#technical analysis guide

[signode-blog]

📈 How to Trade the Cypher Pattern: A Complete Guide with Strategies

In the world of harmonic trading, the Cypher Pattern stands out as one of the most reliable yet underutilized advanced harmonic structures. It offers high-probability trade setups when identified and traded correctly. This post will guide you through identifying the Cypher pattern, explain rules for validation, and showcase strategies for trading it profitably. 🔍 What is the Cypher Pattern? The…

[definedge99]

In this video, Brijesh explains this indicator and how to trade using it. The ready scanner is available in the RZone.

In this video, Brijesh explains this indicator and how to trade using it. The ready scanner is available in the RZone.

[marketing-insider-group]

How to Conduct a Comprehensive SEO and Technical Audit: A Step-by-Step Guide - Marketing Insider Group

Conduct a thorough SEO audit with our step-by-step guide. Discover essential tools, SEO audit checklists, website speed optimization tips, and best practices for site analysis to improve visibility and rankings.

[bloggerkey]

Google Search Console क्या है | Google Search Console in Hindi

आज के डिजिटल युग में, ऑनलाइन उपस्थिति किसी भी व्यवसाय या वेबसाइट के लिए अत्यंत महत्वपूर्ण है। अपनी वेबसाइट की स्थिति को ट्रैक करने और उसकी खोज इंजन रैंकिंग को बेहतर बनाने के लिए, वेबमास्टरों के पास एक महत्वपूर्ण उपकरण है: Google Search Console। यह एक ऐसा मुफ्त टूल है जो आपकी वेबसाइट के प्रदर्शन की निगरानी करने में मदद करता है और आपको SEO (Search Engine Optimization) की रणनीतियों को अनुकूलित करने…

[meelsport]

Beginner's Guide: Mastering AI SEO Tools

Introduction SEO is crucial for driving organic traffic but can be overwhelming for beginners. AI tools like SEMrush and Ahrefs simplify the process, making it easier for newcomers to improve website performance. This guide covers everything from setting up tools to optimizing content, building links, and tracking progress. By the end, you’ll confidently enhance your SEO strategy. Learn more…

[allaboutforexworld]

10 Interesting Books About Bitcoin

Bitcoin, the pioneering cryptocurrency, has sparked a global financial revolution and inspired countless discussions about the future of money. Whether you’re a seasoned investor, a curious newcomer, or someone interested in the technological aspects of Bitcoin, there’s a wealth of literature available to deepen your understanding. Here are ten interesting books about Bitcoin that offer a…

[forex368]

Website: http://forex368.com/

Address: Limassol, Cyprus

Forex368 is a premier destination for forex signals, offering comprehensive market analysis and trading support. Specializing in real-time insights, forex368 is dedicated to empowering both novice and seasoned traders in the forex market. Their services include daily technical analysis, tailored mentorship, and ongoing educational resources, ensuring clients are well-equipped for informed trading decisions.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/689339473352454

Twitter: https://twitter.com/forex368

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[definedge99]

Breadth Charts Reimagined: Apply Indicators & Strategies Like Never Before!

In this video, you'll learn how to use breadth indicators in a simple and effective way — even if you are just starting out. We will also show you how to create a breadth chart using your own technical strategies and indicators.

[techmarkethunter]

Unveiling the Magic of Shooting Star Candlestick Pattern

Title: Unveiling the Magic of Shooting Star Candlestick Pattern: A Step-by-Step Guide Introduction:Candlestick patterns are essential tools for technical analysts in the world of trading. Among the myriad patterns, the Shooting Star stands out as a powerful indicator of potential trend reversals. In this blog post, we will delve into the nuances of the Shooting Star candlestick pattern,…

[profiteadeveloper]

Mastering the DOUBLE BOTTOM FOREX TRADING for Maximum Gain 2023

[clonecoding-en]

Exploring TA-Lib Integration with Python: A Guide to Installation and Usage

In this informative post, we delve into the installation process of TA-Lib using Python – a robust library in the domain of financial market analysis. The article emphasizes the significance of first installing TA-Lib and then integrating it with Python by installing the appropriate Python wrapper. Through this seamless process, users gain access to the myriad functionalities of TA-Lib conveniently within the Python ecosystem.

The article meticulously guides readers through installation steps across various platforms, including Mac OS X, Windows, and Linux, highlighting crucial considerations and addressing common issues that might arise. A clear and concise example is provided, demonstrating the calculation of technical indicators using TA-Lib within Python.

In essence, this article equips readers with the necessary knowledge to successfully install and utilize TA-Lib, enhancing their ability to conduct advanced financial market analysis efficiently.

[rumplereids]

kiss, kiss, fall in love.

tags: spencer reid x reader. making out. clothed grinding. what glasses!spencer deserved. a/n: i love whenever the camera angle shows just how FUCKED mgg’s eyesight is lmfao there are some scenes of glasses!spencer where you can see how thick the lenses are… i love him requested?: yep ! thank u so much for the request <3 masterlist. requests are open !

Working as a Technical Analyst for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had its pros and cons. Having your own office was definitely a huge perk. He was only supposed to drop off your daily bagel and coffee. It was an act of service that your beloved boyfriend liked to indulge in. He was only here to make sure you’d eaten breakfast.

Like a ritual, he leans over your shoulder, your cheek turned toward him like second nature, as he gives you a soft, shy kiss.

“Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs against your cheek, nose digging against your temple he breathes in the scent of you.

Without removing your eyes from your screen, you reach a hand up to give his cheek and jaw a loving caress. Curious fingers brush against plastic frames. You turn your attention to him in awe, “You’re wearing your glasses today!”

“Mhm,” he brings a finger up to fix his frames, almost bashful. “Ran out of contact solution.”

You take his face into your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I love your glasses. You look so handsome, so beautiful.” You grin at the way his cheeks redden.

“Gimme a kiss?”

He eagerly dives in for one. A hand moves to cup the back of your head, tender in his affections. He lavishes attention on your top lip, moans, and then moves his focus to your lower lip. His tongue shy in the heat of your mouth. Spencer lets out another little moan, the sound of his near whimper making you stand.

From cheek to shoulder, you rub your thumb on his skin. You push him down onto the chair, his legs parting on instinct to make place for you. Knees digging against his thigh and hips, you make yourself comfortable on your throne.

“You’re so pretty,” he says up to you. Spencer’s lips are swollen and red, glistening with spit. His eyes are watery and hazy, his glasses fogged from the breath shared between you. His big hands grip your hips so tight you’re sure he’d wrinkle the blouse you picked for the day.

You bend down for another kiss, pressing your hips down at Spencer’s plea. He guides your hips down against his lap, you feel the zipper of his slacks press against the heat of your core. You’re wet, the room is hot, and Spencer’s mouth and tongue move to nip and kiss and lick along your chin and jaw.

As you grind down against his growing bulge, Spencer’s hands move to untuck your blouse from your pants. Gentle hands and curious fingers move beneath the fabric to feel your heated skin against his palm.

A commotion outside your office makes you stop the grind of your hips.

Spencer turns his head to the left, parting his lips from yours, a string of spit keeping you connected. With your foreheads pressed against each other, you put an ear out to listen on the other side of the door. You think you hear the familiar clicks and clacks of Penelope’s heels.

“I think I need to go,” Spencer sounds disappointed. You press a kiss on the corner of his lips.

Running your hands through his hair, you sigh. “Yeah, probably.”

He smiles up at you, eyes heavy-lidded in ecstasy, hands still caressing the skin of your hips.

He loves the feel of your hand in his hair. He loves the soft kiss you give the tip of his nose. He loves the way you fix his glasses, crooked and fogged up from the heat of your kisses. He loves you, and you love him. He feels it now as you smooth down the front of his button-up shirt.

You slowly stand from your place on his lap, fixing your pants that had ridden up and bunched at your thighs from your little session. You notice Spencer doing the same to his own.

He sniffs, standing, two fingers pushing his glasses more firmly up the bridge of his nose.

“One last kiss?”

You smile at his request, finger and thumb reaching forward to pinch his nose.

“You’re so cute.”

He taps his cheek twice in response.

[barnacles34]

Lost in Analysis (Winter x Male OC)

5k words, smut, fluff, happiness, data

Winter x Male OC

The thing about Junho Kim's[1] weekly debriefs with Minjeong Kim was that they followed a precise algorithm, an almost liturgical routine that both participants had wordlessly agreed upon circa Winter's third month of employment (viz. April 2024). The format went as follows: Winter would arrive at exactly 18:30 on Friday bearing a leather-bound portfolio containing the week's logistics reports, margin analyses, and projected Q3/Q4 modeling scenarios. Junho would pretend to study these for exactly twelve minutes while Winter sat in the ergonomic chair across his desk, her accent becoming pronounced in direct proportion to her anxiety level[2].

What happened on this particular Friday deviated from the algorithm in ways that would later prove significant, starting with Winter's arrival at 18:27[3].

"The Busan account numbers are off," Junho said, his photographic memory already detecting a 0.03% discrepancy in the third-quarter projections. The words emerged with the mechanical precision of someone who had learned human speech through technical manuals rather than conversation. "This is—" he paused, index finger tapping against his mahogany desk in a rapidfire motion that Winter had learned to recognize as his pre-explosion tell, "—unacceptable."

And then something unprecedented occurred.

Instead of her usual composed absorption of his critique, Winter's face crumpled into what could only be described as a squeaky whimper, a sound so incongruous with her usual professional demeanor that it seemed to physically stun Junho into silence. It was the acoustic equivalent of watching a Mercedes-Benz hiccup.

The algorithm crashed.

—

[1] Junho Kim, CEO of Quantum Logistics Solutions, net worth $2.3B (₩3.1T), possessed what his former Harvard professors called "an almost frightening capacity for data retention" and what his former therapist (sessions terminated after 2.5 meetings) called "a pathological inability to process emotional bandwidth."

[2] A phenomenon her roommate had dubbed "The Accent Anxiety Index," where her carefully practiced Seoul pronunciation would gradually give way to her native Busan satoori, ranging from barely detectable at Level 1 ("감사합니다") to full coastal at Level 10 ("아이고, 사장님, 이 숫자 영 아니네요").

[3] The 3-minute early arrival would later be explained by a complex series of events involving a broken elevator, two flights of stairs, and Winter's determination not to let her carefully constructed timeline collapse due to mechanical failure.

—

The following Friday's debrief began with Junho actually pulling out Winter's chair[4], a gesture so unexpected that she nearly missed the seat entirely. The portfolio was reviewed. The whiskey was poured (Junho's usual Macallan 25, Winter's Hwayo 41). And then, somewhere between the second and third drink, Winter's accent kicked into what would later be classified as Level 11 on the Southern Comfort Scale.

"You know what your problem is, sajangnim?" Minjeong's words carried the warm weight of soju and suppressed frustration, her carefully maintained Seoul accent dissolving entirely into coastal inflections. "당신은 인생을 마치 스프레드시트처럼 대하시네요. Everything must calculate perfectly, but people aren't numbers, and some of us are tired of being debugged like broken code."

Junho's finger stopped its habitual tapping mid-motion[5].

—

[4] A gesture learned from a WikiHow article titled "Basic Human Courtesy: A Beginner's Guide" that Junho had queued up on his tablet at 3:47 AM the previous Tuesday.

[5] Later analysis would reveal this as the exact moment Junho Kim, master of algorithms and logistics, encountered a variable his photographic memory couldn't process: genuine human connection.[6]

The office fell into a silence that could be measured in heartbeats (Junho's: an efficient 72 BPM; Minjeong's: an elevated 98 BPM). Outside, Seoul's financial district performed its usual Friday night exodus, the sound of departing Mercedes and BMWs creating a capitalistic symphony twenty-three floors below.

"시간이..." Minjeong continued, her Busan accent now operating at what could only be classified as Level 12[7], "Time isn't just money, 사장님. Sometimes it's just... time. Like those lunches you wolf down in exactly eight minutes while reading reports. Or these Friday meetings where you never actually look at me, just through me at some invisible spreadsheet floating in the air behind my head."

Junho's hand, still frozen mid-tap, slowly lowered to the desk. His photographic memory began involuntarily cataloging details it had somehow missed during their previous 47 debriefs: the way Minjeong's left hand always fidgeted with her portfolio's corner when nervous, how her voice carried traces of sea salt and summer festivals despite years of Seoul speech coaching, the fact that she had memorized his coffee preferences down to the precise temperature (81°C, no higher, no lower).

"I do look at you," he said, then immediately registered the statistical improbability of his own response[8].

Minjeong's laugh carried the particular timber of someone who had been holding it in reserve for approximately 11.7 months. "아니요, you really don't. You look at KPIs and performance metrics and quarterly projections. Did you know," she leaned forward, her accent thick as Busan fog, "that I've worn the same earrings every Friday for three months just to see if you'd notice?"

The earrings in question were small silver cranes, Junho's memory instantly supplied, purchased from a street vendor in Gukje Market during last quarter's Busan office inspection, chosen because their wings formed the mathematical symbol for infinity when viewed from the correct angle[9].

—

[6] A concept that would later require Junho to create an entirely new category in his mental filing system, located somewhere between "Acceptable Business Practices" and "Breathing Exercises (Mandatory)."

[7] A previously theoretical level on the Accent Anxiety Index, characterized by the complete abandonment of Seoul linguistic pretense and the emergence of what Minjeong's mother would call "우리 딸의 진짜 목소리" (our daughter's real voice).

[8] Statistical analysis of Junho's daily eye contact patterns, conducted by his personal AI assistant, revealed an average sustained eye contact duration of 1.3 seconds with all employees, making his current 4.7-second gaze at Minjeong a 361.5% deviation from the mean.

[9] A detail that would have impressed Junho greatly had he noticed it at the time of purchase, rather than at this precise moment when his brain was simultaneously trying to process the concept of infinity and the way Minjeong's eyes reflected the city lights like binary code translated into stardust.

—

The Hwayo bottle stood between them like a glass mediator, its contents depleted by exactly 73.4%. Junho found himself performing calculations he had never previously considered necessary: the precise angle at which Minjeong's smile disrupted his cardiac rhythm (42.7°), the correlation coefficient between her proximity and his ability to maintain coherent thought patterns (inverse relationship, R² = 0.97), the half-life of each satoori-tinged syllable in his auditory memory (approaching infinity)[10].

"There's a pojangmacha," Minjeong said, her words now performing linguistic gymnastics between Seoul and Busan, "down in Gangnam that serves 할매's 파전 just like back home. But you—" she gestured with her glass, creating small amber trajectories in the air, "—you probably have the exact caloric content memorized without ever tasting it."

"624 calories per standard serving," Junho confirmed automatically, then added, in what he would later recognize as his first attempt at human humor[11], "Not accounting for 할매's (grandmother’s) love."

The laugh that escaped Minjeong's lips was genuine enough to bypass all of Junho's statistical models for appropriate business interaction. It was the kind of laugh that made him wonder if his entire algorithmic approach to life had been operating on a fundamental error: the assumption that human emotions could be debugged rather than experienced.

"사장님," she said, then caught herself, "아니, Junho-ssi." The honorific shift created a quantifiable disruption in the office's atmospheric pressure[12]. "Do you know why I cry sometimes when you yell about the numbers?"

Junho's hands found themselves attempting to calculate an emotion he had no formula for. "I... have a working hypothesis."

"It's not because I'm scared or hurt," she continued, her Busan accent now wrapping around the words like a warm coast-side breeze. "It's because I see you turning yourself into code, like you're trying to compile a human being into binary, and..." she paused, searching for words in both Seoul and Busan vocabularies before settling on, "...그게 너무 아까워요."

The phrase hung in the air, untranslatable in its full emotional weight[13].

—

[10] A phenomenon that would later require Junho to create an entirely new mathematical framework he privately termed "The Minjeong Constant: Variables in Human Connection."

[11] Later analysis of office security footage would reveal this as his first non-data-related comment in approximately 2,847 hours of recorded business interactions.

[12] Advanced environmental sensors in the building's HVAC system actually recorded a 0.02% change in air pressure at this exact moment, though causation versus correlation remains a subject of debate among the building's maintenance staff.

[13] The closest English approximation might be "it's such a waste," but this fails to capture the uniquely Korean sense of regret for potential beauty lost to unnecessary efficiency, like trying to measure ocean waves in milliliters.

—

For exactly 15.4 seconds, Junho Kim—master of instantaneous data processing, champion of real-time analytics—found himself buffering. His mind, that perfectly calibrated instrument of calculation, attempted to run multiple subroutines simultaneously:

ROUTINE_1: Analyze the 2.3% tremor in Minjeong's voice during "그게 너무 아까워요"

ROUTINE_2: Process the 7.4mm dilation of his pupils upon hearing his given name

ROUTINE_3: Calculate the exact distance between their hands on the desk (23.7cm, decreasing by approximately 0.3mm per heartbeat)

ERROR: Stack overflow in emotional processing unit[14]

"I have a file," he began, then stopped, realizing that perhaps not everything needed to be classified and stored. "No, I mean... I remember every time you've smiled at work. Real smiles, not the ones you use for clients or difficult vendors." His fingers twitched, instinctively seeking a keyboard that wasn't there. "The data suggests that they occur most frequently when you're talking about Busan, or when you think no one is watching you arrange the office plants, or..." he paused, processing, "...or when you're correcting my humanity protocols[15]."

Minjeong's eyes widened, creating what Junho's brain automatically calculated as a 34.6% increase in their reflective surface area. "You... keep track of my smiles?"

"I keep track of everything," he said, then amended, displaying unprecedented runtime flexibility, "but your smiles occupy 43% more memory space than standard data points."

"아이고," Minjeong laughed, the sound carrying hints of sea breezes and noraebang nights, "only you would quantify feelings in percentages and memory allocation, 사장님[16]."

The Hwayo bottle now stood at 82.6% depletion. Outside, Seoul had transformed into its weekend configuration, all neon equations and binary dreams. But inside this office, something unquantifiable was compiling—a program written in neither Python nor Java, but in the ancient code of human connection.

"There's a logical error in your earlier statement," Junho said suddenly, his voice performing calculations it had never been calibrated for. "About me not looking at you."

"Oh?" Minjeong's eyebrow arched at precisely 27 degrees.

"I look at you approximately 2,347 times per day. My peripheral vision activates in your presence with 72% more frequency than baseline. I have memorized exactly 267 variations of your voice modulation between Seoul and Busan registers[17]. The error," he continued, his own accent slipping for the first time since Harvard, "is in assuming I don't see you."

—

[14] A phenomenon his Harvard professors had theoretically predicted but never successfully documented: the complete shutdown of pure logic circuits in favor of what they termed "human.exe."

[15] A private joke that had never made it past his internal firewall until this moment, referring to the way she subtly guided him toward more socially acceptable behaviors, like suggesting he say "good morning" to the cleaning staff or remember team members' birthdays.

[16] The honorific here carrying a new weight, somewhere between professional distance and affectionate teasing, a linguistic quantum state that would have fascinated physicists had they been present to observe it.

[17] This particular statistic would later become the subject of a 3 AM realization that perhaps "normal" CEOs don't maintain such detailed databases of their assistants' vocal patterns.

—

The confession hung in the air with the weight of a misplaced decimal point. Minjeong's hand, still holding her Hwayo glass, trembled at a frequency of approximately 3.2 Hz. The office's automated climate control system registered a sudden 0.7°C spike in local temperature[18].

"그래서..." Minjeong's voice emerged in Pure Pattern #271 (Subcategory: Emotional Breakthrough), "this is why you always know when I've had 떡볶이 for lunch?"

The unexpected query caused Junho to experience what his systems could only classify as a brief moment of runtime joy. "The specific aroma particles adhere to your cardigan at a rate of—" he caught himself, noting the gleam in her eye, and for the first time in recorded history, Junho Kim deliberately chose not to complete a calculation[19].

Instead, he found himself saying, "Your smile increases by exactly 23.7% when you eat 떡볶이. It's... optimal."

"최적화?" Minjeong's laugh carried notes of soju and starlight. "You're really going to data-analyze my happiness levels?"

"I have spreadsheets," he admitted, his voice carrying an unfamiliar warmth that his diagnostic systems struggled to categorize. "Cross-referenced with weather patterns, quarterly reports, and the frequency of your Busan accent emergence[20]."

"아이고..." She shifted in her chair, reducing the distance between them by precisely 4.7 centimeters. "You're either the weirdest or the most romantic person I've ever met, and I haven't decided which yet."

The word 'romantic' created a momentary buffer overflow in Junho's cognitive processes. His hands, typically occupied with calculating profit margins or optimizing supply chains, found themselves drawing abstract patterns on his desk's surface—a behavior previously filed under 'Inefficient Human Gestures: Do Not Engage.'

"I could..." he paused, processing, "...show you the data?"

—

[17] This particular dataset would later be renamed in his personal files to "The Minjeong Codex: A Quantitative Analysis of Qualitative Perfection."

[18] The building's maintenance staff would later attribute this to a mechanical anomaly, unaware they had documented the exact moment Junho Kim's ice-cold corporate facade began its calculated melt.

[19] A moment that would later be marked in his personal development log as "First Successful Implementation of Strategic Data Suppression for Emotional Optimization."

[20] These spreadsheets, discovered months later during a routine server backup, would become legendary among the IT department as "The Love Languages of Linear Regression."

—

Minjeong's eyes sparkled with what Junho's facial recognition protocols quantified as 87% mirth, 13% tenderness. "보여주세요," she said, the soju making her consonants softer, more Busan-bound. "Show me this data about me."

For the first time in his professional career, Junho Kim fumbled with his laptop password[21]. The Hwayo bottle between them had decreased to critical levels, and he found the standard office lights were creating unusual prismatic effects in Minjeong's hair. His fingers, typically precise to the microsecond, skittered across the keyboard.

"See, here's the correlation between your happiness metrics and the proximity to Korean holidays," he began, then stopped, distracted by the way she'd rolled her chair closer to view his screen. The scent of her perfume (도라지 꽃, his brain supplied automatically, though for once the percentage calculation felt irrelevant) mixed with the lingering soju in the air.

"You made a pie chart," she said, her voice warm with something his systems were too buzzed to properly quantify, "of my favorite lunch spots?"

"The data visualization seemed... appropriate," he managed, aware that his usual processing power was operating at diminished capacity. "Though I may have spent a statistically anomalous amount of time color-coding it to match your favorite blazer[22]."

Minjeong's laugh had shed all traces of its Seoul polish. "어머나, who knew the great Junho Kim was such a..." she searched for the word in both dialects before landing on, "...nerd?"

"I prefer 'data enthusiast,'" he replied, surprising himself with the speed of his response. The soju was definitely affecting his standard processing delays. "Though my enthusiasm appears to be... specialized."

"Specialized?" Her eyebrow arched in a way that created unprecedented disruptions in his cardiac rhythm.

"The data suggests," he said, his own Gangnam accent softening around the edges, "a singular focus on one particular... variable[23]."

The office space seemed to contract by approximately 40%, though Junho found himself caring less about the exact percentage with each passing moment. Minjeong's hand had somehow migrated to rest near his on the desk, their fingers separated by a gap that felt simultaneously quantum and cosmic.

—

[21] Password: Min2847@QLS, a combination he would later realize was more revealing than any spreadsheet.

[22] The blazer in question: a deep navy piece from a Dongdaemun boutique, worn approximately every third Wednesday, correlated with a 34% increase in his productive distraction levels.

[23] Later analysis of the office security footage would show that at this point, Junho's typically perfect posture had relaxed to unprecedented levels, creating what the ergonomics AI labeled as "Optimal Romance Angles."

—

"Show me more," Minjeong said softly, unconsciously tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Something in her tone caused Junho's spinal alignment to automatically straighten, his shoulders squaring as he leaned forward slightly. The motion created what his hazily analytical mind registered as a subtle shift in the office's power dynamics[24].

"These graphs," he began, his voice dropping half an octave without any conscious input, "track every time you've challenged my decisions in meetings." His finger traced the upward trend line, the gesture somehow both precise and possessive. "You're the only one who dares to correct my logic. It's... intriguing."

Minjeong's breath caught audibly. "사장님..." she started, then with visible effort, "Junho-ssi... you track even that?"

"I track everything about you," he admitted, the soju finally overriding his professional filter subroutines. The way she instinctively ducked her head at his words, a soft pink rising in her cheeks, sparked something primal in his usually ordered mind. "Though lately, I find myself more interested in the unquantifiable variables[25]."

"Like what?" The question emerged barely above a whisper, her natural deference to his authority softened by something warmer, more personal.

Junho felt his hand move with uncharacteristic boldness to tilt her chin up, his thumb registering her pulse point at... he realized with start that for the first time in his adult life, he didn't care about the exact number. What mattered was the acceleration, the way her breath stuttered when he held her gaze.

"Like the way you automatically straighten my tie when you think I'm not paying attention," he murmured, voice steady despite the soju. "Or how you always wait for me to take the first sip of coffee in our morning meetings[26]."

—

[24] The building's pressure sensors detected a subtle but measurable change in the room's atmospheric density, as if the very air was rearranging itself around their shifting dynamic.

[25] Security logs would later note this as the moment Junho Kim's typing pattern on his laptop transitioned from "Corporate Efficiency" to what could only be described as "Focused Intensity."

[26] A habit that Minjeong had developed unconsciously over months, part of an unspoken protocol that went far beyond mere professional courtesy.

—

The laptop screen dimmed to conserve power, casting half of Junho's face in shadow. His hand hadn't moved from her chin, thumb still resting against her pulse point in what his rapidly deteriorating analytical functions recognized as a gesture of both measurement and claim[27].

"You know what else I've noticed?" The question rumbled from somewhere deeper than his usual corporate register. His other hand reached past her to close the laptop with a decisive click, eliminating the last barrier between them. "You mirror my breathing patterns during long meetings. 호흡이... perfectly synchronized."

Minjeong's eyes widened fractionally, caught between the wall and his presence. "That's..." she swallowed, her professional composure wavering, "...very observant of you, 사장님."

"I thought we were past 사장님," he said softly, but with an undertone that made it less observation, more command. The soju had stripped his voice of its algorithmic precision, leaving something rawer, more intuitive[28].

"Jun...ho..." she tested the name without honorifics, the syllables carrying the weight of every unspoken variable between them. Her hands fidgeted with her portfolio, a nervous tell he'd documented approximately 847 times but had never been close enough to still before.

Until now.

His free hand covered both of hers, instantly calming their movement. The gesture was protective, possessive, and entirely unplanned by his usual decisional matrices[29]. "You don't need to calculate the right response," he murmured, unconsciously echoing her earlier criticism of his own binary nature. "Your instincts have a 99.9% accuracy rate."

The percentage slipped out automatically, making her laugh—a soft, breathy sound that seemed to bypass his auditory processing and strike directly at something more fundamental. Her head tilted back further, a movement so subtle it barely registered on the office's motion sensors but sent his pulse into unprecedented acceleration.

"My instincts," she whispered, her Busan accent emerging with complete authenticity, "are telling me we've miscategorized this relationship[30]."

—

[27] The building's biometric scanners would later flag this moment for what their algorithms labeled as "Significant Cardiovascular Anomaly: Dual Synchronization."

[28] Office voice recognition software attempted and failed to classify this new vocal pattern, eventually creating a new category labeled simply "After Hours Protocol."

[29] The exact pressure of his grip would have registered at precisely 7.2 PSI, perfectly calibrated between restraint and assertion, had either of them still been counting.

[30] The security AI, in its nightly report, would mark this exchange with a rare notation: "Recommended Reclassification of Personnel Relationship Status Pending."

—

"Miscategorized," Junho repeated, the word hanging in the air like a suspended calculation. His hand moved from her chin to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair with unprecedented decisiveness[31]. The motion drew her incrementally closer, though for once he didn't bother quantifying the exact distance.

"yes..." Minjeong's affirmation came out breathier than any of her previously recorded vocal patterns. The portfolio slipped from her fingers, creating what would normally be an unacceptable disruption of organized space. Neither of them moved to retrieve it.

"You know what's interesting?" Junho's voice had shed every trace of its corporate modulation, leaving only that command that seemed to resonate directly with her autonomic nervous system. "I've run approximately 2,847 scenarios of this moment in my head[32]."

Her hands had found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the precise Italian wool of his suit. "And?" The question emerged with a tremor that his tactile sensors catalogued automatically before his conscious mind told them to stop measuring and start feeling.

"None of them..." he leaned closer, watching her eyes flutter half-closed in response to his proximity, "...included the variable of you looking at me exactly like this."

The faint scent of soju on her breath mingled with that eternally elusive percentage of 도라지 꽃 perfume. Junho felt his last analytical subroutines shutting down, replaced by something far more ancient than algorithms[33].

"Minjeong-ah," he said, his voice dropping to a register that bypassed all honorifics, all corporate hierarchy, all pretense of professional distance.

Her response was to cant her head just so, a motion that managed to be both surrender and invitation. "Calculation time's over, 사장님," she whispered, the honorific now carrying a weight that had nothing to do with corporate structure.

—

[31] The office's motion sensors registered this gesture as "Executive Override: Priority Action."

[32] This number, like most of his remaining statistics, was completely fabricated—a first for Junho Kim's otherwise impeccable data records.

[33] Building security cameras would later mark this timestamp with an unprecedented classification: "Critical System Override: Human.exe fully activated."

—

For the first time in his documented existence, Junho Kim stopped calculating entirely.

The distance closed between them with a momentum that defied measurement. His hand tightened in her hair, angling her face upward as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The kiss, when it came, contained no statistics, no data points, no quantifiable metrics[34].

Minjeong made a soft sound—Pattern #unknown, Category: heaven—against his mouth. Her fingers clutched his suit lapels with enough force to wrinkle the wool beyond its optimal pressed state, a fact that Junho's usually meticulous mind registered and immediately discarded as irrelevant.

Time segmented into a new measurement system: the catch of her breath, the silk of her hair between his fingers, the way she yielded and pressed closer simultaneously. Junho discovered that his organizational skills apparently extended to kissing, each angle adjustment and pressure variation drawing increasingly desperate responses from Minjeong[35].

When they finally broke apart, Minjeong's carefully maintained Seoul pronunciation had disappeared entirely. "아이고..." she breathed against his mouth, "당신이..."

"Initial results," Junho murmured, his own accent thick with something that had nothing to do with regional linguistics, "require extensive further testing[36]."

She laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest where she was still pressed against him. "Did you just turn our first kiss into a quality control protocol?"

"Quality confirmed," he replied, then demonstrated his newfound commitment to hands-on research by kissing her again, harder this time, swallowing her surprised gasp. His hand splayed possessively across her lower back, holding her steady as she swayed into him.

—

[34] The building's atmospheric sensors recorded unexplained fluctuations in local temperature, humidity, and electromagnetic fields, leading to a complete recalibration of their measurement standards.

[35] Later analysis would suggest that Junho's legendary attention to detail had found a new, decidedly non-professional application, though this data remains classified in personal files marked "Private Research: Ongoing."

[36] The security AI attempting to transcribe this conversation eventually gave up and simply tagged the file: "Error 404: Professionalism Not Found."

—

Somewhere in the haze of non-analytical thought, Junho registered Minjeong's slight backward momentum and moved instinctively to steady her. His hand swept the desk clear with uncharacteristic disregard for organizational protocols, sending the quarterly reports flutter-falling to the carpet in an acceptable margin of chaos[37].

"Jun...ho..." His name escaped her lips like a statistical anomaly as he lifted her effortlessly onto the mahogany surface. Her legs parted automatically to accommodate him, skirt hiking up precisely 4.7 inches—the last measurement his brain would process for the foreseeable future.

"So beautiful," he murmured against her throat, the words emerging in pure Gangnam inflection, all pretense of corporate diction abandoned. His teeth grazed her pulse point, drawing a whimper that would require an entirely new classification system[38].

Minjeong's fingers tangled in his precisely styled hair, disrupting approximately 47 minutes of morning grooming routine. "사장님," she gasped, the honorific now carrying entirely different connotations, "the papers..."

"Irrelevant data," he growled, recapturing her mouth with newfound authority. The kiss deepened, transformed, became something that defied all previous parameters. Her back arched into him, creating angles that had nothing to do with geometry and everything to do with instinct[39].

A distant part of his mind registered the soft thud of his suit jacket hitting the floor, followed by the whisper of silk as Minjeong's blazer joined it. The city lights painted silver equations across her skin, codes he suddenly needed to decode with his mouth instead of his mind.

—

[37] The office's normally pristine state would require exactly 23.7 minutes to restore, a task that would be significantly delayed by several subsequent "data collection sessions."

[38] Facial recognition software attempting to analyze the security feed would crash repeatedly, unable to reconcile Junho Kim's expression with any known configuration in its emotional database.

[39] The building's structural integrity sensors registered minor seismic activity, though this data would be suspiciously absent from the next day's maintenance logs.

—

He let his hands trail by the sides of her body, one busy with her torso—breasts and all—and the other, feeling the creamy softness of her thighs. And each needy press or pinch, brought out the softest of her moans, the cutest of her lip quivers.

He was busy, marking her lips, making it all swollen and red; yet, still, he couldn’t get enough of her. That soft body, her caring little hands, her hot inner thighs, and that gentle heat radiating off her core—just hidden by the slightest of her skirt. “Minjeong.” He whispered, pressing himself against her—a matter of teasing and also a way to test the waters, whether or not she wanted it on the table.

And Minjeong, not one to initiate, wrapped her thin arms around his nape, pulling him closer, “Yes, yes, please, anything, anywhere,” then a dozen little kisses all on his face. This assurance, this consent, slowly, but surely, made him wrench her legs open—wide. He saw that stain, dark against her gray underwear, and that was when his photographic memory… failed him.

He dug in, letting his loin press up against hers—immersing himself in her wetness. Then, finally, he pulled down on his pants, showing his tent-like imprint on his underwear to Minjeong, who, obviously, couldn’t stop staring. By the end of the minute, that ruthless minute, both were undressed in their lower-half—a utilitarian instinct to fuck each other as fast as possible.

Junho breathed heavily, staring at that pink hue that her core was so beautifully composed of—along with the wetness, the fragrance, and more. “Minjeong…” He held his shaft, lining it up straight on her wetness. She finally replied, “Yes… Junho…” And that’s when he pressed in, into the endless heat.

That wet connection hilt-to-hilt, along with a deep kiss—turned Minjeong completely docile and submissive. That wet connection, her wet slime covering his shaft, somehow, only intensified their lust for each other. He pressed in again, faster this time, earning that soft mewl. “Mhm, fuck me,” she whispered, again and again. He kept honoring those wishes, going deeper, and faster. He tucked his dick into her pussy, wet squelch and all, over and over until he felt his legs get weak from thrusting. Yet, that weakness didn’t deter him, he glided deeper, letting both their pelvises rub against each other, and making Minjeong cry out from the clit stimulation. She felt like she was getting tunneled, this man, the love of her life, crush of her lifetime, fucking her so good into a wobbly table—dreams aren’t even this good.

“I’m gonna cum, Minjeong.” He whispered, low and growling.

“Inside. Please. Inside…” She whispered before getting overtaken by her orgasm.

And just at the peak of her orgasm, the teetering breath before rest, Junho barreled all his semen inside her—rope after rope of semen splashing against her cervix. “Holy fuck.” they both said in conjunction. 

—

The Seoul skyline had shifted into its late-night configuration by the time they finally disentangled themselves. Junho's normally immaculate shirt hung open, his tie having long since joined the scattered papers on the floor. Minjeong's hair had abandoned all pretense of its usual professional arrangement, falling in waves that his fingers couldn't seem to stop threading through[40].

"이게..." Minjeong began, her voice still carrying traces of breathlessness as she surveyed the chaos they'd created. Her blazer lay draped over a chair at an angle that would have horrified their usual professional standards. "I should reorganize the—"

"Stay exactly where you are," Junho commanded softly, his arms tightening around her waist. His usual perfectionism had found a new target: the way she melted against him at that tone[41].

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her smile pure Busan sunshine. "데이트하자... be my 오빠?" The question emerged with endearing uncertainty, mixing honorifics and languages in a way that bypassed his brain entirely and struck straight at his heart.

"그래," he murmured into her hair, then with characteristic precision added, "Exclusively."

Her laugh carried notes of joy and residual shyness. "Then as your girlfriend, I should really clean up this mess..." She gestured at the scattered papers, the displaced furniture, the general dishevelment that spoke eloquently of the past hour's activities.

"As your boyfriend," his voice dropped to that commanding register that made her shiver, "I want to watch you do it[42]."

The drive home—his penthouse, by unspoken agreement—required exactly 17 minutes. Neither of them bothered to count.

—

[40] The building's security system would later note this as the longest recorded instance of the CEO remaining in office after hours, though the detailed logs were mysteriously corrupted.

[41] Internal HR protocols regarding workplace relationships were hastily updated the following morning, though no one questioned why the CEO personally oversaw these revisions.

[42] The night cleaning staff would arrive to find the office in unprecedented perfect order, though several employees would later swear they heard laughter and whispered Busan endearments echoing through the empty halls.

Fin

[chaaistained]

what’s your internship like? (in your better cr)

page turners

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you can’t blame me for wanting to live in a world where society doesn’t reserve value and recognition to only be rewarded if you follow the standard, left brained, logical mindset of stem and maths and science and technology — and this is coming from someone who loves those very subjects and excels in them — i’m very much a maths lover, i enjoy solving logical problems, it brings a satisfaction that cannot be described, and yet . i don’t feel as alive as when i’m writing, when i’m reading, when i’m analysing, pulling apart, breaking down the intricate threads of thought that make up a story, or an essay, or a poem

my mind may find satisfaction in solving page after page of algebra, but my soul will only find its spark when i give in to emotion and empathetic analysis, and for that very reason, i scripted a different degree for my dr-self, and with that came a different internship in a publishing company that does not exist in this reality — Page Turners

in my dr at the midpoint of my first year in uni, i had gotten into a year long internship at a government office, hired because of my degree in entertainment law majoring in copywriting

but i have a double degree, my second being a degree in arts majoring in literature and creative writing, and i always knew i wanted a more creative job, rather than the technical, legal side of the publishing industry (no matter how well it pays)

so at the end of my first internship, i started exploring different avenues, and Page Turners was brought to my attention (ironically, by my english tutor from high school)

they advertise mainly to young writers, they have an open submission for a monthly online magazine, curated by a theme (think dakota warren’s nowhere girl collective but only focused on writing — whereas dakota includes submissions for art and music too)

Page Turners wasn’t hiring anyone who hadn’t gotten a full degree but with the help of my ex-tutor (and ex-boss bcs i used to mark papers for her every now and then) i was able to make a case for an internship position

it took a while, a whole year in fact, but Page Turners thought that a way to reach the youth would be to start as early as possible and the best way to do so is by implementing internship programs into their business plan — essentially, my drive to work in the creative field (and mostly due to my connections bcs networking sucks but it is everything) i was able to convince an up and coming publishing house to start hiring students, who may be exactly like me, just waiting for the opportunity to do something creative

i haven’t scripted much on the actual internship program and what it entails but i get accepted and start working at the beginning of my third year (honestly year 3 of uni has a lot of firsts for me — first longterm internship, first boyfriend who i can actually see a future with, first new car, first youtube play button for my anonymous cover channel w two of my high school friends — theres probably more but i don’t wanna sound cocky T^T)

anyway, back to the point — my internship essentially allows me to explore the workings of a publishing house, and with my background in copy write law and creative writing, i’m able to dabble in many different divisions and subdivisions, getting a chance to see how the writers, lawyers, agents and editors work — it’s where i find my passion for developmental editing : the profession of assisting with the creative process of a book, primarily a novel, where you go through a synopsis, a story board, and the overall themes and acts of the story, it’s less about the in-debt typo-prevention of editing and more about the overall narrative — stuff like helping to pivot the story or guide the plot in a certain direction to achieve everything the writer hopes for, or, my personal favourite and my special skill if i do say so myself which is patching up plot holes to be seamless and make sense

finally, this internship, the people i worked with, they are the reason i felt confident enough to go back to uni and do a postgrad degree for a masters in creative writing and a specialisation in editing, so i could officially work full time as a developmental editor

meaning i could read and write and help create stories for a living

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if i ever script more or after i’ve properly experienced this internship, i will definitely update this post, or just make another one!! but for now, this is all i’ve got <333

cuppa queries; order in — ask responses

2025 © chaaistained

[infimace-blog]

Thinking about rap as a technical artform and rap as a cultural artform, with respect to Tumblr's incompetence at dealing with either. Tumblr can just barely grasp the former because, like all forms of Black music, it's been repackaged in various ways that are more palatable to to white audiences. I talked last month about how what Tumblr was calling rap while trying to defend its taste in music is more akin to filk songs, but I should admit, sometimes Tumblr cites people who actually rap. It doesn't fix the problem or absolve them of their bullshit, but it is true.

The failure then becomes an inability to recognize or care about how rap functions culturally.

People on Tumblr will take Dungeon Meshi and intricately pick apart how a single chapter connects back to real-world neurodivergence issues and the cultural differences between the West and the East when it comes to handling them, and then look at any given rap song and assume it's skin-deep. Unless it's Hamilton back in the late 2010s, before we all decided it was cringe, in which case they'll gladly dig into the history of the early USA and, like the play itself, sidestep the racism whenever possible.

Take Weird Al, one of the many names that's been thrown around in Kendrick and Drake's wake. Weird Al is technically a rapper. He has done rap. We cannot ignore that as a factual statement. He's not even that bad as a rapper. But he has no engagement with rap as a cultural object; he engages with the artform as a parodist. "Amish Paradise", probably Weird Al's most popular rap parody, doesn't say anything; it's here to riff on a religious minority. But you dig into it just a little and you can see the kind of complexity that Tumblr usually loves to talk about. The song is, after all, a parody of Coolio's Grammy-winning "Gangster's Paradise", which is literally about being a black man in an environment dominated by organized crime and fearing the constant threat of death in that life, but was also created specifically for the movie Dangerous Minds, a middling white savior movie about Michelle Pfeiffer teaching a bunch of bad stereotypes of what people think inner city non-white students are. A movie that was, in turn, based on a white woman's memoirs about teaching in a bad school near San Francisco. You've got this interplay between a white woman's real-life efforts to teach her black and Latino students (I can't speak to how effective she was, mind you), a fictionalized version of that same woman being shown as the sole guiding light for her underdeveloped gangbanging students - and a white actress's crappy Kipling-ass 5/10 film getting Coolio his Grammy. It was tailor-made to be Coolio's big hit with white audiences, getting the push of Michelle Pfeiffer, having slow and deliberate rapping, and lacking the swearing in most of Coolio's oeuvre (Stevie Wonder mandated no swearing in return for letting Coolio sample his music). And, though I suspect this was unintentional, the song plays into the same narrative that the movie does, how this rapper is doomed to his life because "nobody's there to teach [him]", with dramatic choir and strings underscoring the dire fate that awaits this rapper if some charitable white person doesn't help him - the same dramatic choir and strings that Weird Al uses for comedic effect by comparing it to Amish farmwork.

I put that last paragraph together with two or three hours of Wikipedia, and you can do the same kind of analysis with a lot of hit rap songs (and Genius is right there if you need a helping hand - I wouldn't have understood much of Kendrick's Euphoria without it), and I think this drives a lot of my frustration? Tumblr loves to see something cool and then take a few days to write an in-depth post about how cool it is under the surface. So the lack of this when it comes to rap does show a deep disinterest in thinking about it when it isn't fun. And there's so much cool shit to learn about rap. Did you know that Baby Got Back was inspired by the anti-black fatphobia Sir Mixalot's model girlfriend was dealing with in her industry, and was pushing back against the media's general preference for skinny white women? Did you know that there's a Turkish hip-hop scene specifically in Germany because, as a minority that was brought to the country for cheap labor and then forced to exist as second-class citizens, they ended up relating a lot to the music? Just. Dig a bit. There's so much.

[astroxrion]

What Mercury Retrograde will bring each Mercury Sign 🤍RX.

⬇️

Mercury in Aries (Rx)

Expect mental impatience and impulsive speech. Words may fly before thoughts form. Slow down. Reconsider actions before acting. Watch for anger masking fear. Work on listening without needing to dominate. Communicate assertively, not aggressively. Think before you leap or speak.

Mercury in Taurus (Rx)

Mental sluggishness and resistance to change may frustrate. Stubborn thoughts loop. Watch for rigidity or material obsession. Re-evaluate your values. Speak slowly, clearly, and from grounded presence. Work on flexibility in communication. Rebuild inner security from the inside out.

Mercury in Gemini (Rx)

Mental static, scattered focus, overthinking. Tongue-tied or too talkative. Miscommunication is likely. Reassess your words, not just your thoughts. Double-check all details. Watch gossip and mental burnout. Work on honest, meaningful exchange over shallow chatter.

Mercury in Cancer (Rx)

Emotional memories cloud current perception. Old wounds return. Mood affects thinking. Watch passive-aggressive speech or emotional withdrawal. Work on naming your feelings clearly. Communicate with softness, but also clarity. Let the heart speak, but don’t drown in nostalgia.

Mercury in Leo (Rx)

Ego gets entangled in your thoughts. You may feel unseen or misunderstood. Watch for dramatic responses and prideful silence. Revisit old creative ideas. Speak from sincerity, not performance. Work on authentic self-expression without needing approval or applause.

Mercury in Virgo (Rx)

Perfectionism blocks flow. Over-analysis creates anxiety. Communication gets tangled in technicalities. Watch for self-criticism or micromanaging others. Work on letting go of control. Rethink your routines. Speak with precision, but allow room for humanity and error.

Mercury in Libra (Rx)

Indecision and people-pleasing distort clarity. You may avoid truth to keep peace. Watch for superficial charm masking discomfort. Work on honest diplomacy. Re-evaluate relationships and fairness. Speak your needs gently but directly. Don’t sugarcoat the truth out of fear.

Mercury in Scorpio (Rx)

Paranoia and suspicion may cloud thoughts. Mental fixation on betrayals, secrets, or power plays. Watch manipulative language. Work on directness and trust. Revisit old wounds, but don’t spiral. Speak honestly about taboo things. Heal by voicing your inner truth, not hiding it.

Mercury in Sagittarius (Rx)

Exaggeration, false certainty, or blunt speech may stir conflict. Rethink your beliefs. Watch for preaching instead of conversing. Work on listening as much as speaking. Seek truth, not just your version of it. Speak with honesty but also tact. Humility sharpens wisdom.

Mercury in Capricorn (Rx)

Overthinking logistics and fearing failure may block clarity. Watch for cold or dismissive tone. Reassess long-term plans. Work on vulnerability in communication. Speak with structure, but add warmth. Let go of needing to always sound “right.” Authority comes from presence, not control.

Mercury in Aquarius (Rx)

Mental rebellion and detachment may confuse others. Expect tech glitches, future-doubt, and mental overwhelm. Watch for aloof or arrogant speech. Re-examine your ideals. Work on expressing your weirdness clearly. Speak from your genius, but stay human. Let connection guide your voice.

Mercury in Pisces (Rx)

Foggy thoughts, intuition overload. You may dissociate or daydream more. Miscommunications feel personal. Watch for victim mentality or passive expression. Work on grounding your imagination. Speak from soul, not illusion. Revisit dreams and let clarity rise from the chaos.