have gotten away the whole time. He just likes being stupid with his friends.

"I'll come with," he offers, darting out of the elevator before it closes.

But like a bad smell he just can't get rid of, Jimin does the same exact thing.

While he loves you both, he absolutely does not trust either of you to actually make it to the club. Will chaperone you there himself even if it forces a detour out of him.

Beaming as if he can't see the scowl on Jeongguk's pretty little face, Jimin leads the way.

"C'mon, besties. Dionysus awaits us."

[cult-of-the-eye]

tim and sasha created a Fuck the Tories sheet and it's a tally of how many statement givers they think were tories. every 20 tories it's pub night on the company card. it's the only tradition jon has ever willingly joined in on without being cajoled btw

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Truthout/Floodlight:

The IRA is the Biden Administration’s signature climate law. The historic act is the most aggressive climate policy in U.S. history, rolling out billions in tax breaks and other incentives with the goal of cutting economy-wide carbon emissions 40% by 2030.

Every congressional Republican voted against the bill, arguing it was nothing more than handouts to prop up climate and social justice programs. Some on the extreme right continue to argue that climate change is a hoax. But now some GOP House members who voted against the IRA are urging their leader to consider saving key portions of it.

In fact, it is the red states that overwhelmingly have benefitted from the federal government’s infusion of clean energy money, according to a report released today by, a national nonpartisan group of more than 10,000 business leaders that advocates for a cleaner economy and environment.

Friday marks two years since Biden inked his signature on the IRA. Companies have announced roughly 330 clean energy and vehicle projects since that time, efforts that could create 109,278 jobs and bring in a whopping $126 billion in private investments, if completed, according to the E2 report.

E2’s report breaks down IRA-boosted projects by state, sector and industry as well as by congressional district. It found that “nearly 60% of the announced projects — representing 85% of the investments and 68% of the jobs — are in Republican congressional districts.”

Among the major projects is the South Korea-based solar manufacturer QCells. Last year it announced a $2.5 billion expansion in Dalton, Georgia, spurring more than 2,500 jobs and helping change a town known as the “carpet capital of the world” into a destination for clean energy manufacturing.

Since 2022, the northern third of Nevada has added more than 5,000 jobs from a $6.6 billion investment in projects such as the Rhyolite Ridge and Thacker Pass lithium mines as the state aims toward becoming the lithium capital of the United States.

And in North Carolina, $19.7 billion has been poured into the state, creating 22 clean energy projects and more than 10,000 jobs in solar, recycling, electric vehicle and battery manufacturing. The investments include a $13.9 billion Toyota Motor North America EV/hybrid battery plant slated to open next year.

E2’s report is based on publicly available information, including news releases and formal government announcements. Roughly one-third of the information did not include how much money was being invested or how many jobs a project was expected to create, E2 stated.

In other words, the impact of the IRA is likely broader than the nonprofit’s tally. That bodes well for environmentalists and clean energy advocates.

18 congressional Republicans signed a letter to GOP House Speaker Mike Johnson of Louisiana urging him to be cautious in repealing all or parts of the IRA — something Trump has vowed to do if he is again elected president.

“Energy tax credits have spurred innovation, incentivized investment and created good jobs in many parts of the country — including many districts represented by members of our conference,” the Aug. 6 letter to Johnson said.

The Congress members said they had heard from industry and constituents that clawing back previously issued energy tax credits, especially on projects that already broke ground, would undermine private investments and stop development.

“A full repeal would create a worst-case scenario where we would have spent billions of taxpayer dollars and received next to nothing in return,” the letter states.

[julieverne]

You are You, because all tortoises are You. You know this inherently. You have a stored wealth of knowledge from all who came before You. One day You would like to meet another tortoise and create a new generation of Yous, but for now life is nice enough as it is.

You are aware of being contained; there are hard borders all around this enclosure. You do not mind; in summer, The One You Live With takes you outside to bask in the sun. You like the sun; You don't like the noises so loud outside, the slapping of rubber against something hard. You don't like how exposed You are, with so little ground cover. It makes You nervous.

The One You Live With isn't always there. You like her; she knows You well. She knows where to scratch Your hard shell, which food You are in the mood for. She knows very well how to live with You. She is quiet and predictable. You have trained her well.

Her friend, Talks Loudly, is another matter entirely. She is erratic and energetic, and You always find somewhere else to be when she is around. She appears to be the mate of The One You Live With, but their nesting behaviour is odd. They spend too much time together; once the eggs are fertilised, there is no point to sticking around.

And they have no children. It makes You sad when You think about it. You don't like children. They're loud and unpredictable as well; it's undignified. But The One You Live With deserves a long generation of hers to follow her. She is marvellous and there should be more of her.

You realise, of course, that You are a prisoner. But Your world is comfortable, and escape into the outside world doesn't seem... survivable. It's too loud. It's too unpredictable. You have faint memories of a beach somewhere You have never been, somewhere Your ancestors lived with white sand, plentiful sun and probably pineapple. You like pineapple. It's the first thing The One You Live With offers you if You've had a shock, or if You're simply in a Mood because Talks Loudly is over too much, talking too loudly. You can forgive her a little, since she earns You pineapple.

She talks, sometimes, not the loud one. The quiet one, the one You like, the one with soft hands and understanding eyes. You could almost believe she was intelligent. It's like she's trying to communicate, but her language is too full of nuance for You to learn it. You nod, though, because she doesn't always need words to communicate. Her gentle touch on Your shell means she's leaving, and You wonder where else there is to go, what else she could do in her life that's better than spending time with You.

She's gone overnight, and it's stressful for You. Her accomplice, acquaintance, whoever, the other Loud One comes in. You can see she's trying to be kind, so you take the proffered pineapple. You even let her pat Your shell without grunting at her. Then Talks Loudly comes in, and You've never liked her and she's never liked You, but she sits on the floor beside You, holding Small Mammal in her arms too tightly.

Small Mammal is Your friend. She licks Your face when it's dirty. She preserves Your dignity. She is warm when she deigns to curl up next to You.

But today Talks Loudly is curled up next to You instead, and You are aware something is wrong. You shuffle, and Talks Loudly rests a gentle hand on Your shell and looks You in the eyes.

She surprises You; there is intelligence there. And sorrow, deep sorrow. Her eyes are wet and her voice is quiet and fierce, and for the first time You find Yourself liking her. She makes You a promise and You keep tally of it inside Yourself, so the future Yous will know.

She stays all night. She sleeps on the couch so You're not alone. You like being alone, but something is wrong so You don't, for once, mind her company.

She comes home the next evening, The One You Live With, and she's pleased to see You. You preen in her admiration for a moment, then You head to where increasingly extravagant foods have been laid out for You in deference to Your majesty. When You look up, mulberries staining Your chin, You see Talks Loudly kissing The One You Live With, and You nod to Yourself, because everything is back where it should be. You like order; You like things to be predictable. And for this evening, unlike the last, everything is perfect.

For You, at least.

[yourreddancer]

Heather Cox Richardson 11.18.24

On Friday, Secretary of Commerce Gina Raimondo locked in a $6.6 billion deal with the Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company for it to invest $65 billion in three state-of-the-art fabrication plants in Arizona. This will bring thousands of jobs to the state. The money comes from the CHIPS and Science Act, about which Trump told podcaster Joe Rogan on October 25: “That CHIPS deal is so bad.” House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) said he would work to repeal the law, although he backed off that statement when Republicans noted the jobs the law has brought to their states. 

Also on Friday, a Trump-appointed federal judge struck down a Biden administration rule that would have made 4 million workers eligible for overtime pay. The rule raised the salary level below which an employer has to pay overtime from $35,568 to $43,888 this year and up to $58,656 in 2025. The decision by Texas judge Sean D. Jordan kills the measure nationally.

On Sunday, speaking from the Amazon rainforest in Brazil, President Joe Biden said that it would not be possible to reverse America’s “clean energy revolution,” which has now provided jobs across the country, primarily in Republican-dominated states. Biden noted that the U.S. would spend $11 billion on financing international responses to climate change in 2024, an increase of six times from when he began his term. 

But President-elect Trump has called climate change a hoax and has vowed to claw back money from the Inflation Reduction Act appropriated to mitigate it, and to turn the U.S. back to fossil fuels. What Trump will have a harder time disrupting, according to Nicolás Rivero of the Washington Post, is the new efficiency standards the Biden administration put in place for appliances. He can, though, refuse to advance those standards.

Meanwhile Trump and his team are announcing a complete reworking of the American government. They claim a mandate, although as final vote tallies are coming in, it turns out that Trump did not win 50% of the vote, and CNN statistician Harry Enten notes that his margin comes in at 44th out of the 51 elections that have been held since 1824. He also had very short coattails—four Democrats won in states Trump carried—and the Republicans have the smallest House majority since there have been 50 states, despite the help their numbers have had from the extreme gerrymandering in states like North Carolina. 

More Americans voted for someone other than Trump than voted for him.

Although Trump ran on lowering the cost of consumer goods, Trump and his sidekick Elon Musk, along with pharmaceutical entrepreneur Vivek Ramaswamy, have vowed to slash the U.S. government, apparently taking their cue from Argentina’s self-described anarcho-capitalist president Javier Milei, who was the first foreign leader to visit Trump after the election. Milei’s “shock therapy” to his country threw the nation into a deep recession, just as Musk says his plans will create “hardship” for Americans before enabling the country to rebuild with security. 

Ramaswamy today posted on social media, “A reasonable formula to fix the U.S. government: Milei-style cuts, on steroids.” He has suggested that cuts are easier than people think. The Washington Post’s Philip Bump noted that on a podcast in September, Ramaswamy said as an example: “If your Social Security number ends in an odd number, you’re out. If it ends in an even number, you’re in. There’s a 50 percent cut right there. Of those who remain, if your Social Security number starts in an even number, you’re in, and if it starts with an odd number, you’re out. Boom. That’s a 75 percent reduction done.”

But, as Bump notes, this reveals Ramaswamy’s lack of understanding of how the government actually works. Social Security numbers aren’t random; the first digit refers to where the number was obtained. So this seemingly random system would target certain areas of the country. 

Today, both Jacob Bogage, Jeff Stein, and Dan Diamond of the Washington Post and Robert Tait of The Guardian reported that Trump’s economic advisors are talking with Republicans in Congress about cuts to Medicaid, the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) formerly known as food stamps, and other welfare programs, in order to cover the enormous costs of extending tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations. Medicaid is the nation’s health insurance for low-income Americans and long-term care. It covers more than 90 million Americans, one in five of us. Rural populations, which tend to vote Republican, use supplemental nutrition programs more than urban dwellers do. 

The Washington Post reporters note that Republicans deny that they are trying to reduce benefits for the poor. They are, they say, trying to reduce wasteful and unnecessary spending. “We know there’s tremendous waste,” said House Budget Committee chairman Jodey Arrington (R-TX). “What we don’t seem to have in the hour of action, like when we have the trifecta and unified Republican leadership, is the political courage to do it for the love of country. [Trump] does.”

Those cuts will likely not sit well with the Republicans whose constituents think Trump promised there would be no cuts to the programs on which they depend.

Trump’s planned nominations of unqualified extremists have also run into trouble. Senate Republicans are so far refusing to abandon their constitutional powers in order to act as a rubber stamp to enable Trump’s worst instincts. Former representative Matt Gaetz (R-FL), a Trump bomb thrower, was unqualified to be the nation's attorney general in any case, but as more information comes out about his alleged participation in drug fueled orgies, including the news that a woman allegedly told the House Ethics Committee that she saw him engage in sex with a minor, those problems have gotten worse. 

Legal analyst Marcy Wheeler notes that the lawyers representing the witnesses for the committee are pushing for the release of the ethics committee’s report at least in part out of concern that if he becomes attorney general, Gaetz will retaliate against them. 

According to Vanity Fair’s Gabriel Sherman, fear of the MAGA Republican colleagues who are already trying to bully them into becoming Trump loyalists is infecting congress members, too. When asked if Gaetz was qualified for the attorney general post, Representative Mike Simpson (R-ID) answered: “Are you sh*tting me, that you just asked that question? No. But hell, you’ll print that and now I’m going to be investigated.”

The many fringe medical ideas of Trump’s pick for secretary of health and human services, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., earned him the right-wing New York Post editorial board’s denigration as “nuts on a lot of fronts.” The board called his views “a head-scratching spaghetti of what we can only call warped conspiracy theories, and not just on vaccines.” Kennedy is a well-known opponent of vaccines—he called Covid-19 vaccines a “crime against humanity”—and has called for the National Institutes of Health to “take a break” of about eight years from studying infectious diseases, insisting that they should focus on chronic diseases instead.

Writing in the New York Times yesterday, Peter Baker noted that Trump “has rolled a giant grenade into the middle of the nation’s capital and watched with mischievous glee to see who runs away and who throws themselves on it.” Mischievous glee is one way to put it; another is that he is trying to destroy the foundations of the American government.

Baker notes that none of Trump’s selections would have been anything but laughable in the pre-Trump era when, for example, Democratic cabinet nominations were sunk for a failure to pay employment taxes for a nanny, or for a donor-provided car. Nor would a president-elect in the past have presumed to tap three of his own defense lawyers for top positions in the Department of Justice, effectively guaranteeing that he will be protected from scrutiny. 

A former deputy White House press secretary during Trump’s first term, Sarah Matthews, said Trump is “drunk on power right now because he feels like he was given a mandate by winning the popular vote.”

Today Trump confirmed that he intends to bypass normal legal constraints on his actions by declaring a national emergency on his first day in office in order to launch his mass deportation of undocumented migrants. While the Congressional Budget Office estimates this mass deportation will cost at least $88 billion a year, another cost that is rarely mentioned is that according to Bloomberg, undocumented immigrants currently pay about $100 billion a year in taxes. Losing that income, too, will likely have to be made up with cuts from elsewhere. 

Finally, today, CNBC’s economic analyst Carl Quintanilla noted today that average gasoline prices are expected to fall below $3.00 a gallon before the Thanksgiving holiday. 

—

[miniar]

Do you want to know about the absolute shit-show regarding Eurovision 2024, the Icelandic pre-contest?

Right, so, Tumblr knows about Eurovision more than most of the US-centric internet, coupled with how queer coded Eurovision tends to be, I figure you might enjoy this tea.

First up, before we get into the meat of the current situation, I gotta mention the months long campaign to boycott the contest entirely in protest to Israel's continued participation.

The European Song Contest or Eurovision was created for the expressed political purpose of fostering peace and cooperation among the nations of Europe. When Russia invaded Ukraine they got kicked. You can't come play in our sandbox of peace and cooperation and compete against the nation you're invading, essentially.

Israel is not only a regular participant, but a substantial source of funding, so unsurprisingly the Eurovision management has done a whole "it's different" and refused to boot Israel. As a result, a lot of Icelanders are calling for Iceland to refuse to participate, mirroring calls made in other nations.

The Icelandic national television shifted the responsibility of deciding whether we're participating in pretending everything's fine while Israel literally sings about october 7th on stage to "whichever artist wins the preliminary Icelandic contest"

Enter Bashar, a palistinian artist that had previously collaborated with Hatari, an Icelandic band that went to Israel when they had won the right to host the contest a few years back. Hatari is... a pop-punk-metal band in full bdsm gear. Their participation was controversial, not just because they went to Israel and participated, but also because they pulled out a Palistinian flag while there.

Palistinians had called for a boycott of Eurovision in Israel at the time.

No people are a monolith however, and this is what lead to Bashar doing music with them and becoming fond of our little island in the north.

So much so that he asked to sing on the behalf of Iceland, to take his place on stage, a Palistinian competing against the nation that wants him erased.

This last weekend the Icelandic contest was held, and he lost, by a relatively slim margin.

So... where's the tea?

WELL!

There's two ways to vote, via app or via phone call.

And there were two rounds of votes.

A preliminary for a preliminary if you will.

The votes cast that got him into the final contest in Iceland were Extremely in his favor.

So how did he lose the final contest?

The app malfunctioned and several votes that were cast to him ended up being tallied for Hera, the woman who was declared the winner.

BUT WAIT! IT GETS WORSE!

The phone number that you had to call to send phone-votes for him, and ONLY HIM, This did not happen with any other contestant!, triggered a warning on your phone that you might be calling a "scam phone number" leading to a lot of people calling fewer times than the otherwise would have, thinking they weren't able to vote for him.

This message is something the phone companies here implement from a centralized databank if the number has been reported or flagged a certain number of times.

Either one of these things, in and of itself, could be enough to lead to the results being questionable, but combined they more than make up the gap in votes between the first and second place in this contest.

How this is gonna get handled I don't yet know, but I'll tell you what, there's something profoundly fishy about what happened with the phone votes, especially given the utterly vile racist comments that are proliferating in the comment sections at the moment.

So, yeah.

You wanna know more? I might rebagle this post if I get more info.

[xxavengingangelxx]

Long Way From Home 8/8

Ya'll know the drill. I assume this isn't ya'll's first rodeo when it comes to reading this but alas, because it's a dark fic, I will post triggers again. MDNI, 18+ TRIGGERS: Implied/attempted suicide, self-harm, torture, brainwashing, physical abuse, mind fuckery, Stockholm syndrome-related mental gymnastics, trauma bonding, mentions of foster care, threatened/implied/referenced rape, EXTREMELY dubious consent, flashbacks of torture, female being drugged. Self-hate in this one :( If I miss, any let me know, please! DARK FIC!

This fic is almost coming to an end...kind of. At an end! This will be the first part of the series. After MW3 comes out, I can start posting part 2. Now I've decided on an ending and just know I'm not a believer in happy, fluffy endings because that's just not real life. Read my other Graves/Reader fic As the; Rush Comes to see ;) @josieguts because they asked to be tagged :)

Thanks for all the love! I was so scared putting this out there.

-

Back on base, you learned that each Shadow kept track of how many enemy combatants they’d killed on the inside of their vests. They’d taken yours and proudly added two tally marks before giving it back to you.

One Shadow mentioned the possibility of you being charged with war crimes. Graves mentioned not to worry about it. The military thought you were dead and his company was in the process of creating another identity for you. Now, once you were on paper in Shadow Company, you had to be a little more careful about how you handled that anger in the field.

War crimes? You?

What did Graves say again? Don’t worry about it. Just another reason to stick around.

-

So they taught you less lethal forms of combat. The training had you on a hair-trigger and while you responded immediately to threats or attempts to grab you with nonlethal interventions, it was made clear to you that any threat on your life should be met with deadly force.

It got to the point to where you could seriously hurt someone with just your hands despite your small size. Add a sidearm or even a knife and that made you deadlier. Enemy combatant men especially just rubbed you the wrong way. They way they looked at you. Despite your gear they knew you were female. They’d smirk until they met your glare. It had gotten to the point to where just looking at an enemy made them do a double take. Your glare had that much hatred in it.

But they never limited your access to weapons, sidearms, or knives. Because they wanted you alive.

“But no more killing people just because, ‘kay, darlin’?”

-

But you kept at it, your anger getting the better of you in the field more often than not. Before you knew it you counted 14 tally marks on the inside of your vest. Shadows had added each one proudly. The more the more pieces of shit you killed, the less pieces of shit were left alive on Earth according to them. Graves didn’t care, either. These were terrorists you were eliminating.

It wasn’t really a problem because you were technically dead. No one could trace those deaths back to you. If someone tried hard enough, they’d be traced back to the only female operator in Shadow Company. You didn’t have a real name. You stuck out though. You were a lot smaller than the rest of the crew and you were the only one with pink accents to your gear. Despite the heavy equipment, your female figure was still obvious.

While raising hell in the Middle East you’d picked up a nickname. Several, actually. Because you were female, Middle Eastern enemy combatants, mostly men, had of course attached genderized terms to the epithets they gave you. Angel of Death was one. But the one that stuck and the one that Shadow Company picked up and labeled you with? Ice Queen, IQ for short.

Naturally, these sexist Middle Eastern enemy soldiers had assumed you and Graves to be a married couple because they could not imagine a woman your age not being married and not being under the control of a man. Graves had picked up his own monicker: Blue-Eyed Devil. Blue eyes were rare out here and so Graves also stuck out in a way.

The Blue-Eyed Devil, his wife the Ice Queen, and his men, Shadow Company were seen as terrorists in these lands and all of you had bounties on your heads.

-

Graves got less physical with you because you were entirely cooperative. There was not even the slightest disobedience left in your body or your mind. As far as you knew you and Graves were one. You were so far gone from your previous self but you didn’t know it. You’d forgotten who you once were. That woman had died long ago.

Graves sometimes still got physical with you, though. Just not like he used to. Instead of inflicting pain to make you suffer, Graves inflicted pain to elicit pleasure.

Some nights Graves was almost brutal. He’d have you on your knees before him, his fist grasping your soft hair in such a strong grasp that side of your head ached when he eventually let you sleep. You’d feel tears escaping from your eyes which were shut so tight it almost hurt as he quite literally fucked your throat.

And you…

You

Got

Off

On

It.

Graves could hold you down in bed and fuck you so hard you stayed in bed a little longer because you were nervous that others would notice you walking differently.

But that was okay. Because whenever he pulled that shit, you'd edge him mercilessly. Over and over.

But sometimes he became physical in an entirely different way. Sometimes you and him engaged in that delicious, slow burn sex that lasted…and lasted. It would leave you both hot, sweaty, and drowsy. Graves would lie in bed with you and just hold you sometimes. He’d listen as your heartrate went from rapid and erratic to slow and lethargic. He liked resting his head on your chest in between your breasts as you laid on your back and tried to fight off sleep. But he was like a warm weighted blanket and more often than not sleep won.

Sleep would often conquer you both those nights.

The room you shared was always private. Off limits. But you couldn't help but wonder what you both looked like. You under Graves. Sometimes your legs would still be spread with him between him. Sometimes he would just lie over you, legs and all. His face, especially his cheekbones would be colored red from your recent sexual efforts. His hair tousled and ruffled. He'd be on your chest trying to catch his breath while you ran lazy fingers through that messy sex hair. Your fair skin wouldn't be able to hide your post-orgasm blush, either. Your other arm would be rubbing his arm while your long hair fanned out behind you on the bed.

-

That mask you wore around everyone but Graves? It started to come off around Shadows. You saw them as older brothers, really. And they protected you like no one’s business.

One of those edgy, overly eager enemy soldiers had gotten the drop on you once when you had been busy trying to pull intel off an enemy device.

Said enemy combatant had been able to knock you off your feet. And climbed on top of you. He got four punches in, shattering your goggles and making the fragments scatter while some scratched your face.

Four hits.

Shadows were never far behind. You were never alone. The enemy soldiers had a nickname for Shadows, too. Hellhounds. Shadows were quick to pull this man off you. They dragged him off somewhere and tortured him slow.

They’d let you kill him.

You’d taken off the shattered goggles. They hurt your face anyway seeing as this motherfucker had caused your face to be cut in several places from the sharp plastic when they broke from his punches. You’d stopped wearing a mask around Shadows long ago. You approached said enemy and shot him point blank.

He made the 15th kill. Shadows added one more tally to your vest when you got back to base.

-

Addicted. That was the only term you would use to describe how you felt towards Graves and how he felt towards you.

Neither of you could function without the other for long.

You had no idea what you would do if something happened to him. Or if for some reason you were taken from him.

While on base you got whatever the hell you wanted. That top-of-the-line computer to run code with your hacker Shadow friend? Bought and paid for. Noice-cancelling headphones to blast music through? Done. “Just don’t run your hearing, ‘kay, sweetheart? I need you sharp,” Graves said. Graves loved showing off that he had a female on his team that was all his and so when you wanted dark pink highlights in your hair? Go for it.

You remembered your past, dead identity reading about trauma bonding and wondering if Graves felt bad about all the shit he’d put your through before you started cooperating. Sometimes when a captor started feeling for a captive they might look back and feel…uncomfortable…unsettled with how they had treated said captive in the past. You noted how Graves had not inflicted any of the torture you’d suffered since you got to his black site. He’d had his men do it. And he’d turned away more than a few times preferring they drug you than keep inflicting pain.

Sometimes you’d catch Graves looking at you. Not in a sexual way. Not a predatory way. Not in an I own you type of way. You couldn’t quite describe it. But you wondered if it was because he missed your past self’s easy smile and joking manner. They way you could always pull him into conversation no matter that kind of shit day he’d had.

But that wasn’t you anymore and you had no plans of returning to that persona.

You still hadn’t smiled.

And you still barely talked.

-

“Konni Group,”

“What?”

“Konni Group,” Graves repeated.

“What’s that?” you asked, attempting to catch your breath. You were laid on his chest this time, feeling sleepy after one of those slow burn sex episodes.

“The reason might have to team up with an old foe,” Graves responded.

[misfitwashere]

November 18, 2024 

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

NOV 19

On Friday, Secretary of Commerce Gina Raimondo locked in a $6.6 billion deal with the Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company for it to invest $65 billion in three state-of-the-art fabrication plants in Arizona. This will bring thousands of jobs to the state. The money comes from the CHIPS and Science Act, about which Trump told podcaster Joe Rogan on October 25: “That CHIPS deal is so bad.” House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) said he would work to repeal the law, although he backed off that statement when Republicans noted the jobs the law has brought to their states. 

Also on Friday, a Trump-appointed federal judge struck down a Biden administration rule that would have made 4 million workers eligible for overtime pay. The rule raised the salary level below which an employer has to pay overtime from $35,568 to $43,888 this year and up to $58,656 in 2025. The decision by Texas judge Sean D. Jordan kills the measure nationally.

On Sunday, speaking from the Amazon rainforest in Brazil, President Joe Biden said that it would not be possible to reverse America’s “clean energy revolution,” which has now provided jobs across the country, primarily in Republican-dominated states. Biden noted that the U.S. would spend $11 billion on financing international responses to climate change in 2024, an increase of six times from when he began his term. 

But President-elect Trump has called climate change a hoax and has vowed to claw back money from the Inflation Reduction Act appropriated to mitigate it, and to turn the U.S. back to fossil fuels. What Trump will have a harder time disrupting, according to Nicolás Rivero of the Washington Post, is the new efficiency standards the Biden administration put in place for appliances. He can, though, refuse to advance those standards.

Meanwhile Trump and his team are announcing a complete reworking of the American government. They claim a mandate, although as final vote tallies are coming in, it turns out that Trump did not win 50% of the vote, and CNN statistician Harry Enten notes that his margin comes in at 44th out of the 51 elections that have been held since 1824. He also had very short coattails—four Democrats won in states Trump carried—and the Republicans have the smallest House majority since there have been 50 states, despite the help their numbers have had from the extreme gerrymandering in states like North Carolina. 

More Americans voted for someone other than Trump than voted for him.

Although Trump ran on lowering the cost of consumer goods, Trump and his sidekick Elon Musk, along with pharmaceutical entrepreneur Vivek Ramaswamy, have vowed to slash the U.S. government, apparently taking their cue from Argentina’s self-described anarcho-capitalist president Javier Milei, who was the first foreign leader to visit Trump after the election. Milei’s “shock therapy” to his country threw the nation into a deep recession, just as Musk says his plans will create “hardship” for Americans before enabling the country to rebuild with security. 

Ramaswamy today posted on social media, “A reasonable formula to fix the U.S. government: Milei-style cuts, on steroids.” He has suggested that cuts are easier than people think. The Washington Post’s Philip Bump noted that on a podcast in September, Ramaswamy said as an example: “If your Social Security number ends in an odd number, you’re out. If it ends in an even number, you’re in. There’s a 50 percent cut right there. Of those who remain, if your Social Security number starts in an even number, you’re in, and if it starts with an odd number, you’re out. Boom. That’s a 75 percent reduction done.”

But, as Bump notes, this reveals Ramaswamy’s lack of understanding of how the government actually works. Social Security numbers aren’t random; the first digit refers to where the number was obtained. So this seemingly random system would target certain areas of the country. 

Today, both Jacob Bogage, Jeff Stein, and Dan Diamond of the Washington Post and Robert Tait of The Guardian reported that Trump’s economic advisors are talking with Republicans in Congress about cuts to Medicaid, the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) formerly known as food stamps, and other welfare programs, in order to cover the enormous costs of extending tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations. Medicaid is the nation’s health insurance for low-income Americans and long-term care. It covers more than 90 million Americans, one in five of us. Rural populations, which tend to vote Republican, use supplemental nutrition programs more than urban dwellers do. 

The Washington Post reporters note that Republicans deny that they are trying to reduce benefits for the poor. They are, they say, trying to reduce wasteful and unnecessary spending. “We know there’s tremendous waste,” said House Budget Committee chairman Jodey Arrington (R-TX). “What we don’t seem to have in the hour of action, like when we have the trifecta and unified Republican leadership, is the political courage to do it for the love of country. [Trump] does.”

Those cuts will likely not sit well with the Republicans whose constituents think Trump promised there would be no cuts to the programs on which they depend.

Trump’s planned nominations of unqualified extremists have also run into trouble. Senate Republicans are so far refusing to abandon their constitutional powers in order to act as a rubber stamp to enable Trump’s worst instincts. Former representative Matt Gaetz (R-FL), a Trump bomb thrower, was unqualified to be the nation's attorney general in any case, but as more information comes out about his alleged participation in drug fueled orgies, including the news that a woman allegedly told the House Ethics Committee that she saw him engage in sex with a minor, those problems have gotten worse. 

Legal analyst Marcy Wheeler notes that the lawyers representing the witnesses for the committee are pushing for the release of the ethics committee’s report at least in part out of concern that if he becomes attorney general, Gaetz will retaliate against them. 

According to Vanity Fair’s Gabriel Sherman, fear of the MAGA Republican colleagues who are already trying to bully them into becoming Trump loyalists is infecting congress members, too. When asked if Gaetz was qualified for the attorney general post, Representative Mike Simpson (R-ID) answered: “Are you sh*tting me, that you just asked that question? No. But hell, you’ll print that and now I’m going to be investigated.”

The many fringe medical ideas of Trump’s pick for secretary of health and human services, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., earned him the right-wing New York Post editorial board’s denigration as “nuts on a lot of fronts.” The board called his views “a head-scratching spaghetti of what we can only call warped conspiracy theories, and not just on vaccines.” Kennedy is a well-known opponent of vaccines—he called Covid-19 vaccines a “crime against humanity”—and has called for the National Institutes of Health to “take a break” of about eight years from studying infectious diseases, insisting that they should focus on chronic diseases instead.

Writing in the New York Times yesterday, Peter Baker noted that Trump “has rolled a giant grenade into the middle of the nation’s capital and watched with mischievous glee to see who runs away and who throws themselves on it.” Mischievous glee is one way to put it; another is that he is trying to destroy the foundations of the American government.

Baker notes that none of Trump’s selections would have been anything but laughable in the pre-Trump era when, for example, Democratic cabinet nominations were sunk for a failure to pay employment taxes for a nanny, or for a donor-provided car. Nor would a president-elect in the past have presumed to tap three of his own defense lawyers for top positions in the Department of Justice, effectively guaranteeing that he will be protected from scrutiny. 

A former deputy White House press secretary during Trump’s first term, Sarah Matthews, said Trump is “drunk on power right now because he feels like he was given a mandate by winning the popular vote.”

Today Trump confirmed that he intends to bypass normal legal constraints on his actions by declaring a national emergency on his first day in office in order to launch his mass deportation of undocumented migrants. While the Congressional Budget Office estimates this mass deportation will cost at least $88 billion a year, another cost that is rarely mentioned is that according to Bloomberg, undocumented immigrants currently pay about $100 billion a year in taxes. Losing that income, too, will likely have to be made up with cuts from elsewhere. 

Finally, today, CNBC’s economic analyst Carl Quintanilla noted today that average gasoline prices are expected to fall below $3.00 a gallon before the Thanksgiving holiday. 

—

[ndbookstudy]

i am that, nisargardatta maharaj, ch. 61.

Questioner: I was lucky to have holy company all my life. Is it enough for self-realisation?

Maharaj: It depends what you make of it.

Q: I was told that the liberating action of satsang is automatic. Just like a river carries one to the estuary, so the subtle and silent influence of good people will take me to reality.

M: It will take you to the river, but the crossing is your own. Freedom cannot be gained nor kept without will-to-freedom. You must strive for liberation; the least you can do is uncover and remove the obstacles diligently. If you want peace you must strive for it. You will not get peace just by keeping quiet.

Q: A child just grows. He does not make plans for growth, nor has he a pattern; nor does he grow by fragments, a hand here a leg there; he grows integrally and unconsciously.

M: Because he is free of imagination. You can also grow like this, but you must not indulge in forecasts and plans, born of memory and anticipation. It is one of the peculiarities of a jnani that he is not concerned with the future. Your concern with future is due to fear of pain and desire for pleasure, to the jnani all is bliss: he is happy with whatever comes.

Q: Surely, there are many things that would make even a jnani miserable

M: A jnani may meet with difficulties, but they do not make him suffer. Bringing up a child from birth to maturity may seem a hard task, but to a mother the memories of hardships are a joy. There is nothing wrong with the world. What is wrong is in the way you look at it. It is your own imagination that misleads you. Without imagination there is no world. Your conviction that you are conscious of a world is the world. The world you perceive is made of consciousness; what you call matter is consciousness Itself. You are the space (akash) in which it moves, the time in which it lasts, the love that gives it life. Cut off imagination and attachment and what remains?

Q: The world remains. I remain.

M: Yes. But how different it is when you can see it as it is, not through the screen of desire and fear.

Q: What for are all these distinctions -- reality and illusion, wisdom and ignorance, saint and sinner? Everyone is in search of happiness, everyone strives desperately; everyone is a Yogi and his life a school of wisdom. Each learns his own way the lessons he needs. Society approves of some, disapproves of others; there are no rules that apply everywhere and for all time.

M: In my world love is the only law. I do not ask for love, I give it. Such is my nature.

Q: I see you living your life according to a pattern. You run a meditation class in the morning, lecture and have discussions regularly; twice daily there is worship (puja) and religious singing (bhajan) in the evening. You seem to adhere to the routine scrupulously.

M: The worship and the singing are as I found them and I saw no reason to interfere. The general routine is according to the wishes of the people with whom I happen to live or who come to listen. They are working people, with many obligations and the timings are for their convenience. Some repetitive routine is inevitable. Even animals and plants have their time-tables.

Q: Yes, we see a regular sequence in all life. Who maintains the order? Is there an inner ruler, who lays down laws and enforces order?

M: Everything moves according to its nature. Where is the need of a policeman? Every action creates a reaction, which balances and neutralises the action. Everything happens, but there is a continuous cancelling out, and in the end it is as if nothing happened.

Q: Do not console me with final harmonies. The accounts tally, but the loss is mine.

M: Wait and see. You may end up with a profit good enough to justify the outlays.

Q: There is a long life behind me and I often wonder whether its many events took place by accident, or there was a plan. Was there a pattern laid down before I was born by which I had to live my life? If yes, who made the plans and who enforced them? Could there be deviations and mistakes? Some say destiny is immutable and every second of life is predetermined; others say that pure accident decides everything.

M: You can have it as you like. You can distinguish in your life a pattern or see merely a chain of accidents. Explanations are meant to please the mind. They need not be true. Reality is indefinable and indescribable.

Q: Sir, you are escaping my question! I want to know how you look at it. Wherever we look we find structure of unbelievable intelligence and beauty. How can I believe that the universe is formless and chaotic? Your world, the world in which you live, may be formless, but it need not be chaotic.

M: The objective universe has structure, is orderly and beautiful. Nobody can deny it. But structure and pattern, imply constraint and compulsion. My world is absolutely free; everything in it is self- determined. Therefore I keep on saying that all happens by itself. There is order in my world too, but it is not Imposed from outside. It comes spontaneously and immediately, because of its timelessness. Perfection is not in the future. It is now.

Q: Does your world affect mine?

M: At one point only -- at the point of the now. It gives it momentary being, a fleeting sense of reality. In full awareness the contact is established. It needs effortless, un-self-conscious attention.

Q: Is not attention an attitude of mind?

M: Yes, when the mind is eager for reality, it gives attention. There is nothing wrong with your world, it is your thinking yourself to be separate from it that creates disorder. Selfishness is the source of all evil.

Q: I am coming back to my question. Before I was born, did my inner self decide the details of my life, or was it entirely accidental and at the mercy of heredity and circumstances?

M: Those who claim to have selected their father and mother and decided how they are going to live their next life may know for themselves. I know for myself. I was never born.

Q: I see you sitting in front of me and replying my questions.

M: You see the body only which, of course, was born and will die.

Q: It is the life-story of thus body-mind that I am interested in. Was it laid down by you or somebody else, or did it happen accidentally?

M: There is a catch in your very question. I make no distinction between the body and the universe. Each is the cause of the other; each is the other, in truth. But I am out of it all. When I am telling you that I was never born, why go on asking me what were my preparations for the next birth? The moment you allow your imagination to spin, it at once spins out a universe. It is not at all as you imagine and I am not bound by your imaginings.

Q: It requires intelligence and energy to build and maintain a living body. Where do they come from?

M: There is only imagination. The intelligence and power are all used up in your imagination. It has absorbed you so completely that you just cannot grasp how far from reality you have wandered. No doubt imagination is richly creative. Universe within universe are built on it. Yet they are all in space and time, past and future, which just do not exist.

Q: I have read recently a report about a little girl who was very cruelly handled in her early childhood. She was badly mutilated and disfigured and grew up in an orphanage, completely estranged from its surroundings. This little girl was quiet and obedient, but completely indifferent. One of the nuns who were looking after the children, was convinced that the girl was not mentally retarded, but merely withdrawn, irresponsive. A psychoanalyst was asked to take up the case and for full two years he would see the child once a week and try to break the wall of isolation. She was docile and well-behaved, but would give no attention to her doctor. He brought her a toy house, with rooms and movable furniture and dolls representing father, mother and their children. It brought out a response, the girl got interested. One day the old hurts revived and came to the surface. Gradually she recovered, a number of operations brought back her face and body to normal and she grew into an efficient and attractive young woman. It took the doctor more than five years, but the work was done. He was a real Guru! He did not put down conditions nor talk about readiness and eligibility. Without faith, without hope, out of love only he tried and tried again.

M: Yes, that is the nature of a Guru. He will never give up. But, to succeed, he must not be met with too much resistance. Doubt and disobedience necessarily delay. Given confidence and pliability, he can bring about a radical change in the disciple speedily. Deep insight in the Guru and earnestness in the disciple, both are needed. Whatever was her condition, the girl in your story suffered for lack of earnestness in people. The most difficult are the intellectuals. They talk a lot, but are not serious. What you call realisation is a natural thing. When you are ready, your Guru will be waiting. Sadhana is effortless. When the relationship with your teacher is right you grow. Above all, trust him. He cannot mislead you.

Q: Even when he asks me to do something patently wrong?

M: Do it. A Sanyasi had been asked by his Guru to marry. He obeyed and suffered bitterly. But his four children were all saints and seers, the greatest in Maharashtra. Be happy with whatever comes from your Guru and you will grow to perfection without striving.

Q: Sir, have you any wants or wishes. Can I do anything for you?

M: What can you give me that I do not have? Material things are needed for contentment. But I am contented with myself. What else do I need?

Q: Surely, when you are hungry you need food and when sick you need medicine.

M: Hunger brings the food and illness brings the medicine. It is all nature's work.

Q: lf I bring something I believe you need, will you accept it?

M: The love that made you offer will make me accept.

Q: If somebody offers to build you a beautiful Ashram?

M: Let him, by all means. Let him spend a fortune, employ hundreds, feed thousands.

Q: Is it not a desire?

M: Not at all. I am only asking him to do it properly, not stingily, half-heartedly. He is fulfilling his own desire, not mine. Let him do it well and be famous among men and gods.

Q: But do you want it?

M: I do not want it.

Q: Will you accept it?

M: I don't need it.

Q: Will you stay in it?

M: If I am compelled.

Q: What can compel you?

M: Love of those who are in search of light.

Q: Yes, I see your point. Now, how am I to go into samadhi?

M: If you are in the right state, whatever you see will put you into samadhi. After all, samadhi is nothing unusual. When the mind is intensely interested, it becomes one with the object of interest -- the seer and the seen become one in seeing, the hearer and the heard become one in hearing, the lover and the loved become one in loving. Every experience can be the ground for samadhi.

Q: Are you always in a state of samadhi?

M: Of course not Samadhi is a state of mind, after all. I am beyond all experience, even of samadhi. I am the great devourer and destroyer: whatever I touch dissolves into void (akash).

Q: I need samadhis for self-realisation.

M: You have all the self-realisation you need, but you do not trust it. Have courage, trust yourself, go, talk, act; give it a chance to prove itself. With some, realisation comes imperceptibly, but somehow they need convincing. They have changed, but they do not notice it. Such non-spectacular cases are often the most reliable.

Q: Can one believe himself to be realised and be mistaken?

M: Of course. The very idea 'I am self-realised' is a mistake. There is no 'I am this'. 'I am that' in the Natural State.

[warningsine]

A 43-year-old from the Netherlands said on a TV chat show that he was taking legal action against the streaming platform Netlix over its show "The Man With 1,000 Kids," describing it as "sensationalist." 

Jonathan Meijer claimed the show had slandered him and the hundreds of families he had helped to create, among other things by overstating how many children his donated sperm had been used to create.

The show's title picks the round number of 1,000 and at one point says the real figure could be as high as 3,000, which Meijer said was incorrect, despite acknowledging that his own tally might not be complete.

"Five hundred and fifty, that's the number I know for sure. Anything above that is just speculation," he said on the "Eva" talk show on public broadcaster NPO 1 with Eva Jinek late on Tuesday. "That's why I have started a case to fight against these lies." 

He said he wanted the documentary taken down from Netflix's website to protect the children from media trying to make a "spectacle" of the case, saying they were "being recognized in the street." 

Court ordered he stop last year, Dutch guidelines say maximum 25 children per donor

Meijer made the headlines in the Netherlands and abroad last year when a court in The Hague ordered him to stop donating. It threatened him with a fine of up to €100,000 (roughly $110,000) per case if he failed to comply. That case settled on a minimum figure of 550 children but acknowledged the possibility of more.

Clinical guidelines in the Netherlands say a donor should not father more than 25 children in 12 different families, to limit the risks of incest for the offspring. However, because there is no central register for sperm donors, he was able to bypass these rules in a number of ways like going to multiple clinics.

The court found that Meijer had misinformed families about past donations, many of which were also arranged on internet forums rather than via fertility clinics, giving the impression not all of the sperm was his. 

This meant the children were "part of a huge kinship network with hundreds of half-siblings they did not choose." The court thought it "sufficiently plausible" that this could cause psychosocial consequences for the children like identity problems and fears of accidental incest.

Meijer said during Tuesday's appearance that he became interested in the concept of sperm donation as a young man when he was close to people with infertility who wanted children. He started donating in 2007. He said that as of 2019, he had stopped donating sperm, except to families that wanted a second or third child with his help.

The show sought comment from two prominent Dutch lawyers, Gerard Spong and Peter Plasman, who said they believed his case to be "completely hopeless." They said the show served a clear public interest, among other things informing people seeking a sperm donation in the future about the case.

They also said Netflix had done thorough research with sources who went on the record, and that Meijer had refused his right to reply and offers to cooperate. 

"I do not want to cooperate with such a shady company," Meijer said in a sometimes heated exchange with the moderator. "I can share everything myself on my YouTube channel."

msh/jcg (AFP)

[yinandyanglifestyle]

3-DAY Sydney Food Trip on a Budget

by: Icie

Yes, it was possible to go to Sydney without spending a lot on food and still have a good time. The trick is to avoid the fancy looking restaurants which, frankly isn't really worth it, and go to questionable places to find the "unplated" food but is super delicious! Ugly delicious is a thing and we humans need to appreciate food more based on the flavour, texture, and cuisine style rather than the prestige that was given to it by tire companies.

Here's the rules:

Maximum of $40 for 2 people. Drinks are not included in the tally because we had service water.

Amount shown is rounded off.

Everything is in Australian Dollars.

We can only call it affordable if it's $25 - $30 per person (i.e. if you're only one person eating. Anything above it is breaking the budget if you're eating with someone.)

It's a per meal challenge. $40 for a whole day is impossible unless you're just eating junk food and where's the fun in that?

Let's begin:

I combed the internet for recommendations on good Sydney food and tallied the ones that the internet has deemed worthy of visiting and gorging yourself on and I visited them with my partner. Honestly, exploring Sydney's food scene was what made our trip worthwhile and made us fall in love with Sydney.

Brisbane can't compare! Sydney is far superior foodwise. (Granted, I haven't been to Melbourne but that's a different story for a different day.)

~~~~~

DAY 1: Laneway Dumplings and Momo ($32), Tomyum Ramen from Hell (Dinner $30pp. As a group, we broke the budget and failed this challenge.)

Both situated on Temperance Lane in Sydney, you have to go through the back alleys to find these rare and absolutely delicious food. You'll know you're there when you pass by the Latin bar, see the fairy lights and plastic greenery near the Rick and Morty mural. The momos and dumplings were great! You were given a choice to create your own sauce or get the shop's recommendation. We did both. We had the recommended momo sauce for the Himalayan dumplings and created our own for the mixed dumplings. We were so disappointed with what we created and we loved the momo sauce so much, we ordered another batch of momos and sauce just so we could pig out. We should've been satisfied with a share plate of 16 pieces of a $17 meal, but nooooo... this food, I like it! Another!

Tom Yum from Hell was a beast! My spice tolerance is pretty high (I can eat Samyang Buldak without crying) so we tried it and ordered our tom yum. The kind lady at the counter asked us our spice level and I went in guns blazing and said "give me your spiciest tom yum!"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Hell yeah!"

"uh... if you say so."

Bitch, I cried.

When they said their tom yum from hell was from hell, you better believe it. She warned me and I didn't trust her. I was in spicy hell! The flavour was amazing, be it seafood or meatballs, and the lemon juice gave it just the right acidity to raise the intensity of the swirling party flavours in my mouth. And the creamy eggs made everything come together in something that is a good representation of Sydney's Asian Noodle scene. Ok, next time I stop by Sydney, I'll try their medium spice and have a glass of milk beside me to alleviate the haemorrhoid inducing Scoville defying spice effect of their amazing tom yum.

Day 2: Marrickville Pork Roll (breakfast $22), Mamak Malaysian Roti and Satay (lunch $25), Mother Chu's Taiwanese Gourmet (Dinner $20)

There was an internet consensus for Marrickville Pork Roll. Is it the best banh mi in Sydney? Absofuckinglutely. The meat of their crispy pork was so tender it melts in your mouth and whatever sauce they put in their banh mis were so complementary that my partner cannot help but close his eyes and moan about how delicious these pork rolls are. We found out later that this was a franchise of the original shop in Marrickville, but if the franchise was already this good, then the OG must be insane right?

Mamak's roti was nice, flaky and buttery and worth every penny. So much so that people from all over line up outside with or without reservations just so they could have a taste of what this Malaysian restaurant has to offer. Outside, we were treated to a show of how their rotis were made. The gluten stretch of that thin dough was enough to make any baker worth their salt jealous. After seeing that display of craftsmanship, we just had to order the roti canai. We also had nasi lemak but it just can't quite compare to the absolute beast that is their roti canai.

Lastly, we have Mother Chu's Taiwanese Gourmet which is Taiwanese comfort food at its finest in the heart of Sydney's Chinatown. Oh my god. So this is what actual Taiwanese comfort food tastes like. It is distinct from your everyday Chinese food and dare I say it, tastier. Each dish in this restaurant makes me feel like it was made by a caring mom who made something nice and warm for you because you have a cold and then give you a kiss on the forehead to tell you that "you'll get better soon, trust mommy." The Taiwanese Style Savoury Mince Pork Congee feels like the cosiest thing you'll have on a cold Sydney evening. And the Traditional Taiwanese Worker's Noodle soup was so fresh. The ingredients were so cheap that it only costs $8 but it all came together harmoniously that you'll feel like you were in a food anime where you're transported into a body of a Taiwanese worker who is saving money, exhausted from a day's work, and just wants to have a nice comforting meal at the end of the day.

Day 3: Din Tai Fung (Breakfast ($33), Emperor's Garden Cakes and Bakery (Breakfast $5), Kowloon Cafe (lunch $39)

Back to Chinatown we went because we discovered that's where all of the cheap but delicious food places were.

I don't get it. I wish I understood the reason why Din Tai Fung is so popular. I think the quality lies within the skin of their xiao long bao. They do not get soggy or the broth doesn't seep out no matter how long they stay in the steamer, but without the chili sauce, it's just not worth it. The beef noodle soup is also kinda meh. Is Din Tai Fung one of those restaurants that were hyped just cause somebody some time ago said it was good? You wait for so long and it just comes out disappointing especially if you're an Asian who is used to having tastier dumplings for 50c a piece if you just crossed the street from where you lived. There must be a reason why their HK branch got a Michelin Star right? Or is that overrated too? Please, somebody explain to me why people line up for Din Tai Fung.

Disappointed, we went to another spot in Chinatown. We lined up for another institution: Emperor's Garden Cakes and Bakery for the famous Emperor's cream puff. Wow! Finally some god food! For this one, we understand why people were willing to line up while it's 12°C outside just to have a bit of the hot, tasty and mouth watering cream puffs (which is actually manju) that is dirt cheap. it's $5 for 10 pieces and wow! It was love and decades of hard work in manju form.

Last on our food trip agenda was Kowloon Cafe. It was more expensive than the others but the servings were good for two people. Bruh it was great! The meals told us why Hong Kong cuisine is a force to be reckoned with. Who knew that baked rice with black bean sauce worked well with melted cheese? Hong Kong people, that's who. They also had a sense of humour when they called their French Toast "Thick Ass". The scrambled eggs with prawns was also so creamy and shaped like a tornado on top of creamy rice. I checked the reviews and it was rated 3.7/5. I understand why it was rated so low, it was an authentic experience of Asian street restaurant culture where the food is good but the staff is rude. They passed by and dumped the bowl in front of you unceremoniously and you were expected to eat fast and get out. Delicious! Reminded me of home!

All in all, the Sydney cheap food scene is worth trying out. We were surprised with how delicious everything was even if everything we tried was Asian cuisine. Mind you though, we went to the places that were recommended by a lot of people and they all just coincidentally happened to be Asian food. On our next trip there, we will be eating Western dishes and hope it's just as good as just as cheap.

There you go, here are some of Sydney's good food, how much they cost and a little preview on how they taste and what to expect. I bet there are better ways to go on a Sydney food trip on a budget, feel free to comment and let us know about your Sydney recommendations!

[jonathanmatthew]

 How to Start Smart Contract Development: A Beginner’s Step-by-Step Guide   

Introduction

Starting with smart contract development might feel like stepping into uncharted territory, but it’s an exciting skill to pick up in 2025. This guide breaks it down into clear, manageable steps for beginners. Whether you’re curious about blockchain or aiming to build a career, you’ll find practical advice here. Expect to learn what smart contracts are, why they matter, and how to write your first one—without getting lost in jargon. Key points include choosing the right tools, grasping blockchain basics, and deploying your work safely. Let’s get you on track to create something impactful.

Key Takeaways for Beginners

Smart contracts automate agreements on blockchain, saving time and boosting trust.

You’ll need basic blockchain knowledge and a programming language like Solidity.

Testing is critical—deploy on testnets before going live.

Tools like Remix and Truffle simplify coding and deployment.

The demand for smart contract skills is skyrocketing in 2025.

What Is a Smart Contract?

Core Definition of a Smart Contract

A smart contract is a self-executing program that runs on a blockchain. It’s like a digital agreement where the rules are coded in, and once conditions are met, it acts automatically—no middleman needed. Think of it as a vending machine: insert the right coins, and you get your snack without a cashier.

How Smart Contracts Function in Practice

Smart contracts live on a blockchain, meaning they’re secure and transparent. When someone triggers the contract (say, by sending payment), the code checks if the terms are met. If yes, it executes—like transferring ownership of a digital asset. If not, it waits. This automation cuts delays and human error.

Real-World Examples of Smart Contracts

Buying a house: A smart contract could release funds to the seller only when ownership transfers, all tracked on blockchain.

Gaming: They manage in-game items like NFTs, ensuring fair trades.

Voting systems: Used to tally votes securely without fraud.

What Is a Smart Contract in Blockchain?

Blockchain’s Role in Smart Contracts

Blockchain is the backbone of smart contracts. It’s a decentralized ledger that records every action, making tampering nearly impossible. This setup ensures smart contracts are trustworthy and visible to all parties, unlike traditional paper deals.

Key Features of Blockchain-Based Contracts

Immutable: Can’t be changed once set.

Transparent: Everyone sees the terms.

Decentralized: No single point of control.

Consensus-driven: Network nodes agree on the outcome, adding reliability.

Popular Blockchains Supporting Smart Contracts

Ethereum: Solidity language, wide adoption.

Cardano: Plutus for precise contracts.

Solana: Rust for speed. Each has strengths—Ethereum’s community, Cardano’s security, Solana’s efficiency—pick based on your goals.

What Is Smart Contract Development and Why Learn Now in 2025?

Defining Smart Contract Development

Smart contract development is coding these automated agreements for blockchain. It blends programming with blockchain know-how to build systems that execute deals independently. You’re creating the future of trust in tech.

Trends Driving Demand in 2025

By 2025, industries like finance, gaming, and supply chains lean hard into blockchain. Companies want decentralized solutions, and smart contracts fit the bill. Job postings for developers are surging, with businesses racing to adopt this tech.

Career Benefits of Learning Smart Contract Skills

High-paying roles or freelance global projects.

Gain a rare, in-demand talent.

Work with startups, big tech, or your own ventures.

Be part of a growing field with endless potential.

Why Are Smart Contracts Important?

Impact on Business and Finance

Smart contracts streamline payments, loans, and trades by cutting out banks or brokers. Businesses save on fees and time, while finance gets faster, like instant loan approvals based on coded rules.

Advantages in Security and Efficiency

Security: Resistant to hacks and fraud.

Automation: Reduces disputes.

Efficiency: No paperwork or waiting for approvals.

Industries Transformed by Smart Contracts

Supply Chains: Track goods transparently.

Healthcare: Secure patient data and automate billing.

Entertainment: Ensure fair royalty payments.

What Sets a Smart Contract Developer Apart from the Start?

Essential Skills for Success

Coding basics (Solidity or Rust).

Blockchain literacy.

Problem-solving skills.

Familiarity with tools like Remix or Hardhat.

Mindset of a Top Smart Contract Developer

Curiosity: Always learning.

Patience: Debugging is key.

Security-first approach: Think like an attacker to spot flaws early.

Common Beginner Mistakes to Sidestep

Skipping testing—untested code can fail live.

Overcomplicating your first contract—keep it simple.

Ignoring gas costs—Ethereum fees can burn funds fast.

Step-by-Step: Writing Your First Smart Contract

Step 1: Learn Blockchain Basics Before You Code

Grasp how blockchain records data and verifies actions. Study decentralization and consensus—free resources like YouTube or Ethereum.org are goldmines for this.

Step 2: Pick the Right Programming Language

Solidity: Beginner-friendly, widely used on Ethereum.

Rust: Suits Solana for speed. Start with Solidity for its community support and tutorials.

Step 3: Set Up Your Coding Environment

Install Node.js and VS Code.

Use Remix (web-based IDE) or Truffle (full dev suite) for easy testing.

Step 4: Create a Simple Contract

Try a basic storage contract in Solidity: store a number and retrieve it. Deploy it on Remix to see it work. Keep it minimal to build confidence.

Step 5: Test and Improve Your Work

Use testnets like Ropsten to run contracts safely.

Check for bugs, optimize gas usage, and tweak based on results.

Testing is your safety net.

What Tools Make Building Smart Contracts Easy for Beginners?

Best Tools for Writing Smart Contracts

Remix: Simple interface for coding and testing.

Truffle: Full dev suite.

Hardhat: Speeds up debugging and deployment.

How Tools Simplify the Process

They handle compiling, testing, and deploying, so you focus on logic. Built-in templates and error checks catch issues early, saving headaches.

Getting Started with Your Toolkit

Open Remix online, write a sample contract, and test it in minutes.

Download Truffle via npm for bigger projects.

Play with each to find your fit.

Where to Deploy Your Smart Contract Safely?

Choosing Between Testnets and Mainnets

Testnets (like Rinkeby): Free to experiment.

Mainnets (like Ethereum): Live, costs real crypto—start with testnets to practice.

Top Platforms for Deployment

Ethereum’s testnets: Beginner staples.

Cardano’s KEVM testnet: For precise contracts.

Malgo on Algorand: Easy and fast deployment.

Why Malgo Stands Out for Beginners

Malgo, built for Algorand, simplifies syntax and cuts deployment costs. Its clear docs and fast blockchain make it a top pick for newbies.

Final Thoughts

Smart contract development opens a gateway to a future where trust is coded, not negotiated. As you take your first steps, you’re joining a movement reshaping how we trade, play, and work. The path is straightforward—learn the basics, code with care, test thoroughly, and deploy wisely.Start Your Smart Contract Development Today with Malgo!Why Malgo is the Best Choice for Smart Contract Development?It blends simplicity with power, offering beginners a smooth start on Algorand’s lightning-fast blockchain. Low fees, clear guides, and quick execution make it a standout. Begin today, and you’ll soon craft contracts that ripple across industries—your potential is limitless.

[tallysgreatestfan]

Dystopian heroines lesser known than Katniss Everdeen and Tris Prior

Wanted a small exercise in drawing very different kind of people, using the heroines of amazing dystopias I can recommend, and got a bit carried away.

Tally Youngblood – Uglies Series (Scott Westerfeld)

Mischievous, lonely, but also a bit naïve and sheltered Tally wants nothing more than to be made Pretty, to fit in, to be how she should be. As she meets the unconventional Shay, these ideas get challenged, and for a while, the two carve out every little bit of freedom their world allows them. Then Shay vanishes, and the suddenly not that friendly and utopian anymore government forces Tally to find her.

Uglies has this nice dreamy, almost utopian feeling to it, but you always sense that there is something horrible in the background. But the heart of the series, also in the two following books, is Tally and Shays quite real feeling, somewhat homoerotic (sadly only implied though, not canon) and very dysfunctional relationship. This was one of the first YA dystopias to get big, and even predates The Hunger Games, but is not as famous anymore, even if this year a movie finally will come out. Sadly, despite Tally in the books being chubby to fat, at least in the first book, and her ethnicity never stated, they cast a thin white actress for her though. 1

Sonmi-451 – Cloud Atlas (David Mitchell)

Sonmi was created as a servant in a fast food chain, but despite being as quiet as she was meant to be, she also is curious and smart and seeks justice, and as she wants more of her life than that, she ends up in a conspiracy that could end the rule of the companies governing Neo Seol.

Sonmis tale, told as an interview before her execution, is one of six stories in Cloud Atlas. I love stories of clones and androids coming into their own and realizing that they are people, and this one was one of my favorites as a teen.2

Ria – Die Verratenen (Ursula Poznanski)

Ria, a genius at rhetoric and at reading people, and always rational, is one of the leading students in sphere Hoffnung. But then she finds out about a planned assassination of her and five others, and is forced to flee into the ice-cold wilderness outside and has to bargain with the clans living there. The clans again and again attacking supply trains between the spheres. It turns out there is more to the hostility of the two groups than the spheres let her think. But they are still in danger…

A german book, I remember reading this down in one big train journey. There is always just another cliffhanger, you can’t lay this book down. The criticism of elitism and first world-third world divide is interesting too.3

Aster Grey – An Unkindness of Ghosts (Rivers Solomon)

Smart and adaptive enough to be a healer, but stern and socially awkward enough to be somewhat of an outsider even among her peers on the lower decks of a racially segregated generation ship, Asters life is already hard enough, trying to protect her mentally ill former lover and now best friend Giselle, healing people along with Theo, the bastard child of a higher decks general, avoiding the brutalizing raids. Then she finds new leads about the mysterious death of her mother, and is thrown into the power struggle among the white leaders.

This is not a light read. The discrimination and abuse Aster (and Giselle, and to an only slightly lesser extent Theo) faces, for being black, for being female, for being autistic, for being bi and nonbinary is incredibly intense and the book painfully shows every bit of it. Still, the world felt vivid and real, and Aster is a quite unique heroine. I also felt quite seen in her as a bi autistic woman.4

Mia Wiedemann – Sternenschimmer (Kim Winter)

Optimistic and kind, Mia wants to help in a refugee hostel for the refugees of an civil war on the planet Loduun. She falls in love with Iason, a cold and stern refugee still traumatized from the war, but soon tension between humans and aliens rise, and also the conflicts of the civil war follow the refugees to earth.

More a love story than a dystopian, Sternenschimmer still captured my heart as a teen because it managed to describe how vulnerable and strange and painful first love feels quite well. The worldbuilding is also quite vivid, and I like the humor.5

Also sorry that I don't have more queer heroines, except for Aster, none of them are canonically queer, even if Tally and Shay do seem to be bi, but aren't actually canonically confirmed. Bought another book with a queer heroine, but it turned out to not actually be dystopian.

(trigger warnings below the line)

1 trigger warnings: eating disorders, beauty culture, body dysmorphia, ableism, major trigger warning for the characters in the second and third book massively glorifying self harm and eating disorders and this not being handled particularly well

2 trigger warnings: rape, dehumanization, euthanisia, cannibalism, in the movie: yellowface and blackface. The setting of her story in South Korea could also play into the “cyberpunk orientalism” trope

3 trigger warnings: viruses and germs, child harm, could also possibly play into the noble s*vage trope

4 quite a lot, this book is very heavy and brutal: Most of all racism, police brutality, rape, slavery, ableism, medical gore, depictions of severe mental illness, suicide

5 I am white and not a refugee, so I am not sure about the details, but this surely glosses over a lot of the refugee experience, and also possibly paints some refugees as more dangerous than they are in reality. Also Iason can be somewhat controlling, and its not handled very well. Trigger warnings: mind control, violence (not particulary graphic), in the following books: suicide, mental illness.

[htskalkaji]

Tally classes near me

Have you been searching “Tally classes near me” and still confused about where to begin? Don’t worry — you’re not alone. With Tally being one of the most in-demand accounting software tools used by businesses across India, it’s no surprise that so many students, job seekers, and small business owners are looking for reliable places to learn it.

In this blog, we’re going to break down what Tally is, why it’s essential, who should learn it, and why High Technologies Solutions is the right place if you’re serious about building a career in finance and accounting. What Is Tally and Why Is It Important?

Tally is short for “Transactions Allowed in a Linear Line Yard,” but in simple terms, it’s one of the most powerful and widely used accounting software solutions in India. Businesses of all sizes — from small shops to large corporations — use Tally to manage their daily financial operations.

Whether you’re managing:

Sales and purchases

GST billing

Payroll and salaries

Tax filing (like TDS and GST returns)

Inventory and stock tracking

Tally can handle it all with ease. The latest version, TallyPrime, is even more user-friendly and feature-packed, making it a must-learn tool for anyone involved in accounting.

Who Needs Tally Skills?

You might think Tally is only for accountants or commerce students, but in reality, its application is far broader. Here’s who can benefit from learning Tally:

Commerce students preparing for careers in finance

Job seekers looking for office roles in accounts, admin, or data entry

Small business owners who want to handle their own finances

Freelancers or tax consultants offering accounting services

Working professionals looking to upskill

The great thing about Tally is that it’s not difficult to learn — but only if you choose the right training institute.

Why “Tally Classes Near Me” Isn’t Just a Google Search

Typing “Tally classes near me” into a search engine may show dozens of local coaching centers, but not all of them offer quality training. Many are outdated, lack certified trainers, or don’t offer proper practice or placements.

What you need is a recognized tally training institute that focuses on hands-on learning, real-time tools, and job support. This is where High Technologies Solutions (HTS) steps in as a top choice.

High Technologies Solutions – A Trusted Tally Training Institute in Delhi NCR

Established in 2000, High Technologies Solutions has become one of the most respected names in IT and professional skill development. Offering everything from Python and Data Science to Digital Marketing and Accounting, HTS is especially known for its Tally and GST training programs.

Whether you’re a student or a working professional, HTS helps you gain the skills you need to stand out in the job market.

What Makes HTS the Right Choice?

1. Complete TallyPrime Training

HTS covers everything from the basics to advanced modules including:

Company creation & ledger setup

Sales and purchase entries

GST setup, returns, and filing

Bank reconciliation

Payroll, salary configuration, and PF/ESI

MIS reporting and financial statements

You’ll get a strong understanding of how to use Tally in real business scenarios.

2. Learn from Industry Experts

The trainers at HTS have real-world experience in accounting, taxation, and ERP tools. They don’t just teach theory — they bring practical, up-to-date examples to help you understand how Tally is used in companies today.

3. Practical-Based Learning

Each student is given access to a computer with the latest version of TallyPrime. Instead of just watching, you’ll be working on actual tasks like generating invoices, creating ledgers, and filing mock GST returns.

4. Flexible Class Timings

HTS understands that not everyone is free during the same hours. That’s why they offer:

Weekday and weekend batches

Morning, afternoon, and evening slots

Both online and offline classes

Perfect for students, job seekers, or working professionals.

5. Recognized Certification

Upon course completion, you’ll receive a certificate from High Technologies Solutions, which adds professional value to your resume and improves your chances of getting hired.

6. Job Placement Assistance

HTS offers dedicated placement support, including:

Resume preparation

Interview practice sessions

Job alerts and openings in companies looking for Tally professionals

Many HTS students get placed in CA firms, accounting departments, or small businesses within weeks of completing their training.

Conclusion

Tally is more than just accounting software — it’s a skill that can unlock countless career and business opportunities. If you’ve been endlessly searching for “Tally classes near me”, now is the time to act.

With its expert trainers, hands-on curriculum, flexible classes, and affordable fees, High Technologies Solutions is truly a standout Tally training institute in Delhi NCR. Whether you’re looking to start your career or upskill, HTS gives you the tools and confidence to succeed.