#.NET Project management

[semanticlp]

RVNL Q4 2025 Conference Call

RVNL Q4 2025 Conference Call #conferencecall #concall #earningscall #rvnl #rvnlstock #rvnlshare Here are the highlights from the Real Vikas Nigum Limited Q4 FY25 earnings conference call: Management Introduction: The call was hosted by Anti-Stop Broking Limited, with key management members including Mr. Pravid Gorgji (Chairman and Managing Director), Mr. Sanjiv Kumar (Director of Finance and…

[portfolioed]

Getting to Net Zero: Burges Salmon

Long-running association with Bristol-based legal firm Burges Salmon, producing highly specialised reports into key areas of Net Zero.

Reports produced so far:

Consenting Hydrogen Projects

Energy Resilience for Industrial Logistics

Heat Networks

The Role of Rural Land

My role has been in end-to-end project management, including research specifications, hypotheses through to analysis and report writing, editing and production.

[femmefitz]

Spotlight for the Revive Gaza's Agriculture Program

DISCLAIMER IF YOU ARE MESSAGING ME ABOUT A CAMPAIGN: I receive too many messages every day to personally respond to. I will reblog and queue your post as I receive your message, but I am unlikely to message back. This is not personal; it's just the only manageable way for me to deal with the volume of messages. Thank you for understanding.

The original version of this post was a rotating list of links for both Sudan and Gaza. I was unable to keep up with actually rotating out the links, and so I thought it might be for the best if I just focus all my energy onto one mutual aid campaign. I'll link the original masterpost at the end of this one.

If you've followed me for any amount of time, you probably know that agriculture is one of my passions. I firmly believe in food sovereignty and food justice.

So I was glad to learn about the Revive Gaza's Agriculture project. This program not only produces food (which is critical right now), but it also undermines the blockade intended to starve out Gazans, and is working to provide jobs. The organization has stated that later stages will help remediate the soil that has been poisoned over the course of the genocide.

Their progress in their own words:

Cultivated 1,019 dunums of vegetables with 537 farming families, comprising a total of 3,370 individuals.

Produced 5,090 tons of fresh vegetables.

Rehabilitated 17 greenhouses.

Rehabilitated 2 agricultural wells serving 6,000 individuals.

Provided fishing nets to 30 fisherfolk.

Distributed poultry to families.

If you are wanting to send money to mutual aid programs, please, consider this one.

link to the original masterpost

[batboyblog]

Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #38

Oct 11-18 2024

President Biden announced that this Administration had forgiven the student loan debt of 1 million public sector workers. The cancellation of the student loan debts of 60,000 teachers, firefighters, EMTs, nurses and other public sector workers brings the total number of people who's debts have been erased by the Biden-Harris Administration using the Public Service Loan Forgiveness to 1 million. the PSLF was passed in 2007 but before President Biden took office only 7,000 people had ever had their debts forgiven through it. The Biden-Harris team have through different programs managed to bring debt relief to 5 million Americans and counting despite on going legal fights against Republican state Attorneys General.

The Federal Trade Commission finalizes its "one-click to cancel" rule. The new rule requires businesses to make it as easy to cancel a subscription as it was to sign up for it. It also requires more up front information to be shared before offering billing information.

The Department of Transportation announced that since the start of the Biden-Harris Administration there are 1.7 million more construction and manufacturing jobs and 700,000 more jobs in the transportation sector. There are now 400,000 more union workers than in 2021. 60,000 Infrastructure projects across the nation have been funded by the Biden-Harris Bipartisan Infrastructure Law. Under this Administration 16 million jobs have been added, including 1.7 construction and manufacturing jobs, construction employment is the highest ever recorded since records started in 1939. 172,000 manufacturing jobs were lost during the Trump administration.

The Department of Energy announced $2 billion to protect the U.S. power grid against growing threats of extreme weather. This money will go to 38 projects across 42 states and Washington DC. It'll upgrade nearly 1,000 miles worth of transmission lines. The upgrades will allow 7.5 gigawatts of new grid capacity while also generating new union jobs across the country.

The EPA announced $125 million to help upgrade older diesel engines to low or zero-emission solutions. The EPA has selected 70 projects to use the funds on. They range from replacing school buses, to port equipment, to construction equipment. More than half of the selected projects will be replacing equipment with zero-emissions, such as all electric school buses.

The Department of The Interior and State of California broke ground on the Salton Sea Species Conservation Habitat Project. The Salton Sea is California's largest lake at over 300 miles of Surface area. An earlier project worked to conserve and restore shallow water habitats in over 4,000 acres on the southern end of the lake, this week over 700 acres were added bring the total to 5,000 acres of protected land. The Biden-Harris Administration is investing $250 million in the project along side California's $500 million. Part of the Administration's effort to restore wild life habitat and protect water resources.

The Department of Energy announced $900 Million in investment in next generation nuclear power. The money will help the development of Generation III+ Light-Water Small Modular Reactors, smaller lighter reactors which in theory should be easier to deploy. DoE estimates the U.S. will need approximately 700-900 GW of additional clean, firm power generation capacity to reach net-zero emissions by 2050. Currently half of America's clean energy comes from nuclear power, so lengthening the life space of current nuclear reactors and exploring the next generation is key to fighting climate change.

The federal government took two big steps to increase the rights of Alaska natives. The Departments of The Interior and Agricultural finalized an agreement to strengthen Alaska Tribal representation on the Federal Subsistence Board. The FSB oversees fish and wildlife resources for subsistence purposes on federal lands and waters in Alaska. The changes add 3 new members to the board appointed by the Alaska Native Tribes, as well as requiring the board's chair to have experience with Alaska rural subsistence. The Department of The Interior also signed 3 landmark co-stewardship agreements with Alaska Native Tribes.

The Department of Energy announced $860 million to help support solar energy in Puerto Rico. The project will remove 2.7 million tons of CO2 per year, or about the same as taking 533,000 cars off the road. It serves as an important step on the path to getting Puerto Rico to 100% renewable by 2050.

The Department of the Interior announced a major step forward in geothermal energy on public lands. The DoI announced it had approved the Fervo Cape Geothermal Power Project in Beaver County, Utah. When finished it'll generate 2 gigawatts of power, enough for 2 million homes. The BLM has now green lit 32 gigawatts of clean energy projects on public lands. A major step toward the Biden-Harris Administration's goal of a carbon pollution-free power sector by 2035.

Bonus: President Biden meets with a Kindergarten Teacher who's student loans were forgiven this week

[yuta-nakamots]

Dive Into You - L.Haechan

Pairing - Boyfriend!Haechan x University!AFAB Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Smut, University!AU

Warning(s) - smut, unprotected sex, reader wears a bikini, slight public sex (more like just public indecency and really heavy petting), dry (wet?) humping, creampie, multiple orgasms, marriage, reader and haechan have a kid 

Summary - After a whirlwind semester, Haechan sweeps you away on a surprise getaway after finals are over. Between salty kisses and soft-spoken promises, you both begin to realize that Fridays mark more than just the end of the week, they mark the beginning of something new. 

Word Count - 7.5k 

Author’s Note - I meant to get this out on his birthday but got caught up in life so I guess happy belated birthday to Haechan haha

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls @dinonuguaegi @tinyzen @fancypeacepersona (join my taglist!)

Written for the Resonance Beach Collab originally hosted by @loeycity. Part of the K-Films Summer Event 2025 hosted by @k-films. Also part of my NCT Dream: Seven Days Collection. 

Now playing: Dive Into You - NCT Dream, Bahama - aespa

You first met Haechan in a music theory class halfway through the semester. You were taking it for your degree, as was he, though he hadn’t managed to show up to a class thus far because of his busy idol career. On his day off, he finally attended class for the first time, slipping into the back row of the lecture hall ten minutes late, wearing sunglasses indoors and a hoodie too big for the late-spring weather. Yet no one batted an eye. That’s the thing about university, you could be a celebrity or a sleep-deprived caffeine gremlin and still get away with everything as long as you looked miserable enough. 

He sat beside you, even though the rest of the row was empty. “Your notes looked better than mine,” he remarked. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you even enrolled in this class?”

He grinned, teeth flashing beneath the shadow of his hood. “Technically.”

“Technically,” you repeated, unimpressed, as you angled your notebook away from him. 

“Come on,” he whined, nudging your elbow with his. “The midterm is next week, I haven’t studied, and my manager thinks I’m watching video lectures at home right now. Help a guy out?”

You sighed, already sliding your notes a little closer. “If I get caught helping you cheat, you better buy me lunch.”

“Deal,” he agreed, a little too quickly. “And maybe a song.” 

“A song?” You questioned.

“You’ll see.”

Your friendship with Haechan started just like that. A few shared notes, a couple late-night study sessions in the campus café when he had time off in his schedule. He hummed next to you while you worked on your laptop, occasionally changing songs halfway through the phrase just to annoy you. You quickly learned that when he wasn’t on stage, he was a menace with too many inside jokes, an alarming stash of memes, and a knack for making your cheeks hurt from laughing. 

The first time you let him into your apartment, he tripped over cables hooked up to music equipment. He made it up to you by immediately assisting in layering harmonies onto the half-finished chorus of a demo track you made. “This would sound so good with a weird falsetto ghost vocal,” he commented, already recording himself singing off your cheap microphone like it was a stadium stage. 

Somehow, you didn’t mind because somehow, his chaos just fit with yours. You made music together, half as a joke, half because it felt right. You teased him about his idol life, and he teased you about your messy desktop and how seriously you took your plugins. He never stopped talking, but you never wanted him to. Somewhere between 3AM laughter, breathless studio nights, and his fingers brushing yours over a keyboard, you stopped writing love songs about people who didn’t exist. 

One night, when your midterm projects were due and sleep felt like a forgotten luxury, he popped by your apartment with fast food and insisted on ‘helping’ you mix your final track. The ‘help’ amounted to him curling up on a chair next to you with a can of soda and randomly hitting keys on your MIDI keyboard while proclaiming it to be ‘art’. 

You swatted his hand away from your laptop for what had to be the tenth time. “You’re going to make me fail.” 

“I’m inspiring you,” he countered, leaning over your shoulder to peer at your project window. “See, this part? Needs more chaos.” 

“You are chaos.”

He laughed, dropping his chin to your shoulder. “I’m glad you finally noticed.”

You turned to look at him, a comeback ready, but the look on his face made the words freeze in your throat. You didn’t realize until that moment just how badly you wanted to kiss him, his lips looking so full and soft mere inches from you. Your breath caugh,t and Haechan heard, but didn’t move away. 

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, the usual teasing in his voice softened by something more sincere, “I’m going to think you like me.”

Your eyes flickered to his. “What if I do?”

The words hung there, suspended in the space between your breath and his. You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly the distance didn’t exist. His lips met yours in a kiss that tasted like soda and secrets you didn’t want to keep anymore. It was gentle, slow, and careful, like neither of you wanted to break whatever this was turning into. 

When Haechan pulled away, his eyes searched yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, his usual bravado stripped away. 

You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest, and your brain fighting with every reason why this shouldn’t have happened. “Haechan,” you started hesitantly. “You’re…you. And I’m just me. This isn’t right.”

He tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you think I don’t know that?” You blinked. “I’ve thought about this, all the reasons it could go wrong. But then I think about how you save lecture notes for me, how you roll your eyes at me, but still tolerate me when I make a bad joke. I think about how I’ve never heard music the same since I first met you.” You looked down at your hands, the weight of reality pressing against the lightness you felt just seconds ago. “Hey.” He reached for your hand. “I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’ll show up. For you, for this, for us.” 

Your eyes meet his again. There was no cockiness there, just quiet determination and something you realized had been growing behind all his jokes and late-night harmonies. It was real, terrifying, beautiful affection. You nodded slowly, lips drawing up into a small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoed, eyes widening. 

“But if I end up in a dating scandal, you better write me a hit breakup song.”

He laughed, his fingers lacing through yours. “Deal. But I’m aiming for a love song first.” And somehow, it felt like the beginning of one. 

Your relationship didn’t erupt like the drop of a chorus, it eased in like a warm synth line, subtle but impossible to ignore. Somewhere in the haze of long nights and low battery percentages, between split headphones and shared playlists, Haechan became the rhythm you moved to without even realizing it. 

One night, long past midnight, you both sat sprawled on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by tangled cables, empty ramen bowls, and the fading echo of a demo track you’d been layering harmonies into. You lay back, arms spread out, gaze unfocused on the water-stained ceiling. “I want to do this forever,” you swooned. “Not the ramen-for-dinner part, I mean the music. Producing, composing, I want it to be my life.”

Haechan was quiet for a beat, then shifted to lie next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I think about that too,” he said. “I think about what I’ll do when the spotlight fades, if I’ll still be making music, if I’ll still be me without the stage.”

You turned to look at him. In the dim blue haze of your laptop screen, he looked less like an idol and more like just a boy who loved music too much to let it go. “I think you’ll still be you,” you murmured. “Just…a  little less glitter and a little more sleep.”

He laughed at that. “You think I’ll sleep? I’ll be recording your songs. That’s what my future looks like. You, writing chaotic brilliance in your studio, and me, still trying to convince you to add in a nonsensical adlib.”

“I don’t pay you enough for this,” you joke. 

“You don’t pay me at all.”

A grin spread across your face. “Exactly.” That night ended like most did these days, with your head on his chest, fingers tangled, some indie R&B track humming softly in the background. 

But finals week and a new comeback changed the tempo. You barely saw him after that. He was swallowed by comeback promotions–early call times, live broadcasts, and late-night rehearsals. You, in turn, were drowning in projects, caffeine, and academic despair. The apartment was filled with the evidence of the struggle, empty energy drink cans, abandoned sheet music, and forgotten takeout containers strewn across the floor. 

You missed Haechan in moments that didn’t make sense, like when your headphones didn’t sit quite right, when a melody sounded a bit lonely, when your mind wrote a joke only he would laugh at. So when your last exam ended on a bright Friday afternoon and you staggered out of the lecture hall blinking like a mole, you didn’t expect to find Haechan standing just outside the door. 

He was wearing sunglasses indoors again, paired with an all too large hoodie, like it was the first day you met all over. But this time, he was holding two plane tickets. “Fridays are meant to be fun,” he said, grinning like he had a secret, “so I made one just for you.”

You stared at him, eyes going wide. “What?”

“Hope you have your passport, because we’re leaving like, now. Tropics. You, me, no deadlines.”

“Haechan.” You deadpanned. “Are you kidnapping me?”

He pulled down his sunglasses just enough for you to see him wink. “Only a little. You seem like you could go for some sleep and peace, and actual food for once.” 

You huffed a breath, somewhere between laughter and disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I’m you’re insane,” he corrected, curling a finger into the strap of your backpack to tug you closer. “This is me keeping my promise.” So you let him take your hand, let him lead you out of the building and into the very beginning of your own song. There’s no chorus yet, just an opening note that felt like freedom. 

You were half-asleep by the time the plane took off. At some point during the flight, you woke up with Haechan’s hoodie draped over your lap and his hand curled loosely around yours, his thumb moving in slow, absentminded circles. You wanted to be annoyed, you really did. He hijacked your post-finals crash and turned it into a spontaneous getaway with little to no time for packing. Who does that? But as warm sunlight spilled through the plane window and Haechan softly hummed a tune you vaguely recognized as one of your demos, annoyance melted into something warmer. 

By the time your feet hit the sand in the Bahamas, you’d accepted two things. One, you were exhausted, but you were here with Haechan. Two, you wouldn’t be getting any rest with Haechan looking at you like that. 

The private villa he booked looked like it had been pulled straight from a honeymoon brochure with whitewashed walls, a hammock strung lazily between palm trees, and the sea glittering just beyond your doorstep. You barely had time to toss your bag onto the bed before Haechan grabbed your hand again, pulling you out to the beach with the urgency of someone racing daylight.

You squinted against the sun. “I can’t believe you kidnapped me.”

“You say kidnapped, I say rescued,” he replied smugly, already kicking his slides off, dragging you toward the shoreline. “You were on the verge of becoming a coffee-addicted music gremlin.”

“I think you missed the part where I already am one.”

Haechan gasped like you just confessed to a felony. “You admit it? Bold.”

You shot him a look. “You say that like you haven’t seen me crawling on the floor at 4AM trying to find a flash drive.”

He grinned. “I’ve also seen you fall asleep with a pencil in your mouth and four open Ableton projects on your screen, so yeah, it was time for an intervention.”

You barely had time to reply before a splash of water hit your shins. You gasped, stunned, looking down at your now-soaked pants. Haechan stood a few feet into the waves, a boyish and playful smile on his face as he cupped more water in his hands. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you just–” Before you could finish the sentence, he splashed you again. “Haechan!” you shrieked, stumbling backward as cold water hit your thighs. 

You kicked off your shoes and chased him into the water, shrieking as the ocean soaked through your clothes. Haechan laughed wildly, arms flailing as he tried to evade you, which didn’t work out all that good for him when he tripped and nearly face planted into a wave. You pounced on him. 

The two of you wrestled in the shallows, screaming and splashing like kids on summer break. At one point, he scooped you up bridal style only to dramatically dunk you, then immediately panicked when he thought you might actually be mad. You emerged like a sea monster, hair dripping and clinging to your cheeks, and tackled him right back into the water.

“Timeout!” he gasped between laughs, hands raised in surrender. “You’re actually kind of terrifying like this.”

“You deserve terrifying,” you shot back, breathless from laughing. “I’m still in my clothes, you maniac.”

He swam closer, catching your wrist under the surface. “Okay, but like, you’re also kind of hot when you’re angry.” You rolled your eyes, heart racing not just from the chase, but from the way Haechan was looking at you. His hair was plastered to his forehead, skin glistening with saltwater, and his thumb rubbed against your wrist like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Come on,” he said softly, tugging you toward the shore. “Let’s go change and swim for real. I want to see you in that bikini set I know you packed.”

You changed in the bathroom of the villa while Haechan took forever in the outdoor shower, emerging half-wet and humming something suspiciously romantic under his breath. When you finally stepped out in your bikini, adjusting the strap at your shoulder, you didn’t even get the chance to say anything.

Haechan stopped mid-hum, jaw slack. “...Okay,” he said after a beat. “I lied. You’re not terrifying, you’re going to ruin my life.”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“No, no, no,” he stepped closer, eyes never leaving you. “You’re not allowed to look like that and expect me to behave. I brought you here for relaxation. This is not relaxing.” You laughed, flushed and flattered, but his tone shifted as he got closer. His hand skimmed down your arm, deliberate now, no more teasing in his touch. His fingers slipped just under the curve of your waist. “Mine,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Everyone else can look at the ocean while I look at you.”

You swallowed hard. “You brought me to paradise, and now you’re acting like you want to keep me locked in the villa.” 

Haechan leaned in, mouth brushing just below your ear. “I absolutely want to keep you locked in the villa.” Your breath hitched, and the air between you shifted, lazy heat turning into something far more dangerous. His hands didn’t leave your skin. “But I promised a beach day,” his voice dipped, sounding like velvet and fire, “so you better walk ahead of me and give me something to look at.” 

You smacked his chest, laughing. “You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re unreal,” he countered, grin crooked, pupils blown wide. “Let’s go swimming before I forget how to be decent in public.” 

You hadn’t even made it ten steps outside before Haechan was at your side again, fingers laced with yours, palms tight against each other like he couldn’t stand even that much distance. The sand was warm underfoot, powder-soft between your toes, the ocean glittering like a postcard dream just a few yards away. 

The water was perfect. Warm, clear, and so inviting, it almost made you forget the way Haechan’s eyes had darkened the second he saw you step out from the bathroom. He followed you into the ocean like a man possessed, hands already reaching before the waves even reached your hips. You squealed when he caught your waist from behind, spinning you in the water with a triumphant laugh. 

“Don’t act surprised,” his lips brushing your exposed shoulder. “You came out here looking like that and expect me to behave? Please.” You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but your pulse was a dead giveaway. 

His hands were everywhere, drifting down your spine, splaying wide over your stomach, teasingly tugging at the strap on your shoulder like he was two seconds away from snapping it. When you waded deeper, Haechan followed like a shadow, grabbing your hips under the surface and pulling you flush against him, salt-slick skin on skin. You twisted in his arms, giggling, trying to push him away, but he only groaned low in your ear and held you tighter. “You think I’m playing,” he muttered, fingers trailing under the water, slipping between the thin stretch of your bikini top. You gasped as he cupped one breast, his thumb circling with infuriating slowness, masked by the motion of the waves. 

“Haechan—” you whispered, scandalized and breathless. 

He just smirked. “No one can see us. We’re underwater.” You weren’t sure if that was true or if he just didn’t care. Probably both. He kissed you then, salt and heat and something greedy in the way his tongue brushed yours. The kind of kiss that melted your knees even in the water, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and aching and already wishing you were somewhere more private. 

His hands didn’t behave. One stayed low on your waist, the other sliding beneath the fabric again, bolder this time, palm warm and rough where it wasn’t supposed to be. He kissed you harder when you gasped again, like he wanted to devour every sound. 

“Don’t you dare,” you scolded when he started to push a little further, slightly nudging the strap of your top to the edge of your shoulder. 

“Don’t I dare what?” he asked, all innocence and sin. “Touch my girlfriend?” You splashed him in the face. He laughed, full-bodied and beautiful, but even then he didn’t let go. His arms circled your waist, drawing you against his chest like he couldn’t live without his skin on yours. “I love this swimsuit,” his lips moving against your cheek. “I love how it looks on you. I also love that I’m the one who gets to take it off later.” 

You swatted at him again, face burning, but he caught your wrist and kissed your knuckles, then your inner wrist, then the inside of your elbow, making his way back up your arm like a man worshipping something divine. You hated how easily he made you fold. 

Eventually, the two of you migrated back to shore, half-drunk on heat and horniness. The sun dipped low on the horizon, turning the sky into a watercolor gold and flame. You sank into the warm sand belly down, his thigh pressed against yours as he lay on his back, your fingers tangled together with his. You propped yourself up on your elbows, drawing shapes in the sand with your free hand. 

“Mmm,” Haechan hummed, his eyes following your finger in the sand. “This is almost enough to distract me from the fact that I can see the curve of your ass through that bikini.” 

You snorted and looked away from him. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“I’m in pain, actually,” he said, reaching over and placing a palm on the back of your thigh, fingers sliding upward. “Real suffering is happening right now.” 

“You’re the one who dragged me here. This is your fault.”

“And yet,” his eyes traced over your body like he was memorizing every sun-kissed inch, “I would do it again. A hundred times. Just to watch the way you move with barely anything on.” Your heart stuttered. Haechan pulled back to meet your gaze. “We should head back,” his voice rougher now, molten and thick. “Or else I will fuck you right here, right now.” You could tell he meant it. 

There was nothing joking in his eyes now, only heat and hunger, tethered just barely by your hand in his. You stood slowly, tugging him up by the wrist. “Then let’s go,” you say confidently. “Before you really lose your mind.” 

Haechan groaned like you’d just given him the best present of his life. “Race you to the villa,” he prompted, already grabbing your hand. But you didn’t run. You walked slowly, skin still tingling, Haechan’s hand never leaving yours, practically pulling you as the sky burned orange above. 

You reached the edge of the villa’s patio just as the last sliver of sun kissed the horizon, casting everything in warm honey and soft firelight. Haechan tugged you toward the outdoor shower, barely glancing over his shoulder as he flicked the water on. “Get in,” his voice low and coaxing. “You’re all sandy.”

You looked him up and down. “So are you.”

“Guess we’ll just have to help each other out,” he said, eyes gleaming.

The water was lukewarm, cascading in soft rivulets over your sun-warmed skin. Haechan stepped in behind you, crowding your space like he had no concept of personal space, his hands sliding up your waist, over your stomach, until resting under the swell of your breasts. You shivered when his fingers slipped beneath your bikini again, cupping one breast with no hesitation, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked under his touch. 

“Haechan,” you warned, breath catching.

“I know,” he practically growled, pressing closer, hips grinding slowly against your ass. “We’re technically at the villa…” His hips rolled, unhurried yet firm. You felt him, thick and hard beneath the wet cling of his swim trunks, grinding into you like he was seconds away from losing his sanity. 

You gasped as he moved your bikini top aside completely, exposing your breasts to the air and the spray of the water. “Haechan–”

“No one’s out here,” he whined, mouth finding your shoulder, biting it lightly. “We’re still on our villa property.”

“There’s only trees, no fence,” you hissed. “Anyone could walk by–”

“Let them,” he muttered, grinding harder, one hand sliding down to palm at the softness of your thighs. “Let them see how pretty you are when you let me touch you.” You moaned at his words, reaching behind you to grab at him, palm sliding down his abdomen, fingers slipping beneath the band of his trunks. 

He groaned through his teeth, thrusting forward involuntarily. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed. “I want you so bad I’m gonna die.” 

“We can’t,” you insist, even as you arch into his hold on your breasts from how good his hands felt. “We can’t do it out here.”

“Why not?” he begged, kissing up your spine. “We’re dripping wet, you’re practically naked, I’m hard, just let me–”

“No,” your voice firm while grabbing one of the towels hanging by the knobs of the shower and moving your top back into place. “Inside. Now.” You barely managed to toss it around yourself before his hands found your waist again. You glared at him, and he growled in frustration, eyes dark and glassy, but the second you turned toward the villa, he was grabbing a towel and he was on you again, barely letting either of you dry off before he was hauling you through the door. 

The door had barely clicked shut behind both of you when Haechan was already reaching for your towel, mouth crashing into yours like he’d been starved for days. But you pulled back before he could drag it off you entirely, palm firm against his chest. 

“Hold on,” you command, eyeing the growing puddle surrounding the two of you. “You’re soaking wet. We’re dripping all over the floor.”

“I’ll clean it up later,” he muttered, stepping closer to kiss along your neck, but you pushed at him again. 

“No, you’ll slip and die before we even make it to the bed,” you say playfully with a smirk, grabbing the towel he’d brought in with him. “Stand still.”

His brows furrowed, his hair wet and wild over his forehead. “Wait…what?”

You only smiled and tossed the towel over his head. “I said, stand still.” 

Haechan stood frozen as you began to dry him off, starting at his head, rubbing the towel gently over his hair. Your fingers massaged his scalp as you worked, slow and soothing, watching his eyes flutter closed under your touch. Then you moved to his neck, the hollow of his throat, the slick curve of his shoulders. “You’re really gonna take your time with this, huh?” he asked, unamused. 

“Uh-huh,” you respond, dragging the towel down his chest, deliberately slow, the plush fabric skimming over his nipples. He twitched slightly under your touch. 

You made a show of dragging the towel over every inch of him, his stomach, the sharp cut of his hips, the waistband of his swim trunks. Then you dropped the towel lower, pressing your palm over his length through the fabric of the towel. 

Haechan cursed under his breath, thighs tensing. “Baby–”

You rubbed slowly, palm flat, teasing pressure, feeling how hard he already was. His hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them, torn between grabbing you and obeying. “I thought you wanted to be dry,” you cooed, glancing up at him through your lashes. 

“I do,” he groaned. “I do. But, fuck, you’re killing me.”

You squeezed his length softly, just enough to make him choke on air. “Is that better?”

He threw his head back, jaw clenched. “You’re evil. I’m gonna die. Actually die.”

You leaned in, kissing a droplet of water from his collarbone, your hand still moving against him through the towel. “Maybe. But at least you’ll die warm and dry.”

He whimpered, actually whimpered, hips rolling into your hand. “Please,” he begged, desperate now. “Let me touch you, let me taste you, anything. I need you.”

You let the towel slip from your grasp, the object of Haechan’s agony falling to the floor. “Then take me to bed.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. In a blur of motion, he had you pressed against the bed, your towel forgotten. You barely caught your breath before he was on you again, hot, hungry, and entirely yours. 

Haechan’s hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his hips began to grind with a desperate, jagged rhythm. You gasped at the friction, the slick heat of him pressing through the damp fabric of your bikini bottoms. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath ragged as he nuzzled your neck. “You feel so good,” he murmured, voice rough and needy. His movements grew more frantic, less controlled, as if holding himself back was a losing battle. 

Your hands roamed his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as he ground harder, hips rocking against you in a slow, scorching tease. You could feel the pressure building in him, thick, pulsing, utterly relentless. Haechan’s grinding slowed just enough for you to feel every inch of him pressed through the thin fabric, teasing and maddeningly close. His breath was ragged in your ear, words lost to the haze of want and heat. Your hands slid under the waistband of his damp shorts, fingers curling around the fabric as you tugged gently but firmly. Haechan froze for a second, chest rising a falling fast, then gave a breathy laugh. 

“Can’t wait any longer, huh?” you teased, dragging the shorts down over his hips and thigh before he kicked them off.

He was fully naked above you now, his skin gleaming under the fading light of sunset, every muscle taut and trembling with need. His hardness pressed sharply against your stomach through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms, twitching with each shallow breath. Haechan’s eyes were dark, glazed with want, and he didn’t hesitate to lean forward, mouth finding your collarbone as his hands roamed over your skin. His hips began to move again, slow and deliberate at first, pressing with a teasing persistence over you, every brush of skin against skin setting fire to your nerves. 

Haechan’s hands slid up your sides, urgent but reverent, until they cupped your breasts over your bikini. His thumbs circled your peaked nipples through the damp fabric, coaxing a gasp from your lips. “So soft,” he muttered while kneading your breasts, voice wrecked like he was in a dream he couldn’t quite believe. “So perfect, all for me.”

You arched into his hands, breath catching, and he took that as permission to push the fabric aside once more. Your nipples were pebbled in the open air, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet, tongue swirling, lips sucking, his teeth lightly scraping. His hips kept moving, grinding against your clit through the soaked barrier between you, the pressure maddeningly precise. “Haechan,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body thrumming with tension. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered between kisses to your chest, hips never stopping. “Gotta make you feel good. I need to–fuck, baby–need to feel you fall apart.” 

Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the drag of his cock against your clit, even through the layer of clothing. His cock twitched, leaking pre-cum that smeared slick against your skin and mixed with your own arousal, making the friction even worse. It was so good it was almost cruel. He rutted harder now, sweat and water making his glide even easier, messy and hot. “Oh my god,” Haechan groaned, hips stuttering. “Fuck…fuck, I’m–”

You felt it before you saw it, his cock jerking between your bodies as he came hard, hot ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, dripping down your sides as his thrusts slowed, then faltered. He collapsed forward, breathless laughter bubbling against your chest. 

“Are you proud of yourself?” he rasped, barely able to lift his head, still panting. “You wrecked me.” 

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “A little.” But then you felt it, his cock, still hard, twitching again as he looked down at the mess he made. Haechan moaned low in his throat, eyes glassy as he licked a stripe of cum from your stomach, lips brushing your skin in an obscene way. 

When he reached your navel, he looked up to you with something dark and hungry. “Inside this time,” he whispered. You didn’t say a word, you just nodded. 

He surged up to kiss you, slow and deep, tongue sweeping into your mouth as he pressed his length against you again. The kiss was different now, less frantic, more deliberate, and you could taste remnants of his cum, tangy but slightly salty as it mixed with the lingering seawater on your skin. You reached between your bodies, tugging your bikini bottom to the side. He groaned as his cock slid through your slick folds, the head catching just below your clit before dragging down again. He did it twice, three times, coating himself in your arousal. Each pass made your thighs shake. 

When he finally pressed in slow and steady, stretching you open, you gasped, grabbing his biceps. Haechan held your gaze, even as a tremor ran through his whole body. “You feel unreal,” he whispered. The thrusts were slow and deep at first, hips rolling, not just to chase pleasure, but to memorize how you felt around him. Every drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping, thighs locked around his waist. 

Earlier, he had been desperate to lose himself in you. Now, he was desperate to stay in this moment. His forehead pressed to yours. “Let me see you cum,” he pleaded, one hand driving down to circle your clit, the pad of his finger working you in slow, steady circles while his cock filled you over and over. 

The pressure built fast, your body was already primed from how he had bullied your clit with his cock earlier, the way he had made you ache from the rutting of his hips before he even got inside you. You cried out, clenching around him, your orgasm snapping sharp and intense as you clenched around his cock. 

Haechan moaned as you pulsed around him, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight, so good.”

You felt him tremble above you, like it took every ounce of willpower not to cum. His cock twitched inside you, but he held still, panting against your lips, eyes wide and shining. “Don’t move,” he said, more of a command to himself than to you. “I’m not done.” 

Before you could reply, he pulled out slowly, his cock dragging slick and heavy against your walls. You whimpered at the loss, but he was already shifting, already flipping you onto your stomach, handling you like something precious but breakable. Your cheek pressed into the sheets, and you barely caught your breath before you felt his hands spreading you apart, his cock sliding between your soaked folds, grinding up against your entrance and ass, teasing and filthy. 

“Shit,” he breathed, rutting forward, dragging the head of his cock through your folds before rocking it between the cheeks of your ass. “You’re so wet…you want it like this, huh?” His voice cracked on a moan as he rocked forward again, not quite slipping in, but close enough to make you ache. 

“Please, Haechan,” you whined, writhing back into him, greedy for the weight of him inside you. “Put it back in. I need you.” That was all it took. He pressed into you again, entering you all too easily, your body welcoming him soft and hot and soaked with everything he’d pulled from you. His cock sank in deep, and he groaned loud against your ear, collapsing over you like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. 

“Fuck,” he cried, rutting shallowly, hips flush to your ass. “Fuck, you feel too good. I can’t–I can’t stop.” His arms slid beneath you, wrapping tightly around your chest. One hand curled over your breast, squeezing as he buried his face in the curve when your shoulder met your neck, teeth scraping gently at the skin there. The other traveled down, urgent and clumsy, until his fingers found your clit again. He rubbed you with no tempo, no restraint, just pure desperation. “Wanna feel you cum with me,” his voice was shaking. “Wanna feel you clench around me, while I’m inside, while I fill you up.”

The angle had him pushing in deeper, the stretch unbearable and perfect, your entire body wound up beneath his. You could feel it coming again, the pressure sharp and devastating, your moans helpless as he rutted harder against you, gasping every time you clenched around him. Then it hit, sudden and overwhelming, tearing through you as you sobbed his name into the sheets. Your walls fluttered around him, tight and wet and trembling. 

Haechan cursed, cock throbbing deep inside you as he finally let go. He came with a broken cry, hips stuttering against your ass as he pressed as deep as he possibly could, like he never wanted to leave your body again. His cum spilled inside you, warm and thick, and he held you tight, still moving in tiny thrusts, dragging it out as long as he could. Afterward, he didn’t move, just breathed against your back, arms still wrapped around your chest like he was afraid you’d disappear. 

You didn’t speak for a long time. Just the two of you, tangled together in the afterglow, his breath fanning hot against your shoulder, your heartbeat slowly syncing back to something steady. His arms stayed wrapped around you, even as his cock softened inside you and your bodies finally relaxed into the sheets. You could feel the sweat cooling on your skin, the dampness between your thighs, the faint ache in your hips, and still, you didn’t want to move. 

Eventually, Haechan shifted just enough to slip out of you, making you whimper at the emptiness, but he hushed you with a kiss to your shoulder blade. He pulled away only long enough to grab the towel off the edge of the bed and gently cleaned between your thighs, mumbling quiet apologies when you flinched at the sensitivity. Then, he crawled right back into bed, curling himself around you like he belonged there. 

Your legs tangled instinctively. His hand found your waist under the sheet, warm and steady, and he tugged you closer until your back was snug to his chest, your head nestled under his chin. “You good?” he asked softly, voice scratchy and slow. 

You nodded, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. You?”

He hummed in response, then kissed the top of your head. His thumb rubbed idle circles into your hip bone. For a while, the only sound was the lull of waves outside, still crashing softly in the dark, echoing the pulse of your bodies slowly calming down. Then, so quiet you almost missed it, he said, “I want every Friday like this.” Your heart stuttered in your chest. “This one…” He hesitated, tightening his arms around you, like he needed to hold the thought together with his hands. “This one feels like the start of something.”

Your breath caught. You twisted just enough to look at him over your shoulder. His face was half-lit by the moonlight cutting across the room, but you could see the sincerity there. His eyes were warm and tender, never leaving yours. You reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “It does,” you whispered. “It really does.”

He smiled, slow and soft, and leaned in to kiss you again, gentle, no heat this time, just truth. Neither of you said anything else. You didn’t need to. Not when you were already wrapped up in what was starting, and not when Friday had never felt this good. 

The next morning, the light changed everything. It slipped in slowly through gauzy curtains, bathing the villa in soft gold. The ocean beyond the villa was calm now, like it had worn itself out from singing you to sleep. The salt-heavy breeze drifted in and made the white linen curtains sway, lazy and warm. 

You were still asleep when Haechan stirred. He didn’t move much, just shifted enough to lean up on one elbow, the sheet barely clinging to his hips. His gaze drifted to you, still curled beneath the covers, one hand tucked under your cheek, lips slightly parted. Your hair spilled across the pillow like something he could get lost in, and maybe he already had. 

He reached out, touched your shoulder gently, tracing the faintest circles with his fingertip. Not enough to wake you, just enough to feel the shape of you, real and here. You made a sleepy noise in your throat, but didn’t open your eyes. He smiled to himself. “What would life look like with you?” he pondered quietly, not really expecting an answer, just letting the thought live in the morning light. His finger trailed down your spine, leisurely. “Would we have a house?” he mused, voice low and thoughtful. “Backyard? One of those little ones who tugs at your shirt after preschool and asks for snacks and cartoons?” He paused, the smile spreading wider, eyes fond. “A kid who likes Fridays.”

You shifted under the sheets, breath catching on a sleepy laugh. Your voice came muffled against the pillow. “We’ll find out,” you murmured, still half-asleep. “One Friday at a time.”

His heart pulled tight. God, he wanted that. Not just the house, not just the child, but this–this exact moment, you still drowsy in his bed, the sound of your voice soft from sleep, your warmth next to him, as natural as breathing. He leaned down and kissed the bar curve of your shoulder, lingering there like a promise. “I’d give you every one,” he whispered. “Every Friday I’ve got.”

When you finally opened your eyes and turned to look at him, sleepy and smiling, it felt like maybe you believed him. Because this one, this Friday, felt like the start of everything. 

Years later, Fridays still hold meaning in your house. They always have, and probably always will. You hear them before you see them, your daughter’s giggles echoing down the hallway, pure and breathless, followed by the familiar thud of Haechan’s socked feet on the hardwood floor. 

He’s carrying her on his hip, her backpack slung over his other shoulder, her tiny hand clinging to the collar of his shirt. She’s still wearing the glittery pink hair clip she insisted on this morning, slightly askew now from whatever adventure she had at preschool. Her cheeks are flushed from the walk home, smiling brightly as she talks excitedly about something that happened on the playground. 

“She made a painting today,” Haechan calls out as he steps into the living room, his voice loud and proud. “It’s us. All three of us. And the sun has hearts in it because she said that’s what Friday feels like.” 

You set your laptop aside, rising from the couch just as your daughter wriggles in your arms, reaching for you. “Mommy!” she squeals, arms flung wide as Haechan lowers her carefully into your embrace. 

“She missed you,” Haechan murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple before dropping her backpack by the door. “And she may or may not have convinced me to stop for strawberry milk.”

Your daughter pulls back just enough to show you her pink-stained lips and a guilty smile, causing you to laugh. “I see that.”

Later, after dinner and bath time and a chaotic attempt at brushing her teeth, the house quiets again. The dishes are done, the toys are tucked away, and the soft glow of your living room lap spills across the floor as Haechan settles beside you on the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, content. There’s something in the stillness that feels earned. 

You glance at him, your body relaxing instinctively in his presence. Even now, with fewer stages and more studio days, he’s still unmistakably him. His voice still sells out records, his face still flashes in LED lights on billboards from time to time. Fans still recognize him in grocery stores, still send letters with inked hearts in the margins. But here, like this, barefoot with his daughter’s preschool painting in his lap, he’s just Haechan. Yours. 

And somehow, you’re not just the girl who loves music anymore, you’re in it. You belong to the music world just as much as he does, not as a spectator, but as a contributor. Your name rolls across credits on streaming platforms, buried between synth programmers and vocal producers. Your beats pulse through earbuds across continents, your songs make it into playlists people fall in love to. You’d once dreamed of this life from behind classroom desks and secondhand headphones, back when it felt impossibly far away. Now, it’s home.

Haechan turns to you, brushing his hand gently across your knee like he can read your thoughts. “Didn’t think I’d end up with the label’s most in-demand producer,” he says, voice soft with admiration. “Kind of a dream for me.” 

You smile, a little shy even after all these years. “Didn’t think I’d end up working for my husband.”

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Technically, I work for you. Have you seen the way everyone treats you in the studio now?” You laugh, shaking your head as he shifts to press a kiss to your cheek. “I’m serious,” he adds. “You walk in and it’s like ‘oh my god, it’s her.’ You earned that. Every bit of it.” You let the words settle in your chest, warm and solid. A breeze moves through the curtains, the night quiet and full. 

You’re searching for a charger in the drawer of the side table next to the couch when your fingers graze against paper, thin, crips, and familiar. You pull it out and smile as the memories rush forward. Plane tickets, the villa, that first real Friday. 

Haechan sees what you’re holding, and his expression shifts into something fond. “You kept those?”

“Of course I did,” you tell him, brushing your thumb over the dates. 

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes tracing the curve of the old boarding pass in your hand. “Best Friday of my life.” 

You glance over at him, then nod toward the hallway where your daughter’s bedroom door is cracked open, the glow of her night light spilling out. “Until the next one,” you murmur.

That night, the three of you end up in the same bed. It wasn’t planned, just one of those nights where the world outside felt far away. Your daughter lay between you, her fingers curled around the edge of your shirt, breathing steadily and even. Haechan reaches for your hand in the dark and squeezes it when he finds it. You squeeze back. And you know, just as you did back on that villa in the morning light, that this is the start of everything, all over again. 

Fridays are still yours. They always will be. 

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Some Kind Of Wonderful - L.Mark

[reasonsforhope]

In the Willamette Valley of Oregon, the long study of a butterfly once thought extinct has led to a chain reaction of conservation in a long-cultivated region.

The conservation work, along with helping other species, has been so successful that the Fender’s blue butterfly is slated to be downlisted from Endangered to Threatened on the Endangered Species List—only the second time an insect has made such a recovery.

[Note: "the second time" is as of the article publication in November 2022.]

To live out its nectar-drinking existence in the upland prairie ecosystem in northwest Oregon, Fender’s blue relies on the help of other species, including humans, but also ants, and a particular species of lupine.

After Fender’s blue was rediscovered in the 1980s, 50 years after being declared extinct, scientists realized that the net had to be cast wide to ensure its continued survival; work which is now restoring these upland ecosystems to their pre-colonial state, welcoming indigenous knowledge back onto the land, and spreading the Kincaid lupine around the Willamette Valley.

First collected in 1929 [more like "first formally documented by Western scientists"], Fender’s blue disappeared for decades. By the time it was rediscovered only 3,400 or so were estimated to exist, while much of the Willamette Valley that was its home had been turned over to farming on the lowland prairie, and grazing on the slopes and buttes.

Pictured: Female and male Fender’s blue butterflies.

Now its numbers have quadrupled, largely due to a recovery plan enacted by the Fish and Wildlife Service that targeted the revival at scale of Kincaid’s lupine, a perennial flower of equal rarity. Grown en-masse by inmates of correctional facility programs that teach green-thumb skills for when they rejoin society, these finicky flowers have also exploded in numbers.

[Note: Okay, I looked it up, and this is NOT a new kind of shitty greenwashing prison labor. This is in partnership with the Sustainability in Prisons Project, which honestly sounds like pretty good/genuine organization/program to me. These programs specifically offer incarcerated people college credits and professional training/certifications, and many of the courses are written and/or taught by incarcerated individuals, in addition to the substantial mental health benefits (see x, x, x) associated with contact with nature.]

The lupines needed the kind of upland prairie that’s now hard to find in the valley where they once flourished because of the native Kalapuya people’s regular cultural burning of the meadows.

While it sounds counterintuitive to burn a meadow to increase numbers of flowers and butterflies, grasses and forbs [a.k.a. herbs] become too dense in the absence of such disturbances, while their fine soil building eventually creates ideal terrain for woody shrubs, trees, and thus the end of the grassland altogether.

Fender’s blue caterpillars produce a little bit of nectar, which nearby ants eat. This has led over evolutionary time to a co-dependent relationship, where the ants actively protect the caterpillars. High grasses and woody shrubs however prevent the ants from finding the caterpillars, who are then preyed on by other insects.

Now the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde are being welcomed back onto these prairie landscapes to apply their [traditional burning practices], after the FWS discovered that actively managing the grasslands by removing invasive species and keeping the grass short allowed the lupines to flourish.

By restoring the lupines with sweat and fire, the butterflies have returned. There are now more than 10,000 found on the buttes of the Willamette Valley."

-via Good News Network, November 28, 2022

[teh-tj]

Greenbelt Maryland. Or, how America almost solved housing only to abandon it.

**I AM NOT AN EXPERT! I AM JUST AN ENTHUSIST! DO NOT TREAT MY OPINIONS/SPECULATION AS EDUCATION!**

During the Depression America faced a housing crisis that rhymes with but differs from our own. It’s different in that there wasn’t a supply issue, there were loads of houses in very desirable areas, but they were still unaffordable as people’s incomes collapsed causing a deflationary spiral. While the housing supply subtly grew and succeeded demand, people simply couldn’t pay the meager rents and mortgages. Herbert Hoover failed to manage the Depression, while his inaction is greatly exaggerated, his policy of boosting the economy with works projects and protecting banks from runs failed and the depression only got more pronounced in his term. In comes Franklin Roosevelt, a progressive liberal much like his distant and popular cousin/uncle-in-law Teddy. Franklin’s plan was to create a large safety net for people to be able to be economically viable even if they’re otherwise poor. These reforms are called the New Deal and they did many controversial things like giving disabled and retired people welfare, giving farmers conditioned subsidies to manipulate the price of food, a works program to build/rebuild vital infrastructure, etc. One of these programs was the USHA (a predecessor of America’s HUD), an agency created to build and maintain public housing projects with the goal of creating neighborhoods with artificially affordable rents so people who work low-wage jobs or rely on welfare can be housed.

In this spirit, the agency started experimenting with new and hopefully efficient housing blueprints and layouts. If you ever see very large apartment towers or antiquated brick low-rise townhouses in America, they might be these. The USHA bought land in many large and medium-sized cities to build “house-in-park” style apartments, which is what they sound like. Putting apartment buildings inside green spaces so residents can be surrounded by greenery and ideally peacefully coexist. Three entire towns were built with these ideas outside three medium-sized cities that were hit hard by the depression; Greenbelt outside DC, Greenhills outside Cincinnati, and Greendale outside Milwaukee. The idea was to move people out of these crowded cities into these more sustainable and idyllic towns. There were many catches though, the USHA planned for these towns to be all-white, they used to inspect the houses for cleanliness, they required residents to be employed or on Social Security (which basically meant retired or disabled), they also had an income limit and if your income exceeded that limit you were given a two-month eviction notice, and you were expected to attend town meetings at least monthly. While the towns didn’t have religious requirements they did only build protestant churches. Which is an example of discrimination by omission. While a Catholic, Jew, Muslim, etc could in theory move into town they also couldn’t go to a Catholic church, synagogue, or Islamic center without having to extensively travel. Things planned communities leave out might indicate what kind of people planned communities want to leave out. Basically, the whole thing was an experiment in moving Americans into small direct-democracy suburbs as opposed to the then-current system of crowded cities and isolated farm/mine towns. This type of design wasn’t without precedent, there were famously company towns like Gary and Pullman which both existed outside Chicago. But those lacked the autonomy and democracy some USHA apparatchiks desired.

The green cities were a series of low-rise apartments housing over a hundred people each, they were short walks from a parking lot and roads, and walking paths directly and conveniently led residents to the town center which had amenities and a shopping district. Greenbelt in particular is famous for its art deco shopping complex, basically an early mall where business owners would open stores for the townspeople. These businesses were stuck being small, given the income requirements, but it was encouraged for locals to open a business to prove their entrepreneurial spirit. Because city affairs were elected at town meetings the city was able to pull resources to eventually build their own amenities the USHA didn’t originally plan for like a public swimming pool or better negotiated garbage collection.

These three cities were regarded as a success by the USHA until World War II happened and suddenly they showed flaws given the shift in focus. These towns housed poor people who barely if at all could afford a car, so semi-isolated towns outside the city became redundant and pointless. The USHA also had to keep raising the income requirement since the war saw a spike in well-paying jobs which made the town unsustainable otherwise. During the war and subsequent welfare programs to help veterans, these green cities became de facto retirement and single-mother communities for a few years as most able-bodied men were drafted or volunteered. Eventually, the USDA would make the towns independent, after the war they raised the income limit yet again and slowly the towns repopulated. As cars became more common and suburbanization became a wider trend these towns would be less noticeably burdensome and were eventually interpreted as just three out of hundreds of small suburban towns that grew out of major cities. They were still all-white and the town maintained cleanliness requirements; after all they lived in apartments it just takes one guy’s stink-ass clogged toilet to ruin everyone’s day.

By the 1950’s these towns were fully independent. Greendale and Greenhills voted to privatize their homes and get rid of the income limit all together so the towns can become more normal. Greenhills, Ohio still has many of these USHA-era houses and apartments, all owned by a series of corporations and private owners. Greendale, Wisconsin property owners have demolished most of these old houses and restructured their town government so most traces of its founding are lost. But Greenbelt, Maryland still maintains a lot of its structure to this day. Greenbelt has privatized some land and buildings, but most of the original USHA apartments are owned by the Greenbelt Homes, Inc cooperative which gives residents co-ownership of the building they live in and their payments mostly go to maintenance. Because Greenbelt was collectively owned the House Un-American Activities Committee would blacklist and put on trial most of Greenbelt’s residents and officials. Though they didn’t find much evidence of communist influence, the town was a target of the red scare by the DMV area, residents were discriminated, blacklisted, and pressured into selling their assets. While Greenbelt did commodify some of the town, the still existing co-ownership shows the town’s democratic initiative to maintain its heritage. The green cities desegregated in the 50’s and 60’s depending on state law, Greenbelt was the last to desegregate under the Civil Rights Act of 1964, while discrimination persisted for years by the 1980’s the town would become half non-white, today the town is 47% black and 10% Asian.

Though these towns largely integrated with a privatized and suburbanized America, they do stand as a memorial to an idea of American urbanism that died. They were designed for walkability and were planned to be more democratic and egalitarian towns, with the conditions that came with segregation and government oversight. You can’t ignore the strict standards and racism in their history, but you can say that about many towns. How do you think America would be different if more cities had green suburbs that were more interconnected and designed for community gatherings?

[centrally-unplanned]

This was a good post, and I see it is making the rounds it deserves - Statecraft is a pretty top notch publication after all. It nails the many weaknesses of what Doge is doing from the lens of a center-right writer who could be inclined to sympathy, while also noting the places fake news on the "critique" side have spread, which is valuable to do.

I do like the point it crystalized that a lot of people were viewing DOGE from the lens of what Vivek Ramaswamy was saying about it, because pre-launch he did 80% of the coherent, long-form talking (while Elon shitposted). Now, unlike Ruiz I understand Vivek to be an intellectual lightweight, the 2020's Paul Ryan in putting a thinking man's sheen on the aged scrap metal that is the typical Republican talking points. But those talking points are at least somewhat a coherent philosophy, an actual action plan identifying real weaknesses in government. I wouldn't expect Vivek's DOGE to *be* a net good, but I completely agree it *could* have done a lot of good. But then he was forced out at the 11th hour, and the DOGE we got is unconcerned with all the parts of that vision that had any merit.

Something I do want to critique the post about, and this connects to my Tepid Critique of Tanner Greer post, is this line:

But I should also point out that we've covered the failings of USAID in depth: for instance, our conversation with Kyle Newkirk, who ran procurement for USAID in Afghanistan. If you dug into the story of American aid involvement there, what you found was report after report from inspectors general and the Government Accountability Office blasting USAID for the same issues: inability to track where money was going, refusal to subject itself to Congressional oversight, and a lack of long-term planning... ...Readers can come to their own conclusions about who is politically or morally responsible for the aid pause. My point is that the dynamics that led us to this moment have been a long time brewing.

In between those lines is a bunch of other failings of USAID. And to be clear, those failings are legion - many government projects in USAID (like many government projects generally and many private corporate projects as well because life) have been anything from inefficient to boondoggles. So what Ruiz sketches out is that USAID has both stacked up failures, making it earn the ire of some Congressional Republicans and think-tank skeptic types, and those failures have a political bent, often angering Republicans over things like abortion services. And that these failures culminated in the org being attacked; something a better run org, a more bipartisan org, could have avoided.

This is a sketch of a form of intellectual history that is, alas, almost certainly false. Elon Musk, Donald Trump, have never read a USAID accountability report about Afghanistan reconstruction operations in their life. They probably do not know that USAID was even there. The critiques of USAID generated by the alt-right twitterati do not, in any way, stem from academic critiques of its bureaucratic inefficiency. They stem from hating foreigners and deep state conspiracy nonsense. The "argument" Elon musk was setting up for taking down USAID was that it funds ~The Cathedral~ in the US via grants to left media orgs taken from misreading and lying about spreadsheets. There is almost zero intellectual lineage between these strains of thought outside of a generic anti-state libertarianism (that the movement otherwise completely rejects when it is convenient for them).

The idea that USAID could have "saved" itself with better internal management is an illusion center-right types want to believe in because it "both-sides" the issue and gives them hope that there is reasonable critiques at the center of all of this, that the center-right ideological space is still "in charge" but perhaps afflicted with an overzealousness one can temper. And it isn't wrong in the sense that many individual Republicans are those people, who is "dominant" in an admin can shift, that could happen. But it is, fundamentally, a plead trying to justify a sort of "here is how Elon can still win". He can't, the things he is doing are not a "step 1" to better ideas. They are simply destructive waste with a dash of pretty-much murder.

If they stop doing destructive waste and proceed to try to fix the damage they dealt, many will go "ah, see, this was the plan the whole time". Which is 100% going to happen and is very much going to piss me off. It is a lie, and I do wish people like Ruiz (who again is otherwise a great writer and thinker) would have the clarity to see that trick ahead of time.

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter three part 1 Miss Journalist follows the day-in-the-life of Bastard München for the midseason promos, unexpectedly bringing her closer to Hiori in ways she didn’t anticipate. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader, angst, fluff, bastard munchen boys being goofy af, hiori oggling at reader's thighs (i said what i said) masterlist next chapter

In a mid-season matchup, Bastard München shocked league leaders PXG with a performance that defied all expectations. PXG’s powerhouse lineup included Julian Loki, Itoshi Rin, and Charles Chevalier who dominated the early game, pressing forward with relentless aggression. The fierce pace they set had everyone expecting that Bastard München would struggle.

Bastard München appeared oddly passive, seeming to react more than attack. Both teams were known for their aggressive style, yet here was the German club, letting PXG press forward.

However, as the match wore on, a shift began. Just when it seemed PXG was in full control, they launched a well-timed counterattack in the second half. They managed to score two quick goals, pulling the game into a nail-biting tie. 

At the heart of it, Hiori and Ness continue to orchestrate high-level plays too fast even for the French Prodigy himself. When PXG tried to pressure Isagi and Yukimiya up front, Hiori, along with Kiyora and Ness, wove a quick, dazzling exchange of passes that bypassed their opponents completely.

And in the final seconds, Hiori spotted a fleeting gap and threaded a perfect pass to Ness, who slipped past Tokimitsu and Chapa. Facing Renoir, PXG’s goalie, Ness feinted, then fired the ball into the net. The stadium erupted as Bastard München claimed an unexpected, hard-earned victory.

Loud, thunderous cheers filled the stadium, the energy rippling through the stands like electric current. Even you couldn’t resist joining in, swept up in the crowd’s infectious excitement. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, shouting at the top of your lungs, not minding how loud you were. 

This was a monumental win for Bastard München, a showcase of their hard work that proved they could stand toe-to-toe with the league’s front-runners despite having a rocky start. Ideas for a feature story whirled in your mind, framing this victory as a turning point for Bastard München who had seemed lost earlier this season.

Assigned to cover the post-match interviews, you knew this was your chance to draw out good insights and get juicy details for your next cover story. Despite hours of preparation, your nerves betrayed you, your fingers picking at your nails in a futile attempt to calm the jittery energy inside you. 

It had been weeks since you and Hiori followed each other on Winstagram. No messages exchanged — not that you had expected any — but the prospect of seeing him in person stirred a flicker of nervous excitement you couldn’t quite shake off. 

One thing’s for sure, whatever admiration you harbored, it had to stay buried. That’s one thing for sure. No hint of favoritism should slip through.

The team members filed into the interview room, still visibly exhilarated and glistening with sweat from their hard-fought victory. The quiet murmurs buzzing died down as everyone watched the players settle down. You adjusted your posture, hoping to blend seamlessly among the other reporters. Your hair and makeup were styled just enough to appear polished yet casual—a calculated effort to project professionalism.

As your eyes roamed the room, they unintentionally locked with Hiori’s. His expression shifted briefly, a flicker of surprise softening into a small smile. “Hey,” he mouthed silently, unmistakably directed to you. 

Your heart skipped a beat, the sudden rush of adrenaline making your heart hammer in your chest. “Hi,” you mouthed back, barely above a whisper.

Ah, shit. Never mind. Only a small moment of weakness. Reset, reset!

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if trying to dislodge the tangle of nerves and excitement clouding your thoughts. Refocusing, you watched the other reporters take their turns, their questions almost the same recycled ones — focused on the team’s redemption arc after a string of disappointing performances.

With a pen in hand, you quickly scratched out questions already asked, jotting down alternatives that might elicit more candid responses. If you could pull it off, this could be another story that could go viral if you’re lucky enough. Enough to satisfy your editor.

Still, you avoided looking in Hiori’s direction. The fear of locking eyes again was too much; instead, you busied yourself with your notes, flipping pages unnecessarily to appear absorbed.

When your turn finally came, you felt the weight of Hiori’s gaze, sharp and steady, as if daring you to look at him..

“Congratulations on the win, Coach Noa and team,” you began, your voice steadier than you expected. “Bastard München’s strategy tonight was a bold departure from what we've seen earlier this season. Was this a calculated risk, or do you believe this adaptability is what defines the team’s identity?”

Coach Noa nodded, his composed demeanor radiating authority. “Thank you. Logic has always been a cornerstone of our philosophy at Bastard München. And it was only logical for us to adapt. Tonight’s strategy was indeed calculated, but it wasn’t without its risks.”

“We’ve been refining our approach over the past few matches, focusing on how we can leverage each player’s unique strengths. The team executed the plan brilliantly, especially in high-pressure moments.”

He paused briefly, then added, “Speaking of adaptability, Ness exemplified that tonight. His ability to shift between supporting roles and taking decisive actions — like that last goal — speaks volumes about the trust and synergy within the team.”

You nodded, scribbling down his answer before firing another question. 

“Tonight’s performance highlighted a blend of individual brilliance and collective effort. How does the team balance showcasing individual skills while maintaining a cohesive game plan?”

Coach Noa leaned forward slightly, his tone thoughtful. “I think it all comes down to trust and understanding. We know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and that allows us to play in a way where everyone can shine without losing sight of the team’s overall goals.

“For example, Hiori’s ability to read the game helps him create opportunities for the rest of us. And players like Isagi or Kunigami can take those chances and turn them into game-changing moments. We’re all working toward the same goal, so it’s not just about standing out individually — it’s about contributing in a way that benefits the whole team. When we play with that mindset, it creates moments where individual brilliance and teamwork naturally come together.”

She scanned her list of questions again, frustration mounting as most had already been asked. Only one remained, a question directed at Hiori. The thought of asking him made her throat dry.

Quick, something, anything!

Thinking fast, she pivoted smoothly, directing the question to the star player instead. “The winning goal was amazing, Ness. Everyone’s so used to seeing you excel in a supportive role that it felt surprising — but no less impressive — to see you take the spotlight this time. Would you say the recent changes within the team have influenced this proactive shift in your playstyle?”

Ness’s expression stayed composed, but the tension in his jaw and a slight twitch in his eye showed a flicker of irritation. His voice, measured but edged with sharpness, made it clear he caught the subtext.

“I wouldn’t say it’s any one thing. It’s about adapting to what the team needs at the moment,” he said, the words clipped and deliberate. 

“Honestly, I’d commend having a reliable team — Mensah and Gagamaru have been incredible in keeping our defense solid. And, well, Hiori deserves a lot of credit too. He has this way of creating opportunities that make my job easier.”

It was deflection, plain and simple. His tone hinted at a pointed effort to steer the conversation away, and she knew he’d just handed her a firm yellow card for even brushing up against anything Kaiser-related.

Without waiting for a follow-up, Ness passed the mic to Hiori, his grip still tight on the handle.

Hiori tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto hers as he took the mic. His gaze didn’t waver as he spoke.

“I think Ness’s goal reflects how we’re evolvin' as a team. We’re startin’ to read the game better and step up when it really counts. Ness isn’t just a playmaker — he’s capable of scoring when it counts, and tonight proved that.

“We’re learnin' to trust each other more, adapt on the fly, and capitalize on everyone’s strengths. That’s been the focus lately: findin' ways to be unpredictable and versatile.”

“Than—” she began, only to be cut off.

“But whatcha think, Miss Y/N?” Hiori asked, his tone casual, though his eyes glimmered with teasing intent. “I’d love to hear yer thoughts on our new playstyle. Yer no stranger to covering the big moments, right?

“Watchin' it up close, d'ya think it’s just a fluke from an overrated team? Or does this performance prove we’re a team to watch this season?”

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her as Hiori leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. His unwavering focus carried a warmth that made her feel small in her chair, her voice caught in her throat.

Her heart pounded as she tried to collect herself. 

“I, uhm...” The murmurs of nearby reporters didn’t help. From the corner of her eye, she caught Coach Noa watching with amused curiosity. Even the team exchanged wide-eyed glances, as if surprised by Hiori’s uncharacteristic boldness.

Clearing her throat, she pushed through the tension. Letting the dead air linger would only make things worse.

“Speaking as a journalist — and as a fan of the sport — I believe this iteration of Bastard München is definitely a work in progress, but it’s one worth keeping an eye on.”

She hesitated, her voice softening but steady as she held Hiori’s gaze. “Some may not be fond of the new team dynamic, but rest assured, there’s always someone here, cheering for you. No matter what.”

The room stilled, her words hanging like an unspoken promise. For a moment, no one moved.

Hiori hummed, the corner of his mouth lifting into a satisfied smirk. Before anyone could react, Coach Noa stepped in to wrap up the interview.

Still dazed from the exchange, she gathered her things, her cheeks burning. Her mind buzzed with confusion and a flurry of emotions, but one thing was certain—Hiori’s teasing smirk was burned into her memory.

A few weeks later, you find yourself standing outside Bastard München’s training facility, your nerves jangling like loose wires. The midday sun casts a warm glow over the meticulously maintained grounds, and the scent of fresh cut grass fills the air.

You adjust the strap of your camera bag, feeling the weight of responsibility as two videographers from the features team set up behind you.

Your editor has assigned you to the JFA Midseason promotions. Normally, a rookie sidecourt reporter like you wouldn’t have such opportunities, but after your viral moment with Bastard München, your editor is fast-tracking your career with high-profile assignments.

Virality sure does wonders.

The team manager approaches, offering a firm handshake. Before you can respond, Coach Noa himself strides up, leading you toward the field. His authoritative presence is softened by a faint smirk, as if amused by your visible nervousness.

On the field, players are scattered across the pitch. Some jogging, others deeply engaged in drills. The rhythmic thuds of soccer balls being kicked reverberate through the air. You spot a few familiar faces among the group but immediately notice someone is missing.

Hiori isn’t here. Strange.

Coach Noa blows his whistle sharply, commanding attention. The players jog over, forming a loose semicircle around you. Noa gestures with a nod, and suddenly, all eyes are on you.

“Like I mentioned earlier, the JFA team will be shadowing us today,” he says, his tone brisk yet professional. He steps back, expecting you to take the floor.

Clearing your throat, you muster your most confident smile.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Y/N L/N from ABZ Media, here to represent JFA for their midseason promotions. I’ll be asking you a few casual questions as you go about your routines. So please don’t feel pressured to act a certain way—just, uh, be yourselves. The fans love to see your natural charisma.”

A faint tremor betrays your nerves as you bow slightly, clutching your notebook like a lifeline. The players exchange glances before a chorus of “We’ll be in your care” echoes around the field, lightening the mood. Coach Noa steps forward again, efficiently dismissing the team to resume their drills.

The morning flies by as you make rounds, introducing players to the camera and coaxing them into lighthearted conversations. It’s surprisingly easy to chat with them, perhaps because your admiration for their talent is genuine. Or maybe it’s the way their easygoing banter puts you at ease.

In the gym, you find Raichi and Igarashi being as boisterous as ever. Raichi flexes dramatically for the camera, ripping off his sleeveless shirt in a comical display of bravado.

“Ladies, please!” he cries, striking a pose like a bodybuilder. “Cheer for us too!”

Sachs groans from the back of the gym, his exasperation cutting through the laughter. “Raichi, put your damn shirt back on. You’re embarrassing all of us!”

You quickly step in front of the camera, shielding Raichi’s topless antics as you stifle a laugh. “Okay, let’s move along before this turns into a modeling gig,” you say, guiding the cameraman toward the exit.

As you wander through the facility, a mouthwatering aroma draws you to the kitchen. Around the kitchen island, Kiyora, Yukimiya, and Ali are huddled together, watching match clips on a tablet while snacking on protein shakes and chips.

Behind them stands Gagamaru, tending to a sizzling pan. The rich smell of vegetables and pork simmering under the heat fills the room.

“Whatcha cooking, Gagamaru-san?” you ask, unable to hide the eagerness in your voice as you breathe in the delicious scent.

“Pork and vegetable pot stickers,” he replies without missing a beat, flipping one expertly with his chopsticks. “Ali-san’s been craving them, so I’m making a huge batch. Want to try? I made extras.”

Before you can respond, he gestures toward a plate of freshly made dumplings on the counter. Your eyes light up, and you move to grab one, but Gagamaru beats you to it. Picking one up with his chopsticks, he feeds it to you without hesitation.

Caught off guard but too hungry to resist, you take a bite. The dumpling is crispy on the outside, with a juicy, flavorful filling that melts in your mouth. 

“Oh wow, this is amazing!” you say, covering your mouth as you chew.

“He likes feeding people, so don’t feel weird about it,” Kiyora says, munching on his own dumpling.

“I only wish it was a woman feeding me,” Ali chimes in with a dramatic sigh, leaning against the counter. “But beggars can’t be choosers, L/N-san. Especially not me.”

You can’t help but laugh as he continues to rant, his over-the-top lamentations earning a good-natured eyeroll from Yukimiya. Meanwhile, Gagamaru simply shrugs, his focus already back on the next batch.

Back on the field, the drills continue under the midday sun. You spot Hiori jogging with a group that includes Isagi, Kurona, Ndiaye, and Schneider. You’re about to approach when you notice Hiori glancing in your direction.

Or was it through you?

Curious, you glance over your shoulder, wondering what’s caught his attention. But when you look back, he’s still focused—intently—somewhere in your direction.

“Dude, you’re staring,” Isagi teases, matching Hiori’s pace with a sly smirk.

“Am not,” Hiori mutters, his ears turning a shade pinker.

“You totally are,” Ndiaye chimes in from behind, grinning.

“Am not. Just, uh... admirin’ the view,”

“And by ‘view,’ you mean her...uh, thunder thighs?” Schneider laughs, clapping Hiori on the shoulder.

You were dressed in a loose, boxy white shirt that skimmed just below your hips, the fabric shifting with your movements. Paired with black leggings that hugged your figure and highlighted your toned yet thick thighs, it wasn’t really helping Hiori's case.

“Shut up,” Hiori grumbles, speeding up to escape their teasing, his ears now practically glowing red.

As the players finish their laps, you pick up a stray soccer ball and try your hand at dribbling. It quickly becomes apparent that your coordination is... not good. The ball skids off-course, rolling toward the group.

Before you can retrieve it, Hiori intercepts, trapping it with ease. “Mind being my drill partner for a bit?” he asks, his tone casual but his gaze intent.

“Me? Are you sure? I don’t want to, uh, mess up your practice.”

“You’ll be fine. Besides,” he adds with a small smile, “it’d be a shame to leave my biggest fan hangin'.”

Your face heats up at his words, and Isagi’s passing comment— “Don’t leave him hanging, Y/N-san!” —doesn’t help.

I am so not surviving this day.

Hiori walks you through basic dribbling drills, his movements precise and fluid. He places the ball at your feet and gestures for you to follow his lead.

“Stay close to the ball, but don’t smother it,” he says, watching as you fumble with your first attempt. “It’s all about control, so ya can keep it in yer range without overcommittin'.”

You try again, but the ball bounces awkwardly off your foot. “Kind of like... balancing offense and defense?” you suggest, struggling to find the right frame of reference.

“Exactly,” Hiori says, nodding. “Ya need to be ready to adjust at any moment. Small, controlled touches will keep ya agile and in control.”

You tilt your head, thinking it over. “It’s almost like... keeping your distance while tracking a monster’s movements in Monster Hunter, waiting for the right moment to act.”

Hiori’s eyes brighten. “Oh, ya play Monster Hunter?”

“Obsessively,” you reply with a grin.

“Then this’ll click,” he says, stepping back to demonstrate with the ball. “Dribblin' s'like positionin' yerself during a hunt. Keep the ball close, like keepin' yer stamina up while dodgin' and maneuverin'. Don’t let it get too far away, or you’ll lose control—kind of like trippin' or gettin' staggered.”

You watch, captivated by the way he moves with the ball, his footwork smooth and deliberate, like a hunter circling their target. When it’s your turn, you give it a try, mimicking his movements. It’s clumsy at first, but you feel yourself improving.

“Now trappin',” he says, passing the ball lightly toward you. “Think of it as bracin' for an attack or timin' a dodge. Ya stop the ball’s momentum and keep it close to yer strike zone. Use the inside of yer foot to absorb the impact.”

You miss the first attempt but manage to trap it on the second try. “Got it!” you exclaim, the small victory filling you with pride.

“Nice! Then chain it into yrr next move. So, like, followin' up with combos after staggerin' a monster,” he adds, his tone encouraging.

You laugh, finding comfort in the familiar gaming metaphor. “I guess this really is like a co-op training mission.”

As you practice, the conversation naturally drifts to your shared love of Monster Hunter. Hiori recounts his favorite hunts, while you share stories of late-night battles against Elder Dragons and the frantic scramble for resources mid-fight. The drills become less intimidating, more like swapping strategies with a fellow gamer during a long session.

At one point, Hiori surprises you with a compliment. “The article ya wrote? It was good. Particularly the part where ya basically say 'it ain’t over till it’s over'” he says, stopping mid-drill to look at you.

“Really?” you ask, startled by his sincerity.

“Yeah. Got me hyped for the next game” he admits, nudging the ball back toward you.

“And the video? I hope it wasn’t too...cringe.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Nah. It was cute,” he says, his tone genuine. “Kinda cool knowin' someone’s a fan.”

“I’m not the only one, right? Surely you have a ton of fans?”

“Some, I guess,” he shrugs, a teasing glint in his eye. “But none of them are cute journalists.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you sputter, “Stop teasing me, Hiori-san!”

“Am not,” he replies smoothly, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction.

By the time the drills wrap up, you find yourself more at ease, caught up in the camaraderie of the team and Hiori’s unexpected warmth. His ability to make soccer feel like second nature and connect it to something you love made it fun. Maybe this assignment might be more enjoyable than you thought.

The dribbling and passing drills end after an hour. You decide to take a break with the other cameraman shadowing you. It’s midday, and despite observing most of the team, Ness is still nowhere to be found.

As lunch rolls around, you finally catch a glimpse of him in a hallway, his unmistakable gait giving him away. Before you can call out, his eyes meet yours, and he immediately turns on his heel.

He’s avoiding me?!

You don’t think; you just act. Gesturing for the cameraman to stay put, you dash after the elusive midfielder. Ness quickens his pace, heading toward what looks like a conference room, but you manage to catch him by the hem of his training jersey.

“Ness-san,” you pant, out of breath, gripping the fabric tightly. “Wait… Just… give me a minute…”

He sighs sharply, clearly displeased, but doesn’t shake you off. “Fine. Just… let go already,” he mutters, ushering you inside the empty room.

You follow, shutting the door behind you before collapsing into a nearby chair, wiping sweat from your forehead. Ness, seated on the couch, watches you with an unreadable expression.

“I know why you’re here,” he says flatly.

“You do?” You’re still catching your breath.

“They gave me a heads-up.” He leans back, arms crossed. “Not that it matters. I wasn’t planning to talk.”

You blink, startled. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to give you or anyone else a chance to villainize Kaiser. Even after what happened.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. The idea that these players, often portrayed as larger-than-life, are just people navigating their own struggles makes your stomach churn with guilt.

“You, uh, don’t have to say anything,” you manage, voice softer now. “I’m sorry if I came off like a pushy paparazzi. I didn’t mean to.”

Slowly, you remove your lapel mic, setting it deliberately on your lap. “But I can lend an ear if you need someone to talk to. Or…”

You hesitate. “Or I can leave. Just say the word. I’ll sit here for a few minutes, so they at least think I tried my best to convince you.”

You give him a sheepish smile, hoping it doesn’t look as awkward as it feels. Ness stares at you for a beat, then shrugs, his attention shifting to his phone. The silence is heavy, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. You fidget in your seat, picking nervously at the skin around your nails, not daring to look at him directly.

Finally, he speaks.

“It wasn’t the first time he told me to fuck off,” Ness says quietly, his voice carrying a bitter edge. 

“Back in the Neo Egoist League, he told me to stop following him. It.. it hurt, you know. To suddenly feel unwanted. Useless.”

You straighten in your chair, angling your body toward him, giving him your full attention.

“But he stayed on the team,” Ness continues, his fingers tracing absent patterns on his phone screen.

“So, I told myself it was fine. I could deal with it. That is until a few months ago, when Re Al gave him that ultimatum offer. He told me we needed to talk, and… for the first time, he let me down gently. He said it was time for me to find my own path. I knew he meant it kindly, but it felt like my world collapsed.”

Ness’s voice wavers, and he exhales sharply, as if trying to compose himself.

“I supported him because it gave me purpose. Even if people thought our relationship was weird, it didn’t matter. Being in his orbit was everything to me. I knew how he treated me, but it didn’t matter. He was my magic.”

His voice cracks on the word "magic," and your chest tightens painfully.

“I thought if he stayed, things could change. That I could fix it somehow. But then he left, and…” Ness trails off, his words swallowed by a wave of despair. When he speaks again, his voice is raw, each word dripping with agony.

“I just don’t want the magic to end. Not like this.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence, and you realize hot tears are streaming down your face. You quickly cover your mouth, trying to hold back a sob, but Ness notices.

“You’re, uh… crying,” he says awkwardly, his brows knitting together.

“Sorry,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “It’s just… I know how that feels.” You pause, wiping at your eyes. “Is it okay if I… hug you?”

He looks surprised but gives a small smile. “Yeah, I think we both need it.”

You lean forward, throwing your arms around him in an embrace that feels as clumsy as it is heartfelt. Ness hesitates before hugging you back, and for a brief moment, you feel his trembling hands.

The pain he carries feels too familiar, too close to home. You want, more than anything, to take it from him, to convince him he’s enough. Because the "you" who feels the same would want someone to take the pain away too.

“Sometimes, you won’t be enough for others,” you whisper. “And it has nothing to do with you.”

Ness doesn’t reply right away, but you feel him exhale against your shoulder, the tension in his frame easing ever so slightly.

“Thanks, L/N-san,” he says softly, pulling back after a moment. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

He squeezes your shoulder briefly before leaving the room, his movements steady despite the weight you know he’s carrying. You don’t follow him, knowing better than to intrude further.

Instead, you sit there, alone with the ache in your chest, wishing you could have done more.

You try to compose yourself as memories flood your mind.

What good are you if you can’t be useful to us?

And this is how you repay me?

The words echo relentlessly, leaving a knot in your chest. Your spiraling thoughts are abruptly cut off when you softly bump into someone while stepping out of the room.

“Y/N-san?”

Startled, you quickly wipe at your face and look up to find Hiori standing in front of you, his expression shifting from surprise to quiet concern.

“H-Hiori-san,” you stammer, trying to sound normal, but your voice cracks, betraying the turmoil inside.

“You okay?” he asks gently, his tone careful, his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply too quickly, your voice tight. You try to avoid his gaze, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve as if the fabric could anchor you. “I’m just… Lot of thoughts in my mind. That’s all.”

Hiori doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push either. “Ya sure?” he asks again, softer this time.

You nod, blinking rapidly to shake the lingering haze of emotion. “Yes. Really. Thank you for your hard work today,” you mumble, your words coming out in a rush as if to change the subject.

“Ah... you too,” he says, though his tone is distracted. His gaze lingers on you, like he’s trying to figure out what’s left unsaid.

For a moment, the air between you feels heavy. You shift awkwardly, breaking the silence.

“So, um… I should probably go,” you say, your voice wavering slightly as you gesture vaguely down the hallway.

“Right, yeah. Of course,” he says, his words tumbling over yours as he steps back. “I, uh… should get back too.”

The exchange feels clumsy, both of you retreating into the safety of polite distance.  You turn to leave, feeling like an awkward mess. 

Hiori watches you walk away, his brow furrowed, his thoughts racing. That expression you wore just moments ago — a fragile mix of pain and vulnerability — it reminds him of himself.

He knows that look. He’s seen it in the mirror before, felt that same weight pressing down on his chest. The kind of loneliness that makes you feel invisible, even when someone’s right there in front of you.

He wants to say something, to reach out, to let you know you’re not alone. But the words get stuck in his throat, and instead, he stays rooted in place.

It’s moments like these that unsettle him the most. He feels like he’s seen a glimpse of something in you that mirrors himself — raw, unguarded, and all too familiar.

And for a fleeting moment, he wonders if the two of you might share more than he ever realized.

amari's notes: uwaaaah! i know it's so long and i blame myself for being an indecisive lil shit. kinda changed the story trajectory but here we are folks! i hope you guys enjoy and lemme know what you think so far?

[mariacallous]

The Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) has canceled plans to introduce new rules designed to limit the ability of US data brokers to sell sensitive information about Americans, including financial data, credit history, and Social Security numbers.

The CFPB proposed the new rule in early December under former director Rohit Chopra, who said the changes were necessary to combat commercial surveillance practices that “threaten our personal safety and undermine America’s national security.”

The agency quietly withdrew the proposal on Tuesday morning, publishing a notice in the Federal Register declaring the rule no longer “necessary or appropriate.”

The CFPB received more than 600 comments from the public this year concerning the proposal, titled Protecting Americans from Harmful Data Broker Practices. The rule was crafted to ensure that data brokers obtain Americans’ consent before selling or sharing sensitive personal information, including financial data such as income. US credit agencies are already required to abide by such regulations under the Fair Credit Reporting Act, one of the nation’s oldest privacy laws.

In its notice, the CFPB’s acting director, Russell Vought, wrote that he was withdrawing the proposal “in light of updates to Bureau policies,” and that it did not align with the agency’s “current interpretation of the FCRA,” which he added the CFPB is “in the process of revising.”

The CFPB did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

Data brokers operate within a multibillion-dollar industry built on the collection and sale of detailed personal information—often without individuals’ knowledge or consent. These companies create extensive profiles on nearly every American, including highly sensitive data such as precise location history, political affiliations, and religious beliefs. This information is frequently resold for purposes ranging from marketing to law enforcement surveillance.

Many people are unaware that data brokers even exist, let alone that their personal information is being traded. In January, the Texas Attorney General’s Office, led by attorney general Ken Paxton, accused Arity—a data broker owned by Allstate—of unlawfully collecting, using, and selling driving data from over 45 million Americans to insurance companies without their consent.

The harms from data brokers can be severe–even violent. The Safety Net Project, part of the National Network to End Domestic Violence, warns that people-search websites, which compile information from data brokers, can serve as tools for abusers to track down information about their victims.

Last year, Gravy Analytics—which processes billions of location signals daily—suffered a data breach that may have exposed the movements of millions of individuals, including politicians and military personnel.

“Russell Vought is undoing years of painstaking, bipartisan work in order to prop up data brokers’ predatory, and profitable, surveillance of Americans,” says Sean Vitka, executive director of Demand Progress, a nonprofit that supported the rule. Added Vitka: “By withdrawing the CFPB’s data broker rulemaking, the Trump administration is ensuring that Americans will continue to be bombarded by scam texts, calls and emails, and that military members and their families can be targeted by spies and blackmailers.”

Vought, who also serves as director of the White House Office of Management and Budget, received a letter on Monday from the Financial Technology Association (FTA) calling for the rule to be withdrawn, claiming the rules exceed the agency’s statutory mandate and would be “harmful to financial institutions’ efforts to detect and prevent fraud.” The FTA is a US-based trade organization that represents the interests of banks, lenders, payment platforms, and their executives.

Privacy advocates have long pressed regulators to use the Fair Credit Reporting Act to crack down on the data broker industry. Common Defense, a veteran-led nonprofit, urged the CFPB to take action in November, blaming data brokers for recklessly exposing sensitive information about US service members that placed them at “substantial risk” of being blackmailed, scammed, or targeted by hostile foreign actors.

A 2023 study cited by the group—funded by the US Military Academy at West Point—concluded that the current data broker ecosystem is a threat to US national security, permitting the sale of sensitive personal data that can be used not only to identify service members and “other politically sensitive targets,” but also to offer details about medical conditions, financial problems, and political and religious beliefs. “Foreign and malign actors with access to these datasets could uncover information about high-level targets, such as military service members, that could be used for coercion, reputational damage, and blackmail,” the authors report.

Common Defense political director Naveed Shah, an Iraq War veteran, condemned the move to spike the proposed changes, accusing Vought of putting the profits of data brokers before the safety of millions of service members. "For the sake of military families and our national security, the administration must reverse course and ensure that these critical privacy protections are enacted," Shah says.

Investigations by WIRED have shown that data brokers have collected and made cheaply available information that can be used to reliably track the locations of American military and intelligence personnel overseas, including in and around sensitive installations where US nuclear weapons are reportedly stored.

WIRED reported in February that US data brokers were using Google's ad-tech tools to sell access to information about devices linked to military service members and national security decisionmakers, as well as federal contractors that manufacture and export classified defense-related technologies. Experts say it proves trivial for foreign adversaries to de-anonymize the data.

"Data brokers inflict severe harm on individuals by degrading privacy, threatening national security, enabling scams and fraud, endangering public officials and survivors of domestic violence, and putting immigrant populations at risk,” says Caroline Kraczon, law fellow at the Electronic Privacy Information Center focused on consumer protection.

“The CFPB had a critical opportunity to address these harms by clarifying that data brokers must follow the Fair Credit Reporting Act,” adds Kraczon. “This withdrawal is deeply disappointing and another attack in the administration’s war against consumers on behalf of corporate interests."

Last month, more than 1,400 CFPB employees had their positions at the agency terminated, leaving the agency with a staff of around 300 people. Elon Musk, whose so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) has spearheaded the White House's efforts to radically restructure the federal government by slashing the size of its workforce, last November called on President Donald Trump to “delete” the CFPB, whose job includes shielding Americans from predatory lending practices.

[fandomlobsterart]

Shrimp x Finn fic where Shrimpo feels one [1] positive feeling and flips out. Because I wanted to take on the challenge of writing Shrimpo. I think I accidentally made him autistic.

I've got chapter 3 in the works now so hopefully I'll manage to finish this in the next couple of weeks

[nyoomerr]

May I request another mer AU drabble but this time Shen Qingqiu is a merman? Whether Binghe is a human, merman or octobing is up to you

aye aye cap'n 🫡 warnings on this one for what is definitely a more violent sort of atticwifing

(also i still have like 3 more mer related drabble requests in my inbox, y'all are really into the mer AUs rn huh?? very nice)

---

There’s a mer following Luo Binghe. 

He’s been following Luo Binghe since he was a child, a guardian angel of the sea. Luo Binghe used to throw himself overboard just to feel the mer’s gentle touch as he’d drag him back to the surface; at night he’d poke at the little pinpricks in his skin from where the mer’s claws had made him bleed despite the gentle way he was held. 

That was years ago, though. Luo Binghe hasn’t seen the mer in a long, long time. One time he fell into the ocean - a genuine accident, that time - and the mer wasn’t there, and then the mer was never there, ever again. 

For a kid who hadn’t felt a kind touch from a human since his mother had died, the loss of that mer’s rescues had been a devastating loss. 

When Luo Binghe had realized the mer was still there, and still following Luo Binghe - occasionally leaving out little shells for him, or scaring off sharks when Luo Binghe had to get in the water to scrape barnacles off the ship - the loss had begun to feel more like a betrayal.

The mer hadn’t abandoned Luo Binghe - he’d only grown distant, only decided that helping Luo Binghe was only worth it if he never had to touch him. 

Was the mer’s assistance only out of pity, then? Or perhaps just some sort of animal curiosity? 

The friend that Luo Binghe had imagined himself to have, as a kid struggling to survive the life of an orphan on a pirate ship - did he ever exist, or had it just been a foolish projection of human motivation onto a creature acting on whims that Luo Binghe could never understand?

It wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to Luo Binghe; not by a long shot. For as long as the mer would keep following him, though, it would itch at him, a problem that was never quite resolved.

Fine, then. Luo Binghe is a long way away from the little orphan kid just trying to survive the high seas, now. If there’s a problem that itches at him, he’ll scratch it until it bleeds.

Once he sets his mind on it, it only takes three days before his crew manages to catch the mer. 

Luo Binghe stands over him now, taking in the sight of him. Before now, he’d only ever managed glimpses, and his memories of being held by the mer as a child had grown fuzzy. Dragged onto the deck of the ship, the mer is far larger than Luo Binghe had thought: the human head and torso were roughly the same size as Luo Binghe’s, but the mer’s tail was so long it seemed more like a serpent’s than a fish’s. 

He’s pretty, too - more than just the way his scales glint in the light, or the way the rope of the net digs into his skin in a way that makes him look so soft Luo Binghe could take a bite out of him.

The delicate bridge of his nose, the slant of his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw - Luo Binghe wants to cut him into little pieces to eat almost as badly as he wants to have him stuffed in one beautiful, elegant piece.

The mer had stopped thrashing in the net when he’d seen Luo Binghe approach, though his chest is still heaving with the exertion of it. Luo Binghe watches the frantic rise and fall of it for a long, hypnotizing moment before deciding he’d like to inspect the mer even closer before deciding what is done with him.

“Hello there,” Luo Binghe croons, kneeling down in front of the mer. 

The mer watches him with intelligent, panicked eyes, but makes no sound in return.

“You’ve known me for a long time, now,” Luo Binghe says evenly. “Do you remember my name, from back when I used to try and speak with you?”

The mer licks his lips, a nervous tick that reveals what looks like two separate rows of needle-sharp teeth.

“...Binghe,” the mer says eventually. His voice has a reedy, inhuman quality to it, but the tone of it does not surprise Luo Binghe nearly as much as the sound of his name does.

So you didn’t forget me, he thinks almost viciously. You didn’t forget, and you were listening.

He doesn’t give the mer the satisfaction of hearing those thoughts, though.

“And you? Do you have a name, or should I call you as I please?”

This time, the mer remains silent. 

Luo Binghe hums, assessing the mer from beneath lazy, half-lidded eyes. “I’ll give it some thought, then,” he says. “I’ve got all the time in the world with you now, after all.”

The mer’s fins twitch, his eyes slipping away from Luo Binghe to look for some means of escape.

Luo Binghe decides quite quickly that he doesn’t care for the mer to look away from him.

“You seem able to breathe air just fine,” he says, louder than the soft voice he’d been using before. “And you can speak like a human, too.”

The mer’s eyes flick to him again, then back away. Luo Binghe narrows his eyes.

Slowly, he leans towards the mer, reaching out with one hand. The net keeps the creature pinned to the deck of the ship, but it wouldn’t stop him from snapping Luo Binghe’s fingers off if he got too close.

Luo Binghe brings his hands to the mer’s gills anyway. The mer does not try to bite.

“If you can breathe air just fine,” Luo Binghe says, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of the mer’s gills. “I wonder: what do you need these for?”

The mer makes an aborted, panicked movement to jerk away from Luo Binghe’s hand. Luo Binghe catches him by the throat, his fingers sinking into the mer’s gills to keep the hold firm, and the mer goes entirely limp. 

“...Binghe,” The mer says, his voice soft and nearly pleading. 

Luo Binghe relaxes his grip. He does not pull his fingers away from the mer’s gills. Instead, he runs his fingers along them, his touch firmer than before, and slowly - so, so slowly - pushes one finger inside. 

“I think,” Luo Binghe says softly, “that I could take these away, and then you’d never have the chance to hide from me again.”

Luo Binghe flicks his gaze up from the mer’s gills, stretched painfully around Luo Binge’s finger, to meet his eyes. 

The mer’s pupils are blown huge. He looks more human like this, without his eyes peering at Luo Binghe through a snake’s slitted pupils.

Slowly, Luo Binghe withdraws his hand. 

“Well,” he says. “I have time to think about it.”

[biancasaidstfu]

Question for the more experienced shippers in the mix. It feels like there is a constant pendulum in motion swinging between shippers being pissed at Nic and then pissed at Luke. And for reasons I don’t fully get. It’s a huge drain and honestly grates on my nerves more than the Jakolas at this point. Is this to be expected from here on out?

Ok I'm of the opinion that people should manage their own expectations and shouldn't look to others but I'll give this advice.

Their jobs are our source of entertainment. Their real lives is of interest but it is at a distance. They are not us we are not them. They provide small insight to how they live, we shouldn't ask for more than what they give or when they give it.

Be happy for them when you see them together it's hard to live when you're being scrutinized and criticized every day.

There is always more we don't know. More we won't see and even more we cannot explain. Let them choose their story and what and how they want to tell it. Theories will always be thrown out but don't let theories consume too much of your brain space. Theories can corrupt hence some of the emotional outbursts I see online. That's why distance is needed when looking from the outside.

Focus on other things too. We aren't going to ever get 24/7 content. Whatever we get watch, observe, comment respectfully and move on.

Do not preach and spread hate even if they do something you do not agree with. I'm not saying don't discuss, but don't hate either. They are not robots who will be unfeeling, they have personal struggles as we do.

Unless we are in the industry we will never fully understand what and why they do those things and what they are exposed to that we don't see. Maybe their respective situations provide a safety net from something they are dealing with for now.

One day will never be the next, each day is different. Do not let their public situations be your personal highs and lows.

We see their brand and image more than we see their personal life but behind the brand is a human being with emotions, struggles, ups and downs like anyone else. They do not have conventional love stories and closeness that we experience. Theirs is played out for the world to see, they have to protect them and their loved ones while still doing their jobs and living publicly.

When we realise we can easily live privately compared to them and they have to go through hoops to have some semblance of privacy and a normal life we will be more empathetic.

Life and humans are messy, as with any job, relationship etc things are not linear and sometimes things don't go our way. But it isn't our way it's their life. Not ours.

Stop projecting your expectations on their story. Separate the actors from what you want for them and what you want for you out of this. Their relationship is a bonus, their work is the main attraction. Sooner you get that the less you begin to spiral.

Today is Jake and Antonia tomorrow could be another situation. Again life isn't linear.

They also work together and there is a possibility they have a season or 2 again to go. Maybe they cannot move forward now for contractual reasons or if they can, it's things they need to consider that could be impacted if they are together or not. We don't know so we cannot judge harshly.

Shipping is not for the weak. Look up Christopher Plumber and Julie Andrews. Yes that same Julie who voices LW. She's decades into a Sound of Music ship. Martin and Meryl. I'm not saying this is the timeline for N and L but it's to show we don't control it, they do.

Appreciate the ship, worse thing is to force a relationship and they're not ready. Let's say they're together then break up, we aren't going to be there to wipe tears we won't see. Is that really what you want for them as fans? Where they can take control to make sure their friendship and working relationship is as healthy as possible let them decide because we definitely won't be there to pick up the pieces if they're together then break up. Hearts bleed a different type of sorrow and blood we don't see when genuine love and connection are broken. Losing a loved one to death is hard, losing a loved one while they are alive is fucking war.

OG shippers see it in compartments. We don't see all in a vacuum because not every thing fits. What we do know is we like them and their work and want the best for them. I also think there are new fandom people who have never shipped before or never observed a ship. If this is your first fandom and ship experience welcome to hell. I've been waiting for another ship for years but that's not happening yet so lol. Hope this helps.

.

[mrrecaswife]

Ophelia by Heyser

Late afternoons/evenings with Mr Reca where you two sit down on the couch and watch a movie.

Or more like, you trying to watch a movie while he points out all the flaws in it (or praises it if it's one of his works to flatter his ego, the little shit)

Then, one day, you manage to get an obscure, one of a kind, old series that is set in an ancient period in a blue planet that will not be named for legal reasons.

The story is kind of predictable, or so your lovely director points out. It's some kind of long, 45 minutes to one hour long episodes with a noble vibe that you can't quite shake off. The decors are beautiful, the clothing looks fancy, the plot has a good balance of plot and romance, and the characters are just dreamy, especially the male ones.

You quickly discover after talking to your data obsessed friend that it is a 'regency' style work of art, and you quickly search to get more of it on the net. You dreamed of being in there, with the characters and the landscape, living out an innocent historical fantasy in such a romantic place.

Meanwhile, the gears in the director's head are turning.

If you managed to get into such a setting, for real this time, you would probably swoon all over him like you do with the characters on-screen, right?

So, (after a lot of teasing from your friend, who did help him out of what seems to be pity) after a while, he manages to get a set just like the one on television.

He's practically vibrating with excitement at how this is going to turn out and his imagination is running wild. You will surely love this. As the last preparations are made, he sends you a quick text to meet him at his location.

(the data collector that is your friend is snickering slightly behind her hand. He really is jealous of a mere show, it's so pathetic of him, how cute!)

(when you discover this, you do admittedly end up giving him kisses and swoon all over him. He did work hard for your little daydream to happen, after all.

Mr Reca ends up being very happy and even more excited to start his own movie of this kind with the both of you as the main actors. As glad as you are that there is a new project that interests him, you might have to calm him down a little before he starts harassing your history nerd of a friend (who actually needs to work and not procrastinate for her own sake) to get more info on that period.)

[xx-riffraff-xx]

𓄿 ~ rabbit in a wolf’s jaws ~ 𓄿

premise; You're struggling after a hard week of failures and Sylus gives you a task you can't complete.

warnings; ANGST, I kinda put you through the ringer on this one, half-vent fic, lots of projection, panic attack, perceived anger at you, breaking prized possessions on accident and freaking out about it, there IS a happy ending

a/n; i'm not super happy with this one, but it did satiate the horrible beast clawing at my insides. heed the warnings, you are the subject of the angst in this piece. with that, enjoy! (feat. text divider i made!)

You were feeling off. It had been a long, difficult week. Everyone kept asking too much of you and they were angry when you couldn’t deliver. You had been chewed out by your managers and yelled at by coworkers. You hadn’t dealt with a massive Metaflux fluctuation fast enough to keep everyone from getting injured and faced the sneers of their families.

Usually, when you’re feeling inadequate, Sylus always knows how to bring your confidence back. He soothes your aches, prods just the right places to make you feel like yourself again. When the two of you have finished playing, you feel refreshed, reset, and ready to take over the world. You head straight for his house on your day off.

When you arrive, Sylus is quick to note that something is wrong. “Have you had a bad week, kitten?” He opens his arms for you. You mold yourself into his chest and nod. Whatever challenge Sylus gives you, you’re sure you can conquer it.

Sylus materializes a little glass dove into the palm of his hand. “If you can hide and protect this dove from me for 24 hours,” he taunts slowly, “I’ll let you do anything you want to my hair.”

Your eyes light up. You’re already picturing all the stupid colors and styles you could create. He said anything. There’s a nagging pull in your gut that you can’t do this. Despite this, you eagerly accept his deal.

”You have fifteen minutes of head start. Better run, little rabbit.”

And run you do. You race through the halls, looking for a suitable hiding spot. You anxiously count the seconds down, nowhere feels good enough. Wherever you hide it, it needs to be somewhere Mephisto can’t see and Sylus won’t think to look...

Your gaze lands on a wilting potted plant. The perfect hiding spot! Just when you think you might be able to win this—

You. Drop. It.

The bird’s body shatters as soon as it hits the floor. It’s deafening to your ears. Sylus surely must have heard it. You panic, surely the bird was expensive, everything Sylus owns is. It must be worth triple your entire net worth. He’s going to be pissed. You failed, again.

You drop to your knees, frantically trying to pick up the pieces with your bare hands. Maybe it’s salvageable? You wince as the shards of glass embed themselves in your fingers. You don’t want to know what happens when Sylus finds out you broke the dove, he never told you a consequence. Surely he has one in mind. You’re not going to stay to find out what it is. You tear a piece of your shirt, wrapping the shards up delicately. You think you got them all, you have no idea, but it doesn’t matter because you hear Sylus coming.

You run. Your heart beats like a rabbit’s. You know this is futile, but you’re prepared to defend the evidence with every ounce of courage you have. You’re trying not to leave traces of your blood everywhere, that would really set him off. Tears gather on your lashes, blurring your vision.

You yelp when Sylus appears in front of you, scrambling the other way. You never had a chance. You’re a bunny in a wolf’s jaws, slowly bleeding out where the teeth pierce your flesh. You think you’re hyperventilating, there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the air. Maybe your lungs are filling with your own blood. You trip again, your knees scraping on the carpet.

You try to get up and keep running, but Sylus pulls you back with his Evol and settles you in his arms. A pitiful sob escapes your closed throat. “Sweetie, what happened?” You cling to his soft timbre like it’s the last time you’ll hear it.

”I-I broke— I broke the— I tried to— I—“

”Sweetheart, *breathe. *It’s alright.“ He kisses the top of your head. “I’m not upset.”

You take a shuddering breath in only to cough it out again. It’s hard to trust what he’s saying when all you can hear is your feeble heart racing in your ears.

”That’s good, you’re doing well. One more breath.” Sylus settles on the floor, holding you on his lap with your ear to his chest. You can hear his slow, steady heartbeat and his even breaths. You suck in another breath.

”Good job, sweetie, keep breathing for me.” You sit together in the middle of the hallway for who knows how long. Sylus praises you for every few breaths you take. When you’re finally calmed down enough to breathe, your body decides it can cry. You place the bundle of glass shards in his palm.

”I—I broke the dove. I didn’t mean to, I promise! I just— I dropped it and- I was worried— I thought you’d be mad at me. Please don’t be mad.” You confess pathetically through your tears.

”Sweetie, I could never be mad at you for this. I should have given you an easier challenge after the week you’ve had.” Sylus says softly. He discards the bundle in favor of inspecting your hands. “How about we take care of your hands and watch a movie instead?”

You nod. Sylus carries you to his room. He cleans and bandages your wounds with the cutesy patterned bandaids he bought just for you. You snuggle up together on the couch to watch a shitty comedy movie, and you think, just for a moment, that maybe everything will be okay.

[yuta-nakamots]

Dive Into You - L.Haechan (Teaser)

Pairing - Boyfriend!Haechan x University!AFAB Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, University!AU (Smut to be included in the full fic)

Warning(s) - none for this teaser but there will be lots for the smut in the full fic lol

Summary - After a whirlwind semester, Haechan sweeps you away on a surprise getaway after finals are over. Between salty kisses and soft-spoken promises, you both begin to realize that Fridays mark more than just the end of the week, they mark the beginning of something new. 

Teaser Word Count - 1.1k

Author’s Note - Happy early birthday to Haechan! 

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @dinonuguaegi @tinyzen @fancypeacepersona (leave a comment or send an ask to join the taglist!)

Written for the Resonance Beach Collab originally hosted by @loeycity. Part of the K-Films Summer Event 2025 hosted by @k-films. Also part of my NCT Dream: Seven Days Collection. 

Now playing: Dive Into You - NCT Dream, Bahama - aespa

You first met Haechan in a music theory class halfway through the semester. You were taking it for your degree, as was he, though he hadn’t managed to show up to a class thus far because of his busy idol career. On his day off, he finally attended class for the first time, slipping into the back row of the lecture hall ten minutes late, wearing sunglasses indoors and a hoodie too big for the late-spring weather. Yet no one batted an eye. That’s the thing about university, you could be a celebrity or a sleep-deprived caffeine gremlin and still get away with everything as long as you looked miserable enough. 

He sat beside you, even though the rest of the row was empty. “Your notes looked better than mine,” he remarked. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you even enrolled in this class?”

He grinned, teeth flashing beneath the shadow of his hood. “Technically.”

“Technically,” you repeated, unimpressed, as you angled your notebook away from him. 

“Come on,” he whined, nudging your elbow with his. “The midterm is next week, I haven’t studied, and my manager thinks I’m watching video lectures at home right now. Help a guy out?”

You sighed, already sliding your notes a little closer. “If I get caught helping you cheat, you better buy me lunch.”

“Deal,” he agreed, a little too quickly. “And maybe a song.” 

“A song?” You questioned.

“You’ll see.”

Your friendship with Haechan started just like that. A few shared notes, a couple late-night study sessions in the campus café when he had time off in his schedule. He hummed next to you while you worked on your laptop, occasionally changing songs halfway through the phrase just to annoy you. You quickly learned that when he wasn’t on stage, he was a menace with too many inside jokes, an alarming stash of memes, and a knack for making your cheeks hurt from laughing. 

The first time you let him into your apartment, he tripped over cables hooked up to music equipment. He made it up to you by immediately assisting in layering harmonies onto the half-finished chorus of a demo track you made. “This would sound so good with a weird falsetto ghost vocal,” he commented, already recording himself singing off your cheap microphone like it was a stadium stage. 

Somehow, you didn’t mind because somehow, his chaos just fit with yours. You made music together, half as a joke, half because it felt right. You teased him about his idol life, and he teased you about your messy desktop and how seriously you took your plugins. He never stopped talking, but you never wanted him to. Somewhere between 3AM laughter, breathless studio nights, and his fingers brushing yours over a keyboard, you stopped writing love songs about people who didn’t exist. 

One night, when your midterm projects were due and sleep felt like a forgotten luxury, he popped by your apartment with fast food and insisted on ‘helping’ you mix your final track. The ‘help’ amounted to him curling up on a chair next to you with a can of soda and randomly hitting keys on your MIDI keyboard while proclaiming it to be ‘art’. 

You swatted his hand away from your laptop for what had to be the tenth time. “You’re going to make me fail.” 

“I’m inspiring you,” he countered, leaning over your shoulder to peer at your project window. “See, this part? Needs more chaos.” 

“You are chaos.”

He laughed, dropping his chin to your shoulder. “I’m glad you finally noticed.”

You turned to look at him, a comeback ready, but the look on his face made the words freeze in your throat. You didn’t realize until that moment just how badly you wanted to kiss him, his lips looking so full and soft mere inches from you. Your breath caugh,t and Haechan heard, but didn’t move away. 

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, the usual teasing in his voice softened by something more sincere, “I’m going to think you like me.”

Your eyes flickered to his. “What if I do?”

The words hung there, suspended in the space between your breath and his. You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly the distance didn’t exist. His lips met yours in a kiss that tasted like soda and secrets you didn’t want to keep anymore. It was gentle, slow, and careful, like neither of you wanted to break whatever this was turning into. 

When Haechan pulled away, his eyes searched yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, his usual bravado stripped away. 

You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest, and your brain fighting with every reason why this shouldn’t have happened. “Haechan,” you started hesitantly. “You’re…you. And I’m just me. This isn’t right.”

He tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you think I don’t know that?” You blinked. “I’ve thought about this, all the reasons it could go wrong. But then I think about how you save lecture notes for me, how you roll your eyes at me, but still tolerate me when I make a bad joke. I think about how I’ve never heard music the same since I first met you.” You looked down at your hands, the weight of reality pressing against the lightness you felt just seconds ago. “Hey.” He reached for your hand. “I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’ll show up. For you, for this, for us.” 

Your eyes meet his again. There was no cockiness there, just quiet determination and something you realized had been growing behind all his jokes and late-night harmonies. It was real, terrifying, beautiful affection. You nodded slowly, lips drawing up into a small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoed, eyes widening. 

“But if I end up in a dating scandal, you better write me a hit breakup song.”

He laughed, his fingers lacing through yours. “Deal. But I’m aiming for a love song first.” And somehow, it felt like the beginning of one. 

Your relationship didn’t erupt like the drop of a chorus, it eased in like a warm synth line, subtle but impossible to ignore. Somewhere in the haze of long nights and low battery percentages, between split headphones and shared playlists, Haechan became the rhythm you moved to without even realizing it.