#Pay Programmers Less

[aeolianblues]

I'm not an extrovert. At all. In everyday life, I'm a yapper, sure, but I need someone to first assure me I am okay to yap, so I don't start conversations, even when I really want to join in sometimes! It's just the social anxiety acting up. God knows where from and why I lose a lot of my inhibitions when it comes to talking to people about music. I don't know where the confidence has suddenly sprung from. I've made a crazy amount of friends in musical circles, either just talking to people about common music or (since it is after all in music circles) talking to bands about their own music. I let out a sigh of relief any time an interaction goes well, because in truth it's going against my every instinct. I wish I could do that in everyday life

[mostlysignssomeportents]

What kind of bubble is AI?

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "What Kind of Bubble is AI?" All economic bubbles are hugely destructive, but some of them leave behind wreckage that can be salvaged for useful purposes, while others leave nothing behind but ashes:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Think about some 21st century bubbles. The dotcom bubble was a terrible tragedy, one that drained the coffers of pension funds and other institutional investors and wiped out retail investors who were gulled by Superbowl Ads. But there was a lot left behind after the dotcoms were wiped out: cheap servers, office furniture and space, but far more importantly, a generation of young people who'd been trained as web makers, leaving nontechnical degree programs to learn HTML, perl and python. This created a whole cohort of technologists from non-technical backgrounds, a first in technological history. Many of these people became the vanguard of a more inclusive and humane tech development movement, and they were able to make interesting and useful services and products in an environment where raw materials – compute, bandwidth, space and talent – were available at firesale prices.

Contrast this with the crypto bubble. It, too, destroyed the fortunes of institutional and individual investors through fraud and Superbowl Ads. It, too, lured in nontechnical people to learn esoteric disciplines at investor expense. But apart from a smattering of Rust programmers, the main residue of crypto is bad digital art and worse Austrian economics.

Or think of Worldcom vs Enron. Both bubbles were built on pure fraud, but Enron's fraud left nothing behind but a string of suspicious deaths. By contrast, Worldcom's fraud was a Big Store con that required laying a ton of fiber that is still in the ground to this day, and is being bought and used at pennies on the dollar.

AI is definitely a bubble. As I write in the column, if you fly into SFO and rent a car and drive north to San Francisco or south to Silicon Valley, every single billboard is advertising an "AI" startup, many of which are not even using anything that can be remotely characterized as AI. That's amazing, considering what a meaningless buzzword AI already is.

So which kind of bubble is AI? When it pops, will something useful be left behind, or will it go away altogether? To be sure, there's a legion of technologists who are learning Tensorflow and Pytorch. These nominally open source tools are bound, respectively, to Google and Facebook's AI environments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

But if those environments go away, those programming skills become a lot less useful. Live, large-scale Big Tech AI projects are shockingly expensive to run. Some of their costs are fixed – collecting, labeling and processing training data – but the running costs for each query are prodigious. There's a massive primary energy bill for the servers, a nearly as large energy bill for the chillers, and a titanic wage bill for the specialized technical staff involved.

Once investor subsidies dry up, will the real-world, non-hyperbolic applications for AI be enough to cover these running costs? AI applications can be plotted on a 2X2 grid whose axes are "value" (how much customers will pay for them) and "risk tolerance" (how perfect the product needs to be).

Charging teenaged D&D players $10 month for an image generator that creates epic illustrations of their characters fighting monsters is low value and very risk tolerant (teenagers aren't overly worried about six-fingered swordspeople with three pupils in each eye). Charging scammy spamfarms $500/month for a text generator that spits out dull, search-algorithm-pleasing narratives to appear over recipes is likewise low-value and highly risk tolerant (your customer doesn't care if the text is nonsense). Charging visually impaired people $100 month for an app that plays a text-to-speech description of anything they point their cameras at is low-value and moderately risk tolerant ("that's your blue shirt" when it's green is not a big deal, while "the street is safe to cross" when it's not is a much bigger one).

Morganstanley doesn't talk about the trillions the AI industry will be worth some day because of these applications. These are just spinoffs from the main event, a collection of extremely high-value applications. Think of self-driving cars or radiology bots that analyze chest x-rays and characterize masses as cancerous or noncancerous.

These are high value – but only if they are also risk-tolerant. The pitch for self-driving cars is "fire most drivers and replace them with 'humans in the loop' who intervene at critical junctures." That's the risk-tolerant version of self-driving cars, and it's a failure. More than $100b has been incinerated chasing self-driving cars, and cars are nowhere near driving themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Quite the reverse, in fact. Cruise was just forced to quit the field after one of their cars maimed a woman – a pedestrian who had not opted into being part of a high-risk AI experiment – and dragged her body 20 feet through the streets of San Francisco. Afterwards, it emerged that Cruise had replaced the single low-waged driver who would normally be paid to operate a taxi with 1.5 high-waged skilled technicians who remotely oversaw each of its vehicles:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/03/technology/cruise-general-motors-self-driving-cars.html

The self-driving pitch isn't that your car will correct your own human errors (like an alarm that sounds when you activate your turn signal while someone is in your blind-spot). Self-driving isn't about using automation to augment human skill – it's about replacing humans. There's no business case for spending hundreds of billions on better safety systems for cars (there's a human case for it, though!). The only way the price-tag justifies itself is if paid drivers can be fired and replaced with software that costs less than their wages.

What about radiologists? Radiologists certainly make mistakes from time to time, and if there's a computer vision system that makes different mistakes than the sort that humans make, they could be a cheap way of generating second opinions that trigger re-examination by a human radiologist. But no AI investor thinks their return will come from selling hospitals that reduce the number of X-rays each radiologist processes every day, as a second-opinion-generating system would. Rather, the value of AI radiologists comes from firing most of your human radiologists and replacing them with software whose judgments are cursorily double-checked by a human whose "automation blindness" will turn them into an OK-button-mashing automaton:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

The profit-generating pitch for high-value AI applications lies in creating "reverse centaurs": humans who serve as appendages for automation that operates at a speed and scale that is unrelated to the capacity or needs of the worker:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

But unless these high-value applications are intrinsically risk-tolerant, they are poor candidates for automation. Cruise was able to nonconsensually enlist the population of San Francisco in an experimental murderbot development program thanks to the vast sums of money sloshing around the industry. Some of this money funds the inevitabilist narrative that self-driving cars are coming, it's only a matter of when, not if, and so SF had better get in the autonomous vehicle or get run over by the forces of history.

Once the bubble pops (all bubbles pop), AI applications will have to rise or fall on their actual merits, not their promise. The odds are stacked against the long-term survival of high-value, risk-intolerant AI applications.

The problem for AI is that while there are a lot of risk-tolerant applications, they're almost all low-value; while nearly all the high-value applications are risk-intolerant. Once AI has to be profitable – once investors withdraw their subsidies from money-losing ventures – the risk-tolerant applications need to be sufficient to run those tremendously expensive servers in those brutally expensive data-centers tended by exceptionally expensive technical workers.

If they aren't, then the business case for running those servers goes away, and so do the servers – and so do all those risk-tolerant, low-value applications. It doesn't matter if helping blind people make sense of their surroundings is socially beneficial. It doesn't matter if teenaged gamers love their epic character art. It doesn't even matter how horny scammers are for generating AI nonsense SEO websites:

https://twitter.com/jakezward/status/1728032634037567509

These applications are all riding on the coattails of the big AI models that are being built and operated at a loss in order to be profitable. If they remain unprofitable long enough, the private sector will no longer pay to operate them.

Now, there are smaller models, models that stand alone and run on commodity hardware. These would persist even after the AI bubble bursts, because most of their costs are setup costs that have already been borne by the well-funded companies who created them. These models are limited, of course, though the communities that have formed around them have pushed those limits in surprising ways, far beyond their original manufacturers' beliefs about their capacity. These communities will continue to push those limits for as long as they find the models useful.

These standalone, "toy" models are derived from the big models, though. When the AI bubble bursts and the private sector no longer subsidizes mass-scale model creation, it will cease to spin out more sophisticated models that run on commodity hardware (it's possible that Federated learning and other techniques for spreading out the work of making large-scale models will fill the gap).

So what kind of bubble is the AI bubble? What will we salvage from its wreckage? Perhaps the communities who've invested in becoming experts in Pytorch and Tensorflow will wrestle them away from their corporate masters and make them generally useful. Certainly, a lot of people will have gained skills in applying statistical techniques.

But there will also be a lot of unsalvageable wreckage. As big AI models get integrated into the processes of the productive economy, AI becomes a source of systemic risk. The only thing worse than having an automated process that is rendered dangerous or erratic based on AI integration is to have that process fail entirely because the AI suddenly disappeared, a collapse that is too precipitous for former AI customers to engineer a soft landing for their systems.

This is a blind spot in our policymakers debates about AI. The smart policymakers are asking questions about fairness, algorithmic bias, and fraud. The foolish policymakers are ensnared in fantasies about "AI safety," AKA "Will the chatbot become a superintelligence that turns the whole human race into paperclips?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

But no one is asking, "What will we do if" – when – "the AI bubble pops and most of this stuff disappears overnight?"

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/19/bubblenomics/#pop

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

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

--

tom_bullock (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/tombullock/25173469495/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[sabertoothwalrus]

hi!! do you have any advice on how to finish projects faster? or at least more efficiently? i take a few days to finish a piece (1 or 2 days at minimum) and i want to learn how to refine my process

that can depend a lot on what kind of look you’re trying to achieve, and what exactly is slowing you down!

things you can do if you take too long doing lineart:

Practice sketching in pen & marker! Do exercises that train your hand to be more efficient. If you can draw the same thing with 5 lines that previously took you 20, you’ll cut down on time.

Try a different brush! Maybe the one you’re using is too soft, and you have to keep going back over the lines to make them dark enough. There might be another brush that gets the same result with less effort.

Zoom out! On paper, a drawing that’s 2 inches tall will take wayyyy less time than a drawing that’s as big as your torso. When you zoom in, you’re essentially making the whole drawing bigger. When I draw, I like to be able to see the whole pose. If you’re worried about it not being perfectly clean, I promise you, no one is paying that close attention.

Skip the lineart entirely! Odds are, your sketches might already be pretty clean. If it takes you 20 minutes to do a sketch and 2 hours to do the lineart, but the lines look almost the same, then why bother doing the lineart?

similar advice for coloring/rendering!

Maybe it’s your art software! I can color 10x faster in CSP than anything else, because CSP makes it really easy to color in flats.

Limit how many types of brushes you use. There ARE certain effects (like convincing digital watercolor) that really do need 5-10 different brushes to get the look Just Right, but going through your tool menus to swap brushes will add time. When I render (which is rare, honestly) I stick to one, maybe two painterly brushes.

other general advice:

Don’t be so hard on yourself! Honestly, 1-2 days is still objectively pretty fast!

If you’re a perfectionist who will arbitrarily spend too much time fiddling and fiddling until it’s justttttt right, try setting timers! Give yourself a predetermined amount of time for the lineart, for the coloring, for the rendering, etc and MOVE ON once that timer goes off. Not everything you do has to be your magnum opus.

Use keyboard shortcuts!!!!!!!! I don’t like using screen tablets, especially if I can’t use shortcuts. If you have a tablet with programmable buttons or some kind of remote, that can work too. I see people use bluetooth xbox controllers sometimes, which is a good option if you already have that. Personally, I use so many shortcuts that there are never enough buttons to program, so I just stick with a keyboard.

JUST KEEP AT IT! The more you draw, the faster you get. I avoided doing paneled comics for nearly 10 years cause they took so much effort, and would only do comics where each panel was its own layer/image. After enough time doing that, I eventually got good enough at everything else to do with comics that the paneling aspect wasn’t that difficult anymore.

[stillmonsterz]

GAM3 BO1

pairing: heeseung x reader

genre: smut

summary: reclusive gamer heeseung offers you the chance to live in a decent place in exchange for your companionship.

warnings: unprotected sex, swearing, voyeurism, dubcon, somnophilia, jerking off, exhibitionism, coercion, humiliation, anal sex

word count: 3.7k

--

The man you’re looking at in this coffee shop does not look like he could pay rent anywhere, let alone cover most of yours. He looks like he should be scrolling imageboards in his mother’s basement as he dines on high-fructose corn syrup. His eyes have bags, his skin is pale and sallow, his overgrown bangs reach below his eyebrows, and he’s so thin that the sleeves of his button-up hang from his arms. He peeks at you under his eyelashes, smiling shyly.

“You seem like a good fit,” he says quietly, fiddling with the handle of his mug of coffee. “And like I said, all you would have to do is clean up, do the laundry…make sure the place isn’t a complete pigsty.” He laughs softly. “God knows I’m awful at that.”

“Well, I can do that,” you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. “I still don’t understand why you’re being so generous. I mean, you could just get a maid. It’d cost you less money, too.” You don’t mention that the apartment is ridiculously nice for the pittance he would let you pay for it, and it’s in a choice location in the city. When you saw the ad for it on the roommate app you had downloaded, you had thought it was a scam. But then, you were so desperate that you were willing to fall for a scam. As it turns out, the apartment is real – he had sent you a video of it at your behest – and the owner was definitely real.

Heeseung – Heeseung Lee, a single computer programmer that had come into an undisclosed yet presumably exorbitant amount of wealth following his parents’ passing – laughs again, a self-conscious chuckle that quickly dies in his throat. “Well, to be honest with you…I just get lonely. I mean, my work is all online, and I don’t have many, uh, friends. I sort of just stay at home and play…” Heeseung’s voice becomes hushed. “play video games. It’s sort of pathetic.”

“Nothing pathetic about that,” you say quickly. He’s so earnest, it tugs at your heartstrings. “I think this could be a great arrangement.”

Heeseung looks up at you, and his eyes are shining. He smiles at you, tilting his head. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You smile as well. “And I’m a pretty good companion, if I do say so myself.”

Heeseung’s eyes flicker down, lingering below your collar for a full five seconds before he looks back up at you. “You know, I think you’ll be a great companion for me.”

--

Your first week living in his apartment is relatively peaceful. Relatively is the operative word. Your room is comfortable, stocked with plain furniture. Heeseung gives you carte blanche to decorate it as you wish, which is nice. Cleaning up after him is a simple affair, too. He deposits his dirty dishes and takeout containers outside of his door at regular intervals – 6 pm, when he wakes up and orders something, 8 pm, when he remembers to eat something, and 2 am, when he needs a snack to keep him going. You got home from work at 5, so it wasn’t hard to accommodate him. He exclusively eats Doordash, which saddens you a bit. When you made pasta for yourself one day, you decided to knock on his door and offer him a bowl of it. His eyes had widened, like you had offered him  a plate of solid gold.

“Really?” he’d said, receiving the bowl.

“Yeah, of course.” You had smiled at him sympathetically; it was really so easy to please him.

Heeseung had grinned at you. “Thank you, thank you.” He had taken a large bite of it and closed his eyes, nodding and pointing at the bowl. “You’re so good at cooking, wow. Wow, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“No really…you’re an angel. Like a domestic goddess.” Heeseung had looked you up and down. “You’re like a cute little maid.”

You laughed and walked away.

 His eating habits were one thing, but some things he does mystify you. He refuses to let you inside of his room, blocking your view of the door. You can catch a whiff of stale air whenever the door is cracked even slightly, which piques your interest. “It’s just really messy in here,” he’d tell you nervously. Heeseung only really comes out of his room to play Overwatch on the Smart TV in the living room. Other than that, he asks you periodically to bring him things when you get home from work.

There’s also one other issue: you swear your panties are going missing. Your favourite pair of panties has vanished, as well as a pair you generally wear when you’re on your period. You take care of all the laundry (including Heeseung’s own filthy boxers), so it’s impossible that you could have misplaced them. You don’t push anything, though.

Today is weird, though. When you get home, there’s a medium-sized package outside of the door. It has Heeseung’s name on it, so you bring it to his door and knock. “Heeseung, there’s something for you.”

Heeseung cracks the door open, his hair having grown even longer in the week you had been here. “Oh, no,” he says, pointing with a bony finger, “that’s for you.”

“Aw, Heeseung,” you say with a wide smile. “You got me something?”

Heeseung grins at you and shrugs. “It’s the least I can do. You do so much for me…I hope you like it.”

You excitedly open the package, but your smile drops when you see its contents: a cheaply-made maid outfit with spaghetti straps, white lace trim, and a skirt that would cover your panties and little else. “You…want me to wear this?”

“Yes,” Heeseung says, reaching out to touch your shoulder. “Come on, it’s just a dress. No one else will see.”

You sigh. He practically lets you live here for free, so you might as well play along. “What, you want me to wear it right now?”

Heeseung nods so vigorously you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his skinny little neck. You turn away to head to your room to change, but Heeseung’s grip on your shoulder tightens. “No. Change here.”

You whip your head to face him. “What?”

His gaze is steely now, his previous shyness having seemingly dissipated. “Change in front of me.” Then, as though he had been momentarily possessed, his softness returns. “Please? I don’t ask you for a lot, right?”

You swallow your pride and put the maid outfit on the ground. First, you remove your hoodie, revealing your tank top. As you fold up your hoodie, you can see Heeseung’s hand furiously moving in his boxers, which causes you to freeze.

“Keep going,” he says hoarsely, leaning his head back. Dread pools inside of your gut as you continue to strip. Soft, strained moans spill from Heeseung’s lips as he watches you strip down to your underwear. When you put on the maid costume, he carefully adjusts the straps of your dress with his slick hands. “Very nice,” Heeseung says. “Turn around for me?”

You turn, and you can feel the cool air of the apartment hitting your ass- the dress is that short. “So good,” Heeseung whispers. “You can take it off now.”

Your hands fumble with the hem of your dress, but Heeseung laughs. “Not here,” he says, removing his hands from your shoulder. “In your room, silly. And after you’re done, bring the dress to me, okay?”

You’re too dazed to question his instructions, and you’re all but too happy to get out of the dress. After you’re done changing, you hand the maid outfit to him. He smiles and takes it without a word.

Things go by relatively smoothly after that, and you almost wonder if you made that incident up. The only thing that has changed about his behavior is that he comes to see you more. Not for long, only a few minutes per day. If you make cookies, he’ll ask if he can try some of the dough or try a cookie. If you’re doing the laundry, he’ll ask you about your day as you fold.

You’re currently on your hands and knees scrubbing a particularly obstinate white stain on his couch when you hear Heeseung’s voice behind you. “You know, you should wear leggings more often,” he says.

You don’t turn to look at him. “Yeah, why?”

“They make your ass look perfect,” he says with a laugh. “Of course, it looks best naked.”

You’re about to ask him how he would know how your ass looks naked before he’s already wandered off. About two minutes later, you can hear him in his room playing a low-grade pornography, his own moans mixing in with the fake screams of pleasure from the women. You put your headphones on and try to drown the sound out- even the sound of Heeseung calling your own name.

This goes on for a while, and it only gets worse. Now he leaves his door open so the sound of him jerking off echoes through the apartment. When you’re trying to sleep, you can hear the severely un-titillating sounds of the brother-con hentai he watches.

One day, you’re rummaging through your underwear drawer trying to find your comfortable, plain bra. You realize that it’s missing, and your anger reaches a boiling point. You stomp over to his room and knock on the door. “Heeseung,” you growl.

Heeseung opens the door nonchalantly and smiles. “Hi,” he says innocently, “could you clean my room for me?”

“Could I what? Heeseung, did you steal m-,”

“And could you wear this while you do it?” As if he had been expecting you, Heeseung walks over to his bed and hands you the maid outfit, your missing bra, and that pair of your favorite panties. All of them were coated in globs of cum in various stages of hardening, especially your panties.

“Heeseung!” You take a step back from him. “I’m not doing that, for fuck’s sake.”

Heeseung just smiles at you. “I think you should.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Either you wear this, or make you pay your share of the rent.” Heeseung leans towards you, and you can smell his fruity, sickly breath. “The choice is yours, of course.”

“You’re insane,” you say, leaning away from him.

“Whatever. Now get in the maid outfit.”

Tears well in your eyes as you head to your room to don the most humiliating outfit you’ve ever seen. When you put the bra and panties on, his cum oozes out of them and drips onto the floor.  The maid outfit is sticky all over, and you shiver. You don’t even look yourself in the mirror before leaving your room to see Heeseung again. His hand is already wrapped around his dick by the time you walk out, his boxers resting around his ankles.

“Wait, wait,” Heeseung says, holding up his free hand. “Don’t walk to me. Crawl to me.”

The humiliation forces your head down as you sink to your hands and knees and crawl towards Heeseung. When he sees you at his feet, Heeseung smiles, still stroking his cock. “Such a cute little maid,” he says. “Now get up on your knees, come on. Be good.”

You prop yourself up on your knees, so that you’re level with his crotch. “Now,” he says softly, “open wide.”

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and Heeseung slides his cock into your mouth. When he does, he moans loudly, and he grabs at your hair. Heeseung fucks your mouth like it’s a pussy, and the musty state of his cock makes you gag the entire time. His balls slap against your face, and he keeps whimpering pathetically. His other hand reaches down and squeezes one tit after the other, and within no time he’s pulling his cock out of your mouth, tugging it hurriedly, and finishing all over your face. He tugs his boxers up to his waist again and sighs. “That was great,” he says, affectionately ruffling your hair. “Whenever you’re ready, you can come inside my room and tidy it up. I know it bothers you that I’m so messy…”

Your jaw is too sore to speak, and for a moment you just lie there on the floor in the hallway. None of it seems real, none of it makes sense to you. The worst part of it all is that you can feel wetness pooling in between your thighs, which makes you groan softly.

A little while later, Heeseung emerges from his room. He crouches down and strokes your hair. “You want me to get you something?” he asks soothingly. “Some water, juice?”

“Water would be nice.” You cough a few times. Heeseung gets up and comes back shortly with a bottle of water that he opens for you. You pull yourself up so that you’re sitting, legs crossed, and you drink the water while Heeseung pats your hair comfortingly. Once you calm down, you and Heeseung head inside of his room.

It’s disgusting, which is an understatement. The bed is unmade and piled with stained pillows, the floor is spattered with cum, his bookshelf is a horrid mishmash of coding textbooks and manga, his closet is filled with clothes, of which only half are on hangers. His desk area is relatively clean, but one of his three monitors is playing some filthy pornography. The other has Discord open, and the third has some weird game you don’t recognize open. Worst of all is the pocket pussy resting on his gaming chair.

You sigh. Seems like you have a lot of work to do.

--

Over the next few months, you start to realize that Heeseung is treating you like a pseudo-girlfriend. He changes your contract so that he pays for virtually all of the rent, as well as the groceries. He even gives you a hefty monthly allowance, enough that you can start building up your savings.

Of course, you doubt that a regular boyfriend would treat you the way Heeseung does. For one, ever since you cleaned his room the first time, he expects you to clean it every day while donning a humiliating outfit of his choosing. He likes to have you walk around in the apartment wearing striped microkinis, plaid skirts with black G-strings, nurse costumes, maid outfits, and an elaborate swimsuit cosplay of his favorite League of Legends character. He’ll watch you as you clean his room clad in whatever skimpy outfit he’s gifted you, commenting on your body. Other times, he’ll come up behind you as you’re in the kitchen or living room and grope your ass or tits before wandering back to his cave. That’s what he does on a regular basis.

Lately, he’s been fucking you. It started when you were eating a bowl of cereal before heading off to work. You had heard his room door creak open, then his dragging, lumbering footsteps.

“Good morning,” he had whispered, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You’ve got a little something…”

Before you could say anything, Heeseung had licked the tip of his finger and swiped up the bit of milk lingering by the corner of your mouth. He stuck his finger into his mouth, still hovering over you. Every time you took a bite of cereal, trying to finish up as quickly as you could, he would wipe your face and then suck the milk off of his fingers. His other hand rested on your shoulder, rubbing it slightly, until it slid down lower and lower. As he ran his thumb against the corner of your mouth, he slowly began groping your breasts. Heeseung pressed his lips against yours, both of his hands fondling you.

You had pulled your lips away. “Stop. I just ironed this shirt…”

“Sorry,” he had said, buttoning your shirt from behind. As soon as it was sufficiently open, he groped your tits directly, his lips on yours. He had a greedy, selfish way of kissing you; his tongue would slither down your throat, gagging you. Heeseung had unbuttoned the rest of your shirt, then he pushed your cereal to the side. He pushed you down onto the dining table, your chest pressing against the wood. You could feel his hands tugging your damp panties to the side.

“Such a nice pussy,” he had murmured. You heard him spit, then you felt cool fingers pumping themselves in and out of you. You bit your lip so you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan. Heeseung only prepped you just enough to get you wet, then he stuffed himself inside of you, inch by inch.

Your hands curled, desperately trying to find any purchase. It had been a long time since you had anything inside of you, and you welcomed the pleasure. But you couldn’t let Heeseung know that.

His gnarled fingernails dug into your soft flesh as he pounded away at you. He wasn’t particularly vocal, only making soft moans of pleasure. Sometimes, he would drag himself out of you, then slam back inside. He smacked your ass. “Just look at that shit jiggle,” he said breathlessly. “I want to try that out next…”

With that, he had slid his fingers into your tight hole, and you couldn’t hold back a gasp. Heeseung pumped his fingers in and out of the band of muscle, widening it. You had never taken anything up your ass before, and your toes curled in fear and anticipation.

You felt him slip out of your pussy, and the painful stretch of his cock opening your asshole replaced the pleasure you had previously felt. Heeseung groaned as he fucked your ass raw, only the precum that had dribbled from his cock for lube. Fortunately, he didn’t last, pumping your ass full with hot cum before pulling out of you. “Your pussy is definitely better,” he had muttered before walking away. While you rested against the table, trying to recollect yourself, you heard him booting up another game of League of Legends. With a palpable sense of shame, you finished yourself off right there as your cheek pressed against the table, your fingers wildly swirling against your engorged clit. You came with a shudder, then you darted into the bathroom to clean yourself up and go to work.

He never fucked your ass again, but your pussy and mouth were fair game for him. Whenever he sees you now, wearing the outfits he picks for you, he shoves his fingers down your throat. Once your throat is pliant and his fingers are coated in your spit, he either make you blow him or he fingers you wherever you are, his other hand stroking all over your body. Then he goes back into his room while you’re there, dripping wet. Heeseung likes having you wet all the time, so he can fuck you at his convenience.

Like right now, he was playing another game of Overwatch, hunched over his controller and eyes laser-focused on the screen. You were on your hands and knees, pushing yourself back and forth on his dick. This time, he had made you wear a cow-print bikini, complete with a bell; every time you fucked yourself on his cock, it would jingle.

“Fuck,” Heeseung says, voice ragged, “my team’s Tracer is so shit at kiting. It’s such a basic concept.”

“That really sucks,” you say through gritted teeth.

Heeseung reaches his hand out and touches your cheek, rubbing his thumb along your lips. “You’re such a good listener,” he coos, lazily thrusting as he removes his hand and continues playing his game. He soon stops moving, and you have to pick up his slack, rocking yourself as fast as you can so he can cum and be done with it. “Ah, stop going so fast,” Heeseung says, lightly slapping your ass. “I want to sync my nut up for when I use my ultimate.”

As you heed his instructions, you squeeze your eyes shut and tell yourself that homelessness is a far worse prospect than this, homelessness is bad, you wouldn’t like a homeless shelter.

It wasn’t like he didn’t jerk off anymore, either. He did, maybe even more than before he started using you. Heeseung liked to spread his legs, milk his cock right in front of you, then lick up the cum off of the couch while he told you to play with yourself. Whenever you got close to cumming, he would tell you to stop and do some task for him. Then, when you were scrubbing the dishes or wiping down his desk, he would plunge his cock into you and fuck you until you were twitching and crying out. Other times, he would make you sit in his room with him. He would sit you on his lap while he watched some degenerate hentai, and he would make you jerk him off while he fondled your tits and rubbed your clit.

Once, you went to bed early because you had a hard day at work. Your dream is odd; you’re running from a ghost in a dilapidated mansion. You can’t see it, but you can feel its presence. Then you feel it catch you, its hands wrapping around your waist, your tits. The ghost rubs your body slowly, almost tenderly, and you can feel its hardness pressing against your ass as you’re suspended in the air.

When you open your eyes, you realize that it wasn’t a dream, not quite. There is a hand that has slipped under your shirt, caressing your chest, and another hand on your waist. And someone is humping you, whimpering as he does. Quite belatedly, you realize that your pajama pants have been pulled down.

“Heeseung?” you whisper sleepily.

“Shh,” he says, “just go back to sleep, okay? I’ll be done soon.”

You’re too tired from everything to fight it, so your eyes flutter shut. Heeseung slowly thrusts into you, almost like he doesn’t want to wake you, and you smile slightly at the sentiment. He fucks you lazily and slowly, and only speeds up when he’s about to cum. He cums inside of you and uses his fingers to push his seed back up.

“Thanks for letting me do that,” he whispers before leaving you alone.

As you’re drifting to sleep again, you can hear him telling someone to, “Fucking stop camping.”

This is still better than being homeless.

[maxpounds]

My Roommate

Part One

Moving day arrived with the sun shining brightly over the city. I had decided to find a roommate to help pay the mortgage, since my salary at the clothing store wasn't enough. The idea of sharing my space with someone new made me feel both anxious and excited.

Erik arrived early, dressed in a large, comfortable tracksuit. He was a handsome 25-year-old, recently independent, working from home as a programmer. In contrast to my usual work suit and tie, his relaxed style caught my attention immediately.

"Hi, Frank," Erik said with a broad smile, extending his hand.

"Hi, Erik. Let me help you with the boxes," I replied, shaking his hand.

From our first meeting when he came to see the apartment, we got along well. As Erik unpacked his things and arranged them in his new room, I couldn't help but watch him. There was something about his presence that attracted me.

After a few hours of work, we finished settling everything. Erik collapsed onto the sofa, sweating slightly from the effort, and I noticed that his clothes, though large, didn't completely hide a slight roundness in certain areas of his figure. It was then that I understood why he had brought so much food. The fridge, which usually held my fruits and vegetables, was now packed with ready meals, cheese, whole milk, and various sauces. The cabinets were filled with pasta, rice, chips, cookies, and other snacks.

"Wow, you have quite an appetite," I commented, trying to sound casual as I observed his provisions.

Erik laughed. "Yeah, I like to eat."

I couldn't deny it puzzled me, but I decided not to dwell on it and simply accepted that my new roommate had a different lifestyle from mine.

One night, weeks later, I came home after a bad date. I was feeling disappointed and frustrated. To my surprise, I found Erik sitting on the couch with two empty pizza boxes beside him.

"Hey, Frank. How was the date?" he asked with a carefree smile.

"There was no spark," I said, shrugging.

Erik looked at me with interest. "Maybe he wasn't your type," he said, a sympathetic look on his handsome face. "Sometimes it's hard to find someone who we really click with."

I sank into the armchair across from him, feeling a bit better hearing his words. He always had a way of making me feel understood and less alone.

"Maybe you're right," I admitted, letting out a sigh.

As we talked, I noticed something different about Erik. His tracksuit no longer fit as loosely as when he moved in. In fact, his sweatshirt seemed to hide a growing belly. It was clear he was enjoying his food, and his body showed it. He got up and walked to the kitchen. His sweatpants clung to his rounder butt in a way I hadn't seen before. He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a huge tub of protein powder, which surprised me.

"Have you been to the gym?" I asked, trying to understand why he needed a protein shake after two pizzas.

Erik laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't go to the gym," he said as if the idea amused him.

"Oh. Well, I think it's time for me to go to bed."

"Goodnight, Frank."

Maybe he was right. Maybe the slim guy I went out with wasn't simply my type. I'd always been more attracted to burly men, bears.

One hot night in late spring, I woke up thirsty. I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. When I reached the doorway, I stopped in my tracks. The scene before me left me paralyzed. Erik was standing there, illuminated by the light of the open fridge. He was wearing only a pair of briefs that dug into his skin, highlighting his curves and revealing the increasing roundness of his body. His belly slightly spilled over the elastic waistband, and his thighs looked thicker, but what stood out the most was his butt. That round, prominent ass completely filled the underwear, stretching the fabric to its limit. Erik had a box of donuts on the counter and was eating one after another with insatiable voracity using his left hand. His right hand was inside his briefs, moving rhythmically as he masturbated. The pleasure on his face was undeniable. I couldn't help but stand there, silently watching. The sight of Erik pleasuring himself like that, enjoying the food and his own body, was mesmerizing. I felt my erection grow quickly.

I backed away from the doorway carefully, trying not to make any noise, and returned to my room. The image of Erik lingered in my mind: his increasingly plump body, his hands occupied with the donuts and his cock, the expression on his face. I knew something had changed within me and that my attraction to Erik had grown in a way I couldn't ignore.

Part Two

With the arrival of summer, the heat in our apartment became unbearable. Erik started walking around in just his briefs, and every time I saw him, my heart pounded harder. His physique had changed noticeably. His belly had grown larger and stuck out proudly. His butt had become even bigger and rounder. The briefs barely contained his cheeks, and the integrity of the fabric was tested with every move. Erik seemed comfortable with his body. Seeing him so natural and carefree drove me wild.

One afternoon, as we sat on the couch watching TV, I couldn't contain my curiosity. I looked at him intently and asked:

"Erik, are you... gaining weight on purpose?"

Erik remained silent for a moment, then a mischievous smile spread across his face.

"Yes, Frank, I am doing it on purpose."

"Why?" I asked.

"I've always been excited by the idea of gaining weight, feeling my body grow, my belly expanding, and my butt getting bigger. I love seeing how my clothes get tighter," he explained.

My eyes widened. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and at the same time, I felt incredibly aroused. His confession had only intensified my desire.

The next morning, as I headed to the kitchen to have coffee, I noticed the bathroom door was slightly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Erik in the shower. Water cascaded over his naked body, highlighting every curve, every fold of his skin. Watching his hands deliberately move over his fat belly, his chest, and then his enormous buttocks was fascinating. I clung to the door, my erection painfully hard. Unbeknownst to me, a damp spot formed in my briefs, a sign of my extreme arousal. Erik saw me. He didn't say anything, but his smile and the gleam in his eyes said it all. He pulled back the shower curtain and gestured for me to join him. Without thinking twice, I stepped into the bathroom. I quickly dropped my briefs to the floor and approached him. He turned, offering me his back. My eyes were fixed on his round, firm butt, a view I couldn't resist. I began to caress him, and Erik shuddered under my touch. I couldn't wait any longer; my throbbing cock sought its target. I aligned myself with him, and with a slow, deliberate motion, I entered him. The sensation was incredible. A moan escaped my lips. Erik arched back, bracing his hands against the shower wall as I started to move inside him. My hands gripped his love handles, and I increased the pace. The thrusts became stronger, more desperate, and Erik responded to each one with moans of pleasure. I felt his breathing quicken as we neared the climax. Finally, with a muffled cry, I came inside him. Erik shuddered and cried out too, his own orgasm following mine. We stayed like that, connected and panting, as the water continued to fall, washing away the sweat and passion we had shared.

That night, after a long day at work, I couldn't stop thinking about the morning's experience. When I got home, I found Erik relaxing on the sofa. I approached him and sat down beside him.

"Erik, there's something I need to tell you," I began, trying to keep my voice steady. "I love how fat you're getting. Especially your butt. It drives me crazy. And I want to see you get even fatter."

Erik smiled, his rounded face filled with satisfaction. "I like what I'm hearing, Frank."

I stood up and went to the kitchen, where I pulled a two-liter tub of ice cream from the freezer. Returning to the sofa, I placed it in front of Erik, who had already eaten two huge plates of pasta for dinner. His eyes lit up at the sight of the ice cream. I sat beside him and started feeding him. The ice cream melted in his mouth, and his lips moved with delight, swallowing each spoonful. My hand slid over his belly, feeling the fullness and warmth of his flesh under my fingers.

"That's it, Erik," I whispered in his ear, leaning in to kiss his neck. "I want you to eat it all. I want to see you grow."

After what seemed like hours, Erik finished the ice cream. He lay back on the sofa, his breathing heavy, his eyes locked on mine.

"Thank you, Frank," he murmured with gratitude and desire.

"This is just the beginning," I said.

I knelt before him, and ran my hands along his thick thighs. My fingers then played with his nipples while I kissed his belly. Erik panted as my mouth traveled down his body. I nibbled his cock through his briefs, feeling his hardness against my teeth. With a swift motion, I slid the garment down, and freed his erection. My tongue traced its length, savoring every inch before taking it into my mouth. My hands continued exploring, caressing his thighs and balls. Erik moaned and writhed. With a cry of pleasure, he came in my mouth. His hot cum filled my throat.

Part Three

A few months had passed, and Erik was incredibly fat. I woke up one morning to the sight of his enormous, round, jiggly butt resting on the bed next to me. I admired its size, along with the cellulite on his thighs and the stretch marks on his love handles. Still groggy, I moved closer and placed my hands on his buttocks, gently shaking them. The flesh wobbled, semthing that excited me like nothing else in the world. I lowered his new XXL briefs and kissed his cheeks with devotion.

"You've gained so much weight, Erik," I murmured against his skin. "And it turns me on so much seeing you like this."

Erik moaned in response, and my hands became bolder. I squeezed and kneaded his butt, feeling the fat beneath my palms as my tongue explored every inch too.

"I love you like this, so big, so sexy," I whispered.

Erik writhed in pleasure.

"Frank, bring me breakfast in bed," he requested. "I want to start the day well-fed."

I got up quickly, my erection throbbing with anticipation, and headed to the kitchen. I prepared a tray with everything I knew Erik loved: plenty of buttered toast, a cheese omelet, two enormous chocolate-filled croissants, and a giant protein shake made with equal parts of milk and cream.

When I returned to the bedroom, Erik was waiting for me, reclined on the bed with a satisfied smile on his face. I placed the tray in front of him and watched as his eyes lit up at the sight of the food.

"Perfect," Erik said.

I sat beside him. He began to eat with enthusiasm. The way he enjoyed each bite, the joy on his face as he ate, filled my heart with deep satisfaction. I thought about how incredible it was to see his body expand, full of fat, more beautiful each day. And I knew Erik loved it too, every bite, every touch, every look of desire.

When he finished breakfast, I stayed in bed watching him get up and walk to the bathroom. His body had changed so much over the past few months; it was an intoxicating spectacle.

"You're such a fat pig, Erik," I said, sliding my hand over my own body. "Look at all that meat moving. Damn, you're so obese."

Erik stopped and turned to me, his eyes shining with excitement. He loved it when I talked to him like that. I started to jerk off, watching every move of his body.

"You love being this fat, don't you?" I continued, my voice husky.

Erik moaned softly, his hands caressing his bloated belly, fingers tracing the stretch marks that adorned it.

"Yes, Frank. Tell me," he begged with desire. "Tell me how fat I am, how much more you're going to make me gain."

"You're insatiable," I whispered lustfully. "I'm going to keep feeding you. I want you to be the fattest man I've ever seen."

My hands moved more urgently, my eyes fixed on Erik's body.

"You look so sexy stuffed with food," I told him, feeling my own excitement reach its peak. "There's nothing I love more than watching you turn into a satisfied, obese pig."

Erik bit his lip, and I saw his own erection grow beneath his belly.

"Yes, Frank, make me fatter," he replied. "I can't wait to see how many more pounds I'll gain for you."

With those final words, I came, my semen shooting across the room.

Final Part

It was Saturday, and I decided we needed to go to a buffet. Erik was sitting on the couch in his now extremely small XXL briefs, his enormous belly resting on his thighs. I watched him for a moment before saying:

"Today we're going to a buffet, and I want you to wear something tight. I want everyone to see how big you've gotten."

Erik nodded, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He went to his room, and I followed, knowing he would choose the tightest clothes he had. He opted for a shirt that clung to his belly, highlighting every roll, and pants that squeezed his thighs and huge butt. I felt instantly aroused seeing him like that.

We arrived at the buffet, a paradise of greasy, abundant food, and we took our seats.

"I want you to eat non-stop. OK? Do not stop until I tell you to."

Erik nodded, stood up, and headed to the buffet tables. He returned with something for me and a plate full of pizza, fries, and fried chicken for himself. I watched him eat, savoring every bite he took. When he finished, I said:

"Go for more."

Erik got up and fetched another plate. This time he returned with burgers, onion rings, and more fries. The obvious pleasure on his face as he filled his body with more and more greasy food was thrilling.

"You're a fat pig," I whispered when he finished. "Eat more; I want to see you get even bigger."

Erik obeyed without question, rising again to get more food. I watched him walk, his huge, round butt bouncing with every step. He came back with a plate of mac and cheese and ribs. His belly was already peeking out from under his shirt.

"More, Erik. Don't stop," I ordered as he took the last bite.

Once again, he obeyed, getting up with difficulty, his tight clothes highlighting every inch of his fat. He returned with several pieces of cake.

We went home hours later. As soon as we got in, Erik collapsed heavily on the couch. I approached him, my excitement palpable.

"You're pure lard, Erik," I whispered, starting to undress him.

First, I removed his shirt, releasing his broad chest and enlarged nipples. My fingers caressed them, and Erik moaned.

"Look at you, with those huge tits and that round belly. You're such a glutton."

I struggled to remove his pants, the fabric clinging to his thick thighs and butt, which looked like two beach balls. He was left in his briefs, which I slowly pulled down, revealing his erect member, partially buried in his pubic fat.

"I love how huge you've gotten."

My hands roamed his body, groping his soft flesh. I caressed his swollen belly, feeling its warmth and smooth texture. Then I directed a hand to his cock and began to stroke it. Every movement made everything jiggle, especially his nipples, which bounced with each thrust.

"You're so sexy, so obese. Tomorrow we'll go back to the buffet," I murmured, increasing the pace of my movements.

Erik moaned louder and climaxed, his hot semen spurting into my hands. I fed it to him, then kissed him, feeling a deep satisfaction knowing I had helped him become the man he so desired to be.

[versairic]

Thunderstorm | MV1

In which a thunderstorm passes over the city and Max helps an employee who is afraid of thunderstorms to survive the storm

pairing - max verstappen x reader

words - 3077

warning - fear of thunderstorms

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The sky became increasingly cloudy. The clouds came closer and closer together, so that within a few minutes the blue sky disappeared and it became darker and darker.

The sun had been shining with all its might for the last few minutes, so it didn't even look like the weather would change in a few minutes.

The Dutchman squinted his eyes slightly to acclimatise his pupils to the now dark hotel room.

The dark heavy curtains were wide open and revealed the dark - almost black - sky.

"That's it for the jog, Rupert," he muttered quietly to himself, leaving his running shoes lying carelessly in the corner.

Max was actually grateful to the weather that he didn't have to go for another long jog after the exhausting Media Day and was more or less chased through the city by Rupert.

The Media Day was sometimes even more strenuous than the Saturdays or Sundays when the drivers spent most of their time in the car.

They had to face countless questions and answers from various reporters and also shoot one or two pieces of content for social media.

By the end of the day, some of the drivers' heads were already pounding and they enjoyed the peace and quiet in their hotel room, where they were alone and didn't have to talk to anyone.

So the Dutchman peeled himself out of his sportswear and swapped it for a pair of cosy jogging bottoms and a hoodie before taking the few steps to the huge hotel room window and standing in front of the glass.

By now, one or two drops had already broken free from the cloud, leaving small, shiny trails on the balcony that sparkled like diamonds in the weak light of the outdoor lighting.

It wasn't long before the rain became heavier and the odd puddle formed within a short space of time.

Without paying any further attention to the weather outside, which would continue to wreak havoc throughout the evening, Max drew the heavy dark curtains and then dropped onto the hotel bed.

The white bed linen, which already looked as sterile as hospital bed linen, was cold and scratchy.

A soft sigh escaped Max's lips as he reached out for the small bedside lamp, which soon became the only source of light in the room.

Even if he hadn't really wanted to go jogging with Rupert, his personal trainer, he now had even more free time that he didn't really know what to do with.

He had been scrolling through social media for the last fifteen minutes, which had turned out to be pretty boring after a while, so his mobile phone was left lying carelessly on the small bedside table - with the display facing downwards.

The large flat screen TV hanging on the wall opposite his hotel bed attracted the attention of the 4x world champion and shortly afterwards it was no longer too quiet in the hotel room.

Some kind of trash TV episode was playing, but the Dutchman didn't pay too much attention to it.

It was crazy how much you could get bored in a hotel room. You might think you needed the peace and quiet after the hectic days on the track and used the peace and quiet to recharge your social battery, but that wasn't always the case.

Often times, the loneliness and quiet was even worse and made you literally die of boredom and in those moments you actually wished for the hustle and bustle back so that you had something to do.

So Max switched back and forth between the different channels - none of them offered any entertainment programme that could even begin to entertain and distract Max, so that the world champion's hotel room was plunged back into silence shortly afterwards.

Until suddenly a loud clap of thunder sounded. The thunder rumbled low and menacingly over the horizon, as if to challenge the silence, before a flash of lightning bathed the sky in bright light and illuminated Max's hotel room, despite the drawn curtains.

The Dutchman was startled by the force of the thunder, causing the remote control to slip out of his hand and sail under the hotel bed.

"Verdomde," he mumbled quietly and freed himself from the scratchy bed linen to fish the remote control out from under the hotel bed as he suddenly paused.

There was something. A noise. A soft noise that sounded like a whimper. However, it had sounded so briefly and then disappeared again that Max had the feeling that he had imagined the whimpering.

In the dark, he groped around under the bed, hoping to find the remote control somehow, while the bed linen scratched under his touch.

The rumble of thunder sounded in the background and the lightning lit up the hotel room for a few seconds at a time.

And then it was suddenly there again. The whimpering and a short, soft scream, which made Max stop moving.

Was the noise coming from the corridor or from the room next to him?

The Dutchman got up and stood so that he was in the centre of the small corridor so that he could listen more closely to see whether the noise was coming from the hotel corridor or the room next door.

He listened intently. His ears pricked up almost like a cat, he literally waited for the sound to come again.

And sure enough. There it was again. With the next thunder, which was now carried directly over the city and the hotel by the storm, a louder, almost panicked whimper sounded.

Without thinking twice, Max opened his room door and peered out into the dark corridor. There was no one to be seen or heard.

So was it possible that the noise was coming from the room next to him?

Almost frantically, he began to think about whose room was next to his.

The whole team had been spread out on this floor so that all the employees were close enough to each other and even the drivers and the team boss had their rooms in the immediate vicinity.

But even through the spasmodic deliberation, the Dutchman just couldn't think of who owned the room next to him - but it didn't matter, because when the continued rumble of thunder was accompanied by a yell, Max scurried over to the room next to him on his socks and, without hesitation, raised his hand and started knocking.

And just at that moment, his own room door slammed shut and locked the Dutchman out - without having taken his key card with him.

Verdomde! he cursed quietly in his mind.

He heard soft footsteps at the other end of the door until it opened with a squeak and Max saw nothing but darkness.

" Uhm, hello..." Max greeted the unknown person, who he still couldn't see. What was he doing here anyway?

"H-hi," a squeaky, almost tearful voice came back to the Dutchman. In his memories, he tried to match the voice, which he clearly recognised, to a face. But he couldn't think of a face to go with the voice.

" I...um...I heard noises and it sounded a bit worrying, so I wanted to check if everything was all right? But apparently it is. I'm really sorry for the disturbance," stammered the Dutchman as he slapped himself in the forehead.

Maybe it was nothing or maybe he had just caught her and her partner having sex and had put his foot in his mouth. It would be best if he turned round and left.

And just as he turned round to leave, the thunder started again - this time even more intense, making it feel like the hotel was starting to shake.

There it was again, the whimpering sound he had heard and it came directly from the woman he had not yet identified.

The Dutchman looked over his shoulder at the young woman who had now switched on the light and Max knew immediately who it was.

The new PR manager, who had been on her first assignment this weekend and had done such a good job that she had immediately made a good impression on Checo, Christian and him.

In the flickering light of the lamp, Max could clearly see the wet cheeks of the young woman, who couldn't have been much younger than himself.

His heart automatically tightened slightly and he reflexively bit his lips for a few seconds so as not to bombard her with countless questions.

Max had always been an empathetic and helpful person - he had inherited that from his mum.

"I'm fine," her voice sounded brittle and quiet as she scrunched up her nose.

Max knew, however, that she was anything but fine. New tears were already shimmering in her eyes, threatening to roll down her reddened cheeks as she stood there, quite intimidated and afraid.

" I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it. You know, I'm a pretty good listener and I don't judge. "

Max didn't know if this was the right way to help the young woman confide in a stranger, but he didn't want to leave her behind. Not so sad and fragile.

The young woman hesitated briefly until she opened the door wider and let Max inside her dark hotel room.

The hotel room had the same layout as Max's except that it was mirror-inverted.

The only light in the room came from a small night light from the Disney film Lilo & Stitch.

Max recognised the blue monster Stitch immediately, as his sister had been quite fond of the film and the character when she was younger.

The curtains were drawn so neatly that not a single ray of light could shine through.

The young woman dropped onto the bed and pulled a blanket over her cute pyjamas, which she must have been embarrassed for the Dutchman to see.

"Why don't you sit down?" she said quietly but in a gentle voice and gently tapped the end of the bed.

Unlike in Max's hotel room, the bed linen was turquoise and embroidered with small flowers, although Max was immediately sure that she had brought the bed linen from home and swapped it for the disgusting hotel bed linen - it was perhaps worth considering doing the same.

After the Dutchman had settled down on the turquoise bed linen and his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he looked around a little and recognised nothing but order and cleanliness.

Hotel rooms always told you what a person was like. And the new PR manager seemed to be quite tidy and structured - as the lined-up suitcases and books revealed.

"I'm sorry if I've disturbed you..." the young woman's voice caught Max's attention again, causing the Dutchman to take his eyes off the hotel room and look over at her.

She was wiping her nose and then wiped her eyes with a handkerchief to make the few tears disappear.

"You didn't. I really didn't. I was worried and thought I'd just check that everything was OK," Max revealed to her, eliciting a gentle smile.

"Thank you..." she began as she started to search for the right words. " That's really sweet of you. "

Max returned her gentle smile and was about to ask her another question when the thunder rolled deep and ominously through the hotel room, as if it were trying to make its way through the walls. A first, hesitant rumble arose before it grew into a powerful, vibrating roar that made the windows shake.

The air seemed to vibrate and the walls, which were otherwise so safe and calm, seemed to shake for a moment, as if the hotel itself was feeling the force of the storm.

Lightning flashed brightly through the room, illuminating the corners for a moment and making the shadows of the furniture dance like fleeting ghosts.

The thunder rolled on, at irregular intervals, sometimes near, sometimes far, but never really disappearing - a continuous rumble that enveloped the room in an oppressive, harsh atmosphere.

And this thunder caused the person opposite him to flinch violently and disappear under the embroidered bed linen.

And then Max finally understood what was going on.

She was terrified of thunderstorms.

"Hey," Max's voice rang softly through the room.

He knew exactly what the fear of thunderstorms could feel like.

The rapidly beating heart, the shiver that ran through your whole body, the squinting of your eyes to somehow block out the lightning and your body paralysed with fear.

Max knew all too well how the young Red Bull employee must feel. After all, he had experienced the same fear for years as a child.

"I-I'm so scared," whispered the younger girl muffled under the duvet as she trembled all over and the tightness in her chest just wouldn't go away.

Her fear of thunderstorms was particularly heightened when she wasn't in familiar surroundings - her home.

Although she couldn't easily cope with the fear of thunderstorms at home either, she was able to relax better at home than here in the hotel room, which was foreign to her.

"It's okay," Max assured her cautiously, glad that she had opened up to him. "I know the fear of thunderstorms. I was afraid of thunderstorms for years as a child too. Can I help you?"

She slowly lifted her head from under the duvet and nodded as her fingers dug into the fabric of the bed linen.

"What else helps you with your anxiety? Have you got any tea to calm you down? Or are you listening to music, doing breathing exercises, talking or doing something that's good for you, like painting? " Max asked her as he clearly noticed how she slowly began to relax.

" I...I'm drinking tea. There... there's camomile and lavender in front," she carefully reached out from under the blanket and pointed over to the small sideboard, on which there was a travel kettle, a cup and two packets of tea.

Max nodded sympathetically and ran over to the sideboard to prepare everything for the tea.

They could still hear the thunderstorm raging over the hotel. The thunder had become a little quieter by now, but Max kept noticing the rustling of the bedspread and spotted the young woman flinching out of the corner of his eye.

" Ninja Turtles and Stitch, huh? " Max asked with a grin and pointed to the mug with the four Turtles printed on it.

" Uhm, yeah. I know, I'm a total freak," the young woman on the bed laughed softly - that was good. A good sign that Max was slowly managing to distract her from the storm.

"You said that now, not me. But the Turtles are really cool. Shall I tell you a secret? " he grinned as he came back to the bed with the cup and handed it to her.

Her long, thin fingers wrapped themselves around the hot cup as she took a light sniff of the tea, which would fill the whole room with the scent of lavender within a few minutes.

"I won't say no to a secret," she grinned as she leaned against the end of the bed and indicated to Max that he should sit down so that he didn't continue to sit uncomfortably on the edge of the bed.

Without thinking twice, Max did the same and leant his back against the upholstered headboard of the bed.

"I recently adopted a third cat and it's actually named after one of the turtels," he grinned, causing the young woman to start giggling softly.

And the giggle was indeed a lovely sound that filled the room and Max wished he could hear it a little longer.

"Really? Which one is it? "

Now he had the young woman's full attention, who scrutinised the Dutchman with curiosity while a warm smile spread across her lips.

"Well, I'm not going to make it that easy for you," he grinned cheekily and crossed his legs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the PR manager tilt her head and think for a few seconds before sipping her tea.

"His name is Donatello," she then said, hitting the bull's eye. Max's new cat was indeed named after the purple Ninja Turtle.

The Dutchman's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly.

The Dutchman's eyes grew wide as his mouth opened slightly.

"How...?" he stammered, actually wondering how she had come up with it. Everyone else he had told about his cat so far had bet that the cat's name was Leonardo.

"It's quite simple. And I'll be happy to explain it to you," she took another big sip from her cup before placing it on the dessert table next to her and continuing:

"He's intelligent, like you. You help with the development of the car and you also know exactly where the problem is if there is one with your car. You've also become incredibly relaxed with every World Championship title, no longer as hot-headed as you were back then. You are loyal to your team, although in difficult times it would have been understandable if you had looked for a better team - as one or two other drivers have already done. But not you, you are loyal to Red Bull and always emphasise how happy you are with the team and that you will finish your career at Red Bull. Donatello also has all these qualities - in other categories, but he is the most similar to you of the Turtels."

Wow, that was really impressive, thought Max. No one else had ever seen and analysed it in the same way as the young woman opposite him.

"That... that's impressive," he said part of his thoughts out loud.

"Thank you," she grinned and bowed playfully to him.

And so the two of them had a little guide that took them from one conversation to the next and the young woman began to forget more and more about what she had been afraid of just a moment ago. And thanks to the Dutchman, who sat next to her on the bed and laughed with her, this fear simply disappeared.

And the young woman couldn't be more grateful to the Dutchman. So the thunderstorm moved on towards the next village.

But even when the thunderstorm had passed completely and peace returned to the town, the two continued to talk until they fell into a peaceful sleep next to each other, knowing full well that this was just the beginning of something big.

[sflow-er]

A few notes on Linda's salary and the Erikssons' financial situation

I looked into this topic when @crownedwille brought it up in some tags a while ago. I abandoned it because I didn't think it would be that interesting after all, but the discussion started by @mydignityisinflames on @young-royals-confessions inspired me to finish the draft.

I was going to copy and paste it all in a reblog, but it got too long so... Here it is as a separate meta post!

Linda's job

As of S2, we know for sure that Linda is a registered nurse (sjuksköterska). This means she's completed a three-year (180 credit) higher education programme in nursing. We don't know if she's completed a specialist nurse's programme on top of that, but it isn't required to work at the youth clinic (ungdomsmottagningen or UMO).

Youth clinics are public clinics for people aged 12 to 22, primarily providing services related to sexual and mental health. Nurses there examine patients and take samples for lab testing etc., but they also counsel and reassure young people who come to them with concerns. (This explains why Carmen's post-S1 interview with the PRP actually gave me the impression that Linda was a youth counsellor instead.)

Anyway, Linda herself confirms in S3 that she works at the UMO. Both the Swedish CC and the subs have her telling Simon to be glad she doesn't make him "go" there every week for drug testing - but if you listen to her words, she actually says come in (komma in). This indicates that she works there.

Linda's monthly income and how it compares

We can estimate Linda's salary quite confidently by looking at relevant statistics from 2020 and 2021 when the show is set.

As a registered nurse working at a youth clinic, Linda is employed in the public sector. More specifically, by the municipality.

As of S3, we also know she is working in the region that is called Östra Mellansverige (Eastern Central Sweden) in the statistical data. Bjärstad's location was kept vague for a long time, but the letter that Simon received in S3 included their address. Bjärstad's post/zip code was written as 58581 - a made-up code that puts them in the Linköping area. The closest real-world equivalent (58580, Ljungsbro) is just northwest of Linköping itself.

Here are the most relevant stats on monthly income (before taxes):

The average monthly income in Sweden was SEK 36,100 in 2020 and SEK 37,100 in 2021.

For non-specialist registered nurses employed in the municipal sector, specifically in Östra Mellansverige, average monthly income was SEK 38,300 in 2020 and SEK 40,000 in 2021. Their average base salary in this region (without any additions for evening/night shifts, weekends, experience etc.) was SEK 37,000 / 38,500.

In other words, Linda's monthly income should be pretty close to the national average. Maybe even slightly higher based on region, even though she may not work in the evenings or weekends as the UMO may not be open.

In a survey conducted in 2022, a household with children was considered low income if two parents' combined monthly income before taxes was less than SEK 42,000, or if a single parent's monthly income before taxes was less than SEK 29,500.

So, the Erikssons are not low income by definition. This fits the impression we get from their house, as well as details such as Sara having learned how to ride before Hillerska.

However, it is also clear from the show that they cannot necessarily afford larger surprise expenses such as Simon's tutoring. That makes sense when Linda is paying for everything herself. Her income may be slightly above the national average, but it falls between the numbers considered low income for a single-parent vs. two-parent household.

I guess we could call them a medium-income household, but towards the lower end.

About the house

It was indirectly revealed in S3 that Micke was the one who moved out when he and Linda separated. That's the only way Simon can have lived in their current house for fourteen years (i.e. since 2006/2007):

Back in S1, when Sara said Linda should have left Micke when everything started, Simon protested that they wouldn't have had anywhere to live. This sounds like Linda was still financially dependent on Micke when the kids were small. It was probably Micke who originally bought or rented the house for his family (although the property, mortgage and/or lease could have still been in both their names).

Linda and Micke's assets will have been split 50:50 at the time of their divorce. If the house was bought rather than rented, she likely had to take out a new mortgage to buy him out. Mortgages in Sweden typically have very long payment terms, so it's likely there was still quite a bit left to pay, and the value of the property had increased in the meantime.

If the house is a rental, the rent will have gone up over the years. Based on a quick look at places for rent in Linköping, many terraced house units of that size currently cost SEK 11,000 to 18,000 per month. We don't know what the rent would have been in 2020/2021, but we can assume it would have taken a pretty big chunk of Linda's single income.

Anyway, it is a nice house. Especially if it's a rental, paying for it does put a strain on the Erikssons' finances, even though they aren't struggling as such.

About Hillerska

I had not meant to include this at all, but as there was some confusion on the confessions blog, it should be noted that Linda doesn't have to pay for Simon and Sara to attend Hillerska. Even private schools in Sweden haven't been allowed to charge tuition fees since 2014. They do charge very high boarding fees, but that's why Sara got a grant to board in S2. So in principle, Hillerska shouldn't be more expensive than Marieberg, although it is possible that school outings may cost a bit more and there may also be other more or less voluntary extra costs (e.g. private tutoring or equipment for extracurriculars).

If you want to read more about the boarding school fees, you can check out this post.

About Simon's summer jobs

I don't think Simon's lines here are meant to be taken as in, "Simon has to contribute to the family economy" or "Simon has to pay for all his own stuff." Linda keeps her children clothed, buys the things they need for their hobbies and presents for their birthdays (e.g. Sara's jodhpurs), and based on her phone call in S3, is even planning to take them abroad to see family.

The key here is the line about Wille and the other rich kids getting everything they want for free, including designer clothes or spontaneous trips to New York. Simon is simply saying he and Ayub need to make some money of their own to do activities and buy things they don't strictly need but want.

Simon and Ayub have been applying for summer jobs hos kommunen, with the municipality. These jobs are only offered for part of the summer (typically three weeks) because the municipality has a limited number of positions available and they want to employ as many applicants as possible. The duties usually involve helping out at municipal services and facilities, e.g. preschools, care facilities for the elderly, facilities for sports and leisure, museums, public parks, and so on. The municipality may also support local businesses and non-profitable associations in offering some positions as well.

Some examples by age:

14-year-olds: simple duties, e.g. mowing lawns or distributing newspapers; reasonable hourly wage SEK 50–80

15 to 16-year-olds: more complex duties mainly in the municipal sector, e.g. working with children, in leisure activities or with the elderly; reasonable hourly wage SEK 80–100

17 to 18-year-olds: increasingly complex duties and more opportunities to find work in the private sector, e.g. cashier work, customer service, simple administrative tasks, hospitality industry; reasonable hourly wage SEK 100–140

I wonder what kind of summer jobs Simon, Sara and Ayub have been doing (and Rosh too, other than the football camp). When outlining my post-S1 summer fic, I had imagined Simon applied to work with children while Sara chose park/garden maintenance because she found it calming after the stormy spring, but that was a long time ago (and the details never even made it into the fic).

__

Anyway, I think that was all the stuff I meant to cover! As always, I may well be wrong about something, and further discussion is very welcome.

[eamour]

hi ella💐 hope ur doing well!! i wanted to share a couple of success stories that have happened over the last 3 months. 💓

some of them happened without even really affirming it and others happened because i affirmed repeatedly.

1. in may i scripted that i had a trust fund that has maybe about 1.5 million dollars. and so like a week after i scripted that me and my family were sitting at the dinner table and my dad told me i had a trust fund and it’s already in the millions!! i was so shocked that it materialised so quickly😭

2. about 2 weeks ago i started affirming that i can complete my school work easily and quickly and i actually have motivation for it. im homeschooling and this was my biggest issue with it and recently i’ve realised that i actually look forward to it more‼️

3. in about less than 2 hours i manifested that i wouldn’t have to ask “this person” (idk how to describe it) to do something for me and that they would just do it and text me that they did that thing for me. for this one i listened to a subliminal and affirmed repeatedly for about 5 minutes maybe. i tend not to pay attention to time when i affirm and that works really well for me🍀

4. i manifested having 1000 dollars in my account because i didnt have much money in my account. this one was also kind of unexpected because i just kept on saying “money always comes back to me” maybe like twice a day and i got the money yesterday ‼️‼️

5. probably my favourite one because i’ve been in the loa community since 2022 and over complicating it was such a issue for me or even conditioning my desires so i’ve been affirming that everything comes easily to me. just here and there throughout the day and i also meditate in the mornings while affirming. 🧼

i’ve also loved subliminals made my slade on youtube and they just help keep programme my mind so i’ll link my favourites. i recommend listening to them if u feel anxious alot about ur desires. my advice is just to sit back and relax because ur desires are urs no matter what💓💐

🍀 https://youtu.be/1PVudDkTwnk?si=7ozuRCMGwB3h8DeD

🍀 https://youtu.be/Uu_BZvtQ8bk?si=i3_rvCjGkOc-j4TS

hello babes 💗

first of all, i'm doing great, and i hope so do you! second of all, congratulations!!! this is just so wonderful 🥹 i'm really really happy for you <3

thank you for sharing your success story (!), and i hope you'll get the rest of your desires as soon as possible! 🫶

[gor3-hound]

silver lining

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, hybrid!reader, very brief suicide mention, p in v, creampie, daddy kink, a LOT of pet names

a/n: hiii! throwing out some (kinda) fluffy smut for once lmao. mainly picturing vendetta leon, but any older leon works tbh. i'm so tired, so if you see typos, no, you don't >:[ hope you enjoy !!

word count: 1.7k words

Raccoon City was something that Leon would never forget. It's been years since the incident, and he still wakes up in a cold sweat some nights with nightmares of the things he'd seen.

It's fucked him up in more ways than one. He would have killed himself a long time ago if he was sure that Sherry would be safe. The “top secret programme” the government so lovingly initiated him into isn't the way he saw his life going - but if it kept her safe, he'd grit his teeth and bare it.

Sure, he's made his peace with it, but it doesn't make it any less difficult. He runs around like the government's personal lap dog and then comes home and drinks himself half to death. It's a routine he's gotten used to, and he doesn't plan on changing it anytime soon.

But it gets lonely. He's not a stranger to flirting with a pretty girl in the bar, but he never manages to get them to stay. He's not sure he's capable of forming a relationship anymore. Work always comes up, and no woman seems to want to stick around when he disappears for weeks or months at a time.

When he was younger, he always wanted a dog. That was another thing Raccoon City took from him. He still flinches when a dog moves too fast near him or gets too close. He's never been a cat person, either. Thinks they're grumpy bastards at the best of times.

He leaves it at that for a while. Looks like he's destined to be alone. Whatever. He's used to it by now. Or he thinks so, at least, until he starts to hear about hybrids becoming more commercially available as pets.

They've been around for a while, sure, but they were the type of exotic pet rich assholes buy to show off. He hears about the new hybrid adoption center opening in his city and spends one of his only weekends off doing a shit ton of research. He's not entirely convinced, but he figures there's no harm in taking a look. As soon as he spots you, he knows he's smitten. Bat your pretty lashes at him, and he'd do anything you asked.

You're the cutest little puppy girl he's ever seen. Fluffy ears atop your head, your tail wagging so fast behind you it's practically a blur. He doesn't even think about it when he calls a worker over, paying for you then and there. He doesn't even blink at the amount of money you cost him. He'd sell a kidney to be able to afford you if he needed it. At least the government pays well.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's been a few months since he brought you home with him. You were a pain in the ass at first, constantly bouncing around his apartment. Your tail was a hazard, always knocking things off his table and breaking things.

He wouldn't change it for the world, though. You've become the highlight of his day. He finds himself smiling as he opens the door to his apartment, hearing you thunder towards the front door as he walks in. He can't help but chuckle as you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning up to lick at his face.

“Alright. Easy, girl. Easy.” He says with a smile, pushing you off him and ruffling your hair as he steps past you. He shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up and settling on the couch. “I had a long day, y'know? Could at least let me through the door before you jump all over me.”

“But I missed you.” You whine as he pushes you away from him, following him closely as he moves to sit on the couch.

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too, pup.” Leon says with a grin, patting his lap. He waits for you to jump in his lap, leaning back comfortably. “C'mere, then. Don't you wanna come sit with daddy?”

Your tail wags lazily behind you as you shift closer, straddling his lap happily. His hands settle on your waist to tug you closer, and he rubs small circles into you with his thumb.

“Missed you.” You repeat softly, cuddling close to him.

“You’re a sweet girl.” He nuzzles his nose into your head and caresses your hair. “A good girl…” 

Leon hums quietly and his hand starts to wander along your side and up towards your chest. “And beautiful, too. Can't believe I got so lucky, baby.”

You giggle softly at that, tail wagging just a little bit faster as you press your chest into his hand, shivering as his thumb brushes your sensitive nipple over your shirt.

“D'you wanna play with me, daddy?” You ask softly, trying to press as close to him as possible. Your hips start moving on their own, rutting your aching pussy against the hard muscle of his thigh. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He always smells so good when he gets back from work, sweat clinging to his skin. 

“I just got back, baby. What's got you so worked up, huh?” He teases softly, grabbing your hips and adjusting them so you're grinding down onto his steadily hardening cock over his pants instead. He groans softly, reaching around to pet the base of your sensitive tail.

That gets a twitch and a whine from you, making the corner of his mouth tug up into a lazy smile. He rocks his hips up into you until he's fully hard and leaking.

“Alright, alright. C'mon, puppy. Let's get you to bed.” He grunts, trying to act like he isn't as desperate as you. His voice is low and gravelly, brows furrowed in concentration as he lifts you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

He plops you down on the bed, kicking his shoes off and pulling off his jacket. His hands roam your body, tugging off your clothes as he runs his palms along your curves. His eyes take you I'm greedily, his hands working to undress himself instantly.

“Fuck.” He groans as you shift on your hands and knees, ass up in the air as soon as you see his cock. His cock twitches, pre-cum leaking and staining his stomach. “Always so eager…”

All he gets is a whine and an ass wiggle in response. You lift your tail straight up, presenting your glistening pussy for his hungry eyes. “Daddy, please…”

“Yeah, yeah. I got you.” He murmurs, settling between your legs. He runs the pads of two fingers between your glistening folds, dragging them from your clit to your entrance, gathering the slick dripping from you before pushing them inside.

He thrusts them in and out a few times, letting you get used to the intrusion. Not that you need it - your pussy is always so drippy, sucking him in greedily every chance it gets. He curls his fingers, earning a low moan from you, your cute ears pressing firmly against your head.

“That's it.” He coos, repeating the action every time his fingers are half buried inside of you. “There's my good girl. You want my cock, don't you, sweet thing?”

All you can manage is to babble please repeatedly, already so desperate for him. He's not sure how he ever managed without you. You always make him feel so wanted, and not just when he's buried balls deep inside of you. It's nice. Makes an unfamiliar warmth build in his chest, something he hasn't felt since he was still a bright-eyed kid in the police academy.

“Don't worry, baby, I got what you need.” He says softly, pulling his fingers out of you and rubbing your juices onto the sheets before grabbing your hips. His breath hitches as he slides his length into your tight heat, his head tilting back in pleasure before he lets out a low moan.

He leans over you, pressing some of his weight against you as he starts to thrust slow and deep. He presses his lips to the back of your neck before leaning back, his thrusts picking up in pace.

“Such a pretty puppy.” He groans, gripping your tail to pull you back against him every time he fucks into you. The room is filled with your needy moans and the sounds of your sloppy pussy.

“Daddy…” you whine, drool spilling past your lips and onto the pillow your face is smashed against. He can feel you tightening around him, so he knows you're close. He adjusts his angle slightly so he rubs up against that sweet spot that makes you see stars every time he pushes in.

“C'mon, cum for me, pretty girl.” He grunts, hand tightening on your tail as the other slides up from your hip to your waist, giving him more leverage ti rock you back onto his cock.

“Fuck, daddy… cummin’!” You moan, your walls clenching so tight around him you almost push him out. He presses his hips against your ass and thrusts shallowly, keeping him buried deep inside of you as his tip grinds against your cervix.

His mouth hangs open as he feels you gushing all over him, his breath caught in his throat as his cock jumps and kicks against your cervix, the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him making him shoot ropes of his cum deep inside of you.

You whine softly again, slumping against the crumpled sheets. His breathing is slightly heavy as he drops his weight on you, pressing you against the bed.

You grunt at the feeling of him dropping on top of you, wriggling yourself free with a soft huff. You cuddle up to him after, ignoring the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. You give him a few locks to his stubble cheeks before cuddling up to him with a smile.

“Sleepy.” You huff softly, nuzzling into his neck with a content sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. He lazily wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer to him and petting your back.

“I bet. C'mon, baby. Think we deserve a nap.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead before letting his eyes shut, too.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[BBC is UK State Media]

On Wednesday night, Israel bombed several military targets in Syria, including two airports – Hama military airport and the T4 base near Homs.

Syria's foreign ministry said the bombardment virtually destroyed the Hama base. [...]

Shortly afterwards, Israel's foreign minister accused Turkey of playing a "negative role" in Syria, and Israel's defence minister warned Syria's interim president, Ahmed al-Sharaa, that he would "pay a very heavy price" if he allowed "hostile forces" to enter his country.

Ankara is currently negotiating a joint defence pact with Sharaa's new government, and there have been widespread reports that Turkey is moving to station aircraft and air defence systems at Syria's T4 and Aleppo airbases.[...]

After the air strikes on Wednesday, Turkey's foreign ministry accused Israel of destabilising the region by "both causing chaos and feeding terrorism" and said it was now the greatest threat to the security of the region.

But foreign minister Hakan Fidan told Reuters news agency that his country was not seeking confrontation with Israel, and that Syria could set its own policies with its southern neighbour.[...]

Charles Lister, head of the Syria Programme at the US-based Middle East Institute, which studies the region, has counted more than 70 ground incursions into south-west Syria since February, describing this as "an extraordinarily dangerous moment – and an unnecessary one".

Since the fall of Assad four months ago, he says, not one attack has targeted Israel from Syria, the country's security forces have intercepted "at least 18 weapons shipments destined for Hezbollah in Lebanon, and dismantled at least eight formerly Iranian-linked rocket launch sites".

Many Syrians are disappointed by Israel's response to their new government. They watched for years as Israel targeted the Assad regime, and believed that Assad's fall would bring the chance for a less confrontational relationship with Israel.

Some say that view is now changing.

"We used to believe that the Israeli army was only targeting Assad's regime forces," said Ismail, a restaurant owner in the west of the country. "But its continued, incomprehensible bombings are sadly making us think that Israel is an enemy of the Syrian people."[...]

At least 1,000 Alawite civilians or disarmed fighters were massacred by pro-government forces, after government units were ambushed in a co-ordinated attack led by remnants of Syria's former armed forces.

4 Apr 25

[ltwilliammowett]

Half time with our calendar and this is the perfect moment to introduce you to a lady who shows the interface of Age of Sail and Age of Steam. She is generally regarded as the start of the Age of Steam and yet she still has both elements. But who am I talking about ? - The HMS Warrior

More about her history here:

HMS WARRIOR was built as part of Britain’s response to concerns over France’s maritime ambitions which included the building of LA GLOIRE, a powerful ironclad which was the most advanced warship of its day.  WARRIOR was commissioned on 1 August 1861 and at that time unquestionably ruled the seas. Her main guns, engines and boilers were contained within an armoured wrought iron hull and she could be driven by both steam and sail. This combination meant that she could outrun and outgun any ship afloat and she never fired a shot in anger – the classic deterrent.

During the first commission her main role was to lead the Channel Squadron. On 22 November 1864 she paid off for her first major refit at Portsmouth Dockyard during which the ship was comprehensively refurbished. She was also completely re-armed with 7” and 8” muzzle loaded rifled guns. However, in the American Civil War the success of the Monitor was to have a dramatic effect on naval thinking and WARRIOR’s role as ‘Monarch of the Seas’ was to be very short-lived.

She re-commissioned in July 1867 and re-joined the Channel Fleet. The second commission was rather less interesting than the first as she was no longer regarded as the most powerful warship afloat and faded from the limelight. The second commission ended in 1871 and she then spent four years in refit at Portsmouth being fitted with improved boilers, steam power for the forward capstan and a new poop deck to accommodate an Admiral.  On completion in 1875 she became part of the First Reserve Fleet where she was to remain until paying at Portsmouth on 31 May 1883.

After periods as a depot ship and part of HMS VERNON she was paid off in 1924. She was then converted for use as a floating oil jetty and in 1929 was towed to Pembroke Dock where she was to remain for the next 50 years. In 1967 the campaign to restore WARRIOR started and prominent in this was Sir John Smith who formed the Manifold Trust. A committee chaired by the Duke of Edinburgh met in 1968 to discuss her future and from this emerged the Maritime Trust. When Pembroke Dock closed in 1978 the Manifold Trust agreed to underwrite the cost of restoration and the ship was handed over to the Maritime Trust in 1979.

In 1983 ownership was transferred to the Ship’s Preservation Trust which became the Warrior Preservation Trust in 1983. Although the hull was very sound the rest of the ship was in a poor state. The task which was part restoration and part re-building needed vast resources not only of money (£8M) but also of skill, patience and endurance. The 8 year restoration programme at Hartlepool transformed her into one of the world’s most important historic warships and in 1987 she returned to Portsmouth where she is now moored in the Historic Dockyard.

A planned preservation programme is in place for the ship and over the years she has been dry-docked twice, and the upper deck, (£725K provided by the Heritage Lottery Fund), all three fighting tops and half moons and the stern gallery have been replaced.

[saltwaterandstars]

I have a question I'm chewing over about word processing software and I'd really value your input if you have relevant experience/thoughts. Sorry this is a bit long:

I've always used microsoft Word to write documents - I had to use it for my various places of work so I'm very used to it, and when I latterly had a freelance career, I had to write documents, put together Powerpoint presentations, and host Teams meetings, so I just set up a microsoft 365 subscription, which I still have.

But I hate microsoft as a company with all my heart and I'd really like to stop giving them money. Also, I'm retired now, so the only bit of 365 I use regularly is Word (and occasionally Excel, though I'm sure I can live without that). So, ideally, I'd like to be paying less than I'm currently paying for 365 (or even paying nothing!), and ideally, I'd stop giving money to microsoft. But, I really hate change in tech things and I'm very used to Word, so even the thought of moving to another word processing programme is unsettling and unappealing because of that.

The various options I'm thinking about are:

Shift from the 365 subscription to buying Office Home 2024 outright - still Word, still microsoft, but cheaper assuming I use it for more than a year

Use Pages (I have a Macbook so Pages is just sitting there, free to use) - but I've never used it and I don't know how easy it will be to work in Pages on my many, many Word docs, and I don't know how similar or different the two programmes are - so I'd need to do a fair amount of experimentation

Shift to google docs. Of course I hate google just as much as I hate microsoft and I've also heard not good things about google docs in terms of privacy/security. And I'd still have to adjust to a new programme. But it's free and many people use it, and I assume I can easily work on/import existing Word docs in google docs.

Shift to LibreOffice or something similar - which I only know about from tumblr posts. I understand it's free and it's compatible with Word, but beyond that, I know nothing

So, what do you use and what's your experience of it? What would you recommend and why? Obviously, one thing I can easily action is exploring how I get on with Pages, but for the other options, give me your thoughts!

[1nk20ul]

I would love to know the birthdays of the other tma characters (particularly Gerry, Micheal Shelley, and Tim)

TMA Birthdays Revealed (Continued)

You've got it.

Let's go in the order that you requested, starting with Gerry Keay.

(This is a continuation of my previous post, where I determine Jon and Martin's birthdays to the best of my ability. Make sure to check it out if you haven't yet!)

Spoiler alert: Gerard is one of the few characters for whom we have an objectively correct/confirmed answer. Just like last time, I'll list all of the results in the tags as a TLDR. Let's begin!

As I said, Gerry's birthday is shockingly the easiest to find out of everyone in the entire main series. However, none of our clues are actually found in Archives. Rather, it's the Magnus Protocol ARG that flat-out gives us this answer. Compared to last post, I feel like I'm being spoiled.

For those unaware, chdb.xlsx (Child_Database.Excel) is a 250-row list of participants in the Magnus Institute's Gifted Child programme. Of these, last names like Dyer, Nolan, Barker, Baldwin, etc. appear, although it's possible some are simply a coincidence.

One we know is not. Behold:

(Yes, his last name is spelled Kaey in this dataset. It's an easy typo to miss in a 250-row document. Don't worry about it.)

According to Chdb, Gerry's birthday is 4th February, 1988. For those paying attention to my original Birthday post, this is exactly two days after my calculation for Jon's birthday, down to the year. This pleases me.

I'll even throw in a bonus for you. Based on his data, he is quite empathetic - yet not very susceptible to peer pressure! You're welcome, Gerrianators.

Let's move to Michael Shelley.

Unfortunately, we're not as lucky this time. Michael's age is just as twisted up as what became of him. Here's what we know:

Michael worked with Eric Delano prior to Eric's resignation in 1990, but was also hired to replace Fiona Law during or after 2003.

Michael's death was sometime between 2009-2011, however was supposedly already distorted in 2006.

Jonny joked on Twitter that Michael "is 92 at all points in the timeline."

There is virtually nothing to go off of here... The month and day are an absolute mystery to us as well. So congrats! His birthday is 92.

Thankfully, Tim is a little bit easier on us.

We need to use Danny Stoker's death as a starting point here. We know that Danny died in 2013 at no younger than 21 years old. Beforehand, Tim spent the previous 5 years at Victory House Publishing. Before that, in 2007, he completed his First in Anthropology at Trinity College. As a Bachelors degree typically takes three years to complete, we can assume Tim was most likely 18 in 2004. The birth year is easy to calculate from there.

For month, all we can do is process of elimination. Let's start with when his birth month isn't. Since the tapes contain no mention of a birthday party like Jon and Martin had prior to MAG 40 (when shit hits the fan), we know that it is less likely to be between September to mid-March, although this is mainly a mix of speculation and educated guessing. We can at least confirm the September cutoff, though, by cross-referencing age requirements for schooling in the UK. Unfortunately, this is where our luck ends. All in all, I think we still did quite well here.

Our final result is April-August 1986. He died at 31 years old. Bonus: He is anywhere from 1-6 years older than his brother. This is not a surprise to absolutely anyone.

A recap of our final results:

Gerard Keay - 4th February, 1988

Michael Shelley - Permanently 92 years old

Timothy Stoker - April-August, 1986

Thanks again, everyone. I have a wonderful time making these, it's great fun! I have a few more posts in mind that I'd like to make, so feel free to leave an Ask. See you next time!

[queercodedangel]

"The World Bank and IMF are supposed to assist nations in their development. What actually happens is another story. The World Bank will lend money to this or that country to finance a huge dam project that displaces thousands of families while providing cheap irrigation for export agriculture and cheap power for a private company. Or a poor country may borrow from the World Bank to build up some aspect of its economy. Should it be unable to pay back the heavy interest because of declining export sales or some other reason, it most borrow again, this time from the IMF. But the IMF imposes a 'structural adjustment programme' (SAP), requiring debtor countries to grant tax breaks to the transnational corporations, reduce local wages, and make no attempt to protect native enterprises from foreign imports and foreign takeovers.

In accordance with SAP rulings, the debtor nations are pressured to privatise their economies, selling at scandalously low prices their state-owned mines, railroads, and utilities to transnational corporations. They are forced to open their forests to clear-cutting and their lands to strip mining, without regard to the ecological damage done. The debtor nations also must reduce or eliminate subsidies for health, education, transportation, and food, spending less on public needs in order to have more money to meet debt payments. So it is that throughout the Third World, real wages have declined, and national debts have soared to the point at which debt payments absorb almost all of the poorer countries' export earnings—leaving the debtor even less able to provide for the minimal needs of its population."

- Michael Parenti, The Face of Imperialism

[justinspoliticalcorner]

David Smith at The Guardian:

Losing an election for the highest office is a crushing blow that no candidate forgets. But when the American electorate delivers its verdict next week, the personal stakes for Donald Trump will be uniquely high. His fate will hover between the presidency and the threat of prison.

If he claims victory, Trump will be the first convicted criminal to win the White House and gain access to the nuclear codes. If he falls short, the 78-year-old faces more humiliating courtroom trials and potentially even time behind bars. It would be the end of a charmed life in which he has somehow always managed to outrun the law and duck accountability. For Trump, Tuesday is judgment day. “He branded himself as the guy who gets away with it,” said Gwenda Blair, a Trump biographer, adding that, should he lose, “he is facing a lot of moments of reckoning. He could go to jail. He could end up considerably less wealthy than he is. No matter what happens, and no matter whether he wins or loses, there will be a reckoning over his health. Death, ill health, dementia – those are things even he can’t escape.” The property developer and reality TV star has spent his career pushing ethical and legal boundaries to the limit, facing countless investigations, court battles and hefty fines. Worthy of a novel, his has been a life of scandal on a gargantuan scale.

In the 1970s Trump and his father were sued by the justice department for racial discrimination after refusing to rent apartments to Black people in predominantly white buildings. His property and casino businesses, including the Taj Mahal and Trump Plaza, filed for bankruptcy several times in the 1990s and early 2000s. Trump University, a business offering property training courses, faced multiple lawsuits for fraud, misleading marketing and false claims about the quality of its programmes. In 2016 Trump settled for $25m without admitting wrongdoing.

The Donald J Trump Foundation, a charitable organisation, was investigated and sued for allegedly using charitable funds for personal and business expenses. Trump eventually agreed to dissolve the foundation with remaining funds going to charity. Trump and his company were ordered to pay more than $350m in a New York civil fraud trial for artificially inflating his net worth to secure favourable loan terms. He is also known to have paid little to no federal income taxes in specific years which, although technically legal, was seen by some as bordering on unethical.

[...] He became the first president to be impeached twice, first for withholding military aid to pressure Ukraine’s government to investigate his political opponents, then for instigating a coup on 6 January 2021 following his defeat. He also became the subject of not one but four criminal cases, any one of which would have been enough to scuttle the chances of any other White House hopeful. In May Trump was found guilty of 34 counts of falsifying business records relating to a hush-money payment to the adult film performer Stormy Daniels, making him the first former president to be convicted of felony crimes. Sentencing is scheduled for 26 November (the judge delayed it from 18 September after the Republican nominee asked that it wait until after the election). What was billed as the trial of the century has already begun to fade from public consciousness and played a relatively modest role in the election campaign. Jonathan Alter, a presidential biographer who was in court for every day of the trial, recalled: “I’ve covered some big stories over the years but there was nothing like the drama of watching the jury foreperson say, ‘Guilty, guilty, guilty’ 34 times and Donald Trump looking like he was punched in the gut.” Alter, who describes the experience in his new book, American Reckoning, reflects on how Trump has been able to act with impunity for so long. “It’s a combination of luck, galvanised defiance and the credulousness of a large chunk of the American people,” he said. “Demagoguery works. Playing on people’s fears works. It doesn’t work all the time but we can look throughout human history to political figures and how demagoguery and scapegoating ‘the other’ works.”

Alter, who covered the trial for Washington Monthly magazine, added: “We’ve had plenty of demagogues, scoundrels and conmen in politics below the level of president. Trump has been lucky to escape accountability but the United States has been lucky that we haven’t had something like this before. The founders were very worried about it. They felt we would face something like this for sure.” The US’s system of checks and balances has been racing to keep up. Trump was charged by the special counsel Jack Smith with conspiring to overturn the results of his election loss to Joe Biden in the run-up to the January 6 riot at the US Capitol. The former president and 18 others were also charged by the Fulton county district attorney, Fani Willis, with taking part in a scheme to overturn his narrow loss in Georgia. Trump was charged again by Smith with illegally retaining classified documents that included nuclear secrets, taken with him from the White House to his Mar-a-Lago estate in Florida after he left office in January 2021, and then obstructing government demands to give them back.

With a such a caseload, it was widely assumed that Trump would spend this election shuttling between rallies one day and trials the next. But the courtroom campaign never really happened since, true to past form, he found ways to throw sand in the gears of the legal system and put off his moment of reckoning.

Or he simply got lucky. In Georgia, it emerged that Willis had a romantic relationship with the special prosecutor Nathan Wade, prompting demands that she be removed. Smith’s federal election case was thrown off track for months by a supreme court ruling that presidents have immunity for official actions taken in office. The classified documents case was thrown out by Judge Aileen Cannon, a Trump appointee, although Smith is appealing and the charges could be reinstated. Such delays have made it easier to forget just how much of an outlier Trump is. Past presidential brushes with the law consisted of Ulysses S Grant being fined for speeding his horse-drawn carriage in Washington and Harry Truman receiving a ticket for driving his car too slowly on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in 1953. Richard Nixon resigned before he could be impeached over the Watergate scandal and was subsequently pardoned by his successor, Gerald Ford. Meanwhile the standard for presidential aspirants has been high. Joe Biden’s first run for the White House fell apart amid allegations that he had plagiarised a speech by Britain’s Labour leader Neil Kinnock. During the 2000 campaign, a last-minute revelation that Republican candidate George W Bush had a drunk driving conviction that he concealed for 24 years generated huge headlines and was seen as a possible gamechanger. Hillary Clinton still blames her 2016 defeat on an FBI investigation into her email server that produced no charges.

For Donald Trump, his run for the “Presidency” is all about avoiding any possible jail time for his indictments and felonies. If he loses, then Trump could be facing more trials and potentially jail time and/or massive fines.

Send Trump to prison, not the White House!

#TrumpForPrison #HarrisWalz2024

[dailyanarchistposts]

“We were only young. We had no examples, but we knew we had a right to be here.”

To clarify, in keeping with the views of the Polynesian Panthers themselves, Maori are included under the term ‘Pacific Islanders’. Unless stated otherwise, all references to Pacific Islanders in this text includes Maori. In the words of Tigi Ness, “We are living on the biggest Pacific Island.”

While many of you may not have heard of the Polynesian Panthers, hopefully you will have heard of the Black Panthers, a now (arguably) disbanded African American revolutionary left-wing organisation that worked for the self-defence of black people. Over time, the Black Panthers’ initial stand against police brutality in black neighbourhoods became a call for staunch black nationalism for all African Americans. The strength of the movement spawned generations of strong African Americans, to whom the Panthers provided basic human rights—such as their free breakfasts and education for children programmes—and, importantly, personal strength and pride in their heritage.

The Polynesian Panthers group was founded on 16 June 1971, borne from a large mix of Pacific Islanders, including Samoans, Tongans, Niueans and Maori. Tigi Ness, a New Zealand-born Niuean, describes the founders as “former gang members and students”, mere “teenagers in response to the racism we were experiencing in Auckland”. The majority of the founders were high school students, not university students or adults; most were from working class families and inspired by Black Panther founder Huey Newton’s concept of black unity.

The Panthers were mostly first generation New Zealanders. Their parents reaped some of the benefits of New Zealand’s economic boom in the 1960s, when they were encouraged to migrate to New Zealand to provide cheap labour. The government turned a blind eye to expired working visas and illegal migrant workers until the production boom dwindled in the mid-1970s. Although wages were higher, living conditions were often poor and Pacific Islanders were often subject to racism and police harrassment. The fortunes of many Pacific Islanders, who had uprooted their families and lives to work for wages less than the average New Zealander, took a turn for the worse as the economy started on a downward spiral. The government aggressively targeted overstayers—that is, people who illegally remained in the country past their work visa, or failed to get one in the first place—and these first generation New Zealanders were at risk of being sent back to a country, and society, they never knew. The problems many Pacific Islanders already faced in New Zealand were only compounded by this episode in New Zealand history.

On top of fears for their families, many Pacific Islanders lived in dangerous neighbourhoods, with many young people feeling their only options for survival were to join a gang or simply hide at home. The Panthers formed to provide the young with another option. They were searching for something positive—the life their families moved to New Zealand to create, as opposed to the oppressive policies and poverty keeping their cultures and communities downtrodden.

The reasons for joining the Panthers were relatively diverse. Some, like Will Ilolahia, were looking for a better way. Will remembers being a member of the gang ‘Nigs’ (because they were often called ‘niggers’), but he was trying to find something more meaningful in life. He began reading American books about the Black Panthers and soon “woke up”. Some chose the Panthers initially for its more aesthetic appeal—as Tigi Ness did—with “black leather, berets, Island shoes, raising their fist”. Once initially formed, the Panthers knocked on doors of people they felt had the same ideals.

The Polynesian Panthers challenged discriminatory practices in areas such as unequal pay, unsatisfactory working and housing conditions, education, police harassment, legal rights and prison visits for families. The extent to which the Pacific Island communities felt these injustices is shocking. Before the Panthers, it was often the norm for Pacific Islander houses to have only cold water. In addition to minimal pay, they were expected to work through all breaks, including unpaid lunch breaks, to keep their jobs.

Police harassment of Pacific Islanders was common from 1974 to the late 1980s. Some were picked up by police and those who weren’t holding papers showing their legal status in New Zealand were arrested. The extent of police harassment was such that Pacific Islanders made up 86 per cent of all prosecutions for overstaying. Police began ‘dawn raids’, knocking down Pacific Islanders’ doors in the early hours of the morning, demanding passports from all occupants. In response, the Polynesian Panthers began “dawn raids” of politicians’ houses by banging on the door with floodlights, demanding to see passports, and running away as politicians came to the door. It only took a few weeks before the Polynesian Panthers effectively stopped all dawn raids on Pacific Islander communities.

Much of the Polynesian Panthers’ work was in empowering the Polynesian community to raise their quality of life. The Panthers organised strikes in factories with substandard working conditions, and the Tenants Aid Brigade (TAB) boycotted and protested outside sub-standard housing. To combat failing grades at school, the Panthers organised homework centres—locations simply with tables, chairs and a quiet space so students could do their homework. Many Pacific Islander families simply did not know their rights or entitlements, and the Panthers ensured that knowledge was passed on and utilised.

The Panthers provided much needed assistance to Polynesians caught up in legal wrangles. Pamphlets were distributed advising individuals of their rights, such as being able to ask police whether they were being arrested, and what for. Legal aid was often provided to individuals needing court representation. One of the most successful initiatives was organising buses to prisons, so families could visit, and further support was provided to prisoners who had no family on the outside. While this was a free service, prisoners gifted the Panthers substantial amounts of the money earned in prison to show their gratitude.

The Panthers, along with many Pacific Island youth, also supported Maori causes and political events, such as the 1975 Land March and Bastion Point occupation. The Panthers became adept at political lobbying, which became apparent during the dawn raids in the 1970s, and the Springbok Tour of 1981. Tigi Ness was jailed for his actions during the tour, but was eventually released without charge. Will Ilolahia, along with Hone Harawira and others, was on trial for two years, only getting off the charge after Bishop Desmond Tutu flew in to be a character witness.

Many of the Panthers voiced concern that the government’s way of control was to divide and conquer the minorities, and as a result they banded together to fight the threat to their cultures and communities. Miriama Rauhihi-Ness remembers a time when being Maori and embracing Maori culture was “literally… cut out of you at school, all of it”. She cites the 1975 Land March as a turning point, where New Zealand society began to be more accepting of Maori culture, both within Maoridom and in Pakeha society. Nowadays, all Panthers encourage Maori and Pacific Islanders to remain strongly banded together as whanau, with pride in their heritage.