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[ivredge]

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

“The Fagin figure leading Elon Musk’s merry band of pubescent sovereignty pickpockets”

This week only, Barnes and Noble is offering 25% off pre-orders of my forthcoming novel Picks and Shovels. ENDS TODAY!.

While we truly live in an age of ascendant monsters who have hijacked our country, our economy, and our imaginations, there is one consolation: the small cohort of brilliant, driven writers who have these monsters' number, and will share it with us. Writers like Maureen Tkacik:

https://prospect.org/topics/maureen-tkacik/

Journalists like Wired's Vittoria Elliott, Leah Feiger, and Tim Marchman are absolutely crushing it when it comes to Musk's DOGE coup:

https://www.wired.com/author/vittoria-elliott/

And Nathan Tankus is doing incredible work all on his own, just blasting out scoop after scoop:

https://www.crisesnotes.com/

But for me, it was Tkacik – as usual – in the pages of The American Prospect who pulled it all together in a way that finally made it make sense, transforming the blitzkreig Muskian chaos into a recognizable playbook. While most of the coverage of Musk's wrecking crew has focused on the broccoli-haired Gen Z brownshirts who are wilding through the server rooms at giant, critical government agencies, Tkacik homes in on their boss, Tom Krause, whom she memorably dubs "the Fagin figure leading Elon Musk’s merry band of pubescent sovereignty pickpockets" (I told you she was a great writer!):

https://prospect.org/power/2025-02-06-private-equity-hatchet-man-leading-lost-boys-of-doge/

Krause is a private equity looter. He's the guy who basically invented the playbook for PE takeovers of large tech companies, from Broadcom to Citrix to VMWare, converting their businesses from selling things to renting them out, loading them up with junk fees, slashing quality, jacking up prices over and over, and firing everyone who was good at their jobs. He is a master enshittifier, an enshittification ninja.

Krause has an unerring instinct for making people miserable while making money. He oversaw the merger of Citrix and VMWare, creating a ghastly company called The Cloud Software Group, which sold remote working tools. Despite this, of his first official acts was to order all of his employees to stop working remotely. But then, after forcing his workers to drag their butts into work, move back across the country, etc, he reversed himself because he figured out he could sell off all of the company's office space for a tidy profit.

Krause canceled employee benefits, like thank you days for managers who pulled a lot of unpaid overtime, or bonuses for workers who upgraded their credentials. He also ended the company's practice of handing out swag as small gifts to workers, and then stiffed the company that made the swag, wontpaying a $437,574.97 invoice for all the tchotchkes the company had ordered. That's not the only supplier Krause stiffed: FinLync, a fintech company with a three-year contract with Krause's company, also had to sue to get paid.

Krause's isn't a canny operator who roots out waste: he's a guy who tears out all the wiring and then grudgingly restores the minimum needed to keep the machine running (no wonder Musk loves him, this is the Twitter playbook). As Tkacik reports, Krause fucked up the customer service and reliability systems that served Citrix's extremely large, corporate customers – the giant businesses that cut huge monthly checks to Citrix, whose CIOs received daily sales calls from his competitors.

Workers who serviced these customers, like disabled Air Force veteran David Morgan, who worked with big public agencies, were fired on one hour's notice, just before their stock options vested. The giant public agency customers he'd serviced later called him to complain that the only people they could get on the phone were subcontractors in Indian call centers who lacked the knowledge and authority to resolve their problems.

Last month, Citrix fired all of its customer support engineers. Citrix's military customers are being illegally routed to offshore customer support teams who are prohibited from working with the US military.

Citrix/VMWare isn't an exception. The carnage at these companies is indistinguishable from the wreck Krause made of Broadcom. In all these cases, Krause was parachuted in by private equity bosses, and he destroyed something useful to extract a giant, one-time profit, leaving behind a husk that no longer provides value to its customers or its employees.

This is the DOGE playbook. It's all about plunder: take something that was patiently, carefully built up over generations and burn it to the ground, warming yourself in the pyre, leaving nothing behind but ash. This is what private equity plunderers have been doing to the world's "advanced" economies since the Reagan years. They did it to airlines, family restaurants, funeral homes, dog groomers, toy stores, pharma, palliative care, dialysis, hospital beds, groceries, cars, and the internet.

Trump's a plunderer. He was elected by the plunderer class – like the crypto bros who want to run wild, transforming workers' carefully shepherded retirement savings into useless shitcoins, while the crypto bros run off with their perfectly cromulent "fiat" money. Musk is the apotheosis of this mindset, a guy who claims credit for other peoples' productive and useful businesses, replacing real engineering with financial engineering. Musk and Krause, they're like two peas in a pod.

That's why – according to anonymous DOGE employees cited by Tckacik – DOGE managers are hired for their capacity for cruelty: "The criteria for DOGE is how many you have fired, how much you enjoy firing people, and how little you care about the impact on peoples well being…No wonder Tom Krause was tapped for this. He’s their dream employee!"

The fact that Krause isn't well known outside of plunderer circles is absolutely a feature for him, not a bug. Scammers like Krause want to be admitted to polite society. This is why the Sacklers – the opioid crime family that kicked off the Oxy pandemic that's murdered more than 800,000 Americans so far – were so aggressive about keeping their association with their family business, Purdue Pharma, a secret. The Sacklers only wanted to be associated with the art galleries and museums they put their names over, and their lawyers threatened journalists for writing about their lives as billionaire drug pushers (I got one of those threats).

There's plenty of good reasons to be anonymous – if you're a whistleblower, say. But if you ever encounter a corporate executive who insists on anonymity, that's a wild danger sign. Take Pixsy, the scam "copyleft trolls" whose business depends on baiting people into making small errors when using images licensed under very early versions of the Creative Common licenses, and then threatening to sue them unless they pay hundreds or thousands of dollars:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

Kain Jones, the CEO of Pixsy, tried to threaten me under the EU's GDPR for revealing the names of the scammer on his payroll who sent me a legal threat, and the executive who ran the scam for his business (I say he tried to threaten me because I helped lobby for the GDPR and I know for a fact that this isn't a GDPR violation):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/13/an-open-letter-to-pixsy-ceo-kain-jones-who-keeps-sending-me-legal-threats/

These people understand that they are in the business of ripping people off, causing them grave and wholly unjust financial injury. They value their secrecy because they are in the business of making strangers righteously furious, and they understand that one of these strangers might just show up in their lives someday to confront them about their transgressions.

This is why Unitedhealthcare freaked out so hard about Luigi Mangione's assassination of CEO Brian Thompson – that's not how the game is supposed to be played. The people who sit in on executive row, destroying your lives, are supposed to be wholly insulated from the consequences of their actions. You're not supposed to know who they are, you're not supposed to be able to find them – of course.

But even more importantly, you're not supposed to be angry at them. They pose as mere software agents in an immortal colony organism called a Limited Liability Corporation, bound by the iron law of shareholder supremacy to destroy your life while getting very, very rich. It's not supposed to be personal. That's why Unitedhealthcare is threatening to sue a doctor who was yanked out of surgery on a cancer patient to be berated by a UHC rep for ordering a hospital stay for her patient:

https://gizmodo.com/unitedhealthcare-is-mad-about-in-luigi-we-trust-comments-under-a-doctors-viral-post-2000560543

UHC is angry that this surgeon, Austin's Dr Elisabeth Potter, went Tiktok-viral with her true story of how how chaotic and depraved and uncaring UHC is. UHC execs fear that Mangione made it personal, that he obliterated the accountability sink of the corporation and put the blame squarely where it belongs – on the (mostly) men at the top who make this call.

This is a point Adam Conover made in his latest Factually podcast, where he interviewed Propublica's T Christian Miller and Patrick Rucker:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_5tDXRw8kg

Miller and Rucker published a blockbuster investigative report into Cigna's Evocore, a secret company that offers claims-denials as a service to America's biggest health insurers:

https://www.propublica.org/article/evicore-health-insurance-denials-cigna-unitedhealthcare-aetna-prior-authorizations

If you're the CEO of a health insurance company and you don't like how much you're paying out for MRIs or cancer treatment, you tell Evocore (which processes all your claim authorizations) and they turn a virtual dial that starts to reduce the number of MRIs your customers are allowed to have. This dial increases the likelihood that a claim or pre-authorization will be denied, which, in turn, makes doctors less willing to order them (even if they're medically necessary) and makes patients more likely to pay for them out of pocket.

Towards the end of the conversation, Miller and Rucker talk about how the rank-and-file people at an insurer don't get involved with the industry to murder people in order to enrich their shareholders. They genuinely want to help people. But executive row is different: those very wealthy people do believe their job is to kill people to save money, and get richer. Those people are personally to blame for the systemic problem. They are the ones who design and operate the system.

That's why naming the people who are personally responsible for these immoral, vicious acts is so important. That's why it's important that Wired and Propublica are unmasking the "pubescent sovereignty pickpockets" who are raiding the federal government under Krause's leadership:

https://projects.propublica.org/elon-musk-doge-tracker/

These people are committing grave crimes against the nation and its people. They should be known for this. It should follow them for the rest of their lives. It should be the lead in their obituaries. People who are introduced to them at parties should have a flash of recognition, hastily end the handshake, then turn on their heels and race to the bathroom to scrub their hands. For the rest of their lives.

Naming these people isn't enough to stop the plunder, but it helps. Yesterday, Marko Elez, the 25 year old avowed "eugenicist" who wanted to "normalize Indian hate" and could not be "[paid] to marry outside of my ethnicity," was shown the door. He's off the job. For the rest of his life, he will be the broccoli-haired brownshirt who got fired for his asinine, racist shitposting:

https://www.npr.org/2025/02/06/nx-s1-5289337/elon-musk-doge-treasury

After Krause's identity as the chief wrecker at DOGE was revealed, the brilliant Anna Merlan (author of Republic of Lies, the best book on conspiratorialism), wrote that "Now the whole country gets the experience of what it’s like when private equity buys the place you work":

https://bsky.app/profile/annamerlan.bsky.social/post/3lhepjkudcs2t

That's exactly it. We are witnessing a private equity-style plunder of the entire US government – of the USA itself. No one is better poised to write about this than Tkacik, because no one has private equity's number like Tkacik does:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Ironically, all this came down just as Trump announced that he was going to finally get rid of private equity's scammiest trick, the "carried interest" loophole that lets PE bosses (and, to a lesser extent, hedge fund managers) avoid billions in personal taxes:

https://archive.is/yKhvD

"Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest rate – it's a law that was designed for 16th century sea captains who had an "interest" in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Trump campaigned on killing this loophole in 2017, but Congress stopped him, after a lobbying blitz by the looter industry. It's possible that he genuinely wants to get rid of the carried interest loophole – he's nothing if not idiosyncratic, as the residents of Greenland can attest:

https://prospect.org/world/2025-02-07-letter-between-friendly-nations/

Even if he succeeds, looters and the "investor class" will get a huge giveaway under Trump, in the form of more tax giveaways and the dismantling of labor and environmental regulation. But it's far more likely that he won't succeed. Rather – as Yves Smith writes for Naked Capitalism – he'll do what he did with the Canada and Mexico tariffs: make a tiny, unimportant change and then lie and say he had done something revolutionary:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2025/02/is-trump-serious-about-trying-to-close-the-private-equity-carried-interest-loophole.html

This has been a shitty month, and it's not gonna get better for a while. On my dark days, I worry that it won't get better during my lifetime. But at least we have people like Tkacik to chronicle it, explain it, put it in context. She's amazing, a whirlwind. The same day that her report on Krause dropped, the Prospect published another must-read piece by her, digging deep into Alex Jones's convoluted bankruptcy gambit:

https://prospect.org/justice/2025-02-06-crisis-actors-alex-jones-bankruptcy/

It lays bare the wild world of elite bankruptcy court, another critical conduit for protecting the immoral rich from their victims. The fact that Tkacik can explain both Krause and the elite bankruptcy system on the same day is beyond impressive.

We've got a lot of work ahead of ourselves. The people in charge of this system – whose names you must learn and never forget – aren't going to go easily. But at least we know who they are. We know what they're doing. We know how the scam works. It's not a flurry of incomprehensible actions – it's a playbook that killed Red Lobster, Toys R Us, and Sears. We don't have to follow that playbook.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/07/broccoli-hair-brownshirts/#shameless

[synity]

THERE YOU ARE, MY DEAR (Requested)

(Yoon Jeonghan x FemReader)

*Office AUn slow burn, fluff, angst, romance, slice of life, tension, emotional shift, romance, romantic-comedy, Drama, Emotional Angst, Comfort Fic, Friends-to-Lovers, Coming-of-Age Undertones, Healing*

The morning sun filtered through the massive glass windows of the high-rise, casting warm, golden beams across the sleek marble floor of the office lobby. The faint scent of fresh coffee mingled with the subtle hum of chatter and footsteps. I tightened the strap of my bag on my shoulder and took a deep breath, trying to steady the mix of excitement and anxiety swirling in my chest.

Today was my first day at the new company. A fresh start, a chance to prove myself, but also a plunge into the unknown. I couldn’t help but wonder: Would I fit in here? Would this place be as intimidating as it looked from the outside?

The elevator dinged open. I stepped in, pressing the button for the 12th floor, the place where the design team worked the team I was joining. The ride was quiet except for the soft mechanical whir of the cables. My reflection stared back from the polished metal doors: nervous but determined.

When the doors slid open again, I was greeted by the bright, bustling office space rows of desks cluttered with laptops, sticky notes, half-empty coffee mugs, and the ever-present soft glow of computer screens. The murmur of conversations blended with the clacking of keyboards and the occasional burst of laughter.

As I hesitated by the reception desk, trying to collect myself, my gaze landed on a figure leaning against the far wall near the entrance. He looked effortlessly cool a tousled mop of dark hair, a crisp suit jacket draped casually over a plain white tee, and a grin that suggested he’d just thought up a brilliant prank.

And then, like a trumpet blast in a library, he called out loud enough to catch the attention of a few nearby colleagues:

“Ah, fresh meat! You must be the new recruit.”

My eyes widened, and I whipped around to face him, a flush creeping up my cheeks. “Excuse me?”

He pushed himself off the wall and approached me with an easy confidence. “Jeonghan,” he said, extending a hand. His smile was disarmingly charming. “Senior around here. Basically the king of the design floor.”

I looked him over skeptically. “Senior, huh? You look like you just walked out of a runaway.”

He chuckled. “I might just take that as a compliment.”

“I mean, you’ve only been here a month,” I pointed out, narrowing my eyes playfully. “That’s hardly seniority.”

“Maybe,” he said, winking, “but I’ve mastered the art of being charming and annoying in equal measure. And you, newbie, are my new favorite target.”

I crossed my arms, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “Favorite target? That sounds like a challenge.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan said, leaning in with mock seriousness. “Watch out. I’m going to make your first day unforgettable.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a little too confident for someone who’s supposed to be ‘senior.’”

He laughed, a rich sound that made the air feel lighter. “Confidence is key. You’ll see.”

Just then, the receptionist called out, “Ms. [Your Last Name], your desk is ready.”

Jeonghan gave me one last sly grin. “See you around, newbie.”

I returned his grin, feeling a strange flutter in my stomach. “Count on it.”

As I walked toward my new desk, I couldn’t help but glance back. Somehow, I had a feeling this mischievous guy was going to make this place a lot less intimidating and a lot more interesting.

The first week at the new job flew by in a blur of onboarding meetings, software tutorials, and figuring out which hallway led to the break room and which one was the never-ending meeting vortex. My desk was tucked between two glass panels, with a modest view of the city below and an unfortunately good view of Jeonghan’s desk, diagonally across from mine.

From day one, he made sure I knew that he was watching me. Every time I looked up from my screen, there he was chin propped on his palm, eyes twinkling, grinning like a cat who'd seen a mouse fumble.

“Struggling already?” he asked on day two, watching me juggle tabs while muttering curses under my breath.

“No,” I said, defiantly not closing any of the twelve tabs I had open. “I’m multitasking.”

“Right,” he nodded, deadpan. “Multitasking your way to a system crash.”

I threw a pen at him. He caught it without flinching.

By the end of the first week, Jeonghan had casually slipped into my daily routine like a persistent notification. From sending me unnecessarily dramatic Slack messages like: “EMERGENCY" Come to the break room, I spilled coffee and emotionally can’t recover alone,”

to randomly declaring that I should “thank the office gods” for sitting close to someone so charismatic it was clear he was determined to keep me on my toes.

One afternoon, while I was waiting for a painfully slow rendering process, he peeked over our shared divider and whispered, “You know, I used to be a lone wolf around here.”

I didn’t look up. “What happened? Got tired of being dramatic in silence?”

He smirked. “Then you showed up. I sensed the chaotic energy immediately.”

“Ah, so you sensed your own reflection,” I said, sipping my coffee.

He laughed loud enough to earn a look from our manager. We both ducked instinctively, like kids in school.

Later that week, we got assigned our first team project together. Something about designing a pitch presentation for a client with a taste for futuristic minimalism. We both rolled our eyes at the brief, then locked eyes across the table and grinned.

“This could be fun,” I said, already sketching something ridiculous on the corner of the printout.

Jeonghan leaned in, inspecting the doodle. “You just drew a chair with laser beams.”

“Exactly. Minimalist... but dangerous.”

He shook his head, laughing, but I caught the spark in his eyes. “I like you,” he said suddenly.

I paused, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“I mean for work,” he backpedaled quickly. “Work me likes work you.”

“Uh huh,” I said slowly. “Definitely not going to write that on the HR form.”

And just like that, the partnership formed. Not just in the sense of teamwork but in the way we moved. Effortlessly balancing each other. His chaos met my goofiness. My eye-rolls met his smirks. And though we teased each other endlessly, our ideas clicked like puzzle pieces. We worked late some nights, arguing about fonts and spacing, laughing over bad stock photos, and bonding over convenience store snacks.

One evening, while reviewing our pitch deck in the meeting room, Jeonghan leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“Can I confess something?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “If it’s about the time you unplugged my mouse to mess with me, I already know.”

He chuckled. “No, not that.”

He looked serious for a second so rare, it made me sit up straighter.

“I actually hate working with people. I get impatient. I hate when people can’t match my pace or vision.” He paused. “But with you… it’s weird. I don’t feel like I have to explain every single thing. You just… get it.”

Something warm flickered in my chest. I looked down, fiddling with the pen in my hand. “Well, you’re lucky. I usually hate working with people too.”

We sat in silence for a beat. Then I added, “Except when they unplug my mouse.”

He threw a balled-up napkin at me.

And we laughed.

That night, I went home with a strange feeling blooming in my chest. Not quite a crush. Not quite friendship. Just something... new. And terrifyingly good.

It was official. We had become those coworkers.

The ones who laughed a little too loudly during lunch breaks, who exchanged way too many inside jokes, and who the interns whispered about when they thought we weren’t listening. We weren’t exactly subtle. But we didn’t care. Or maybe we didn’t know we should care.

Every morning started the same way now: with Jeonghan stopping by my desk and plopping a drink down next to my keyboard like a ritual offering.

“You looked like a soggy sock yesterday,” he’d say casually. “So I got you the espresso with vanilla foam today. Don’t say I don’t love you.”

“Bold of you to assume I want your pity latte,” I’d reply, already sipping it.

He’d grin. “You’re welcome, my little soggy-sock gremlin.”

Most days he was chaos personified stealing pens, hiding my sticky notes, swapping my computer background with a cursed photo of himself wearing a cat filter.

But in between the teasing and banter, there were moments where time paused.

Like the time I was swamped with reports late one Friday. Everyone had left. I stayed, eyes blurry, screen flickering. At some point, Jeonghan wandered back in with two ramen cups and said, “You’re not dying alone in here.”

He sat beside me. Didn’t even say much. Just worked in silence next to me until I finished. Our shoulders bumped. Our feet rested on the same leg of the table. It was quiet. Warm.

Too warm.

I tried not to overthink it.

The turning point came during our third joint project. A big one.

A client from overseas wanted a full visual identity for their launch, and our boss wise or possibly drunk decided we should take the lead.

We were excited. Buzzing. High on creativity. We stayed late sketching logos, rewriting taglines, obsessing over colors and layouts. Jeonghan brought snacks and bad music. I brought coffee and worse playlists. We functioned like one machine. One weird, silly machine with too many feelings and no off-switch.

Then came The Argument.

It was over something stupid. A layout change. A font. I can’t even remember. But I do remember the way he looked at me serious, frustrated, raw.

“You always do this,” he snapped.

“Do what?”

“You hide behind jokes when something actually matters!”

I blinked, taken aback. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. ‘Let’s make it funny so I don’t have to feel.’”

His jaw clenched. “This project matters, and you’re treating it like a school skit.”

“I care!” I shouted. “I care way too much, actually, and that’s the problem!”

Silence.

We stared at each other across the room. Breathing hard. The fluorescent lights buzzed above us like a bad omen.

He looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and left.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, Jeonghan wasn’t at his desk.

Not during lunch either.

By late afternoon, I got a text:

Still mad at you. But I brought you a blueberry muffin and left it in the drawer. You get no coffee today. Suffer.

I smiled. Tears pricked at my eyes.

I didn’t know what to do with the aching in my chest. Or the weight in my gut. I didn’t know if we were still… whatever it was that we were.

So I replied:

Fine. I’ll suffer. But I’m stealing your charger later.

He didn’t reply.

But when I got home, I found a crumpled note in my bag that read:

I’m only mad because you mean more to me than this project. Idiot.

My heart cracked open a little.

The project ended up being a massive success. The client loved it. Our manager praised us in front of everyone. But I didn’t care about any of that.

What mattered was that the moment we got back to our desks, Jeonghan passed me a post-it that said:

Truce? I’ll even let you use Comic Sans once a week.

I laughed so hard I snorted. He beamed.

Later that day, while we were reviewing files, his hand brushed mine.

And he didn’t pull away.

Neither did I.

You can feel it. That… thing.

It hovers in the air like the weight before a confession. Lurks in every look he gives you when he thinks you’re not watching. Hangs at the end of every teasing remark neither of you finishes anymore.

It used to be easy.

He’d lean against your desk, call you “gremlin,” and you’d call him “rat.” He’d steal your pens and you’d steal his hoodie on cold days. You were a joke, a bit, a comedy duo with an unspoken contract to never cross that imaginary line.

But lately?

Lately, everything felt charged.

Like now he’s showing you photos from his weekend trip, a slideshow of nonsense on his phone. And somehow, some damn how, he ends up scooting his chair next to yours, shoulder brushing yours, knee touching yours, head leaning so close you can smell the citrus in his shampoo.

And when you laugh a little too loud at a blurry picture of his friend’s dog in a tutu, his eyes aren’t on the screen. They’re on you.

Lingering.

Soft.

And when you glance at him, your laughter dies in your throat.

“…What?” you ask, suddenly breathless.

“Nothing,” he says. But he doesn’t look away.

You both pretend not to feel it. Again.

One late night, it’s just the two of you in the office. You’re not even working just eating convenience store ramen at your desks, trading dumb stories under dim lights, the hum of the AC filling the silence between your words.

Jeonghan’s sprawled out across two chairs, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded.

“You ever think about quitting?” you ask suddenly. “Like… just vanishing. Escaping.”

He hums. “Sometimes. Not often.”

“Why not?”

“…Because I’d miss this.”

You frown. “The job?”

“No. You.”

Silence. Heavy and awkward and too intimate for the plastic ramen cups between you.

He clears his throat and looks away. “I mean like the stupid chaos, you know? Your weird laugh. The way you argue with the printer. The way you try to hide snacks from me in the drawer, but I always find them.”

You try to joke. “Yeah, well, you’re like a raccoon. Of course you find them.”

But your voice is soft. So is his smile.

“I’d miss all of it,” he says.

The weirdness blooms after that.

It’s not bad weird. Not uncomfortable. Just… different.

You text more. Stay late more. Walk home together more. Start noticing things you probably shouldn’t notice.

Like the way his hand brushes yours when he passes you papers. Or the way he waits for your laugh before he laughs, like your joy is the green light to his own.

Sometimes you catch him staring. You’re starting to stare too.

But neither of you crosses the line.

Because you’re still colleagues. Still friends.

And whatever’s blooming between you is still too fragile, too terrifying, to name.

Until one evening, when you’re both walking out under the streetlights, he says:

“Hey… what if we weren’t just coworkers?”

You blink.

“What if we were, like… something else?”

You laugh nervously. “Like what? A tag team for prank wars?”

But he doesn’t laugh. He just stops walking.

You stop too.

And he looks at you like you’ve always been the punchline to his favorite joke the one he never knew was serious until now.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Just… think about it.”

And then he walks on ahead.

Leaving you in the pause. In the silence. In the maybe.

The street is too quiet after he says it.

"What if we weren’t just coworkers?"

You stare at him, mouth parted, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. The city hums around you, but it all feels far away like the world suddenly stepped three feet to the left, leaving you behind.

“Jeonghan,” you say. Your voice cracks.

He doesn’t turn to face you. He just keeps walking, slow steps, waiting for you to follow.

But you don't.

You can’t.

Because you know something he doesn’t: tomorrow, you’re handing in your resignation letter. You’ve already printed it. Signed it. Folded it.

You were going to tell him next week. You didn’t expect him to say this tonight. Not when your whole life is already quietly falling apart behind the scenes.

“I… I can’t do this,” you say softly.

He stops walking.

Turns.

The expression on his face it’s not angry. Not confused.

It’s quiet devastation.

“I didn’t say anything heavy,” he says, almost too softly. “I just said… what if.”

You laugh bitter, breathless, like there’s something clawing its way out of your chest.

“That what if means everything, Jeonghan.”

Silence stretches.

You wish he’d say something. Anything.

But he doesn’t.

Because he’s always been brave in the ways that didn’t matter, and quiet in the ways that do.

You walk past him.

His fingers twitch by his sides like they want to reach for you.

But they don’t.

You whisper as you pass, “Good night, Jeonghan.”

You don’t look back.

And neither does he.

The next day, your chair is empty.

You don’t say goodbye. You leave your badge on the desk and your memories in the walls. You pack everything but the little drawing he once made of you falling asleep on your keyboard.

He kept it taped on his cubicle. You wonder if it’s still there.

Jeonghan shows up late.

Maybe he hoped it was a dream.

But when he sees your desk cold, stripped bare, the drawer that always had snacks for him now empty something inside him shifts.

The first thing he does is sit at your desk. The second is press his forehead to the surface. The third is pretend he’s just tired when the team walks by and notices the tears that won’t stop falling.

He doesn’t speak of you for days.

But people notice. How his jokes come slower. How he stops stealing pens. How he skips lunch sometimes. How the light behind his eyes has gone out.

Someone asks, “Hey, where’s your partner-in-crime?”

He smiles. Thin. Forced.

“Gone,” he says.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like it didn’t break him to say it.

The office feels colder without you. And Jeonghan feels smaller. Like the air around him is missing something he forgot how to breathe.

He sits at his desk, eyes flickering across emails he barely reads. The world blurs. His pen rolls back and forth across his fingers, a nervous rhythm with no escape.

People ask if he’s okay. He smiles. But it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.

The mischievous sparkle the teasing warmth that made everyone laugh has dimmed, flickering in the dark like a candle gasping for air.

Lunch breaks are quiet. He doesn’t steal snacks anymore. No more “gremlin” nicknames tossed at empty desks.

One afternoon, the team gathers in the break room, joking and chatting. Jeonghan leans against the wall, watching but not really there.

A coworker nudges him, “Jeonghan, you good?”

He shrugs, a ghost of his old smile curling on his lips. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But when he’s alone, the mask slips.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through pictures—snapshots of moments with you: Your silly faces, your contagious laugh, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile.

His thumb hovers over your contact name.

He wants to call.

He wants to hear your voice.

But he can’t.

Because you walked away.

Because he doesn’t know how to ask you to stay.

Because maybe you’re already gone.

That night, he stays late.

The office lights dim.

Jeonghan leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling, feeling the quiet weight of emptiness.

A whispered confession he never said out loud:

“I miss you.

You tell your friends you’re doing fine.

You smile at your new office, where everything is shinier, fancier, quieter.

You sit at your new desk, in your new seat, surrounded by strangers who know nothing about you. Who don’t know your coffee order. Who don’t call you weird names like “printer gremlin” or “paper hoarder.”

No one steals your stapler here. No one argues over what playlist to use. No one teases you for the way you hum when you focus too hard.

No one is Jeonghan.

And that… that’s the part you never expected to miss so much.

You try not to think about it.

But when you open your drawer and see a lone strawberry candy rolling in the corner, your breath catches.

Jeonghan used to sneak them into your bag.

You sit back, press your hands to your eyes, and tell yourself it’s fine.

You wanted this. A better position. A fresh start.

But why does it feel like you left something unfinished behind?

That night, you open your old work group chat.

It’s mostly memes now.

You scroll, wondering if Jeonghan’s still there.

He hasn’t sent anything in weeks.

You think of the way he looked that night the hesitation in his voice, the hope in his eyes.

"What if we weren’t just coworkers?"

Your chest tightens.

You replay your own words, how fast they came out.

“I can’t do this.”

It wasn’t a lie.

You couldn’t handle it then.

Not when you were already planning to leave. Not when you didn’t even know how you felt about yourself, let alone someone else.

But now?

Now, all you feel is the echo of him.

In your laughter that doesn’t quite come out the same. In the silence between your favorite songs. In the way you look over your shoulder when something funny happens forgetting, for a second, that he isn’t there to hear it.

You wonder if he still uses your mug.

You wonder if he still drinks that overly sweet coffee you made for him just to mess with him.

You wonder if he misses you too.

You hope he does.

"Yoon Jeonghan, you’ve been using the same Excel sheet for two hours.”

Jeonghan blinks up, startled.

Jisoo, one of the older team leads, stands beside him with a look that’s both amused and concerned. “It’s literally just the title. You haven’t written a thing.”

Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair and offers a lazy grin. “I’m brainstorming.”

“That sheet’s blank.”

“I’m... internally brainstorming.”

Jisoo narrows his eyes, then sighs, pulling up a chair beside him. “Look, I wasn’t gonna ask. But you’re acting weird, and honestly? It’s freaking everyone out. Even Seungkwan’s been quiet around you. That’s not normal.”

Jeonghan tries to laugh, but it’s weak, hollow.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Silence stretches between them.

Jeonghan’s fingers twitch against the mouse.

“I miss her,” he says suddenly, softly, like the words have been hiding in his throat too long. “I miss her so bad it’s pathetic.”

Jisoo stays quiet, letting him speak.

“She used to argue with me about the coffee machine. About who printed the most pages. About whose playlist was better. And now the silence feels like a punishment.”

He swallows.

“She left, and I didn’t stop her. I thought maybe she needed space, or that she didn’t feel the same. She said she couldn’t do this.”

“Did you ever tell her how you felt?”

Jeonghan stares down at the keyboard. “Not really. Not like I should’ve.”

He finally looks up, eyes tired, voice breaking just slightly. “I thought I had more time.”

Jisoo places a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you still do.”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “She walked away. That night, I- I looked like a fool. I stood there in the parking lot like some K-drama second lead getting rejected in the rain. Only it wasn’t even raining. Just me and my stupid heart.”

They both let out a breath. Jisoo half-chuckles. “Damn. That’s depressing.”

Jeonghan laughs, for real this time. It hurts, but it’s real.

“I still check the backseat of my car sometimes,” he says quietly. “She always used to leave her water bottle in there.”

Jisoo leans back. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan says. “I think I’m just… waiting.”

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then softly: “For her to miss me too.”

It arrives on a rainy Thursday. No warning. No sender name. Just a neatly wrapped box on your new desk.

“Who’s that from?” one of your new coworkers asks, half-curious, half-teasing.

You shrug, heart thumping already. Something about the handwriting on the label makes you freeze.

It’s… familiar.

You peel back the wrapping carefully. The box isn’t big, but it’s heavy with thought. Inside:

– A bag of your favorite gummy candies – A new lanyard, lavender and soft, with a tiny keychain of your favorite cartoon character dangling from it. – A small notebook with your initials written in messy cursive on the cover. – And a photo. A photo of your old desk your shared desk. A sticky note stuck to the screen in Jeonghan’s handwriting:

“Still yours. Come back whenever.”

You press your hand to your mouth before anyone sees the tears in your eyes.

Then, like it was orchestrated by fate, the office door opens.

And there he is.

Jeonghan.

Standing in the doorway, soaked from the rain, holding a bouquet of wildly chaotic flowers not the pretty kind that come from shops, but the kind that look handpicked, like he ran through a field grabbing every color he thought you’d like.

“You left before I could learn how to stop annoying you,” he says, voice softer than the storm outside.

You blink fast. “You came all the way here?”

He grins. “I told you. I’m persistent.”

“Jeonghan...”

He steps forward, setting the flowers gently on your desk.

“I know what I said that night was a lot. I don’t regret saying it, but I get it. You were leaving, and maybe I should’ve kept my feelings in my chest.” A pause. “But the truth is… I miss you... I miss your laugh. I miss the way you stole my pens and left crumbs on my keyboard and made every boring deadline feel like a cartoon episode.”

You bite your lip. “I missed you too.”

His voice dips. “I’d like to start again, if you’ll let me. Not from scratch. From where we paused.”

You stare at him, then the box, then the flowers.

Then before you can overthink you step forward, arms wrapping around his neck.

He smells like rain and paper and home.

“You didn’t have to bring all of this,” you mumble into his chest.

He smiles against your hair. “I wanted to remind you of all the things you forgot you left with me.”

Your arms are still wrapped around his neck when Jeonghan pulls back just enough to see your face.

His hands cup your cheeks like you’re made of spun sugar. His thumbs gently wipe a tear you didn’t realize had slipped.

“You really missed me?” he whispers, voice trembling at the edges, hopeful and afraid all at once.

You nod.

“I missed everything about you, Jeonghan. Even the way you put three sugars in your coffee and act like you’re above caffeine addiction.”

He huffs a watery laugh. “I told you my body is 70% iced americano.”

You both laugh half from nerves, half from sheer emotional exhaustion. But then, as the laughter fades, silence falls.

And in that silence, he leans in.

And kisses you.

Not fast. Not shy. Not afraid.

A long, deep, breathtaking kiss that feels like a promise or maybe like the end of a drought. The kind of kiss where your heart forgets how to beat normally and instead, learns the rhythm of his lips.

He kisses you like he’s making up for every day apart. Like he’s rewriting the months of ache with this single act.

And when he finally pulls back, you realize

You’re not alone.

Your coworkers are standing. Watching. Eyes wide. Some mouths agape. And then

Applause.

Loud. Joyful. Surprised, but genuine.

Someone even lets out a whistle.

You bury your face into Jeonghan’s shoulder, mortified. He just grins like he planned this.

Then your deskmate, Jina, calls out dramatically from behind you, “Finally! We were tired of her crying at her desk every day like a heartbreak drama!”

A few chuckles follow. Another coworker adds, “You better not hurt her again or the whole department’s coming for your kneecaps.”

“Too late,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath, glancing down at his still-recovering leg, then looks at you. “But honestly? Worth the risk.”

You glance up at him.

“You’re insane,” you say, voice breathless.

“And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he answers.

Your heart stumbles. For once, you don’t argue back.

After the kiss, the laughter, and the embarrassment that only a full-office standing ovation can bring, Jeonghan doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not once.

He keeps it wrapped snugly in his, thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles like he’s checking over and over that you’re really there. That you’re not just some dream in a pinstriped blazer.

“I have something to show you,” he says after the office starts emptying out. “Come upstairs?”

You arch a brow. “Upstairs?”

“The rooftop,” he grins. “Don’t worry, there’s no karaoke involved this time.” You still haven’t forgotten the night he sang “My Heart Will Go On” during your team retreat. Completely off-key. With interpretive dance.

You follow him up the familiar staircase, heart pounding with every step. The door creaks open and

You gasp.

It’s transformed.

The rooftop once boring and gray now glows with warm, golden fairy lights strung from corner to corner. In the center is a massive, ridiculous, wonderful blanket fort made out of mismatched sheets and chairs. Pillows are piled up inside like clouds.

A laptop and projector are set up on the wall of the rooftop water tank, the screen frozen on a paused frame: a blurry picture of you, laughing with your mouth wide open, holding a coffee cup like a trophy.

“What is this…?” you whisper.

Jeonghan looks nervous now, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s… a little something I’ve been working on.”

He clicks a button.

The screen flickers.

Then: a video begins to play.

Clips. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. All tiny moments of your life filmed from afar, or up close when you weren’t looking. You in the break room, humming while making tea. You falling asleep at your desk. You fixing your hair in the reflection of your laptop. You teasing Jeonghan, laughing, rolling your eyes, playfully throwing paper balls at him.

Then clips of you not smiling staring out the window, looking tired, looking lonely. Your resignation day. The empty desk.

All stitched together. Soft music. Gentle transitions.

Then, toward the end, his voice a voiceover.

“I used to think you were the most chaotic person I’d ever met. That you were loud, messy, all over the place. But then I realized… that chaos made sense of mine. I don’t know how to say I love you without sounding stupid. So I made this.”

When the video ends, you’re already crying.

He hands you a small box.

two handmade pearl bracelets one for you, one for him. Tiny charms attached to each: a coffee cup, and a paperclip. (Your inside joke from year one the first time you shared a coffee, and the day he untangled all your paperclips just to annoy you.)

“You did all this?” you whisper.

He nods. “I didn’t know how to say everything. So I made it.”

“And the video?”

“I’ve been filming you for years,” he admits sheepishly. “In the least creepy way possible. I swear.”

You throw your arms around him before he finishes that sentence.

Then you whisper, muffled against his hoodie, “I love you too, idiot.”

His heart stops.

Then speeds up.

He kisses your temple, your cheek, and finally your lips. Slow. Sweet. Sure.

The stars blink above you.

And for the first time in a long time… neither of you feels alone.

It started with a Post-it note on your desk.

Scrawled in Jeonghan’s messy, boyish handwriting:

“Pack a bag. We leave at 5. No questions. Trust me.”

Naturally, you had a thousand questions.

But you packed anyway.

Which is how you now find yourself in his rickety old car, barreling down a winding country road at golden hour, the sun painting his face in orange brushstrokes as he taps the steering wheel to the rhythm of your shared playlist.

“You sure this place even exists?” you ask, peeking at the dying phone signal.

“Of course!” Jeonghan says confidently, just as the car sputters.

And then clunk. pop. silence.

You both sit frozen.

“…Babe,” you say slowly, “did your car just die?”

“It’s not dead,” he protests. “It’s just… tired.”

“You didn’t check the engine before a road trip?”

He shrugs. “I was busy editing your face into a video montage, sorry.”

You stifle a laugh and sigh. “What now, Mr. Romantic?”

He grins. “We walk. It’s just 15 minutes from here.”

Thirty-five minutes, three bug bites, and one accidental encounter with a suspicious goat later… you arrive.

It’s a tiny wooden cabin nestled between two hills. Wildflowers cover the edges. Lanterns line the porch. Inside, it smells like lavender and old books.

And it’s beautiful.

Even with the power flickering and a chicken (yes, a chicken) casually perched on the windowsill like he owns the place.

Jeonghan points. “That’s Kumo. He came with the Airbnb.”

“…Of course he did.”

Later that night, after you’ve laughed yourself sore over instant noodles, forgotten utensils, and Jeonghan’s failed attempt at opening a wine bottle with a spoon (he broke it instead lol), you step outside.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

But the sky the sky is dazzling.

Stars stretch endlessly above you, glowing like confetti, as if the universe is trying to show off.

Jeonghan steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Pretty,” he murmurs.

You turn slightly. “The sky?”

“No,” he says. “You. Right here. Like this. In the starlight.”

Your heart flutters.

You lean back into him, letting the moment stretch.

Then he whispers, almost too quietly, “I think… you’re it for me.”

You blink.

He swallows hard, tightening his grip a little. “I didn’t mean to fall. But I did. And now I can’t imagine a single boring day without you arguing with me about coffee orders or typing too loud or calling Kumo your emotional support chicken.”

“I never called him that”

“You did,” he smiles into your hair. “And I loved you for it.”

You turn around fully now, facing him.

The look in his eyes is nothing like the mischievous Jeonghan from the office. It’s raw. Open. Vulnerable.

You reach up, thumb brushing his cheek.

“I think you’re it for me too,” you whisper.

And just like that, the chaos quiets.

The teasing fades.

And for the first time, the space between you holds no jokes only truth.

Only love

@lixisoul99

[anastasiareyreed]

“ordinary russians are not guilty of anything and shouldn't be held responsible for the actions of their authorities”

meanwhile:

ordinary russians voluntarily join the russian army to kill Ukrainians and Syrians

ordinary russians organize safari hunting and killing Ukrainian civilians with drones

ordinary russians torture and execute Ukrainian and Syrian civilians and soldiers, filming it on camera

ordinary russians come to the destroyed occupied territories and arrange "fancy and mysterious" photoshoots like it's some kind of disneyland

ordinary russians go abroad to willingly glorify russia at pro-russian rallies

ordinary russians persecute and kill Ukrainians abroad

ordinary russians export stolen Ukrainian clothes, household appliances and cars to russia

ordinary russians buy all these stuff knowing perfectly well and seeing from the labels that these things were stolen from the houses and shops of murdered Ukrainians

ordinary russians donate to support the russian army

ordinary russians make shells and drones at factories in three shifts

ordinary russians sew equipment

ordinary russian activists weave camouflage nets, make trench candles and collect donations for the russian army

ordinary russian truck drivers bring all this to the frontlines

ordinary russians make software for missiles

ordinary russian tourists go on vacation to the russian-occupied Crimea

ordinary russians sell and buy apartments in occupied territories whose residents were killed

ordinary russians write happy comments after shelling Ukrainian homes markets hospitals and schools

ordinary russian doctors go to the frontlines to save russian soldiers

ordinary russians work in prisons and torture prisoners of war with starvation

ordinary russian teachers in the occupied territories reeducate Ukrainian children

ordinary russian social workers kidnap and take Ukrainian children to russia

ordinary russian miners extract coal for steel smelting

ordinary russian metallurgists work three shifts at blast furnaces to melt steel

ordinary russian celebrities shoot pro-russian films, write pro-russian songs and call to join the russian army

ordinary russians organize mass protests in russia against the closing of McDonald's, but not against the war

ordinary russian children draw pictures of russian soldiers brutally killing Ukrainians

ordinary russian artists in russia and abroad create pro-russian art glorifying russia and the russian army

ordinary russians create videogames that promote russian brutality and the army

ordinary russian teachers teach children to hate other nations

ordinary russian trainers prepare children for warfare and murder

ordinary russians ignore russian crimes on the territory of Ukraine and Syria as they ignored crimes on the territory of Georgia. because they believe it has nothing to do with them and it shouldn't affect their comfortable lifestyle.

should i go on?

Putin is not the cause of russian brutality, terrorism and bloodthirstiness. Putin is a consequence.

before Putin, there were other presidents, other tsars and other authorities in russia. only one thing has not changed — russian imperialism and chauvinism.

don't be silent and please continue to support Ukraine! don't let your politicians betray Ukraine, Ukraine needs help to defeat russia!

[for-those-who-wait]

Hey I think I asked you about your Detroit become human au before a bit ago but I love the idea so much! I know you’re super busy but if you can I would love to see more about it!

Sorry for asking about it again I’m just really interested in it. 😭🙏

No please don't be sorry I love to talk about it whenever I'm not creatively bankrupt!! I'm just sorry it took so long for me to actually think of new stuff to add

I had some of these doodles already prepared but never really finished them up until I came up with a cute little idea

I didn't think of where to put in Flapjack until I remembered that android animals existed, and then I had a brain blast moment where I realized that Hunter can still talk to Flapjack! They are little android buddies, they can interface and talk and be friends!! I think it would also help to make him feel a bit more comfortable with his identity as an android to be able to have his little buddy to have fun private conversations with. Camila introduces them (maybe he had gotten hurt by a previous owner and she found him and let Gus fix him up) and Hunter is a bit tentative about it at first, but Flapjack is adorable and sweet and quickly wins him over

I just now had the idea that Gus, since he's super into android stuff, would probably be a big resource for software and hardware difficulties. Oh, you fell and your arm is working kinda wonky? Call up Gus, he'll crack you open and take a look. The dude doesn't mind in the least, he freaking LOVES going down mechanical and coding rabbit holes to better understand how androids work. I like to think that if Hunter ever got hurt and chose not to accept help because of body/species dysphoria, Gus would be a really good resource for him to try and feel as normal as possible while he's getting fixed. Gus is his brother and he loves him and they're just good to each other okay? Gus would probably crack some jokes or something to get Hunter's mind off it, or infodump about android organs or something (and Hunter would be begrudgingly interested because they are nerds, and Hunter is interested in androids too underneath all the problems he has with deviancy. Like dude they're robots, what's not to love?)

Also some Gus being so over Hunter's "androids can't feel love" phase featuring Vee and Masha being very adorable and very obviously in love :) Hunter is a very silly stupid man. He will find any way to make literally everyone exempt from the terrible rules Philip fed him, except for himself

I'm trying to think of a potential situation that would parallel Hunter's possession, and I think it would probably be basically the same thing that happens in Connor's deviant path (when he deviates and joins the revolution as an ally) where Amanda (a separate AI in his programming that's basically how CyberLife keeps him in check) takes over Connor's programming last minute to try and put a stop to the revolution.

So my current thought is that Philip is basically using Hunter as a trojan horse. His main programming is to act and believe like he's a normal human but similar to Connor, he's basically a sleeper agent without knowing. I imagine that once Hunter gains access to his software (thanks to Vee and Gus), he starts finding programs and files that are labeled as pretty scary things. He shouldn't have to know the most efficient way to shut an android down or incapacitate a human.

If and when Philip finally goes looking for Hunter and sees the first android he's seen in Gravesfield besides Hunter (aka Vee), he's not going to take that well.

I haven't drawn anything for it but so far I'm thinking that he takes control of Hunter's programming, maybe through some taking advantage of his interfacing system, and locks him in his own head a la Connor and Amanda to sic him after Vee and Flapjack (assuming that Philip's main goal, similar to both canons, is to eradicate deviants). It's likely that his friends will try to apprehend him, Vee or Gus will try (and maybe fail a couple times) to delete the programming while Camila deals with Philip. The guy is old and decrepit and Camila would absolutely whoop his ass with the ease of swatting a fly.

Things will be fine; Vee is all good and they manage to delete whatever programming screwed with Hunter's control, but that kid is going to be HELLA anxious about interfacing again from then on since he's afraid of 1) losing his own control and 2) potentially passing the virus onto someone else. It could go two ways at that point: Hunter could either kill Flapjack since Flapjack is technically a deviant android and therefore a target, or we can be nice and let Flapjack live to help him heal from this brand-new trauma.

So yeah hopefully that sates some curiosity! I'm glad you're interested in it because I honestly really love to think of new stuff whenever my brain decides to work hahaha

[cogitoergofun]

More Americans may think President Joe Biden tried to sit on a nonexistent chair the other day than know the boring truth that there was, in fact, a chair.

The chair-that-was-there was just one of many quick video clips the conservative media ecosystem willed into virality over the past two weeks, leaving fact-checkers and Biden’s team with little chance to catch up.

The Republican National Committee, major conservative media outlets and right-wing influencers have succeeded in blasting out videos that they claim show “proof” of Biden’s wandering off, freezing up or even filling his pants with a substance commonly represented by a brown swirl emoji.

Independent fact-checkers and the Biden campaign have pointed out that the videos, while they are un-doctored by artificial intelligence, tend to crumble under even basic scrutiny, such as when the moments are viewed in context or from wider camera angles. 

“Fresh off being fact checked by at least 6 mainstream outlets for lying about President Biden with cheap fakes, Rupert Murdoch’s sad little super PAC, the New York Post, is back to disrespecting its readers and itself once again,” White House spokesperson Andrew Bates said in a statement in reference to a video of Biden at a fundraiser with former President Barack Obama over the weekend that landed on the cover of the Post, a conservative tabloid.

While "deepfakes" are misleading audio, video or images that are created or edited with artificial intelligence technology, a "cheap fake," according to researchers Britt Paris and Joan Donovan, is a "manipulation created with cheaper, more accessible software (or, none at all). Cheap fakes can be rendered through Photoshop, lookalikes, re-contextualizing footage, speeding, or slowing."

Still, even if they are deceptive, the videos nonetheless play into voters’ existing concerns about Biden’s age and are tailor-made for internet virality, meaning busy voters may be more likely to encounter the brief incendiary clips than the more rigorous fact-checks that chase them.

“The lie is sprinting the 100-meter dash and the fact-check is taking a stroll on the beach. So it’s never going to catch up. And it’s never going to have the same reach,” said Eric Schultz, a Democratic strategist and Obama spokesperson who on Sunday publicly called out the Post’s characterization of the fundraiser as false.

[dilf-in-peril]

A quick guide to pirating wrestling

There are basically two options when it comes to pirating: streaming (that's what I am calling watching videos on some website for the purpose of this post) and downloading them via torrent.

The problem with streaming is the videos often get taken down from the sites they are hosted on due to copyright claims, which means a lot of links to older shows are just dead.

The problem with torrenting is that it's peer to peer (no hosting website, just all of us sharing the files amongst each other), which means that the older the show the less people still bother to share it, which means a lot of torrent for older shows are dead. (*torrenting also allows people sharing the file to see your IP which copyright holders can theoretically abuse to track you down and sue you but this might depend on your local laws and with torrenting dying because no one knows how it works anymore it's grown much rarer I believe)

Then there is also archive.org which in my experience does not suffer from the issue with videos being taken down but can be rather slow. Archive.org is also a proper archive that does not blast you with pop up ads and links to malware.

For the streaming option there are sites like watchprowrestling.co and watch-wrestling.cc (and many similar ones, they also change urls a lot unfortunately), which do not host the videos but link to them. Links to older shows are often dead as mentioned before.

There are some youtube alternatives that care less about copyright such as bilibili.com and dailymotion.com and have a lot of wrestling shows. You might even be so lucky on youtube.

If you're interested in torrenting you'll need to download some software, I'm sure you'll find guides if you use the search engine of your choice, and then you can also search "torrent sites" and find a list of sites, such as The Pirate Bay or 1337x, where you can search for the show you want to watch.

Lastly, there are some sites that stream wrestling shows live as they happen, such as baked.live.

And then there's asking around if someone's got the file and being invited to private google drive folders and all that, which I guess is modern tape trading but I can't help with that.

Plus, if the issue is not actually money, but just finding the show because it's too old or obscure, try wrestlinghdd.net which has a huge library of shows, which you can either trade for with digital tapes or pay them for.

Feel free to add onto this if you have suggestions.

[bean-bean2000]

The Hacker - Part 1

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You’re just a computer nerd living your life in your basement as a professional hacker for the dark web. You enjoy your simple and quiet life until your misogynistic online hacker group undermines your abilities. They dare you to prove to them that you truly are worthy of being called a professional hacker. Hack into Stark Towers systems. The strongest, most expensive and secure system in the entire United States. Well, you never one to back down from a challenge. Especially to prove a man wrong. What happens when you actually succeed to hack into the Stark Tower systems? Will they find you?

Warnings: Angst, mention of mental health troubles (depression, anxiety, self-esteem, reader is unsure of themselves and if they belong), slight violence, blood, medical equipment.

Each chapter will have their own warnings. Your internet consumption is not my responsibility. Please read the warnings before deciding to proceed.

This is my first fanfiction so all comments/suggestions/advice is very welcome and appreciated! I’ll be making this into a series, but i’m not sure how many parts yet!

Series materlist

———————————————————————————-

You groan and you slam on your hands on your desk. You couldn’t believe these misogynistic men you had called friends. They were mocking you, claiming you will never be as good as they are, you’re just a woman they said. You laugh dryly as an idea sparks in your mind. You will prove to them that they are just men, and you are far better than they ever will be. They laughed as you told them that. Then, one user from the group chimes into the conversation:

“Prove it. Hack into Stark Tower.“ the screen read.

You stare at the screen. Stark Tower. The most expensive, expansive, and backed up software that existed in the entire United States.

As you were the only woman in that group, you laughed in their faces at the challenge and eagerly accepted.

You’ve never been more shocked, impressed and surprised in yourself and your abilities than the moment you had successfully breached all security firewalls from Stark Tower. You stared at the screen in disbelief and decided to play a little trick on Tony Stark just because you could.

You decided to not only look through all high security files (because, why not?), you wanted to piss off Tony Stark to prove to the almighty Iron Man-self made billionaire-philanthropist-playboy that he wasn’t the only one capable of mastering technology.

As you searched through the files, you decide to distract the Stark Tower online security team from blocking you out of the software by playing a little game.

You throw onto their screens the words “All work and no play makes Tony a dull boy” over and over again, line by line in bright red writing. You add on a song you created quickly blasting in the background in a deep computerized voice “You can’t catch me! You can’t catch me! Na Na Na Na Na Na!! ” with a clown dancing on the bottom screen. You added circus music for that extra slap in the face.

Okay, yes it was very petty and over the top but it was hilarious. You decide to indulge in your win as you made a bowl of icecream, laughing at how easily you breached THE Tony Stark’s software system. You’re dancing around you kitchen when your front door blasts open. You scream and stare at disbelief. What just happened?!

And then you see Iron Man marching into your home.

Fuck. How did they find you?! Impossible, you had taken every measure to ensure your location and IP address could not be pinged and traced.

You sprint to your backdoor only to run into a very hard and muscular chest. You look up and see James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, smirking at you with amusement

“Where are you going, doll? We just want to talk.”

As your panicking you decide the best thing to do is punch the soldier in the face…. or attempt to… as he catches your hand with ease and stares at you.

“Nice try, that was cute.”

You yank your arm away and look around you, surrounded by the Avengers.

Your brain starts racking through the possible escape routes but nothing works as you’re surrounded by the strongest and best team of soldiers and superheroes. And then you remember the reason why they’re here in the first place. You start laughing and the Avengers stare at you, confused.

Tony walks up to you “You think this is funny? You hacked into MY system! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! Are you some kind of witch? AND you have the AUDACITY to call me dull! With a dancing clown! really?!”

You keep giggling and you stare right into his eyes with determination. You’re not afraid, you’re amused.

“I was bored.” you shrug your shoulders.

“it was too easy. Why wouldn’t i fuck around with the supposedly impenetrable Stark Tower system? Not so much the almighty Tony Stark now, are you? Beaten by a random woman in her basement.” you keep laughing.

Tony stares you down, clenching and unclenching his fists. Captain America appears behind him, all eyes turn to the Captain, as he grabs Tony’s shoulder, silently warning him not to do anything stupid.

“Oh fuck off Steve!” Tony tells.

“Just because your ego is hurt doesn’t mean you can just threaten or intimidate her.” Steve replies coolly.

“Yeah Tony, it’s not her fault your system is shit.” Bucky snickers. Natasha slaps him behind his head and Sam slaps his shoulder.

They all turn around to face you once more but you’re gone. They all freeze.

“What the - Where is she?! You guys let her escape?!” Tony screams.

They all scramble to capture you. Sam jumps to the sky to fly over and get a better view. Natasha, Steve and Bucky split up in all directions to search. Tony remains in your kitchen, baffled, embarrassed and angry.

You’re running for your life. You can’t believe you managed to slip past the freaking Avengers while they were bickering with each other. You made yourself small and quiet and crept out through a small door under your stairs, thanking all the stars that you never had it sealed as per your friend’s suggestions.

You’re sprinting down the street, weaving between alleys and trying to stay low and unnoticed.

You dare to look behind you when your yanked from your arm and fall forward, tumbling and wrestling the body that just tackled you.

It’s no use. You’re not strong enough, not trained for this. You’re just a computer nerd that hides in her basement.

You’re pinned to the ground and look up at your captor. James Buchanan Barnes. Of course.

His striking blue eyes staring down into yours. Swirling with emotions that you can’t decipher. Is he mad? annoyed? you swear you see something in his face that looks like he’s amused?

Suddenly he’s smirking as your struggling beneath him to get out from his grasp.

“Stop moving so much. It won’t do anything.” He says blankly. Chuckling that you’re willful enough to try.

“GAAAHHH NO! I will NOT be caught and sent to god knows what fucking shit hole prison. GET OFF OF ME!!” you scream and kick your feet, wiggling beneath him.

He sighs and stares you down. “I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt.”

You look up at him “What are you-” then everything goes black.

——————————————————————————-

You wake up with a pounding headache. You opens your eyes to blinding lights and beeping sounds. It takes you a moment to remember what happened and realize what’s going on.

You successfully breached Tony Stark’s tower. You were captured by Bucky. Damn him and his beautiful eyes and strong body. You stop yourself mid-thought and shake your head- He captured you, you idiot. Don’t think like that. You groan as you sit up.

You look around you and start panicking, you can’t be trapped, you can’t live like this.

Your heart rate picks up on the monitor and it starts beeping wildly. You’re groaning and kicking. Your arms are strapped down to the gurney. You start freaking out even more and manage to get one hand out of the straps. You start undoing the other one and then you rip out the IV in your arm.

You’re freaking out, terrified of what they did to you, what did they give you? what will they do to you? You jump out of the bed and grab whatever medical utensils you find to protect yourself. The monitors continuously scream and beep, you’re struggling to figure out what to do when Tony, Steve and Bucky run into the room.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” you scream and hold a medical scalpel out to them. Attempting to appear as threatening as possible. Rather, you look like a terrified cornered animal. You’re shaking, your head is pounding, you can’t focus, you just need to get out.

“Hey hey slow down, you’re okay….” Steve coos as he tries to slowly approach you.

You stick the scalpel in his direction.

“Don’t you dare come closer! Leave me alone!” you yell at him.

“Okay, we can figure this out, just put the scalpel down okay? Look at your arm, you’re bleeding, you ripped the IV out. Please sit down and let Bruce take a look at it.” Steve says to you, hand in the air to prove to you he is no threat, as he slowly continues to approach you.

You hadn’t realized as you were focused on Steve, that Bucky had rounded the room and was now behind you.

You look down at your arm, confused, scared. Your arm has a gash from the middle of your elbow down your forearm. It’s bleeding a lot, blood is dripping down your clothes and forming a small puddle on the ground.

You lift your arm to inspect and start panicking. Your eyes wild and you take in everything and realize you’re trapped, you’re hurt, you’re scared.

Then you feel Bucky’s arm wrapped around you and force the scalpel out of your hand.

“NO! NO! AHHHHH” you scream and thrash against him.

Tony takes the chance to inject you with a calming medication to soothe your panic attack and settle you back down. You start to grow woozy in Bucky’s arms and you slowly get weaker and more tired. They help place you back into bed and you’re repeating slowly and quietly “no please, just let me go”.

You fall into a deep sleep.

“Well she’s a spit fire. A lot more spunk than I expected.” Bucky says with a chuckle. “I like her.”

Steve and Tony roll their eyes.

“You like her because she beat me at my own game.” Tony says to Bucky and Bucky chuckles back at him and shrugs.

“Call Bruce, have him look her over again, make sure she’s okay and have him administer small doses of that calming medication so when she wakes up we can actually talk to her without her freaking out. Tony, find out what you can about her. Her name, family, history, everything. We need to know who we’re dealing with and assess if she’s a threat.” Steve says and walks out the door. The other two men follow. Bucky looks behind him one last time and stares your sleeping form.

———————————————————————————

You slowly wake up again to the feeling of something tugging on your arm. You groan and look over. You see a man with scruffy beard and hair stitching up your arm. Your heart rate monitor starts to beep faster which causes the doctor to look up at you.

“You’re awake. I’m Dr. Banner. I’m just patching up your cut here, it’s not too deep but please be careful.” He says as he looks at you pointedly.

You stare back and croak “Where am i? What are you going to do to me?” You feel a small tear slip from your eyes.

“Relax, please. We will not and have not hurt you. We just want to get to know you. It’s the first time anyone has beaten Tony when it comes to technology. You’re in Stark Tower, the Avengers compound. I know Steve and Bucky can appear menacing but they’re harmless, I promise.” Dr. Banner says to you softly.

You don’t know why but you believe him. He calms you.

“Alright, you’re all clean here. I’ll let you get changed and you can meet me right outside the door and i’ll guide you to the kitchen okay? Take your time.” He taps your hand lightly and walks away, offering you a tight smile.

You get up slowly and take in your surroundings and the situation. You see a pile of clothes folded for you but they aren’t yours. Confused, you look around and find your own in a laundry basket, bloodied and dirty. You sigh and put on the clothes provided, albeit the shirt is slightly tight around your waist and breasts and the leggings curve your butt nicely.

You look at yourself in the mirror and sigh. What is going on?

Dr. Banner knocks at the door, you walk out and follow him to the kitchen. Your head held high, refusing to show any fear.

As you enter the kitchen, the entire Avengers team turns and looks at you.

Your confidence quickly wavers when you make eye contact with a certain dark haired blue eyed soldier. He stares you up and down and you look down at the floor meekly. Bruce guides you to a chair and beckons for you to sit. You plop down and stare at your hands.

“Please, don’t be scared. We looked into who you are. We can’t find anything about your past. There are no medical or dental records. You’re a ghost. All we have is your name. How is that possible?” Steve says as the group stares at you.

You look up but say nothing. Steve sighs. He didn’t expect you to immediately spill your life story to them but he was hopeful it would be that easy. He decides to pull the bandaid off and tell you why you’re here.

“We’ve discussed this at length and we have a proposition to make. As you are extremely talented, we believe you would be a significant asset to the team. You can use your knowledge and expertise to help us complete missions more easily by hacking into the systems for us. We decided we can’t have you living out in the world without supervision. If you’re capable of breaking through Tony’s systems, you’re too powerful in this modern world. We would like you to join the team. What do you think?” Steve explains.

You stare at him. Your jaw slack. You look between them all. It takes you a second to register what he just said to you.

“So that’s it? You’re not going to kill me?”

The team chucked. “No hun, we don’t do that. We’re honestly just so impressed by you and want you to be a part of our team.” Wanda says to you softly.

You stare at them all. Registering what they asked of you. “This isn’t a choice. I either join the team, or what? You send me to some deep dark prison god knows where?! Seems like it’s either join the avengers or live a miserable life alone and imprisoned.”

“They are one and the same to me, a cage is a cage. No matter how pretty you paint it to be.” You say dryly. Looking up at the ceiling and sighing.

You pause. “I’d rather be here with some freedom than be in an actual cell. I accept the offer on one condition.”

They look at you expectantly.

“Never ask me about my past. I remain a ghost. I remain hidden. I do not join you on missions. I am to be left alone at my own will, within these grounds. I will be a prisoner to your cause but i will not be caged like an animal. I want my freedom.” You say to Steve as you stare at him making direct eye contact.

“Deal. Welcome to the team.” He says and reaches out to shake your hand. You shake it and pull back.

You feel eyes on you and find who they belong to. Bucky. He stares at you and you fake a cough to clear your throat and distract from his prying stare.

Tony gets up and tells you to follow him. He shows you to your room. It is directly across from Bucky, and stationed between Steve and Natasha. A security measure for sure. You can’t escape them.

Tony lets you into your room and tells you that he has prepared your own station and office to work from. Of course, your actions will be heavily monitored.

He watches you sit down as you find your belongings already in the room. You realize there was never a choice after all. They had decided for you. You never had the chance to decide your own fate, you were trapped.

Tony slowly closes your door and you sit on your bed, staring at the wall. Processing what just happened and not understanding why you can’t get those striking blue eyes out of your head.

——————————————————————————-

Part 2 here

[hush-house-yard-sale]

The Hush House Card Catalogue

@baja-blasted @terephin (please ignore the crabs)

//So the software I'm using to keep track of my books, lore bits, etc. is called Seatable! It wasn't my first choice for this project, I'm more familiar with Airtable (I've used it professionally), but Airtable's free plan doesn't let you color-code :c

//Seatable is a website that looks a lot like google sheets, but instead of building a spreadsheet, you're building a database. I knew I wanted a database rather than a spreadsheet for my card catalogue because it became pretty apparent early on that a spreadsheet would mean a lot of duplicate entries and be a lot more work to maintain, as well as monumentally more work if I wanted to use it for reference.

//My database isn't finished, and so I'm not really comfortable making it public, but I'm happy to walk through some of the things that I like most about it, that made me choose to make a database rather than a spreadsheet.

//The main things that were really important to me was being able to have (and filter by) multiple items in the same column, having lots of cross-linking between the different sheets in the base, and having different views depending on what I was looking to reference.

//These are my different tables right now, and the way they work is that each table has the most detailed information on each item, e.g. Books has the most detail on books, and Skills has the most detail on skills. But I have columns in each table that allow me to crosslink between them.

//So for each book, I have listed the skill and memory they give, but instead of writing each out individually it links to the corresponding entry in skills/memories

//And then over in the memories tab it has all the detail on the aspects, which wisdoms it can be committed to...

//...and every book this skill can be found in and every item it can be used to craft. And those boxes can be expanded so they're easier to read as well!

//I can also group and sort things in different views. My default view for books, for example, splits them into two categories—whether I've read the book or not—and then sorts the books in each category alphabetically. But I also have one that groups them all by mystery and then sorts them from low to high, and I have another that groups them by topic. Each of these views also omits columns that aren't relevant to that particular view, for example, if I'm searching for books by mystery to give to a visitor, it's important to know the author because it's fun to give people books they themselves have written, but I don't really care about what memories that book gives, or when I'm trying to connect lore dots, it doesn't matter whether or not the book is cursed and I don't need to include books I haven't read yet (and thus don't have topic tags for). The rows on the topic one are also bigger so I can better read the blurbs.

//Well, the topic one actually groups by location, because when I group it by topic, it splits it into every combination of my topic tags, rather that giving me "here are all your books about the mansus" "here are all your books about Longs and Names" so I've stored them all in different places in the house depending on what books I think are relevant to one another.

//It's still in progress, I don't have everything written down yet, and I want more data for workbenches, and I want to try and see if there's a way for it to, say, auto-match skills/souls to workbenches for committing to the tree or crafting certain recipes. Also my color-coding is in shambles bc I'm waiting for a friend to recover from covid so that they can make me a greasemonkey script to make it a little less... corporate...

//But yeah! I like it a lot, and it works really well for my purposes. I highly recommend trying it out, and I'm happy to answer questions!

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #6485:

The Chipspeech fandom is so small (this fandom has like 14 people, tops) but it's got so much toxicity and drama crammed into it, entirely because of this one radical left-wing clique that's taken over the fandom. To be honest, the Chipspeech drama is some Mean Girls level stuff. Honestly the drama could fill a whole book, but here's the cliff notes:

Before I got into Chipspeech, I was going through my edgy phase and posted right wing political stuff just to piss people off. Everyone shunned me and called me a Nazi and worse. I got bitter and made extra edgy memes, made up headcanons specifically to offend people and talked about everyone who shunned me and said I wasn't welcome in Chipspeech. I realized though that I wasn't getting anywhere so I stopped talking about the clique and changed my mind over time and became a lot more politically moderate, and even apolitical. I lost my edge and became more peaceful and kind. I was all alone but eventually, likely due to losing my edgy persona, I made some friends and started a Chipspeech Discord server. Unfortunately, in spring of this year, things EXPLODED.

Their leaders (let's name them A and B) lashed out at me when I tried to make amends and call for peace, HARD. A left a scathing comment on my video open letter, and along with B, they lambasted me on Twitter. My friends came to my defense, but they were all subsequently blocked and also blasted for supporting me.

I was blamed for a post a (now former) friend made bullying A, but nobody believed that I had been framed and they still think I made those posts no matter how hard I tried to prove my innocence, even though my other friends and I called the real poster out on her behavior and demanded she apologize.

I joined another general TTS server run by another clique member, whom I'll call C. C would run interference for A and B and heavily police my language, and even forced me into a political discussion, trying to make me say that I agreed with her on something even though I was extremely uncomfortable. I ended up in a voice call with A, B and C and I had a lot of fun talking to them and sharing memes. But later A revealed they were pretending to have fun and chastised me for "sucking up to them like nothing happened". I later found out C was screenshotting my messages to her and sending them to A and B, which led to me cutting C off.

These people are so vicious they excluded a person who made a Chipspeech recommendations blog just because he recommended a song my friend and I made.

And this heavy gatekeeping and "one strike and you get the death penalty" mentality in the fandom has scared at least 5 people away from Chipspeech entirely and prevented numerous others from ever giving Chipspeech a chance. People who like Plogue's other software products (Plogue being the Chipspeech developers) are HORRIFIED by the clique and believe that the Chipspeech fanbase is an embarrassing stain on Plogue's reputation.

The clique is actively killing the Chipspeech fandom, which was already a struggling, fledgling fanbase, but they don't care. To them, it's worth all the bloodshed and pain to keep out the people they deem as "irredeemable Nazis" even though nobody here was ever a Nazi to begin with and I've become a completely different person from the edgelord they rallied against.

I just wish some more people would get into Chipspeech, refuse to bend to the clique's will and not participate in the drama, and just vibe and prove that Chipspeech can't be killed.

[psiroller]

youre like the pam to my jim (preview)

im on my office romcom au bullshit folks. itll be a oneshot and basically pwp but here's the lead in to wet ur whistle.

dunmeshi/chilaios/dom!laios/eventual bdsm club shenanigans/2.2K

cw: blue collar blues, language, not so unresolved sexual tension, questionable workplace romance between a superior (chilchuck) and his subordinate (laios). this is not used for leverage (laios is actually the dom in this scenario, inverting the power imbalance) but i thought id mention it. they keep it professional on the clock (USUALLY)

Though he’d rocked up to the office less than an hour ago, Chilchuck’s workday had already run long. All the printers had gone offline, and he had to spend a few hours troubleshooting with Kuro how to get them operational; there had been a software update, apparently, that rendered the very outdated inter-office network unusable. Of course, this meant an hour on the phone with the district manager trying to get their network updated to the company-wide standard, something that had been blown off for a year and a half; the way she reacted to his request, Chil might as well have asked her for her firstborn. All he could get for his trouble was a tepid “I’ll look into it”. This meant running around handing out USB sticks like holiday cards so his employees could get something done, and lots of lines at the printers into the foreseeable future, and naturally their budget for office supplies had been cut, so it all came out of his pocket.

The whole department was behind on their calls, but Chilchuck fought back the urge to go around crabbing at people to catch up. It served him well, as Marcille approached him in the afternoon and informed him that the phone lines were down, and the voice mailbox wasn’t functioning, and there were angry customers on the line. Another call to Kuro, who was really stretching the limits of his contract, and it turns out that the phones had also been pushed a software update that made them incompatible with the inter-office network, and they would have to take every call in two rings or they would be automatically parked on a line that no longer existed and be summarily hung up on.

Mr. Tims announced he would be taking a lunch. He blasted a cigarette in the parking lot and returned to his desk to sulk, face in hands, dreaming of days when their lines were all directly connected and they didn’t have to go through the song and dance of software updates, firmware updates, network security updates, OS updates, wireless headsets, broken wireless headsets, lost wireless headsets and keycards and lost keycards and broken keycards and daily performance numbers and corrective action reports and work smartphones with keylogging software in them and mouse movement monitoring and—

Chilchuck went back to work. He used his personal cell to call up the DM and informed her of the raging clusterfuck that had become his department—and probably the whole branch—now that the office network was effectively obsolete. She sounded on the verge of tears—apparently her other branches had also fallen victim to the endless onward march of the digital millennium, and she was at her wit’s end trying to fix them all at once. Every stress-deadened neuron in his withering brain proclaimed: serves you right. If you had fixed this when I first asked, we’d all be stressed out at the usual operating baseline. He wished her the best and hung up. He stared blankly at his desktop calendar, seeing that the next district meeting was in three days. His vision briefly fuzzed over and he fantasized about leaping onto the table and screaming, just screaming until his throat was raw and his face was purple and they had to have the orc from the main branch’s operational compliance department drag him out.

 Chilchuck went for coffee. He was risking time theft, but his DM had bigger problems, and there wasn’t much he could do. The frantic calling died down, Marcille having performed some kind of forbidden ritual to pacify their frothing customer base. During his walkaround he saw most of the floor taking calls, even folks who normally ducked phone duty, so she must have gone around recruiting people to her cause. Chilchuck made a note of that; he’d have to compensate her somehow for taking on what should have been his job.

Laios, however, was nowhere to be seen. This rankled Chilchuck; Laios rarely missed a day except for the handful of times Chilchuck had to send him home for being deathly ill, so of course the day he had to miss, there was catastrophe. His cubicle was empty, he wasn’t in the break room, he wasn’t in the parking lot putting out an engine fire on his piece of shit motorcycle, not at the watercooler. Nothing. He checked with Marcille if he’d called out, and she quirked an eyebrow up at him.

“No? He’s in the server room, with Kuro.”

“Kuro?”

“Yeah, he said he went to help.”

Mr. Tims ground his teeth. “That’s not his—I’ll go talk to him.”

Marcille smirked. “Sure you will.”

Chilchuck glowered at her, but Marcille faced his evil eye with insufferable smugness. He remembered all too soon that she saved his ass this morning, and he had to close his open mouth and walk away.

“We’re even now,” he growled.

“Nope! Still getting that Starbucks gift card!”

She was right, but he wouldn’t be admitting it. Chilchuck stormed out of his department and down the hall, sliding smoothly into a closing elevator with a few other disgruntled employees, taking a frankly infuriating number of stops at basically every floor until he could ride it all the way down into the basement. When the doors parted, hot, stuffy air flooded in. Chilchuck winced and loosened his tie and waistcoat as he stalked the rows of servers, the heat only getting worse the longer he lingered, until he found Kuro kneeling with his arms in the guts of the worst cable management imaginable, Laios helping him separate out the lines to keep track of each spaghettified clump of wires.

“Chil!” Laios said, getting a growl from Kuro that probably meant be quiet in Western Kobold. “Oh, uh, sorry. Mr. Tims! How is it up there?”

“Bad,” Chilchuck ground out. “Of course. We could really use a hand with the calls up there, you know.”

“Oh, are the lines working again?”

“Enough to receive them, but not enough to park them, so it’s a disaster for customer satisfaction,” Chilchuck said, trying to manage his volume. “So what are you doing down here? I don’t recall you being in IT.”

Laios slopped some sweat off the back of his neck with the palm of his equally sweaty hand. His dragon-patterned tie had been loosened enough to nearly slip off his neck, just enough to stay in code, and he’d tucked the end of it into his pocket to keep it out of the way, having forgotten his clip again. The heat in their dilapidated, poorly ventilated server room made his business casual button-up cling nicely to the curves of his chest and solid core, the one bright point in Chilchuck’s day so far.

“Oh, well, I wasn’t getting anywhere with my work… I mostly had a bunch of bills to print and mail out today, so naturally that was going nowhere. I had my personal USB on me, so I tried to get it done manually, but Namari was hogging it for her shipment printouts because apparently their system is kaput in the warehouse… and when I checked again everyone was using it. Some of the newer printer models don’t come with USB ports, so some of the more up-to-date departments were mooching off ours.”

“I thought the lines seemed a little excessive,” Chilchuck grumped. “I don’t think I’ve seen those things used more rigorously than they have been today.”

“Yup, that’s why. So I caught Kuro running between the floors trying to troubleshoot his latest Band-Aid fix, so I’ve been doing all the stuff that doesn’t require a tech degree, heh.”

“Laios okay with software,” Kuro chimed in. “Break hardware.”

“Yeah,” Laios said with a frown. “But the part was replaceable!” He beamed, cutting off a lecture. “Good thing Kuro hangs onto spare parts.”

Chilchuck’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to the real IT technician of the pair. “Is he actually helping, Kuro? Or are you humoring him?”

“Nice to have extra hands.” His tail wagged loosely, bushing the cuffs of his slacks. “He runs up to other floors. Checks employee access and network strength in offices. Saves time.”

“Alright then. Keep up the good work.” Chilchuck met Laios’ eye. Laios winked at him. Chilchuck blushed and ignored him, heels clacking on the cheap linoleum as he walked away.

Chilchuck hopped on call duty, having found everyone in their place and doing what all could be done. His customer service voice got a workout that left him feeling tense and jittery, every call opening with a frustrated sigh or straight up yelling. After a few quick resolutions and a handful of longer, 20–30-minute stretches of troubleshooting and over-the-phone customer cocksucking, the landline made a happy little beep, the flashing lights next to every line dying out one by one as they were parked. A dialogue box popped up on his PC: Connected to HP-5669964.

“Hey, Chil!”

Laios strode into Chilchuck’s office, startling his boss for a second as he rounded the desk in a few long strides. A big hand clapped down on Chil’s shoulder, jostling his arm and spilling coffee on the crisp collar of his shirt. Chilchuck grimaced.

“What.”

“We fixed it!”

Chilchuck eyed Laios suspiciously and set his mug down.

“How the hell did you…?”

“Don’t get too excited, it’s a temporary fix,” Laios chuckled. “But we narrowed down the problem to some kinda software incompatibility. Shuro rolled back the servers to an earlier restore point, so it’s like the update never happened! Of course, the update’s going to get forced on us again once the clock rolls over, but we can just do that tomorrow, too. If you want, I can come in early to-“

Mr. Tims raised a finger. “No. We’ll take care of it tomorrow when we usually punch in. Not everyone’s a morning person like you, Laios. It’s going to be 10 AM before anyone’s awake enough to do any work, so that’ll cover the time it takes for the servers to spin up.”

Laios leaned forward on the desk, hanging over Chilchuck’s high-backed ergonomic chair, one he had to shill out for himself. “What?” Chilchuck hissed, glowering up at him.

“I’m not hearing a ‘thank you’.”

Chilchuck scoffed. “For doing your job? You’re not doing this just for me. You’re being paid.”

Laios’s cupped Chilchuck’s cheek, hand engulfing half his face, which flushed and burned in Laios’ palm.

“Watch it, Touden,” he growled, arms crossed. Laios’ thumb stroked his cheekbone; Chilchuck didn’t swat him away. “We’re both on the clock.”

“Chil,” Laios said, in that honey-sweet tone that meant Chilchuck was about to be nagged. “You’re burnt out.”

Chilchuck blinked up at him, dark eyes shadowed by dark rings that Laios traced, up to his subtle, deepening crow’s feet. “Huh? No I’m not. This has just been a frustrating—” Laios’ fingers pushed into Chilchuck’s hair, shaking it out, raking blunt nails against his scalp. “—day. I’m not… you don’t have to…” He slumped into Laios’ big, warm palm, calloused but gentle in handling him. “… what was the question again?”

Laios chuckled. “Nothing. I got it handled.”

Chilchuck snapped back into reality and bit into the meat of Laios’ thumb to try to get him to unhandle it. Laios took it like a champ, pulling his hand out of Chilchuck’s mouth and cradling the whole of Chilchuck’s head in his palm, raking it back and forth, mussing up his hair, which Chilchuck reached up to fight off; his arms disobeyed him, flopping around like limp noodles until he gave up and relaxed into it.

“I can see you through your office windows, y’know. You looked like you weren’t having a great time. So I figured I’d help take care of it, ease your mind a little.” Laios’ smile had a sad quirk to it. “You look a little pale. You didn’t have cigarettes for lunch again, did you?”

Chilchuck grimaced. “None of your business.”

Laios sighed. “That’s a yes.”

“It’s just a rough week, Laios,” Chilchuck said. “I’ll be alright.”

Laios’ hand trailed down, framing Chilchuck’s chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” Laios said, meeting Chilchuck’s eyes with that relentless force, gold boring into him. Sometimes Chilchuck wondered if Laios’ eyes ever got dry; he hardly ever blinked.  “We’re getting food into you, and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we’re going to the club to work some of that tension out of you. Understood?”

Chilchuck’s pupils blew wide. His thick eyebrows pinched and he grimaced, unable to look away. Laios’ body curled over him, blocking out the office, the noise, the chaos. Chilchuck sighed, dropped his arms into his lap, and let Laios carry the weight of his skull.

“Oh, right,” Chilchuck realized, his eyes bright. “It’s Friday.”

Laios grinned and patted Chil’s cheek. “See? The fact that you forgot means you’re burned out. See you at six.”

Chilchuck threw paperclips at Laios until he left his office. At 6 PM, they met up on top of the hood of Chilchuck’s old Mustang; his tongue tasted like black coffee. Laios smiled, making it hard to kiss him deeply; Chilchuck got impatient and started biting. Marcille speedwalked past the car and neither of them noticed or cared.

[beardedmrbean]

A former college principal in the eastern Indian state of Odisha has been sentenced to life in prison for sending a parcel bomb that killed a newlywed man and his great aunt in 2018.

A court found Punjilal Meher, 56, guilty of murder, attempted murder, and use of explosives in what became known as the "wedding bomb" case that stunned India.

The bomb, disguised as a wedding gift, was delivered to the home of Soumya Sekhar Sahu, a 26-year-old software engineer, just days after his wedding.

When the couple opened the package, it exploded - killing Sahu and his great aunt, and leaving his wife, Reema, who opened the package, critically wounded.

While acknowledging the prosecution's argument that it was a "heinous" crime, the court declined to classify it as a "rarest of the rare" case deserving the death penalty.

The BBC covered the incident in a detailed two-part investigative series.

Who sent the wedding gift bomb that killed this newlywed?

A wedding bomb, a letter and an unlikely suspect

The February 2018 explosion took place in Patnagarh, a quiet town in Odisha's Bolangir district.

The victims had been married just five days and were preparing lunch when a parcel arrived at their home. It was addressed to Soumya and appeared to be a wedding gift, allegedly sent from Raipur in Chattisgarh state, over 230km (142 miles) away.

As Soumya pulled a thread on the parcel to open it, a powerful blast tore through the kitchen, killing him and his 85-year-old great-aunt Jemamani Sahu. Reema, then 22, survived with serious burns, a punctured eardrum, and trauma.

After a prolonged investigation, police arrested Meher, then 49, a teacher and former principal of a local college where Soumya's mother worked.

Investigators had told me then that Meher harboured a grudge over professional rivalry and meticulously planned the attack. He used a false name and address to mail the bomb from Raipur, choosing a courier service without CCTV or parcel scanning.

The bomb travelled over 650km by bus, passing through multiple hands before being delivered. Investigators said it was a crude but deadly device wrapped in jute thread, rigged to detonate on opening.

The parcel carrying the explosive bore a fake name - SK Sharma from Raipur. Weeks passed with no clear suspects. Investigators scoured thousands of phone records and interrogated over 100 people, including one man who had made a threatening call after Reema's engagement - but nothing stuck.

Then, in April, an anonymous letter reached the local police chief.

It claimed the bomb had been sent under the name "SK Sinha," not Sharma, and cryptically mentioned motives of "betrayal" and money.

The letter claimed three men had "undertaken the project" and were now "beyond police reach". It cited the groom's "betrayal" and money - hinting at a scorned lover or property dispute - as motives. It also asked police to stop harassing innocents.

The letter turned the investigation.

Arun Bothra, a police officer who then headed Odisha's crime branch, noticed that the handwriting on the parcel's receipt had been misread: it did resemble "Sinha" more than "Sharma."

Crucially, the letter writer seemed to know this - something only the sender could have known.

The police now believed the suspect had sent the letter himself.

"It was clear that the sender knew more about the crime than we did. By writing that it was being sent by a messenger, he wanted to tell us that the crime was not the work of a local man. He wanted to tell us that the plot was executed by three people. He wanted to be taken seriously, so he was kind of blowing his fake cover by pointing out a mistake we had made," Mr Bothra told me in 2018.

The victim's mother, a college teacher, recognised the letter's writing style and phraseology as that of a colleague, Meher, a former principal she had replaced.

Police had previously dismissed Meher's workplace rivalry as routine academic politics. Now he became the prime suspect.

Under questioning, Meher initially offered an implausible story about being forced to deliver the letter under threat.

Police allege he later confessed: he had hoarded firecrackers during Diwali, extracted gunpowder, built the bomb, and mailed it from Raipur using a courier.

He allegedly left his phone at home to create an alibi and avoided CCTV by not buying a train ticket. Meher had even attended both the victim's wedding and funeral.

[drelldreams]

Mass Effect Lore: Common technologies in the 2180's (Part 1: Omnitool)

This post is both a collection of canon technologies in the Mass Effect universe, and personal headcanon which may be borrowing common concepts from sci fi.

Part 1 will be dedicated to solely the omnitool, because omnitools provide the user with such a huge amount of features that they deserve their own post.

What is an omnitool?

The omnitool is a microchip implanted underneath the skin which upon activation, can project a holographic screen as well as a holographic keyboard to navigate said screen. However, omnitools can also be navigated via voice demands. Omnitools provide a variety of functions and can do pretty much anything that a computer, smart watch, phone, calculator or tablet could do.

Omnitool activation could be done vocally via a spoken password or in a tactile manner such as touching one‘s forearm in a certain rhythm and pattern.

Microfabricators can generate objects out of microplastic particles, but it isn‘t possible for an object to generate if the omnitool consists merely an implant under the skin. (I don‘t see how that‘s possible without space magic..)

Therefore an additional bracelet has to be worn, which contains the microparticles out of which an object can be forged.

The omnitool can be synced with the translator implant, updating the translator with new translation software.

What can the omnitool do?

Canon:

Allows communication via voice calls, video calls, voice messages and text messages

Provides intranet, internet and extranet access

Allows upload and download of data

Can be used for videography and photography

Can be used to play music

Can provide a flashlight

Provides a wide array of general programs, calendars, navigation programs and maps, note apps, alarms, games and more

Can be used for hacking, coding and decryption

Special programs can be used to utilize the microfabricator to form objects; if the bracelet is charged with certain particles it can also be used to fire particles which are commonly used for combat (incinerate or cryo blast function, for instance)

But that‘s the boring shit. That‘s what phones, tablets and computers can do nowadays, and the combat stuff is covered in the game.

Here‘s my headcanons added to it.

What special functions can an omnitool have?

It can fire fire extinguishing particles. (No pun intended) Meaning that little bracelet actually could serve as a fire extinguisher, using microparticles to extinguish fire.

The microfabricator should be able to forge any tool, such as a screwdiver out of microplastic. That explains why quarians seem to be able to fix things with just their omnitool. No need to take a toolbox with you when you‘ve got your omnitool.

Omnitools should be able to do anything that an advanced calculator can, meaning omnitool calculators provide more functions than a regular phone or tablet calculator. Basically that chip has a build in college level calculator.

Communication aid programs coupled with visors or smart lenses can scan and analyze the body language and facial expressions of conversation partners, listing likely interpretations for those who struggle to read other species.

More advanced omnitool models should be able to aid you with repairs, as well. Take a scan of a broken piece of tech and the omnitool might come up with a diagnostic of it and giving suggestions how to fix it. That would explain why everyone in ME seems so tech savvy - actually the omnitool just provides a ton of help.

Omnitools are capable of measuring pulse, heart rate, blood oxygen, blood sugar levels and blood pressure. They also can monitor sleep quality and duration. Steps taken during the day and stability of walking. Basically they have all the functions of a smart watch.

Just like you can fire a neural shock to disable someone, you can fire a targeted shock in form of a heart defibrillator to revive someone.

Other medical programs provide build in fever thermometer scanners.

Omnitool scans using medical scanners can also provide diagnostic aid, scanning for abnormalities and injuries. The most advanced models are capable of scanning broken bones, essentially having the function of x ray scans.

Certain programs give the user the ability to stimulate the vagus nerve to aid against stress or depression. If nerve stim programs for sexual stimulation are a thing, then this should be within the realms of possibility too. It is possible that this might require a piece of hardware to be synced to, however.

Omnitools also make great morning alarm clocks, being capable of emitting light that emulates a sunrise filling the entire room to wake up a person. The vital scanner takes note of your awakening, which causes the alarm to slowly stop, dimming the lightning and turning down the music volume (if you’ve set a music alarm) slowly.

Some people also like receiving comfortable vibrations through their body through their omnitool to wake up from their sleep.

Other handy stuff that you could fabricate using the microplastic fabricator (aside from blades and tools): cutlery, bowls and cups, razor blades, hair brushes and combs, scissors. Yeah, you‘re gonna have kids in class who forgot to bring their scissors and cut out stuff with omnitool fabricated scissors.

[linuxgamenews]

The Fortress of Dr. Radiaki: A Cult Classic Returns

The Fortress of Dr. Radiaki Fancy Edition a gloriously bizarre retro FPS cult classic game out now on both Linux, Steam Deck, and Windows PC. Brought back to life by the creative minds at Jordan Freeman Group, Future Visionary, and Maelstrom Software. Which you can find now on Steam. Alright, my fellow Linux and Steam Deck warriors — strap in. The Fortress of Dr. Radiaki has clawed its way out of the ‘90s and back onto our screens, and this time… it actually plays like a real game. No, seriously. If you missed it the first time around (understandable—it launched back in 1994), The Fortress of Dr. Radiaki was one of those wild, weird, unforgettable retro FPS experiments that hit during the genre’s awkward teen years. Think offbeat humor, bizarre villains, and a level of camp that would make Saturday morning cartoons blush. It was quirky. It was cult. And it was absolutely unhinged. Now, in 2025, thanks to Zoom-Platform (nope, not the boring video meeting one), this glorious chaos is back—remastered, refreshed, and also DRM-Free. That’s right: no annoying logins, no weird launchers, while offering full support for Linux and Steam Deck right out of the box. Finally, a resurrection we can get behind. But here’s where it gets real: The Fortress of Dr. Radiaki doesn’t just play again—it plays right. Forget tank controls and headaches from trying to aim. You can actually strafe now. Mouse look works. You don’t have to hold down the mouse button to look around like it’s some kind of punishment. It even has a radial weapon wheel. Called the Radialki. Yeah, someone had fun with that.

The Fortress of Dr. Radiaki - Fancy Edition | Launch Trailer

Movement is smooth, responsive, and familiar—WASD, left-click to fire (imagine that), and rebindable controls in a slick new custom launcher. And for the controller fans out there, it also supports the most common pads and the DK Bongos. That’s not a joke. Since you can bring down Radiaki with the same setup you used to play Donkey Konga. Customization is king in The Fortress of Dr. Radiaki. Want the original jank for nostalgia’s sake? Toggle the modern features off anytime. Prefer slick performance and cleaner visuals? Keep those upgrades on. You even get fancy new pillarbox art options—three of them, hand-drawn—for that extra style boost while you blast enemies with pixelated fury. It runs beautifully on Steam Deck, fully Linux-native, and lets you cloud save like a true save-scumming hero. Best part? It’s launching with a 25% discount for the first week on Steam. Dropping the games price to $4.49 USD / £3.74 / 4,41€. So if you're tired of gritty realism and want a dose of eccentric retro FPS history that doesn’t compromise on modern comfort — The Fortress of Dr. Radiaki is your next must-play. And now that it finally plays like the fever dream it was always meant to be, there’s no excuse not to dive in. Grab your weapon wheel. Save the world. And maybe, just maybe… enjoy the chaos.

[lillylila2]

Since I've been sleeping on my first Star wars oc Aux so present day adult Aux is on Felucia in a Shantytown made from starship scrap metal starting up a small town, helping the community, and founding a new Jedi temple with shaak Ti his now mentor. Aux got here from his ship the phantasm being shot down by a pirating group and falling down into orbit where he was then taken from his scrap pile of a ship by Shaak Ti and bandaged up where Aux wakes up and they talk with shaak Ti tell him where he was, who she is, and somethings about before the empire came to be but after a lot of small talk Shaak Ti decides to mentor him after hearing Aux say that he can't just stand idle while the empire terrorizes families across the planets and seeing Aux suck so badly at using the force she cringes ( he tried bringing a cooking pan to his hand but it flew up and smacked him in the face knocking him out) . Aux would return to Fulucia with a band of Rebel families to hide them which lead to a large Rebellion vs Empire space battle above orbit which was only won because the empire decided it wasn't worth it after 3 star destroyer ships were deemed inoperable from a pro type virus bomb that soft locked and deleted several systems in the ship's software making hanger doors lock making tie fighters unable to be released and tractor beams locked onto each other slamming the star destroyers together. After the battle a lot of the scrap metal and ships fall into orbit littering the planet with metal and scraps but this was actually a blessing in disguise because the refugees were able to fashion that old metal and old ships into homes and shelters with them harvesting the metal to build a small but growing Shantytown safe haven. They now have a population of 100 with plans to make this an official safe spot with permission of the rebellion leaders of course and as for Shaak Ti she seems to appreciate Aux's company with her sometimes taking advantage of his nativity to poke fun at him. Then a Sith called Star killer came unannounced and started kicking up trouble looking after Shaak Ti and they clashed faster than light itself or so it seemed but when Star killer was about to win he was sent flying upwards from the scrap metal beneath his feet suddenly launched up from Aux using the force to manipulate the metal around him. Aux joined the fight with him hoping around the scrapyard clashing with Starkiller like particles in an accelerator. Suddenly Starkiller stood on one of the mountains of scrap having the high ground advantage but Aux was clever he knew his force abilities specialized in metal and machines so Aux used the force to manipulate an old turret to blast Starkiller's scrap mountain having it fall sending Starkiller falling down towards aux and Aux jumped towards Starkiller with them clashing their blades one last time mid air but while aux got a slice across the throat Starkiller lopped Aux's front Leku off before perishing causing Aux to collapse. When he woke up he found himself in a makeshift hospital with flowers adorning the room from the inhabitants and Shaak Ti lightly holding his hand with the first thing Aux hears getting up is Shaak Ti saying she's proud of him which made him well up a little but it was pleasant although seeing himself without his Leku was weird he knew he should be feeling upset or sad but he felt nothing and that baffled him more. He never admired or had pride in his Leku it was just another part of him but he was only sad because Shaak Ti was upset about it like uncharacteristically upset like aux though " was she blaming herself for this?" But before he could ask an old Mirialan was sudden having him fitted for prosthetics and it was a whole ordeal of trying what felt like hundreds of different lekku on eventually she pulled out an old copper colored pair of mechanical lekku that fit like a dream sure they felt heavy at first and contrasted a lot with how his natural color but it was perfect.

Now he's just organizing with the rebels, helping his small community, and training with Shaak Ti.

[aaryan-mwa-blogs]

Immersive Audio Experiences: How 3D Audio Is Changing Event Design

Introduction: Events Are No Longer Just Visual

Think back to the last big event you attended — maybe a concert, a corporate presentation, or even a museum exhibit. Chances are, the audio played a bigger role than you realized. Today, sound isn’t just about amplifying voices or music. It’s becoming a multi-dimensional experience, thanks to a technology called 3D audio.

In a world where event organizers are constantly competing to capture attention, immersive audio experiences are quickly becoming a game-changer. It’s not just about hearing sound — it’s about feeling like you’re inside the sound itself.

What Is 3D Audio?

At its core, 3D audio simulates how we naturally hear sound in the real world. Normally, our ears detect sound from all directions — front, back, above, below, and everywhere in between. Traditional sound systems — like stereo or surround sound — mostly project audio from just a few fixed directions (usually left and right, or front and rear).

3D audio takes it further, creating an audio bubble where sound moves around you just like it would in real life. Imagine sitting at a nature-themed event where you hear birds fluttering overhead, leaves rustling to your side, and water trickling behind you — all from carefully placed speakers. It feels natural and fully immersive.

Why Immersive Audio Matters in Event Design

In modern event design, atmosphere matters as much as content. Whether it’s a tech conference, music festival, or product launch, creating a memorable experience is the goal. Audio isn’t just about making sure people can hear — it’s about making them feel connected to the space.

3D audio helps events stand out by:

Enhancing storytelling — At an art installation or exhibit, immersive sound can pull visitors into the story, guiding them through different areas using directional audio cues.

Creating emotional impact — At concerts, sound that moves through the crowd feels way more exciting than static front-of-stage audio.

Controlling focus — In corporate presentations or educational events, speakers can direct attention to specific parts of a stage or screen by shifting audio emphasis.

Key Technologies Driving 3D Audio

1. Spatial Audio Processing

This software analyzes how sound should behave in a space, adjusting for listener position, speaker placement, and acoustics. It makes sure sounds come from the right place at the right time, even if listeners move around.

2. Object-Based Audio

Instead of mixing audio into fixed channels (like left or right speakers), object-based audio treats each sound as a separate “object” that can move independently through space. This is what allows a sound to smoothly move from one side of a room to the other.

3. Ambisonics and Binaural Audio

Ambisonics records audio in a full sphere (360 degrees) around a listener.

Binaural audio creates immersive experiences through headphones, by mimicking how human ears naturally hear sound from different directions.

How 3D Audio Is Used in Different Events

Concerts and Music Festivals

Live music feels richer when sound isn’t just blasting from the stage, but surrounding the audience. With 3D audio, instruments and vocals can move through the crowd, matching the energy and mood of the performance.

Corporate Events

At product launches or conferences, spatial audio can direct focus to key speakers or product displays, guiding the audience’s attention without the need for visual cues.

Museums and Art Installations

Art and sound installations are some of the biggest adopters of 3D audio. Imagine walking through a virtual forest, with realistic environmental sounds guiding you through different sections of an exhibit.

Theme Parks and Attractions

Attractions use spatial soundscapes to enhance rides, walkthrough experiences, and even waiting areas, helping build anticipation and immersion.

Designing Events with 3D Audio in Mind

If you’re planning an event, choosing the right audio gear matters more than ever. Not all speakers and systems can handle 3D audio, so working with professional audio shops can make sure you get equipment designed for spatial sound, along with advice on optimal placement and software.

As technology keeps evolving, the line between sound and space is disappearing. 3D audio is no longer just for VR headsets or fancy theaters — it’s becoming a core part of event design. Whether you’re organizing a concert, a corporate event, or an interactive installation, immersive audio helps create unforgettable moments that leave audiences talking long after they’ve left.