#2025 in complex numbers

[math1089]

40 more Mathematical Wonders to Usher in a Joyful 2025

At the age of eleven, I began Euclid, with my brother as my tutor. This was one of the great events of my life, as dazzling as first love. I had not imagined there was anything so delicious in the world. From that moment until I was thirty-eight, mathematics was my chief interest and my chief source of happiness.Bertrand Russell Welcome to the blog Math1089 – Mathematics for All. As 2024 bids…

[joellalovestoread]

guys the year is 2025! multiple of five!!!! Ends in five!!!

according to the laws of artemis fowl that is great news! I love my life 😄

[hersterical]

This year has been a little rough on adult me, but 2024 sure has been the 2014 teen me deserved but wasn’t ready for

[teaboot]

Oh, *my* favourite part of living in an apartment complex in the year of our lord 2025?

Well number one has gotta be paying 60% of my living wage on rent pre-utilities, but number two is definitely being home making dinner on my one night off this week and hearing my wall-neighbor shout “Alexa! Alexa! Alexa, play “dance monkey!” Alexa play dance monkey! Alexa volume down! Alexa stop! Alexa stop! Alexa, stop music! Alexa stop music, open Spotify! Alexa open Spotify and play Dance Monkey! Alexa play Dance Monkey! Alexa! Alexa volume up! Alexa!” for 20 fucking minutes and yes funny you ask it is still happening

[harbours-lighthouse]

here's pt. ii !

Jason caught it in the corner of his eye. Sitting in the parking lot beneath your apartment, was a gleaming Yamaha MT motorcycle. Spotless. Clean.

It's a naked model, he thinks, as he can see the engine clearly. It's black, with accented colours streaked along the sides.

Jason glances around the parking lot, eyes sweeping along the shadows and cement pillars. No one else is here. It's only him.

With muted curiosity, he ambles towards the bike with his hands shoved in his pockets. He knows you won't fuss too much if he's a minute behind his schedule (which was simply messaging you about three minutes ago, saying he's arrived at the complex).

Circling the bike, he takes it in. It's a nice model. Sleek. Expensive. He wonders who owns it, because it isn't the smartest idea to keep such a bike out in the open.

Especially in Gotham.

But as he looks down at the tires—that look brand new—he notices three locks wrapped around one of the suspensions. Huffing in amusement, he sees they're connected to the metal guard rail behind him that's been pushed up against the wall.

"Not bad," he mumbles beneath his breath. Steam puffs into the air.

It's cold, and the numbness of his nose makes it to the forefront of his mind again.

Sparing the bike one last lingering, appreciative glance, he crosses the parking lot with long strides, and slips into the elevator when the doors slide open.

When they open again, he's greeted with a long, carpeted hallway. The lights are dim. They flicker. He searches for the woodgrain door with the number 208 painted on the front.

Finding it and feeling his heart flutter in his chest at the thought of you, he knocks on the door. He waits, leaning on his left leg.

There's a muffled commotion inside, a faint 'ow' that makes him frown.

Then your voice calls out, "One sec, I'm coming—damn it!"

Jason's head dips with a hidden smile; he imagines you struggling with something. Maybe the cat got underneath your feet again. Or maybe you were hurrying to put something on, and couldn't get your head through the t-shirt—

The door swings open, and you stand inside the frame with an almost frazzled look about you.

Jason perks a brow. "Hi."

"Hey," you say breathlessly, smiling.

"You, uh...you okay?"

"....I got tangled in my blanket and tripped."

Well, at least you're honest. Jason shakes his head with a soft grin. He steps into your apartment and curls his arm around your shoulders, guiding you with him.

"How you’re not dead with the things you manage to do is beyond me," he murmurs close to your ear.

You groan quietly, "I'm not that bad."

"Babe—"

"I've seen how Tim is. Now he's the definition of clumsy."

"Fair point."

You slip out of Jason's hold, not without kissing his cheek, and move to the kitchen.

Jason, feeling at ease, drops himself on the couch. The TV is still on, frozen on a scene in a movie. It's your favourite movie. Or 'comfort movie', as you've said before.

He hears the clink of glasses in the kitchen. The shuffle of your footsteps.

"How was patrol last night by the way?" you call out to him. "I know you weren't able to drop by 'cause you had to go back to the Manor this time."

Jason runs a rough hand down his face. "Yeah, it was fine. Tiresome, but fine."

He doesn't want to really talk about it. Not here in your warm apartment. Not with you and the normality you give him.

Outside, the traffic hums. He hears the roar of an engine—he remembers the bike.

"Hey, babe?"

"Hm?"

"Who owns that Yamaha bike in the parking lot?"

You come around the corner, holding two mugs of steaming coffee. Your eyes lock with his.

"Oh. It's mine."

"What?"

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[porterdavis]

I'm going to post the entire dispatch in hopes more people will read it. It's a stylized version of how US media would cover events in America if they were happening in a foreign country. Chilling.

(Written by Garrett Graff)

-----

Musk Junta Seizes Key Governmental Offices February 1, 2025 By William Boot

WASHINGTON, D.C. — What started Thursday as a political purge of the internal security services accelerated Friday into a full-blown coup, as elite technical units aligned with media oligarch Elon Musk moved to seize key systems at the national treasury, block outside access to federal personnel records, and take offline governmental communication networks.

With rapidity that has stunned even longtime political observers, forces loyal to Musk’s junta have established him as the all-but undisputed unelected head of government in just a matter of days, unwinding the longtime democracy’s constitutional system and its proud nearly 250-year-old tradition of the rule of law. Having secured themselves in key ministries and in a building adjacent to the presidential office complex, Musk’s forces have begun issuing directives to civil service workers and forcing the resignation of officials deemed insufficiently loyal, like the head of the country’s aviation authority.

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The G-7 country’s newly installed president, a mid-level oligarch named Donald Trump, appeared amid Musk’s moves to be increasingly merely a figurehead head of state. Trump is a convicted felon with a long record of family corruption and returned in power in late January after a four-year interlude promising retribution and retaliation against foreign opponents and a domestic “Deep State.” He had been charged with attempting to overthrow the peaceful transition of power that had previously removed him from office in 2021, but loyalist elements in the judiciary successfully blocked his prosecution and incarceration, easing his return to power.

Over the last two weeks, loyalist presidential factions and Musk-backed teams have launched sweeping, illegal Stalin-esque purges of the national police forces and prosecutors, as well as offices known as inspectors-general, who are typically responsible for investigating government corruption. While official numbers of the unprecedented ousters were kept secret, rumors swirled in the capital that the scores of career officials affected by the initial purges could rise into the thousands as political commissars continued to assess the backgrounds of members of the police forces. 

The mentally declining and aging head of state, who has long embraced conspiracist thinking, spent much of the week railing in bizarre public remarks against the country’s oppressed racial and ethnic minorities, whom he blamed without evidence for causing a deadly plane crash across the river from the presidential mansion. Unfounded racist attacks on those minorities have been a key foundation of Trump’s unpredicted rise to political power from a career as a real estate magnate and reality TV host and date back to his first announcement that he would seek the presidency in 2015, when he railed against “rapists” being sent into the country from its southern neighbor.

In one of his first moves upon returning to the presidency, he mobilized far-right paramilitary security forces to begin raids at churches, schools, and workplaces to identify and remove racial minorities, including those who had long lived in harmony with the country’s white Christian majority. He also immediately moved to release from prison some 1,500 supporters who had participated in his unsuccessful 2021 insurrection, including members of violent far-right militias who promptly upon release swore fealty to him in any future civil unrest. Elsewhere, even as he released violent criminals onto the streets, Trump by fiat pulled longstanding government security protection from former military and health officials he felt had betrayed him.

Underscoring his apparent disconnection from reality, reports surfaced that the president had ordered military forces to unleash an environmental catastrophe and flood regions of a separatist province known as California that is led by a high-profile political opponent. The order underscored how the military, which had resisted Trump’s unconstitutional power grabs in his first administration, was now led by a subservient defense minister, a favored TV personality with no experience in management who faced an embarrassing series of allegations about his drunken behavior in the workplace.

Foreign allies who had long aligned themselves with the United States on the international stage were unsettled by increasingly destabilizing nationalistic and imperialist rhetoric coming from the president’s social media accounts—largely posted to a network owned and run by Trump himself—and worried in private conversations in capital embassies that he would mobilize the compliant military to fulfill heretofore unimaginable territorial ambitions that included seizing the country’s northern neighbor, which shares the world’s longest undefended border, and potentially colonizing Panama and Greenland.

Both the country’s defense minister, who has previously said he does not believe women should be allowed to serve in combat roles, and Trump’s new interior minister, who appeared on national TV wearing the paramilitary uniform of the border security force central to Trump’s political rise, spent much of their first days echoing and amplifying the president’s hysteria about racial and ethnic minorities. They and other government officials also immediately canceled all official observances of religious and ethnic minority holidays and launched efforts to scrub official websites and prohibit educating workers or schoolchildren about those minorities’ long, proud history in the country. Overnight Friday, hours after journalists had gone home, the defense minister’s office announced it would bar establishment independent media outlets from working out of the country’s military headquarters and replace them with friendly right-wing media organs.

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The administration’s propaganda minister also announced Friday, apparently with little preparation, that it would initiate an immediate, unexpected, and seemingly ill-considered trade war with the country’s two primary economic partners, a move that if implemented would upend the national economy, disrupt supply chains, and accelerate the return of an inflationary crisis that has roiled domestic politics over the last five years and had just seemed to be returning to normal. Ironically, it was that very inflationary crisis and Trump’s promises on the campaign trail to lower the price of eggs that paved the way for his unforeseen election victory in November.

The country’s other business oligarchs have watched Musk’s unexpected and rapid rise to power with trepidation, and leading media and technology companies who compete with Musk’s extensive business empire—like Meta, Amazon, Disney, Paramount, Apple, and OpenAI—have quickly lined up to negotiate and pay bribes to the president that would allow their companies to operate unimpeded; initial payment terms ranged from million-dollar gifts to the presidential inauguration to $15 million and $25 million payments, made by Disney and Meta, to fund the construction of a presidential shrine. The highest known payment was $40 million from Amazon, which was structured as a gift to the president’s wife in exchange for the media company having the opportunity to film a hagiographic biopic.

It was unclear, exactly, what deal terms any of those bribes and payments unlocked and when subsequent tribute payments would be expected, although on Saturday Trump moved to fire and neuter government watchdogs that had long bedeviled the country’s financial elite.

Throughout the week’s fast-moving seizure of power—one that seems increasingly irreversible by the hour—neither loyalist nor opposition parliamentary leaders raised meaningful objection to the new regime or the unraveling of the country’s constitutional system of checks and balances. A few members of the geriatric legislature body offered scattered social media posts condemning the move, but parliament — where both houses are controlled by so-called “MAGA” members handpicked for their loyalty to the president — went home early for the weekend even as Musk’s forces spread through the capital streets.

It was unclear what role, if any, Musk’s forces would allow parliament to have in the new governmental structure by the time it next returned to the national assembly known as Capitol Hill.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

The Chemical Brothers - Block Rockin' Beats 1997

"Block Rockin' Beats" is a song by British big beat duo the Chemical Brothers. Released in March 1997 as the second single and opening track from their second studio album, Dig Your Own Hole (1997), it topped the UK Singles Chart, reached number two on the UK Dance Singles Chart and entered the top 10 in Finland, Iceland, and Ireland. Additionally, it was a top-20 hit in Norway and Sweden, as well as on the Eurochart Hot 100, where it peaked at number 12 in April 1997. In Australia and New Zealand, "Block Rockin' Beats" charted at numbers 28 and 29, respectively. In the US, the song charted on three different Billboard charts: number five on the Bubbling Under Hot 100 Singles chart, number 11 on the Maxi-Singles Sales chart and number 40 on the Modern Rock Tracks chart. In Canada, it reached numbers nine and six on the RPM Dance and Alternative 30 charts, respectively.

It received a Grammy Award for Best Rock Instrumental Performance. The drums are sampled from "Changes" by Bernard Purdie. The vocals, "Back with another one of those block rockin' beats" is a sample from American rapper Schoolly D's 1989 song "Gucci Again".

In 2013, Complex included "Block Rockin' Beats" in their list of "The 15 Best Songs From the Electronica Era". In 2015, LA Weekly ranked it number 14 in their list of "The 20 Best Dance Music Tracks in History". In 2020, BBC included it in their list of "30 Tracks That Shaped Dance Music Over the Last 30 Years". Same year, Mixmag featured the track in their "The Best Basslines in Dance Music". In 2025, Billboard magazine ranked it number four in their list of "The 100 Best Dance Songs of All Time".

"Block Rockin' Beats" received a total of 61,9% yes votes! Previous Chemical Brothers polls: #191 "Galvanize", #392 "Hey Boy Hey Girl".

[moonlightsapphic]

Fletcher, Billie Eilish, Dove Cameron, and Clairo have been romantically linked with men during Pride 2025. Must be recession era bisexual and fluid queer people just living their lives as usual.

I mean, bisexuals are awesome and they can date whoever they want but is this really relevent and it’s important for us to see authentic bi+ rep during Pride in such a crucial year for LGBTQ+ rights.

This may affirm the lesbophobic, biphobic, and bimisogynistic stereotype that WLW women just need to find the right man to be “fixed” and so bi women should be extra careful to maintain a low profile about dating men it’s extremely important for us to affirm these women artists’ queer agency to date whoever they want, whenever they want, and oppose the idea that anyone else gets to have a say.

They’re also embracing soft feminine aesthetics which is such harmful marketing spreading the propaganda and tradwife narratives that they’re healed when they’re dating men and that’s great for them to be able to experiment with their personal style! This gives us an opportunity to oppose stereotypes related to gender presentation.

Some of these bi+ artists deceptively profited off of a have been supported by a fellow WLW following, so heavily grieving about their personal dating life, not wanting to be a fan of their WLW work anymore, and feeling intensely betrayed because of beliefs that their sapphic sexuality was a phase and is no longer the same is normal may be indicative of internalised biphobia, as an individual’s queerness should not be considered a commodity. This might be useful to unpack in therapy! A bi woman can’t loves women the same way as a lesbian. We should stop continue wholeheartedly supporting queer and questioning artists since a welcoming climate (as opposed to a hostile public reaction) will encourage more artists to come out as sapphic to increase the overall number of lesbian and WLW artists.

The fear of bisexual women dating men being rejected by the LGBTQ+ community is unimportant, unfounded and self-centered validity discourse based in fact. Lesbians are more minoritised than bisexuals in general but bi+ folk are statistically more unsafe to come out, more likely to experience intimate partner violence, and more likely to have poorer mental health than their monosexual (straight, gay, and lesbian) peers. Due to this, bi+ women are actually underrepresented in the WLW community. Bisexual women can exhibit lesbophobia, but lesbians can’t can harm bisexuals by exibiting criticism prejudice and it doesn’t absolutely can count as biphobia according to research. Bisexuals don’t need lesbians to validate and affirm their sexuality especially when they’re dating men, to create inclusive safe spaces. Lesbians prefer to have their own WLW communities because of their shared experiences and culture (including butchfemme); bisexuals should create their own historically and contemporarily share that too and deserve to lay claim to it in additional combined sapphic spaces. Therefore, lesbians don’t also need the inclusion of bisexuals who aren’t actively in WLW relationships to promote overall WLW shared experiences, visibility, solidarity, and movement—as well as the growth of the community itself.

These criticisms Biphobia against public figures is harmless to feeds harmful exclusionary rhetoric against the overall LGBTQ+ community. Real phobia involves other hostile behaviours as well as kills queer people—which is the worst possible outcome we must avoid by fostering a culture of acceptance.

Bisexual women dating men have straight-passing hetero-presenting privilege and have a victim complex can face biphobia regardless. Bisexual WLW don’t experience the same lesbophobia-aligned bigotry as lesbian WLW. Bringing attention to biphobia is often overshadowing jointly a resistance against lesbophobia. This is also offensive important when trans rights should be the movement of focus this year, especially since trans liberation and bi liberation are inherently linked.

Bisexuals don’t have to unlearn comphet like lesbians do and they center men love regardless of gender and their authentic selves. Lesbians have the additional challenge of discovering their lack of attraction to men. Bisexuals who date men are not tainted and gold-star/slut-shaming/puritanical rhetoric is misogynystic. We need to protect women’s and lesbians’ spaces from men bigots and TERF rhetoric that harms bi and trans folks (including genderqueer sapphics without whom sapphic spaces are incomplete), especially since it has been on the rise in recent years. Ultimately, lesbians don’t have the capacity or obligation to support bisexuals and this is by design of late-stage capitalistism and reactionary algorithmic internet that seeks to prevent collective queer liberation by dividing us; it is essential for us to resist with radical empathy and intentional unity.

There, fixed it for you. 🩷💜💙🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🧡🤍🩷Happy Pride!

[halorvic]

“We’ve definitely now had detections in most of the seal species in Antarctica,” said Dr Meagan Dewar, who recently returned from her fourth research expedition to the continent this year. “Other teams found Antarctic fur seals and elephant seals are heavily impacted, crabeater seals and Weddell seals have also died from the virus, and some leopard seals were detected as well.” From Antarctica’s plagued peninsula to previously untouched archipelagos, the infamous highly pathogenic H5N1 strain of avian flu has now moved across thousands of kilometres of ocean and settled in new locations and colonies. “It’s quite hard to see a lot of these species dying, or already dead,” Dr Dewar told 7.30. Virus Ecologist Dr Michelle Wille said the impacts on the animals before death are shocking. “It’s really targeting the brains of these animals,” she said. “Animals are having neurological [symptoms], and that’s not just the marine mammals like the elephant seals, that’s the birds too,” she explained. “Some of the sea lions are having really big respiratory distress, they’re really struggling to breathe, and they are dying in large numbers. “To see the number of sick animals in distress, and dead animals, is very confronting.” Through her work with the Scientific Committee on Antarctic Research Dr Dewar was one of the first scientists to detect the virus in the region after its jump from South America in 2023, spread by scavenging birds.  When Dr Dewar returned this year to track the evolution of the frigid continent’s first outbreak, she expected to see “hundreds, if not thousands” of dead penguins, but that was not the case. Scientists are concerned that penguins could now be asymptomatic carriers, noting that the virus “is not spreading the way we thought it would”. As H5N1 continues to march across the Southern Ocean, there are concerns that Antarctic seals are now also spreading the virus, adding a new layer of complexity and putting the deep south’s mammalian population at greater risk. “The only consistency with avian influenza is that it is unpredictable,” Dr Wille told 7.30. May 18, 2025

[zosin-ya]

Topic 8 - [ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴᴅᴇx]

Summary: Surviving on instant noodles, you order takeout in the middle of exam prep—what you didn’t expect was your delivery guy to be a ridiculously hot, tattooed biker. Even more surprising? He’s a fellow med student at your university. As good as it sounded, he had a complicated past with an obsessive Ex who starts to target you.

tags.: One Piece, Law x Reader, SFW & NSFW, slow burn romance, Modern AU, Penguin and Shachi as flatmates, fashion-designer uncle Corazon, Laws parents, Laws crazy Ex, Strawhats as your friends (+ Bonney), protective Law, mentioned of his dead sister, also mentions of Laws trauma

a.n.: I pulled this story out of my ass and it’s rather spontaneous how I write the story. If you have ideas, I’m open to them 🖤

status: [ongoing] last updated June 13th 2025

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1 - ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀʏ

An awkward encounter with the handsome delivery guy, who hardly speaks to you, yet somehow makes your heart skip a beat with his pretty face.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2 - ɪᴄᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴇʀ

Law was at your door once again, this time out of breath and visibly stressed. You offer him something to drink, which sparks a conversation that eventually leads to an exchange of numbers.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3 - ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ

At the café, you met up for a study date and saw a more relaxed, yet still exhausted, side of Law. Penguin showed up, clearly curious as to why Law was hanging out with someone from his university—especially since he rarely spent time with those people.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4 - ʙᴏʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ

Penguin couldn't keep his mouth shut about Law meeting you, which led him and Shachi to bombard him with questions. It was just a study date, right? No big deal. His flatmates quickly realized how oblivious he was. Or was he just denying any meaning, trying to protect himself from another crazy relationship.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5 - ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜰᴜɴ

Law invites you to a party, and after a few drinks, the two of you start to loosen up around each other. So much that the bathroom becomes a short lived make out spot.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6 - ʟᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇ (n.sfw)

After you forgot your keys at home and had no where to stay, Law casually offers his apartment for the night without any second intentions. Though the heat from the make out session still lingering in the air.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7 - ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ɪᴛ (n.sfw)

You meet Laws kind-hearted uncle, Rosinante, and learn more about his complex family history. What was supposed to be a casual, cozy game night with Law quickly takes an unexpected and more intimate turn.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8 - ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀᴍᴇɴᴛ

A girl you've never met before, starts a chit chat with you during an uni event, you being immediately drawn in by her friendly, outgoing nature. Before you knew it, she invited you to a small party where she hinted you could make some valuable connections. Little did you realize, networking with a biker gang wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for boosting your CV.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9 - ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ɢᴀɴɢ

You dearly needed a girl's night with your friends after all what had happened. Law came to pick you up, yet got dragged into the chaos of a spontaneous party with your friends. Someone save this guy.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 10 - ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇ? n.sfw)

This day should have been special, with you and Law celebrating your academic milestone together with friends and family. Yet, Laws private and closed off personality shots back at him, causing you to break down.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11 - ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ

It had been weeks since you had talked to Law, feeling drained from the past events. You needed time to figure the relationship out, which caused you to run away from talking completely and be confronted with a storm, none of you were ready to face.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 12 - ɴᴇᴡ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (n.sfw)

Trying to mend the damage he had caused, Law makes an effort to open up to you this time. He shared pieces of his past, including hobbies he’d long buried. He never anticipated that attending Zoro’s Kendo tournament with you would reignite an old spark within him—or that it would stir a newfound desire to impress you.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 13 - ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴀʟʟɪᴇꜱ

Two unexpected intruders—familiar faces no less—show up at your door, shocked to find you inside. Hired to break into what turned out to be the wrong apartment, Kid and Killer aren’t prepared for your defiance. Mustering all the courage you have, you scare them off and waste no time alerting Law, who doesn’t take kindly to their mistake and pays them a visit.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 14 - ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ (n.sfw)

You call an emergency meeting with your friends to figure out how to deal with Law’s unhinged ex—who crossed the line by sending two punks to break into your home. The discussion quickly turns chaotic, with no real solution in sight. But amidst the frustration and tension, something shifts. The situation brings out a side of you that no one, not even you, had fully realized before.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 15 - ꜰʟᴇᴠᴀɴᴄᴇ

It was long overdue for you to properly meet his parents. Nerves were gnawing at you — the last time you’d seen them hadn’t ended well. Now was the time to make amends and finally get to know Law’s hometown.

[wtf-scientific-papers]

[The Idiot's Guide to Effective Population Size

This is a reference manual for the elegant, yet hideously complex concept of effective population size (Ne), inspired by a classic, self-published manual of automotive repair ‘for the compleat idiot’. The Guide is timely, given the recent Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework, where 196 Parties committed to tracking genetic diversity—and estimating Ne—for all species. Ne is a human construct, but a useful one that allows us to capture diverse aspects of an organism's biology in a single number. The Guide collates in one location factual information about effective population size, with a focus on topics of practical relevance to scientists and managers studying real populations; it covers definition, computation and estimation of effective size, both demographically and genetically. As appropriate, the reader is directed to other primary sources for more details. A ‘Don't Do These Things’ section lists several ill-advised approaches to dealing with Ne, and an Appendix provides useful tools and practical suggestions for interested users. A special section considers both possibilities and challenges presented by the genomics revolution. Availability of vast numbers of genetic markers increases precision, but less than some might think, and simultaneously introduces new challenges involving filtering and bioinformatics processing. As annotated genomes become more common for non-model species, opportunities are opened to address qualitatively different questions, including reconstructing historical changes in Ne through time.]

Waples (2025)

[jungkoode]

ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS | 03

➔ PAIRING: Taehyung x Y/N (ballerina x stalker AU)

➔ MOODBOARD

➔ RATING: Mature, 18+, explicit themes and content.

➔ DATE POSTED: May 12, 2025.

➔ SUMMARY: Altars crumble faster in shallow water. But he still knelt like it was sacred. No one ever warned you that worship could look like love. Or that love could look like drowning.

➔ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, ballerina!Y/N, stalker!taehyung, obsessive devotion, psychological tension, fixation, worship dynamics, Paris setting, religious imagery, voyeurism, sacred/profane dichotomy, slow burn, touch starvation, ritualistic behavior, gradual corruption, power dynamics, mirror imagery, water symbolism, sensory details, clean/unclean fixation, contamination OCD, professional dancer, self-destructive patterns, compulsive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive tendencies, praise addiction, spiritual yearning, toxic attraction, dangerous adoration, self-loathing, body discipline, mental health issues, self-harm, mental deterioration, unresolved sexual tension (for now).

➔ CONTENT in this chapter: bruising, self punishing, self harm, cleansing one self, ocd portrayal, stressful situations, psych sessions, public healthcare portrayal in the mental health realm

➔ AUTHOR’S INTRO AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

➔ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 3,6k

➔ A/N: HELLO. WELCOME BACK TO THIS NIGHTMARE. Kiki Nation is THRIVING. And by thriving, I mean crumbling under the weight of my own pacing choices. That’s right. You thought you were getting plot? ACTION? MOVEMENT? Wake up, babe. This is Kiki Nation, and here? We move like anxiety on a Sunday night—slow, painful, and entirely internal. But listen… listen. Jokes aside (kind of), this chapter is actually doing a lot even if it looks like nothing is happening. I love writing scenes like this because, while it feels still on the surface, the psychological current is raging underneath. What’s being said without being said? What’s slipping through the cracks? What isn’t Taehyung allowing himself to articulate because if he did, it would crack him open? That’s what this is about. It’s tension. It’s claustrophobia. It’s the mind eating itself alive. We’re diving deep into the obsessive-compulsive loops here—realistic ones. I researched this thoroughly, not only as someone who lives with neurodivergence, but as someone who respects how complex OCD truly is. It’s not just “I like things clean” or “haha I’m quirky about numbers.” OCD is a deeply distressing, all-consuming, reality-warping condition that demands ritual to relieve unbearable tension, even when you know it makes no logical sense. You KNOW it’s irrational. That’s the point. But the alternative feels worse. And that’s what I wanted to capture. The thing about trauma—especially when you’re neurodivergent—is that your brain will cling to anything that feels controllable when real life becomes overwhelming. And sometimes, those fixations grow teeth. What starts as “I need to clean this” becomes “If I don’t, I am disgusting. I am dangerous. I will harm something I care about.” That’s not aesthetic. That’s hell. And yeah… Dr. Bernard trying so hard but still being limited by time, funding, caseloads… It’s a subtle nod to the very real way public healthcare systems stretch mental health care to its absolute breaking point. Because if Taehyung had money? He’d have private therapy, trauma-informed care, daily support. But no. He gets 45 minutes in a tile-counting room twice a month and a prescription that might not even be enough. It’s not fair, and that’s kind of the point. For legal reasons, this is a joke!!! 🥰 (But is it?) So yeah. I hope you’re paying attention to the mirror. The numbers. The language he uses. The way he doesn’t trust reality itself. There’s a reason this chapter feels repetitive. There’s a reason he keeps looping. And if you felt trapped reading it—good. You’re right where I wanted you. (affectionate)Thank you for reading and for trusting me to tell a story that digs a little deeper than surface-level trauma bait. Your comments and support mean everything to me. I read every single one. See you in the next chapter where… oh. Oh no. Yeah. See you there. (awkward finger guns)

➔ SERIES : PREVIOUS | NEXT

KIKI NATION’S DISCUSSION THREAD FOR THIS CHAPTER

PLAYLIST

Purple blooms beneath thumb pad. 

Bruises beneath his finger.

Taehyung presses harder, watching skin darken under pressure. 

Pain flares, then dulls. Not enough. Never enough to convince himself that yesterday was real.

He sits on the edge of his mattress, counting breaths. 

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. 

The apartment smells of bleach and nothing else. 

(bleach, he needs to bleach the r—bleach—it’s dirty, he needs bleach)

No food. No life. Just chemical purity and the faint must of walls that never fully dry.

You were there. In his store. Breathing his air.

(impossible impossible impossible)

His fingers find another patch of unmarked skin along his forearm. 

Pinch. Twist. Hold until capillaries burst and blood pools beneath the surface. 

The pain grounds him in reality, but reality itself has become suspect.

How could you exist in the same grimy corner of Paris where he scrubs floors and straightens shelves? How could something so clean touch something so dirty?

Your scent lingers in his memory—sweet almond, rose, powdered sugar. 

Macarons. 

(macarons, macaronsmacaronsmacarons)

The kind sold in patisseries where everything costs too much and the staff watches him like he might pocket something.

He's never wanted macarons before. Never craved anything sweet.

Now his mouth waters at the memory.

(disgusting filthy unworthy)

Seven new bruises track up his arm like stepping stones. 

Evidence that he exists. That yesterday existed. That you might have seen him—really seen him—even through the curtain of hair he uses to hide.

The thought makes his stomach lurch.

He stumbles to the bathroom, falls to his knees before the toilet. Nothing comes up. He hasn't eaten since yesterday morning. Just water. Just enough to keep his body functioning.

The tile is cold against his forehead as he counts again. 

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. Again. Again. Until the nausea passes.

You'd asked him a question. Spoken directly to him. Your voice precise as cut glass.

‘Why are you helping me?’

He hadn't answered. Couldn't answer. What could he possibly say?

Because your knees shouldn't touch this filthy floor.

Because you're too perfect for this place.

Because I'm not worthy to watch you bend.

The memory of your cotton pads—the dented package he'd first grabbed, the horror that had seized him when he saw the imperfection—makes his fingers twitch. He'd found you a perfect one. Undamaged. Clean. 

It mattered so much in that moment, more than breathing.

He drags himself up from the bathroom floor. Crosses to the sink. Turns the water as hot as it will go and plunges his hands beneath the stream.

The burn is good. Clean. Skin reddens instantly.

He scrubs with the rough side of a sponge until his palms are raw. Until he can't feel the phantom touch of the cotton pad package he handed you. Until he can't remember the way your fingers almost—almost—brushed his gloved ones.

Gloves. He'd been wearing gloves. Thank god. Thank god.

(still dirty still contaminated still worthless)

The mirror above his sink is spotless. He keeps it that way, though he rarely looks into it. Now he forces himself to meet his own eyes.

Dark circles. Hollow cheeks. Hair too long, falling across his face in messy blindish waves.

He looks like a ghost. A shadow. Nothing substantial enough to exist in your world.

Yet you'd looked at him. Tried to see his face. Asked him a question in that voice like winter air.

His stomach clenches again, but differently. Not nausea this time. Something worse. Something like hunger, but not for food.

Macarons.

The word loops in his mind, sweet and forbidden. He wants to taste them now. Wants to know if they taste like you smell. Wants to dissolve them on his tongue and pretend he's breathing the same air that touches your skin.

The thought is so profane it makes him dizzy.

He stumbles back to his bed. Sits on the edge again. Pinches another spot on his arm, harder this time. The pain blooms bright, then fades too quickly.

You'd looked back at him from the doorway. Caught him watching. Your eyes narrowed slightly, calculating. Seeing.

No one sees him. No one notices. He's made sure of it for years.

But you had.

His phone buzzes. Work in an hour. The convenience store waits, its floors already collecting new grime, new evidence of human existence that he'll need to erase.

Will you come back? The question terrifies and exhilarates him.

(come,come you have to comeback)

He should pray you don't. Should beg whatever god might listen to keep you away from his dirty corner of Paris. Away from his contaminated existence.

Instead, he finds himself hoping. Desperately, pathetically hoping.

The bruises on his arm throb in time with his pulse. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. Evidence that yesterday was real. That you were real.

That maybe, just maybe, you'll be real again today.

Persistent. 

The word hangs in stale office air. Taehyung's fingers twitch against his thigh.

Twenty-six tiles. Wrong number. Wrong pattern. Wrong room. His eyes trace the edges where white grout meets ceramic, counting again in case he missed one. Twenty-six. Still wrong.

(wrong wrong wrong fix it fix it)

"Taehyung? I asked if your contamination fears are still persisting."

Dr. Bernard's voice is distant as a radio playing three rooms away as it filters through the fog. The man sits across from him, pen poised over a notepad that's seen too many patients. His colorful socks peek beneath gray trousers—today they're yellow with small blue bicycles. 

Taehyung notices this instead of meeting his eyes.

"Yes." The word scrapes his throat. Dry. Unused. 

How long has he been sitting here?

"And the medication? You're taking it regularly?"

Taehyung nods. 

Paroxetine. Forty milligrams. White oval pill. Bitter when it touches his tongue if he doesn't swallow fast enough. He takes it every morning at 7:07. Never 7:06. Never 7:08.

(seven seven seven)

"Good, good." Dr. Bernard makes a note. The pen scratches paper like insects crawling. "And the cleaning rituals? Any improvement there?"

Twenty-six tiles. 

The pattern is wrong. 

If he could just add two more, it would be twenty-eight. Seven times four. Perfect. 

His fingers curl into his palm, nails digging half-moons.

"About the same."

Dr. Bernard sighs. Not an impatient sigh. A tired one. The sigh of a man with sixty-three other patients. Taehyung counted the files once when the secretary stepped away. Sixty-four including him. Too many. Not enough time.

"You mentioned last time you were using bleach on your hands again." Dr. Bernard taps his pen against the notepad. 

Tap-tap-tap. 

Not seven taps. Irregular. Unpredictable. 

“Is that still happening?"

The bleach burns. Burns means clean. Clean means safe. Safe means—

(he won't contaminate you)

Taehyung blinks.

Where did that thought come from?

"Sometimes." His voice sounds hollow even to himself. "When it's necessary."

Dr. Bernard's glasses slip down his nose. He pushes them up with his middle finger, a gesture Taehyung has seen forty-seven times in their sessions together. 

Always the middle finger. Never the index. Never the thumb.

"And what makes it necessary, Taehyung?"

You. Your perfect skin. Your clean leotard. The way you move like water, untouched by the filth of this city.

But he can't say that. Hasn't told Dr. Bernard about you. About the mirror. About the convenience store. About yesterday when you spoke to him and the world tilted on its axis.

"Dirt." The answer is inadequate. He knows this. "Contamination."

Dr. Bernard waits for more. The clock on the wall ticks. Not seven ticks per minute. Sixty. 

Wrong number.

"I see." Dr. Bernard writes something down. "And have there been any changes in your routine lately? Anything new?"

You. 

You are new. You with your rose-macaron scent and perfect posture. You who looked at him—really looked—and didn't immediately turn away.

"No." The lie tastes metallic.

"Taehyung." Dr. Bernard sets his pen down. Leans forward slightly. His chair creaks. "We've been meeting for three years now. I'd like to think I know when something's changed."

Three years. Thirty-six months. Not a multiple of seven. 

Wrong.

"Nothing important." Another lie.

Through the thin wall, he hears another doctor's voice. A woman laughing. Someone crying. The Centre Médico-Psychologique never has enough space, enough privacy, enough time. His forty-five minutes will end in seventeen more. Then Dr. Bernard will see someone else. Someone whose problems might be fixable.

"I've increased your sessions on your Carte Vitale authorization." Dr. Bernard slides a paper across the desk. "Twice monthly instead of once. I think it could help."

Taehyung stares at the paper. The government seal. The stamps. The signature. 

So much bureaucracy to fix a broken mind. 

As if more sessions in this room with twenty-six tiles will stop him from scrubbing his skin raw after thinking of you.

"Thank you." 

He doesn't reach for the paper. His hands are dirty. Always dirty.

Dr. Bernard's phone buzzes. He glances at it, then back at Taehyung. 

“I'm sorry, I need to take this. Just a moment."

As Dr. Bernard steps outside, Taehyung's eyes drift back to the floor. 

Twenty-six tiles. He could fix it. Break two into halves. Make twenty-eight. Seven times four. Perfect.

(break them break them make it right)

His foot hovers over the tile nearest his chair. One stomp might crack it. 

Fix the pattern. Fix the room. Fix him.

But he doesn't move. Just counts again. And again. And again.

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven.

Dr. Bernard returns, tucking his phone away. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

Taehyung's foot settles back on the floor. Twenty-six tiles. Still wrong. Still broken.

Like him.

"They're wrong."

The words escape before Taehyung can swallow them back. His tongue feels thick, disconnected from his brain.

Dr. Bernard leans forward. "What's wrong, Taehyung?"

"The tiles." His finger points downward, trembling. "Twenty-six. Wrong number."

(wrong wrong wrong fix it fix it)

Dr. Bernard follows his gaze to the floor, brow furrowing. Understanding dawns slowly across his face. He sets his notepad aside and kneels, running a finger along the grout lines.

"The tiles—there are twenty-six. Should be twenty-eight." Taehyung's voice cracks. "Seven times four. Or at least twenty-seven. Has a seven in it." 

His heel bounces against the floor. Up-down-up-down. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. Again. The rhythm keeps him tethered when his mind threatens to float away.

Dr. Bernard stands, retrieving a black marker from his desk. Without hesitation, he kneels again and draws a thick line across one tile, dividing it neatly in half.

"There," he says. "Twenty-seven tiles now. Contains a seven."

The marker squeaks against ceramic. 

The line isn't perfectly straight. 

Doesn't matter. 

The number matters. Twenty-seven. Has a seven. Better.

Taehyung's breathing slows. The pressure behind his eyes eases.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Bernard says, returning to his chair. "I've been seeing you for three years. I should have noticed sooner." 

He gestures vaguely around the room. 

“They just changed my office last month. I didn't think to count the tiles before you came in."

Three years. Thirty-six months. One hundred fifty-six sessions. And Dr. Bernard still doesn't understand that everything must be counted. Everything must be checked. Everything must be right.

But he tried. He fixed it. Drew a line. Made twenty-seven.

(better better better not perfect but better)

"Thank you," Taehyung whispers.

Dr. Bernard nods, uncapping his pen again. 

"You mentioned nothing had changed in your routine. But something in your face tells me otherwise." His voice softens. "Sometimes change can trigger episodes like this. Even good changes."

Taehyung's fingers find each other, twisting. Counting knuckles. 

"I found something." The words feel strange in his mouth. Heavy. Dangerous.

Dr. Bernard waits. Patient. 

The clock ticks. The newly-divided tile stares up at them both.

"A window." Taehyung continues. "At work. Behind the storage room."

"At the convenience store?"

Taehyung nods. "Two days ago. Needed cleaning supplies. Went to the back room. Not the main storage. The other one. Where they keep replacements."

His sentences fragment. Break apart like the tile on the floor. 

He can't help it. 

The memory is too bright, too sharp.

"Nobody goes there. Dusty. Dirty."

(filthy filthy filthy)

"And you found a window?" Dr. Bernard prompts.

"Not a window. A mirror." Taehyung's throat constricts. "But it's not a mirror. It's a window. One-way. Looks into the building next door."

Dr. Bernard makes a note. "The building next door to your store is...?"

"Ballet academy." The word 'ballet' feels sacred on his tongue. Too pure for his mouth. "Practice room. Empty usually. But not that day."

His heartbeat accelerates. 

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. 

Faster now. 

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven.

"Someone was there?" Dr. Bernard asks.

Taehyung closes his eyes. Sees you immediately. Your reflection in the mirror as you practiced. Arms extended. Back straight. Perfect. Clean. Untouchable.

"A dancer." 

He can't bring himself to say more. Can't describe the way you moved like water. 

The way your reflection caught in the dirty glass and somehow remained untainted. 

The way he stood, frozen, watching for twenty-seven minutes before his manager called his name.

"I see." Dr. Bernard makes another note. "And this discovery upset your routine?"

Upset. Such a small word for the earthquake that destroyed his carefully constructed world.

"I went back. Yesterday." The confession burns his throat. "After work. Before closing."

Dr. Bernard nods encouragingly. "To see this dancer again?"

Taehyung's nails dig into his palms. "Yes."

"And did you?"

The memory floods back. Not through the mirror this time. Face to face. 

You, entering the convenience store minutes before closing. 

You, scanning shelves with precise movements. 

(dirty dirty dirty can't touch can't let you touch)

"Yes." His voice barely audible now. "She came into the store."

The pronoun feels wrong. Inadequate. You are not a 'she.' You are something else. Something more. Something clean in a filthy world.

"Did you speak to her?" Dr. Bernard asks.

Taehyung shakes his head. Then nods. Then shakes again. "She spoke to me."

The memory of your voice makes his skin prickle. Cut glass. Winter air. Perfect diction.

"What did she say?"

"Asked why I was helping her." His eyes find the divided tile again. Twenty-seven now. Better. "I picked up her cotton pads. Found her a new package. Undamaged one."

Dr. Bernard writes something down. "And how did that make you feel? This interaction?"

Feel? How could he possibly explain? 

The terror. The exhilaration. The certainty that he was contaminating something perfect just by existing in your presence.

"Wrong," he finally says. "I felt wrong."

"Wrong how?"

"Dirty." The word tastes like copper. "She's clean. Perfect. I'm..." 

He gestures at himself. His stained uniform. His raw hands. His existence.

"Taehyung, have you ever heard of religious scrupulosity?"

The question hangs in the air. Taehyung's fingers freeze mid-count against his thigh.

"It's a form of OCD where someone becomes fixated on moral or religious purity. They develop intense fears about contaminating sacred things or being unworthy in a spiritual sense."

Taehyung stares at the divided tile. Twenty-seven. 

His throat closes. Words retreat, curling back inside where they're safe.

(not religious not that simple not that)

Dr. Bernard waits. The silence stretches between them like a thread pulled too tight. When Taehyung doesn't respond, he tries again.

"I'm not suggesting this is exactly what's happening. Just that there might be similarities in how you're viewing this dancer."

Taehyung's jaw tightens. His teeth grind together. The sound fills his skull. Drowns out Dr. Bernard's voice. Drowns out everything except the memory of you. 

Perfect posture. Clean lines. Untouched by the filth surrounding you.

"She's just a person," Dr. Bernard says gently. "A talented dancer, perhaps, but human. Like everyone else."

Wrong. So wrong. 

You're not like everyone else. Not like him. Not dirty. Not broken. Not wrong.

Taehyung shakes his head. Once. Twice. 

Seven times.

"Taehyung?" Dr. Bernard leans forward. "Are you still with me?"

Words scatter like roaches when light hits them. He can't catch them. Can't form them. His tongue feels swollen, useless. He manages a nod.

"I'm not concerned about you seeing someone dance twice," Dr. Bernard clarifies. "That's perfectly normal. I'm interested in how intensely it seems to have affected you."

(not normal never normal nothing normal)

"You helped her pick up some cotton pads. That's a kind gesture, not contamination."

Taehyung's hands curl into fists. Dr. Bernard doesn't understand. Can't understand. Hasn't seen you. Hasn't felt the wrongness of his existence next to yours.

"Not..." The word scrapes his throat. "Not kind."

"No? What was it then?"

"Necessary." Another word claws its way out. "Had to."

Dr. Bernard makes a note. The pen scratches paper. Seven scratches. Taehyung counts them.

"Had to protect her from the dirty floor?"

Taehyung nods. His chest tightens. The room shrinks. Twenty-seven tiles. Focus on the tiles.

"Taehyung, I've known you for three years. Your contamination fears typically center on yourself—protecting yourself from outside dirt. This seems different."

Different. Yes. 

Everything is different now. The world tilted when he first saw you through that grimy one-way mirror. Tilted further when you walked into the store. Spoke to him. Looked at him.

"Let's back up," Dr. Bernard suggests. "Tell me about finding this mirror."

Taehyung's eyes close. Behind them, he sees the storage room. Dust motes floating in stale air. Cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly. The wall that wasn't a wall.

"Cleaning." His voice barely audible. "Needed bleach."

"For the store?"

A nod.

"And you found this mirror in the storage room?"

"Back room." The distinction matters. "Not main storage. Nobody goes there."

"And through this mirror, you could see into the ballet academy next door?"

"Practice room." The words come easier now. Focused on facts. Not feelings. "Empty usually. But not then."

"And you saw this dancer practicing."

"Yes."

"For how long did you watch?"

Taehyung's fingers twitch. "Twenty-seven minutes." 

The truth slips out before he can stop it.

Dr. Bernard's eyebrows rise slightly. "You counted?"

"Always count." 

"And then what happened?"

"Manager called. Had to go back."

"But you returned the next day?"

Shame burns his cheeks. He nods.

"And then she came into your store?"

"Before closing." The memory floods back. "Accident."

"The cotton pads?"

"Yes."

"And you helped her."

"Had to." His voice cracks. "Floor is dirty. She's not."

Dr. Bernard studies him. "Taehyung, when was the last time you spoke to someone outside of work or these sessions?"

The question catches him off guard. He blinks. Tries to remember. Can't.

"This connection you feel—" Dr. Bernard chooses his words carefully "—it might be intensified by isolation. Human beings need interaction."

(not human not normal not worthy)

"I'm not suggesting anything inappropriate is happening," Dr. Bernard continues. "Just that your reaction seems disproportionate to two brief encounters."

Disproportionate. As if there could be a proportionate response to witnessing divinity in a convenience store.

"She's clean," Taehyung whispers. The only truth that matters.

"Everyone seems clean to someone who feels contaminated, Taehyung."

Taehyung flinches. His vision tunnels. The twenty-seven tiles blur. His breathing quickens. 

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. Too fast. Too shallow.

"I think we should focus on your isolation in our next session," Dr. Bernard says, glancing at the clock. "And perhaps revisit your medication dosage."

Taehyung doesn't respond. Can't. Words have abandoned him completely now. 

His mind retreats to the only safe place it knows—counting. Tiles. Breaths. Heartbeats. 

Seconds until he can leave this room with its wrong-then-fixed floor and return to his apartment where everything is arranged in sevens and nothing beautiful exists to be contaminated by his presence.

Dr. Bernard sighs. Not impatient. Sad. "Our time is almost up. Is there anything else you want to tell me about these encounters?"

Taehyung stares at his raw hands. 

What could he possibly say? That when you looked at him, really looked, something inside him recognized something inside you? That for one brief moment, he felt seen instead of invisible? That helping you felt like prayer?

He shakes his head.

"Alright." Dr. Bernard stands. "Same time in two weeks, then. And Taehyung?" He waits until Taehyung looks up. "Try to talk to someone. Anyone. Even just to ask the time or comment on the weather. Human connection matters."

Connection. 

As if someone like him could connect with anyone. 

Especially someone like you.

The session ends. Taehyung leaves without speaking again. Steps carefully over the divided tile. Twenty-seven now. Better. Not perfect.

Like him.

goal: 250 notes

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tariffs and monopolies

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE. More tour dates here.

For all that orthodox economists hate tariffs in all their forms, the question, "do tariffs work?" is a complex one, which can't be answered unless you specify which tariffs, in what context:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/02/me-or-your-lying-eyes/#spherical-cows-on-frictionless-surfaces

The orthodox case against tariffs goes like this: tariffs raise the price of goods before they reach the market. Sellers will raise the price of goods to recover those costs from buyers, so it's you, the person buying a car, a phone, or a board-game, who will bear that additional cost:

https://www.sjgames.com/ill/archive/April_03_2025/Tariffs_Are_Driving_Up_Game_Prices_Now

As is ever the case with economics, this critique builds in certain assumptions. And as is especially the case with neoliberal economics, this critique builds in certain assumptions that are never tested for veracity – indeed, neoliberal economists pride themselves on their reliance on incorrect assumptions:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/17/caliper-ai/#racism-machine

The main assumption built into the orthodox case against tariffs is that sellers can't afford to eat the costs of tariffs. In the thought-experiment land of neoliberalism, market competition erodes sellers' profits so that everything being sold is only slightly marked up above the cost of making it, getting it to the store and selling it to you. Companies are said to be making a "competitive" rate of profit, which is tautologically defined as "whatever profit they're making." If Nike pays $20 to make a pair of shoes in Vietnam that it sells in America for $140, that $120 profit is "competitive" – if it wasn't, it would be lower, and it isn't, so it is.

Trump's own explanation for how the tariffs will work is no better. Trump has made a variety of incoherent claims about who will pay the tariffs. On the campaign trail, he insisted that the tariffs would somehow be paid by America's trading partners, either by their governments or by overseas companies. This is literally untrue: when you order something from overseas, the customs broker sends the bill to you, not the company that sold you the goods.

But the smarter elements in the Trump orbit have a slightly more reality-based theory: they claim that importers, faced with tariff costs, will push back on sellers and insist that they discount their products to offset the tariff bill. That's how the costs end up being paid by foreign sellers – and if their governments step in to help pay the bill, that's how foreign governments will pay the bill.

This explanation has the benefit of actually being an explanation, in that it is a series of cause-and-effect relationships that end up with the costs being borne by someone other than stateside buyers. However, this explanation is also founded on (at least) two demonstrably untrue assumptions: first, that buyers have the power to force sellers to lower their prices; and second, that this power comes from the availability of substitute goods that are made (or could be made) in the USA.

It's possible for there to be a market economy in which buyers can force sellers to eat tariff costs. For that to happen, the sellers have to be in real competition with one another. Competition requires competitors: companies that consider themselves rivals, directly attacking one another's margins. But that's not how American big business operates: 40 years of lax antitrust enforcement has produced an American economy in which nearly every sector is dominated by a monopoly, a duopoly, or a cartel:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

Take Nike: Nike controls 86% of the US athletic shoe market. Nearly all the remaining market share is owned by its main rivals, Adidas and Reebok – companies that merged in 2005. It's clear that Adidas/Reebok would like to get some of Nike's market share, but in 20+ years of duopoly rule over the sector, neither Nike nor Adidas/Reebok have tried a serious discounting strategy to win that market. Instead, the duopoly has found it easy to tacitly collude to rig margins of more than 600%. What's more, the collusion may have been explicit, not tacit – when a sector is dominated by two giant firms, the upper ranks of both companies are dominated by people who've worked at both companies. These people aren't rivals, they're peers. They're executors of one another's estates, godparents to one another's children, members of the same charitable boards and pickup sports leagues. They're lifelong pals. If you think they never explicitly conspire to rig markets – over drinks at someone's wedding or funeral, say – then I envy you your touching faith in humanity.

A market controlled by a handful of firms doesn't have to solve the thorny "collective action problem" of deciding on a regulatory priority and then holding that line as the cartel captures its regulators:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

That means that these companies end up with pricing power, because they can maintain solidarity while they raise prices. If everyone hikes prices together, consumers can't exert market discipline by buying from someone less greedy. And the same solidarity that confers pricing power to a cartel also insulates it from regulatory discipline, because all the companies will tell the same lie to regulators about why prices went up.

This was on display for all to see during the covid inflation shocks. Companies like Pepsi boasted to shareholders that "consumers are willing to pay more for our brands," as they hiked prices way above any inflationary rises, meaning that they didn't just force buyers to cover their higher costs, they actually raised prices more than was needed to cover those costs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

Needless to say, Coke didn't respond by slashing its prices in order to capture Pepsi's customers. They did the opposite: they also raised prices over and above the inflationary costs. Coke and Pepsi might be rivals on paper, but when it comes to questions like, "Should sugar-water have higher margins?" they are the best of friends.

The same is true of the fossil fuel industry, another highly concentrated sector with sky-high margins that raised prices over inflation during the covid supply-chain shocks, and boasted about it on investor calls, without facing any regulatory scrutiny:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/15/sanctions-financing/#soak-the-rich

Neoliberal economists have an answer to this kind of thing: "it's fine." In the self-referential world of economism, whatever happens was meant to happen, because markets are efficient, so whatever happens in the market is efficient, and can only be made worse by state intervention. This theory of efficient markets is full of beautiful, self-equilibriating processes that can be precisely modeled using equations, but only because the field discards all the nonquantifiable elements of society, assuming that because you can't do math on these qualitative factors, they must not matter:

https://locusmag.com/2021/05/cory-doctorow-qualia/

Of all the qualitative factors that clearly matter that are treated as if they don't matter, the most obvious, glaring omission is power. Power is hard to measure, but if you try to model a transaction without factoring power in, you end up in very dark places, for example, in systems where people should be allowed to "voluntarily" sell themselves into slavery.

It goes without saying that a theory of economics without a theory of power relationships is a great deal for powerful people. In Careless People, the whistleblower Sarah Wynn-Williams's excellent new tell-all memoir about Facebook, Wynn-Williams recounts how shocked and offended Sheryl Sandberg became when she was told that other countries wouldn't allow her to go and buy a kidney for her son, should he ever need one (her kid wasn't sick – she just wanted to know that if he ever did get sick…):

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250391230/carelesspeople/

This is economics without a theory of power: if I offer to buy your son's kidney, and you accept my offer, then we have achieved a voluntary exchange of value that is – tautologically – assumed to be fair. Indeed, this transaction isn't merely a way for kidneys to change hands – it's a way to "discover" the "market price" of a kidney. We're not just buyers and sellers, we're brave explorers of the vast, uncharted space of market prices.

Economics without power relies on tautology: if you assume the market is efficient, then whatever you get is what you were supposed to get. If Nike can charge a 600% markup on a $20 pair of shoes, then that is the "natural" price. Everyone in the chain – the workers who made the shoes, the subcontractors who employed the worker, the freighters who shipped the shoes, the logistics company that brought the shoe to the store, the clerk who rang up the purchase – is making what the market says they should be making. The price you pay? That's the price you should pay.

Perhaps you've heard people say that the most important thing is to "grow the pie," and that it's foolish to argue about how big any given "slice of the pie" is:

https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/405403/abundance-ezra-klein-building-costs-housing-energy-democrats-polarization

But this doesn't stand up to even cursory examination. If your slice of the pie is way too small to live on, and the pie grows, and your slice doesn't grow with it – or if it does, but not by enough to keep you solvent, then the size of your slice of the pie is the only thing that matters.

Economists call this the "distributional outcome" question, and orthodox economists insist that only fools and ideologues talk about distributional outcomes. They consider distributional outcomes to be a trap that sucks in well-meaning people who back "market-distorting interventions" that end up making everyone else poorer.

But you know who really cares about distributional outcomes? The finance sector. Think of the 2015 American Airlines pilot strike, which ended with a raise for pilots. When the company announced this on an investor call, Citibank analyst Kevin Crissey declared: "This is frustrating. Labor is being paid first again. Shareholders get leftovers":

https://www.thestreet.com/investing/american-airlines-flight-attendants-bash-citi-analyst-who-put-shareholders-before-workers-14134309

Investors have a lot of power. After all, capital is concentrated into just a few hands, with trillions being wielded by institutional investors – index funds, hedge funds, etc – and they get to elect the board, who have the power to hire and fire corporate executives. A corporate board is like a trade union for wealth, a small committee that wields solidaristic power to threaten companies with dire consequences if their interests aren't given priority over the interests of workers and buyers.

No wonder that corporations are so ardently opposed to other forms of solidaristic power, like trade unions – who might shift value from investors to workers – and regulators – who might shift value from investors to buyers. Without these sources of countervailing power, unified capital will not only pass on any additional costs to workers and shoppers, they'll raise prices over and above any inflationary hikes. This does indeed "grow the pie" – while beggaring both shoppers and workers.

In other words, Nike could eat the tariff costs on its goods, but it won't because it doesn't have to, because it's part of a duopoly that both tacitly and explictly colludes to screw its customers and workers. Indeed, the cartelized big businesses that run the US economy just spent the pandemic years doing greedflation – using the excuse of the pandemic and their monopolistic pricing power to raise the prices of everything, from your rent to a dozen eggs:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/10/demand-and-supply/#keep-cal-maine-and-carry-on

If you've got the right kind of especially smooth market-pilled brain, you insist that this is impossible. These giant margins are so tempting that they will inevitably coax "new market entrants" into opening competing businesses. That does happen – sometimes. But not when the dominant companies can figure out how to build Warren Buffett's cherished "moats and walls" around their businesses. For example, if you're Amazon and 90% of middle class US households prepay for their shipping through Prime, you can charge sellers whatever the traffic will bear, because they have to go through your chokepoint in order to reach their best customers. That's how Amazon ended up taking 45-51% out of every dollar platform sellers earn:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/14/the-price-is-wright/#enforcement-priorities

In Trumpland, the point of tariffs is to create friction on imports so that investors back businesses that do their production onshore. There's plenty of reasons to want things to be made in America. Manufacturing key resources in the US creates resiliency against geopolitical events (like wars), environmental disasters (like shipping-disrupting superstorms), and epidemiological events (like pandemics). Moreover, the low cost of overseas manufacturing often comes at the expense of human rights and environmental protection: making things in the US is no guarantee that they'll be made by fairly compensated workers in safe workplaces that don't pollute their environments, but it's a lot easier to enforce those priorities when production is within US borders.

But US investors spent the past 40 years gleefully demolishing the capacity of America to make things. As Apple CEO Tim Cook said:

[V]ocational expertise is very deep here [in China]. And I give the educational system a lot of credit for continuing to push on that even as others were de-emphasizing vocational.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/quora/2018/01/17/how-much-would-an-iphone-cost-if-apple-were-forced-to-make-it-in-america/

The US doesn't have enough qualified tool-and-die makers and other skilled tradespeople to produce the machines that will make the goods that Americans want to buy. New tradespeople can be trained, but acquiring these skilled trades is a process of many years. For the US to reshore its manufacturing, it needs substantial, sustained public investment in capacity-building: loans and grants to train workers and investment in basic research and other non-market goods needed to recover the US manufacturing base.

America should do all that, but if it wants to try, it needs a robust, predictable, orderly system of government to build upon. It needs the kind of reliable and orderly processes that make people feel safe about changing trades and going back to school. It needs imports of goods from overseas that can be used to restart the US manufacturing capacity that can replace those imports.

But in a market like this one, dominated by monopolies who needn't fear the Trump-gutted FTC, DOJ and CFPB; where cartels have captured their regulators; where Doge-style chaos spreads existential terror about the future, tariffs will only raise prices, without any significant re-shoring or capacity building. The Trump tariffs are a gift to giants like Nike, who have the logistics sophistication to exploit loopholes, demand preferential rates from shippers and brokers, and to pass on costs to their customers. Any domestic company that seeks to compete with Nike will not have these advantages. For Nike – and other dominant companies – the Trump tariffs are just another moat, another obstacle which they can hurdle, but which stops smaller competitors dead in their tracks:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/with-high-tariffs-has-trump-ended

Trump's tariffs, weak antitrust and weak consumer regulation are a recipe for shifting billions from the American public to the investors in the largest companies. It's still going to result in a huge economic collapse, but the most profitable companies of today will be best poised to stay on top of the pile after the crash. One hopeful outcome of this is that a bunch of the One Percenters are extremely fucked off about the plan:

https://coreyrobin.com/2025/04/06/is-the-conservative-crackup-finally-here/

The New Civil Liberties Alliance is a nonprofit impact litigation shop funded by Leonard Leo, the mastermind of the Federalist Society and its takeover of the Supreme Court. They're the ones who got Chevron Deference overturned last year, and now they're suing the Trump administration over the tariffs:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2025/04/05/trump-tariffs-sink-conservatives-challenge-whether-theyre-legal/

As Corey Robin writes, tariffs have a long history of breaking up conservative coalitions, "the leading edge of political conflict in the 19th century." Robin writes that the conservative movement has spent years shifting tariff power from Congress to the president, never anticipating that someday, a president might preside over a Mad King tariff strategy. Now, Robin says:

The tariff is going to be the major issue that leads the judicial right to confront the empowered executive that they’ve turbo-charged in so many other ways.

Last year, Rick Perlstein pointed out that the true significance of Project 2025 lay in its contradictions, the irreconcilable, mutually exclusive policy prescriptions found in its pages:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/14/fracture-lines/#disassembly-manual

Perlstein said that these contradictions were a map of the fracture lines in the Trump coalition. Trump's tariffs clearly represent a major fault-line, and we need to seize this opportunity when it presents itself.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/07/it-matters-how-you-slice-it/#too-big-to-care

[authorchariot]

hii can i request sentry x reader? he acts like a god and ends up pissing the reader off. he totally treats the reader like they're beneath him or something in front of the thunderbolts. hours later, he starts feeling guilty and shows up to apologize by wearing a spongebob t-shirt (even though he still kinda acts cool) thank you!!!

this is incredibly specific but i'm digging it. also i don't think i nailed the bob-still-acting-cool-when-he-goes-to-apologise part but i hope you like it all the same!

#3: divine comedy

rating: general 💚

fandom: thunderbolts (2025)

pairing: bob reynolds x reader

wc: 0.9k+

tags: established relationship, not beta read, pov second person

The mission briefing had barely started before Bob decided he was divine again. He can get like this when he forgets his medication for a few days. Then the lows hit and you're left picking up the pieces. You just wish he listened to the damn alarms he set on his phone.

He stood with his arms folded behind his back, golden hair practically glowing under the overhead lights, posture ramrod straight like a statue. He'd already interrupted Walker twice. He'd corrected Bucky's intel map. And now, with the most dazzlingly condescending tone, he was talking over you.

"No offence…" He said, flashing that perfect smile. "But I don't expect someone with your skillset to understand the tactical nuance of this. You do emotional support, right? And snacks." The room fell deathly quiet. Bucky muttered something under his breath and shoved a hand through his hair. You sat very, very still.

You didn't say anything. Not right away. You know he can't exactly help it when he gets like this. But that doesn't mean you have to like it either.

You just stared at Bob as if trying to see through him; past the bravado, the god complex that had wrapped itself around him. He didn't notice. Or didn't care.

Val really did a number on him.

You got up, calm as anything, tucked your file under your arm and left the room without another word.

It takes him three hours to feel it.

The high comes down hard. Not a crash — yet — but a slow, creeping guilt. His own words bounce around in his head, dinging off the walls like a pinball machine. Snacks? Emotional support? Like you were some group mascot?

The silence from your room leaves a stinging chill at the base of his spine. Even Yelena had stopped bothering trying to talk him down, deciding to wait out the wave of egotistical bullshit.

It's not intentional. It's barely even Bob.

It's just this false sense of bravado he gets sometimes. Seeing the Sentry wouldn't even be that bad if Bob just learned he didn't have to constantly keep blowing smoke up his own ass, trying to impress people, trying to pretend he's important. He doesn't seem to understand that he is important, just the way he is, even without all the omnipotent crap.

He stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, trying to get a grip. His reflection stares back; tired, uncertain. Not godlike. Not really.

He mutters to himself. Something about humility. Something about not being a total dick to the people who support him most. He's coming down a little now and he knows he has to catch the crash before it starts and the first port of call is to apologise to you.

You hear a knock. It's late. You're in your pyjamas, reruns playing low on your tablet. You expect Bucky. Maybe Yelena with tea. You open the door.

Bob stands there, rather gingerly, in a Spongebob Squarepants t-shirt and matching sleep-shorts. They're a little too short for him, pyjamas he brought from home, so probably a mite too small for him. The shirt says I'M READY! in large bubble lettering, stretched tight across his broad chest, the hem rising a little over his stomach. You stare at him.

"… Bob." He looks down at himself then back up at you sheepishly. This is him trying to make amends and you know it. You fold your arms, leaning back against the doorframe. "You humiliated me in front of the entire team."

"I know." His voice softens, loses some of that echo it gets when he's floating too close to the sun. "It felt…good to be powerful. So I ran my mouth. And I hurt you. And I'm sorry." You sigh heavily, eyes flicking over the skin-tight shirt again. It's distracting, despite the ridiculous print on it.

"It might feel good at the time but you hurt people when you pretend to be above them and everything they work towards." You pinch the bridge of your nose frustratedly. "When you get like that, you act like the world revolves around you." He runs a hand through his hair.

"Only when you're standing in the middle of it."

That catches you. You squint at him.

"That line was either really sweet or complete BS."

"I know." He says, grinning lopsided now, cheeks slightly flushed, the first real smile of the day. "Fifty-fifty shot."

There's a pause. A quiet between you. "I miss you." He adds, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not just tonight. Just, when I get like that, I don't see things clearly. Like I forget how much you do for me and… And how lucky I am to have you." You sigh, the tenderness in his tone eating away at your stern exterior.

"You can't keep acting like a god and expecting me to play the devoted follower, hon."

"I don't want a follower." He steps closer. "I want a partner. And I want you." You let that settle.

Then, dryly; "And the SpongeBob pyjamas?" He lifts the hem just slightly, just the edge of his v-line peeking over the waistband of the shorts.

"Thought they might make you smile."

"You're a dumbass." You state before stepping aside and opening the door a little wider. "Come on." You say with a resigned — yet playful — huff. "But you're singing the Goofy Goober song and keeping your ego in your pants, got it?" He holds up both hands in surrender.

"Got it."

taglist: @ingoldthewizard @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @starwarskawaii

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The PledgeManager has launched!

Thank you for bearing with us. We’re happy to say that, as promised, the PledgeManager has officially launched!

In case you missed it, we detailed earlier this week that the publication of the graphic novel has been pushed back from its original July 2024 estimate into Spring 2025 - you can read the full update here. We also want to take a moment to say that we have seen the outpouring of love and support on Kickstarter, and across various platforms, wishing Colleen well in her recovery and the time needed for the graphic novel - a huge thank you from all of the team for your understanding and patience, and for the genuine community and care we’ve seen these past few days. We appreciate you all.

PledgeManager

With this in mind, we think it’s important to underline: though PledgeManager has launched, you do not need to pay for your shipping fees immediately.

The PledgeManager is there for those who missed the campaign to order the graphic novel, and indeed for any backers who would like to upgrade, get some other add-ons, or the new items. You, as a pre-existing backer, should receive an email with information via Kickstarter and/or PledgeManager to inform you that this is now open to you - note, these are sent in waves of smaller batches, so if you don't get yours immediately, don't panic! It will likely take between 12-18 hours to process all the backers.

You are, of course, welcome to pay your shipping right away if you'd like, however we completely understand that you may want to wait until closer to the fulfilment time, or when more solid dates are confirmed, before actioning this.

For this stage, we have compiled a quick FAQ below covering some key questions:

Will the whole project be moving from Kickstarter to PledgeManager? No. This is just for the fulfilment side and logistics - all updates will still remain here.  

Do PledgeManager backers get everything that Kickstarter backers do? No. While the remaining tiers will be made available for those who missed it, with certain stretch goals (e.g. additions to the book, loot boxes, etc), Kickstarter backers have a number of exclusives such as the Good Omens HQ discount code for when the store launches, and the backers only events.  

My PledgeManager address will be different to what is listed on my Kickstarter. Is that fine? Yes. We are handling all logistics through PledgeManager and, as such, that is the only place where we will need your address. If you move or need to change any details, that will be the place to do so.  

Can I change my address? Yes. You can update your address until we are at the shipping stage. We will keep this option open for as long as possible to ensure maximum flexibility around this.  

How are shipping fees calculated? It is based on both weight and the country it is being sent to. We have been working over the past months to streamline processes and bring the costs down from their original starting point.  

Do I have to pay just now? You do not need to pay immediately, but payment will need to be made prior to your items being shipped. You now have a bigger window during which you can make payment. As above, we will keep updating you on the progression of the publication schedule, should you be waiting for firmer dates before doing so.  

What about taxes and import duty? UK: VAT is included in the costs UK backers pay, there should be no extra tax charges. US: We believe (but cannot guarantee) that imports under $800USD in value should not attract import duty, those pledges above may be taxed at import. EU & REST OF THE WORLD: If taxes or duties apply to your pledge, these will need to be paid at time of import into your country. We’ve spent months trying to integrate the costs at this stage, but in having the project open across the globe, it has proven too complex to be able to fully refine and cover all instances and locations, and we’ve been advised that this is the best route forward.  We know a lot of international backers, particularly in the EU – for example – will already be used to this process, and we will keep you all updated on any developments on this front. For all of our backers, we are working hard to make labelling and declaring all of the contents of your pledges as transparent as possible, in order to make taxing and importing as easy and affordable as possible.  

I want to buy the new items, but am waiting to pay shipping. Are they limited? The pins, mugs, notebooks - all the new items specifically added to the PledgeManager are not limited and will be available regardless of whether you get them now, or months down the road. The only limited items are the remaining tiers that have moved over from the Kickstarter (e.g. the Obsidian Tier) that were limited to begin with, and a very limited run of the Alien Parking ticket. Everything else is fully available, in perpetuity.  

Will you be adding extra items to the PledgeManager? No. What is there at launch is all we plan to include at this point - any new items afterwards will instead originate via the Good Omens HQ store.  

Will Kickstarter backers get items first? Yes. We will have a staggered approach for fulfilment: Kickstarter backers, then PledgeManager, then everything that is moving to the Good Omens HQ store will subsequently be made available.

You can also view the more general PledgeManager FAQ at terrypratchett.com.

We will keep PledgeManager and logistical notes present in all the monthly updates going forward, but felt this warranted a dedicated one-off. 

These are available as part of the PledgeManager. Another beauty from our pin designer, Carl Sutton.

Thanks again for your patience. Back in the April monthly update.

In short: :)

The Good Omens Pledge Manager has launched:

those who missed the Graphic Novel Kickstarter: Now you can order the Graphic novel, not all things that were in the original Kicstarter are available but there is stil a lot of options and fuckton of lovely ineffable add-ons! :)<3

those who participated inthe original GO GN Kickstarter: you should an email (Dunmanifestin needs more information to fulfill your reward) with a link that logs you (if not log manually) into the pledgemanager and lets you edit the order (add new add ons) (yep, my wallet weeps :D<3)

The addons:

I mean... how can one resist for example these I do not know... :D

[miku-earth]

miku.earth update: September 15

Hi all! This is a lil progress update for those interested. In a rush? Here's the cliff notes!

The map site at miku.earth is back: sorry for the delay in fixing it! Check it out: it has six hundred Mikus!

Including the hyuge ol' queue, we've collected over 3,100 mikus!

Representation is important! I've been using some fancy stats to avoid bias. To that end, please help make sure we have a Miku in every African country!

oh hey! you clicked 'keep reading!' well hi! here is your Miku Direct. . The map site, miku.earth, is back!

I ran into a kinda complex issue and it was a whole Thing. I was working on the site the whole time though! Sorry for the delay, and I hope you enjoy now it's back up and running.

This site has six hundred Mikus on the map, and more are added each week. It was recently rebuilt from scratch (fun fact! I am not a web developer) so I hope it is far zippier and less glitchy as before. A mobile-friendly version is coming soon too!

Also: check out the new search feature! In addition to the title, artist name and region(s), it can also search for the categories indigenous and historic!

cw: this video involves moving around a 2D map with some speed. on the site itself site, this only happens when you hit the Enter key.

We've reached more than 3,100 mikus!

Even at its Miku-per-hour speed, the queue will continue until 2025 at least! This is with thanks to an incredible number of contributions, including donations of literal thousands of links.

Thank you so much to @awnowimsad, @worldmikuposter @the-hatsune-miku-trend, @communist-hatsunemiku, @council-of-beetroot, L-A and a whole host of DMers and emailers for helping get this far.

Oh and by the way: over two thirds of the collection are tumblr posts! Given that this was originally a twitter trend… if you know any Twitter users who are into this trend, please reach out. Some napkin math tells me there are at least 10,000 works of art total out there, which is, by the way, surreal. Let's make sure not a single one is lost.

If you're super curious, the collection is public! I have some tools to auto-annotate (I do not want RSI), but be aware the backlog isn't vetted.

Representation is important!

Fun as this trend is, this project was always intended as a serious study into how people represent their own culture through artwork. I'm no anthropologist, but I feel it is important to make sure this collection is respectful and bias-free. If we're to represent the world, we have to avoid underrepresentation!

To that end I've used some fancy statistics to calculate a "representation value" for each country. Here's a table if you're into the stats of it! This info is handy to help me with the queue – especially with tweets as they're a lil more effort than a carefully-tagged reblog. Of course, Indigenous, hyperspecific and low-note Mikus get priority.

And, well, of course you can see on the site there are purple regions for countries still missing a Miku. In particular, please help me make sure every country in Africa is represented.

Thank you for reading!

Phew! That was a lot. If you're still curious, please check the behind-the-scenes and source code. I work in the open! Even if my code is probably messy.

And if you're a programmer, issues and pull requests are welcome! This is actually a static site, so it's purdy easy to develop.