#Infrastructure Management Course

[ricssbeblogs]

What You Will Learn in an MBA in Real Estate Management: Key Skills & Knowledge Overview

The real estate sector is a growingly important and dynamic area of the economy around the globe. It consists of residential, commercial, and industrial real estate. With the modern urban dynamic in place, we are witnessing heightened demand for professionals to assist with managing this growing complex sector of the economy. The MBA in Real Estate Management course offers a platform for developing skills and acquiring knowledge to engage in a real estate career. This article examines the core subject areas and skills obtained throughout the courses.

The MBA program in Real Estate Management is a two-year postgraduate program. The program is designed for those wanting to establish themselves in the property business. The program is for:

● Aspiring Real Estate Professionals: You would like to combine the real estate profession with a strong foundation in business practices and management.

● Practitioners in the Industry: You are a real estate agent, broker or property manager who wants to build on your knowledge and develop more advanced managerial or executive responsibilities.

● Entrepreneurs: You plan to start your own business in Real Estate, and will benefit from knowledge of market analysis, property development, valuation and investment strategies.

● Career Changers: You are established in other work and would like to enter the interesting field of real estate.

The degree empowers graduates with knowledge of best practices in market analysis, property development, investment strategies and legal knowledge for many positions in the real estate industry.

Core Subjects Featured in the MBA in Real Estate Management Program

The curriculum of an MBA in Real Estate varies between different programs to a degree, there are certain core business subjects likely to be featured in a majority of programs, subject areas such as accounting, finance, marketing, and management. There may be pre-specialisation or discipline-specific courses within real estate at the graduate level. There may also be an option for a concentration in Real Estate or as part of a joint degree program such as MBA/JD or MBA/MS in Real Estate.

Some core subjects that are taught in the MBA in Real Estate Management program are as follows -  

● Real Estate Finance: It covers the theory of financing real estate, including mortgage loans, equity financing, and securitisation.

● Investment Analysis covers tools and techniques for evaluating an investment in real estate, including discounted cash flow analysis, net present value, and internal rate of return.

● Property Management:  it covers the theories of managing and maintaining real properties, including leasing, tenant relations, and property maintenance.

● Real Estate Development: It'll cover the processes of developing and redeveloping real estate projects, including land acquisition, zoning, permitting, and construction management.

Training and Industry Exposure

MBA in Real Estate Management is known for industry exposure and experiential learning through case studies, simulations, internships, and networking events, and teaches students valuable skills and insights into real estate. In addition to academic knowledge, many quality MBA programs incorporate experiential learning:

● Internships: Internships are a way to test the knowledge that you gathered during the course. Working with a real organisation will provide you with valuable practical exposure, and theoretical knowledge can be brought to bear in practice.

● Case studies and simulations: Case studies explore a real-life situation that will help you learn how the market moves and how decisions are made.

● Professional Engagement in Real Estate: Having seasoned professionals present and conduct seminars provides students with firsthand experience about relevant practices, trends of change, and new challenges facing the real estate industry.

Skills Acquired During an MBA in Real Estate Management

Real Estate Management prepares professionals with strategic skills in property development, real estate finance, market analysis, asset management and strategic decision-making competencies that can prepare professionals for leadership roles in the changing real estate.

As students progress through the curriculum, they graduate, equipped with the potential to develop and showcase a wide variety of competencies that serve them well in their future endeavours.

For example:

● Critical Thinking: You are gonna develop an understanding of critical thinking during the course in the MBA in real estate management. The capacity to critically assess potential investment opportunities, property values, and shifts in the market.

● Negotiation Skills: If you’re considering pursuing an MBA in Real Estate management course, then you're gonna dive deep into negotiation skills and the capacity to establish and negotiate agreements that benefit everyone involved.

● Financial Literacy: Financial modelling, budgeting, and understanding of economic indicators influencing real estate behaviour.

● Legal Knowledge: Understanding that all transactions and activities undertaken in managing property are part of a legal and regulatory framework.

● Communication skills: If you have communication Skills, then this fits best for you. Communication skills are required in creating and maintaining relationships with clients, stakeholders, and teams.

What Happens After You Graduate with a Real Estate Management MBA?

So, what can you do after you snag that MBA in Real Estate? Well, you might find yourself as a real estate whiz, a number cruncher for investments, someone who keeps buildings in top shape, a city planner, a boss of corporate stuff, or other roles. Both government gigs and private sector jobs are up for grabs.

Let's get into the details.

Getting that MBA in Real Estate Management cracks open the door to a bunch of career paths.

● Real Estate Analyst: You have to keep an eye on what's happening in the market and check out property prices to help folks decide where to put their cash.

● Property Manager: Property managers are in charge of the everyday stuff for living spaces or businesses.

● Real Estate Developer: You’re the boss, watching over everything from buying the land and getting things built to selling them off.

● Asset Manager: You boost property values and generate more for investors.

● Real Estate Consultant: You are in charge of assisting in buying properties, grasping market movements, and maintaining investments.

Picking the Right Course for Managing Real Estate

Education must meet quality standards; without those quality standards, employers will not consider your degree in an MBA in Real Estate Management Course or any other course that you want to pursue.

Yet a couple of aspects should guide your choice:

Check if your MBA in Real Estate Management course is recognised by the University Grants Commission (UGC) or the All India Council for Technical Education (AICTE)

● Program Reputation: Search for programs that have a good reputation and check the history of graduates gaining their level 2 qualification to use in practice.

● Curriculum: Reviewing the courses is a must-do thing. Review the courses offered in the program and ensure they are aligned with your career goals.

● Fees: Review the total cost of the program while considering your financial situation.

Flexibility and Learning

In an MBA specialization in Real Estate Management, flexibility and learning modes can vary, including meeting face-to-face on campus, online/distance learning, and some hybrid models.  These accommodated arrangements allow the student to customize the education to individual needs and schedules.

Wrap up

Snagging an MBA in Real Estate Management is like getting a toolbox full of smarts for the property biz, blending textbook learning with boots-on-the-ground skills. This training is all about getting folks ready to smash it in a bunch of real estate jobs. As the industry's getting bigger, the hunt for top-notch pros who know their stuff is on. So, there's no better moment to jump into this kind of program than right now.

FAQs

Q1: What's needed to get into an MBA for Managing Real Estate?

You gotta have an undergrad degree and have scored at least half the marks. Sometimes you might need to show your test scores from exams like the CAT, XAT, MAT, or CMAT.

Q2: What kind of jobs can you land after a Real Estate Management MBA?

Grads get to dive into roles like real estate developers, property bosses, investment whizzes and advisors and they can start their real estate gigs too.

Q3: How long do you gotta study to finish the real estate management program?

 It's a two-year hustle, but some schools have this fast-track option.

Q4: Do I have to have work experience to get in?

It's not a deal-breaker, but if you've got some, it sure makes your application look good and helps you throw some real-life tales into the mix.

Q5: Any chance to check out the real estate scene during the course?

Yeah, a few programs offer stuff like exchanges or trips abroad to give you a feel for the worldwide property game.

[sanjanabia]

The Cloud Computing Job Market is Exploding – how can you dive in?

In recent years, cloud computing has transformed the way businesses operate, leading to an explosion in demand for skilled professionals in this field. As companies continue to migrate to the cloud, the job market is not just growing; it’s evolving rapidly. If you’re looking to capitalize on this opportunity, understanding how to navigate this expanding landscape is crucial. In this blog, we’ll explore the current job market for cloud computing and how enrolling in a cloud computing institute in Hyderabad can help you dive in.

The Rise of Cloud Computing

The shift to cloud computing is no longer a trend; it’s a necessity for many organizations. Businesses of all sizes are adopting cloud solutions for their flexibility, scalability, and cost-effectiveness. Here are some reasons why cloud computing is booming:

Increased Data Storage Needs: With the exponential growth of data, companies require robust storage solutions that can adapt to their needs. Cloud services provide the scalability that traditional systems often lack.

Remote Work Culture: The rise of remote work has accelerated the adoption of cloud technologies, allowing teams to collaborate seamlessly regardless of their physical location.

Cost Savings: Cloud computing eliminates the need for extensive physical infrastructure, reducing overhead costs for businesses. This financial benefit is a major driving force behind its adoption.

Focus on Security: As cyber threats continue to evolve, many organizations turn to cloud providers for their advanced security measures, making cloud solutions more attractive.

Current Job Market Trends

As the cloud computing market grows, so does the demand for various roles. Here are some key trends to watch:

Diverse Job Roles: From cloud architects and data engineers to security analysts and compliance officers, the range of positions is expanding. This diversity allows professionals to find roles that match their skills and interests.

Competitive Salaries: Cloud computing roles often come with attractive salary packages, reflecting the specialized skills required in this field. This trend makes cloud careers increasingly appealing to job seekers.

Focus on Certifications: Employers are increasingly looking for candidates with relevant certifications. Credentials from recognized institutions can significantly enhance your employability in this competitive market.

How to Dive into the Cloud Computing Job Market

If you’re eager to enter the cloud computing field, here are some steps to help you get started:

Gain Relevant Skills: Focus on acquiring the skills necessary for cloud roles. This includes understanding cloud architecture, security, and data management.

Pursue Certifications: Consider obtaining certifications from reputable cloud providers like AWS, Microsoft Azure, or Google Cloud. These credentials can enhance your resume and demonstrate your expertise.

Network: Engage with professionals in the field through networking events, webinars, and online forums. Building connections can lead to valuable job opportunities and insights.

Stay Updated: The cloud landscape is constantly evolving. Stay informed about the latest trends, technologies, and best practices to remain competitive.

Enroll in a Cloud Computing Course: One of the most effective ways to gain a solid foundation is by enrolling in a cloud computing institute in Hyderabad. The Boston Institute of Analytics offers a comprehensive program that provides hands-on experience and industry-relevant knowledge.

What to Expect from a Cloud Computing Institute in Hyderabad

When choosing a cloud computing institute in Hyderabad, look for programs that offer:

Comprehensive Curriculum: Ensure the program covers essential topics like cloud infrastructure, services, security, and deployment strategies.

Practical Experience: Hands-on training with real cloud platforms like AWS, Azure, and Google Cloud is crucial for developing applicable skills.

Expert Guidance: Learning from experienced instructors can provide valuable insights and help you navigate your career path effectively.

Career Support: Many institutes offer resources for job placement and internships, giving you a head start in the job market.

Conclusion

The cloud computing job market is indeed exploding, offering a wealth of opportunities for those willing to dive in. By gaining relevant skills, pursuing certifications, and enrolling in a cloud computing institute in Hyderabad like the Boston Institute of Analytics, you can position yourself for success in this dynamic field. Embrace the future of technology and start your journey in cloud computing today!

[senadimell]

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[sageuniversitybpl]

SAGE University - One of the best university in Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh

[solxamber]

Supervillain's Guide to Romance || Rook Hunt

You, Supervillain, planned for a lifetime of rivalry, but instead, the Hero, Rook Hunt just keeps breaking into your lair with snacks.

Where did it all go wrong?

(Villain! Reader x Hero! Rook)

You have waited for this moment forever.

The world has been terribly dull as of late. Sure, your evil empire is thriving, the peasantry cowers at the mention of your name, and several major institutions have crumbled beneath your perfectly polished boots.

But without conflict, without an opponent, it’s just… paperwork and infrastructure maintenance. And while managing the economy after singlehandedly obliterating capitalism is hilarious, it does not provide the visceral thrill of a good old-fashioned deathmatch.

But now. Now.

The Goddess has finally chosen her Hero.

And you are so ready for this.

Your Ultimate Doomsday Device™ is primed. Your Evil Lair is bathed in appropriately dramatic red lighting. Your constructs—hulking, ominous, heavily armed—are lined up in terrifying symmetry, all enhanced with freshly sharpened weaponry and, crucially, eyeliner. Because aesthetic matters.

And you?

You are a vision of villainy. Cloak billowing, sword gleaming, boots heeled just enough to exude power but still practical enough for dramatic combat maneuvers. You spent three hours in front of a mirror perfecting your “I’ll kill you and laugh about it�� smirk. You are prepared to be an absolute menace.

And then he arrives.

Standing atop the nearest cliff, silhouetted by an impossibly well-placed moon, is him.

The Goddess’s Chosen Hero.

Rook Hunt.

He is posing. His bow gleams. He looks like a romanticized painting of a hunter-king about to declare war on a stag. And then—

“Ah-ha!” he cries, pointing dramatically at you. “At last, we meet, O Dark Jewel of the Night’s Malevolence!”

…What.

Rook places a hand on his chest, eyes alight with unhinged enthusiasm. “What poetry! What drama! What an exquisite monologue that must have been as you awaited my arrival! Tell me, mon cher adversaire, how long have you rehearsed this glorious moment?”

…What.

You were expecting many things.

A clash of ideals. A heated battle. Perhaps a reluctant respect forged in the fires of combat.

You were not expecting your mortal enemy to sound like a theater major experiencing religious ecstasy at the sight of your properly villainous cape swish.

You squint at him. “You’re… excited?”

Rook nods so fervently his hat nearly flies off. “But of course! To stand against one so resplendently wicked! To trade blows—nay, souls—in this eternal dance of justice and villainy! C'est magnifique!”

He’s smiling.

Why is he smiling.

This is a deathmatch, not a wine tasting.

You clear your throat, lifting your chin in the most intimidating way possible. “Do you have any final words before I bring ruin upon you?”

Rook inhales deeply, eyes glimmering like a man utterly in love with the idea of his own demise.

“You are radiant in your menace! A blinding star of destruction! Smite me, O Harbinger of Dread! Let me bask in the beauty of your malice!”

He spreads his arms as if to embrace the impending carnage.

You slowly lower your sword.

“…What the hell is wrong with you?”

You shrug it off, maybe the Goddess likes them unhinged.

You had prepared for this moment your entire life.

The darkness swirled dramatically around you as you stood atop your obsidian throne, gazing down at the battlefield below. Your constructs—your beautiful, eyeliner-wearing minions—were poised, weapons gleaming, capes billowing, eyes smoldering with unholy (and stylish) rage.

The sky rumbled, lightning cracked, your "smite-a-city" device hummed ominously, and a general sense of doom and destruction filled the air.

This was it. The fated clash between good and evil. The battle that would shake the heavens, rend the earth, and—

"Ah, mon cher, your stance is exquisite! But tell me, would you rather have dinner instead of world domination?"

You freeze mid-swing, sword inches from his throat.

Your constructs freeze mid-battle, one still mid-air, about to deliver a flying kick. The thunder hesitates, the lightning awkwardly fizzles out, the wind that had been howling through the battlefield just kind of... stops, like it forgot what it was doing. Even your "smite-a-city" device lets out a confused beep.

Rook Hunt—the Goddess’s Chosen Hero, The People's Champion, The Bringer of Light and Justice, The Reason You Haven’t Been Able to Have a Peaceful Afternoon in Months—gazes at you with sparkling green eyes, utterly unbothered. He is smiling. He is batting his eyelashes. He is somehow more dazzling than the lightning.

You, in contrast, are short-circuiting. "HUH??? WHAT??? NO???"

"Magnifique." He lunges again, sword clashing against yours, his grin only widening. "Then I shall vanquish you with the elegance you deserve!"

The world unfreezes as if someone hit 'play' on reality again. Your constructs return to attacking, the wind resumes howling, thunder remembers how to be intimidating, and you—still reeling—dodge a particularly poetic strike from the overly enthusiastic Hero of the World.

You're not sure what just happened, but you do know one thing:

You absolutely refuse to die without getting some answers first.

And maybe, just maybe, you need to recalibrate your entire life plan.

You had been prepared for a worthy opponent. You had been prepared for grand battles, for expertly crafted schemes, for a rivalry that would echo through the annals of history.

What you had not been prepared for was Rook Hunt.

You take a sip of your tea, relishing a rare moment of villainous peace. The sun is setting, your latest evil scheme (a devastating tax loophole reform) is progressing smoothly, and—most importantly—Rook Hunt is not around.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment you relax, you feel it. That unmistakable tingle of being observed.

Slowly, you lower your cup.

And there he is. Peeking through your window.

His stupid hat. His stupid cape. His stupidly enchanting green eyes shining like a cursed emerald in the dim light.

"Bonsoir, mon cher!" he greets cheerfully, dangling upside down from your roof like a particularly well-dressed bat.

You nearly drop your tea. "WHAT THE FU—"

You're exhausted. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. You decide to dedicate an entire day to self-care. Face masks, fluffy robes, a villainous bath bomb infused with the souls of the unjustly rich—you are determined to ignore the world.

As you stretch luxuriously in your grand lair, you hear a faint thunk.

You pause.

Slowly, you turn your gaze toward the door.

There, pinned straight through the wood by an arrow, is a neatly wrapped face mask.

You take a deep breath. You count to ten. You fail to count to ten because you are seething.

You yank the arrow out and unroll the note attached to it.

"Self-care is crucial, mon ami! Hydrate well and let your skin glow like the celestial heavens! À bientôt~!"

There is a little hand-drawn heart at the bottom.

You have never known rage like this.

At this point, you’re convinced the Goddess chose him purely to fuck with you.

There is no other explanation. None.

Because every time you turn around, he is there.

He is watching.

He is smiling.

He is way too into this.

You are a responsible supervillain. You do your own paperwork.

This is crucial.

Do you have minions? Yes. Constructs? Absolutely. Are they efficient? Of course. Do they understand the fine intricacies of tax-deductible lair maintenance expenses? No.

So here you are, suffering, hunched over your desk, reviewing budgets for your upcoming Doomsday Apparatus™ (pending patent).

Your shoulder aches. The price of evil, you suppose.

Then, hands.

You sigh, assuming it’s one of your constructs trying to be helpful, but the texture is all wrong. Not cold. Not metallic. Not vaguely threatening.

You freeze.

These are human hands.

You whirl around so fast you nearly fall out of your chair.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. The Menace of Your Existence.

Wearing that same infuriatingly pleased expression he always has when he manages to unnerve you.

“Mon trésor, you are so tense! Do not fret, for I am here to ease your burdens—”

Your hand is already on your emergency drawer.

Because of course you keep a glock in there. You’re a responsible supervillain.

But before you can make him truly holy, he lifts a plate of your favorite cookies.

You squint.

You squint harder.

The cookies look perfect.

You hate him.

But you love those cookies.

“...Fine,” you grumble. “Dining room. Now.”

And that’s how you end up having the most awkward tea party of your life.

Your constructs—tall, looming, deadly—stand against the walls like confused statues.

You glare at Rook. He beams at you.

You eat a cookie. He sips his tea like he’s the most welcome guest in the world and not your mortal enemy.

Finally, you break the silence.

“I’m going to destroy an entire city district next time.”

Rook hums, interested. “Hm. But which one? Have you considered an aerial attack for maximum devastation?”

Your constructs shift uncomfortably.

You blink. “...What.”

“If you truly wish to inspire terror, mon cher, a coordinated offensive utilizing shadow and fire would be most spectacular. Oh, imagine the fear in their eyes! The poetry of destruction!”

Your constructs are now visibly uncomfortable.

You stare at him. “...You realize I am trying to defeat you, right?”

“Oui.” He takes another dainty sip of tea. “But what is a villain without a hero? What is a hero without a villain? We are locked in the most beautiful dance, and it would be a shame if your evil was anything less than... magnifique.”

You hate how good that sounds.

Your constructs, sensing the sheer unhinged energy at this table, collectively decide they are done.

You’ve had it.

Rook Hunt has been breaking into your lair every other day, treating your villainous empire like it’s some kind of all-you-can-antagonize buffet.

So tonight? You strike back.

Your plan is perfectly petty. You sneak into his house, bypass his defenses, and leave a nasty little surprise—a copy of his stupid hat, but without the feather. Symbolic. Brutal. Devastating.

It’s dark inside. Suspiciously dark. You move silently through the halls, your villain senses tingling, when—

A hand grabs your wrist.

You let out the most unvillainous, undignified little squeak known to man.

A candle flares to life.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. Smiling. Smug. Suspiciously pleased.

And behind him?

A fully set candlelit dinner table.

What.

You yank your wrist free and glare at him. “How did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t!” He laughs, delighted, as if this entire scenario isn’t absolutely deranged. “I’ve merely been setting this up every night for the past week, hoping one day you would.”

You stare.

Your brain buffers.

Your evil plan—your brilliant, petty, symbolically devastating evil plan—is completely ruined.

But also.

You are weirdly, deeply flattered.

Which is so annoying.

You grumble and stomp over to the table. “Well, I’m not wasting a perfectly good meal.”

Rook positively beams as you sit down, pouring you a glass of something fancy.

You stab at your food aggressively. “You suck, Hunt.”

“Ah, mon amour, flattery will get you everywhere.”

You contemplate murder.

You also contemplate dessert.

Your life is hard.

As a renowned and feared supervillain, you have many responsibilities—world domination, economic destabilization, overthrowing the bourgeoisie—but even the greatest of evildoers need time to unwind.

For you, that means art.

Tonight, you sit in your grand lair, sketchbook in hand, dreamily doodling while fantasizing about the day you will finally, unequivocally, beat Rook Hunt.

Perhaps you’ll trap him in an inescapable dungeon.

Perhaps you’ll trick him into an elaborate psychological game that will break his very spirit.

Perhaps you’ll put a single grain of sand in his boots and let nature take its course.

The possibilities are endless.

You’re so absorbed in your creative villainous process that you fail to notice the cryptid himself materializing behind you like some kind of woodland horror story.

“Ah, mon trésor, what are you drawing?”

You freeze.

Your villain instincts kick in, but it’s too late. Before you can shove your sketchbook under your cloak and play it off like a true mastermind, Rook Hunt has already peeked.

A beat of silence.

You watch as, for the first time in history, Rook Hunt blushes.

You look down at your sketchbook.

Oh.

It’s a doodle of him.

With a heart drawn near it.

Obvious context:

It’s a threat.

Clearly, you meant “I will rip your heart out with my bare hands.”

Obviously, this is not romantic.

Clearly, he should know this.

And yet—

Before you can explain this very normal and absolutely not embarrassing drawing, Rook makes a strangled noise—and then, without warning—

He launches himself out of the window.

Full-speed.

No hesitation.

You stare blankly at the gaping hole in your wall.

The night breeze drifts in.

A loose paper flutters off your desk.

Your jaw clenches.

You pull out your calculator.

“Alright. How much is this repair gonna cost me this time?”

It had been months. Months of what was supposed to be an intense, dramatic rivalry, full of mortal combat, fire, and the kind of operatic duels that would make even the gods weep. Months where the world should have trembled at the very mention of your name as you and the so-called Goddess’s Chosen Hero waged battle across the land.

Instead, what had actually happened was this:

Rook had become a persistent, feathered plague upon your life. Every time you so much as breathed, he was there. If you drank tea, he was peeking through the window like some kind of blonde cryptid.

If you took a relaxing villainous bubble bath, he left a scented candle by your doorstep with a little handwritten note.

If you tried to sleep? Oh, well clearly that was the perfect time for him to send a love arrow straight through your pillow, just narrowly missing your skull.

This was not how hero-villain dynamics were supposed to go.

And apparently, the Goddess had finally taken notice, because today, as you and Rook clashed swords atop your usual scenic cliffside battlefield—lightning flashing, your cape billowing just right—a new hero arrived, looking exactly like the bootleg discount protagonist you’d expect from a last-minute recast.

“Villain!” he bellowed, dramatically pointing his sword at you. “Your reign of terror ends—”

You vaporized him on the spot.

Your constructs, standing dutifully in formation, collectively gasped.

Rook, who had been mid-flourish with his sword, stopped and blinked at the rapidly dissipating ashes of what had, just seconds ago, been an eager new recruit in the grand war of good versus evil. Then, he turned back to you, smiling fondly.

“Ah, mon trésor, how dashing you are when you wield your power with such effortless grace!”

You scowled, pointing your sword at him this time. “Why are you acting like I just did something romantic? I murdered that guy.”

“Oui! And beautifully so!” Rook twirled his own blade, utterly unbothered. “Like a star snuffing out another in the vast cosmos! Poetry in motion! Ah, my heart beats faster just thinking of it.”

Your constructs, meanwhile, were losing their collective minds.

One of them, a hulking, six-armed behemoth of enchanted steel, hesitantly raised a hand. “Uh. So. Boss? Just so we’re clear—”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“No, no, just a quick question,” it continued, with the slow, careful tone of someone addressing a very temperamental god. “You just smote a hero instantly. Like, zero hesitation. Which means you can do that. So, um. What exactly is stopping you from smiting him?” It pointed at Rook.

Rook, the absolute menace that he was, waved cheerfully.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Considered your options.

Then, in a show of supreme villainous dignity, you turned on your heel and dramatically stomped away.

Your constructs stared after you.

Rook sheathed his sword and sighed wistfully. “Ah, such passion. Such fire. Such restraint! Truly, they are the one chosen for me.”

The constructs turned to him in absolute horror.

“What have you done to our boss?”

You were having a perfectly normal evening.

By "normal," of course, you meant that you were lounging in your grand, candlelit villainous dining hall, sipping a glass of expensive wine (stolen, obviously), while Rook Hunt, your mortal enemy and frequent dinner guest, debated you on the finer points of mid-air combat.

"Mon trésor, think of the artistry!" Rook exclaims, gesturing wildly with his fork. "A battle in freefall—two souls clashing against the endless sky, the wind whipping our capes, the suspense of who will deploy their parachute first!"

You scowl, jabbing a piece of steak. "No. That’s impractical. There’s no stable footing, gravity ruins your attack trajectory, and if one of us dies before hitting the ground, there’s no dramatic final duel."

Rook gasps. "But what of style, mon cher? What of the poetry of two destined foes plummeting through the heavens, locked in the embrace of battle?"

You roll your eyes. "What of the reality that I’m not breaking my legs just so you can fulfill some mid-air fencing fantasy?"

Before Rook can counter with another unnecessary metaphor, there's a knock at the door.

You pause. Rook tilts his head. Your constructs—the ones assigned to not be traumatized by your ridiculous rivalry���shift uneasily.

No one knocks on the door of the Evil Overlord.

You cautiously rise, striding toward the entrance, adjusting your cloak. If this is some dumb assassin, you’re going to vaporize them before they finish their opening monologue.

You throw open the door.

Standing there, shimmering with divine light and looking deeply, deeply exasperated, is the Goddess.

You blink.

Rook, behind you, immediately bows with theatrical reverence. "Ah, my divine patron! What honor do we have to—"

She shoves a hand in his face, shutting him up. "Not a word from you."

Rook makes a delighted noise behind her palm, as if being personally scolded by a deity is the highlight of his week.

Then, the Goddess turns her gaze to you.

"You," she says, voice layered with millennia of barely restrained frustration.

You raise a brow. "Me?"

She points accusingly. "You are not even a villain."

You stiffen. "Excuse me?"

"The people adore you!" she snaps, throwing up her hands. "Your so-called empire? Has better infrastructure and social services than any kingdom in the world! Your so-called evil policies? Fixed the economy! Your supposed tyranny? Universally beloved by the peasantry!”

You gape at her. "I run a dictatorship."

"A benevolent dictatorship!"

Your eye twitches. You glance back at Rook, who is absolutely vibrating with amusement.

The Goddess rounds on him next. "And you!"

Rook straightens, looking delighted to finally have her attention. "Oui?"

"You are the worst hero I have ever chosen."

His smile widens. "Merci!"

"That wasn't a compliment." She pinches the bridge of her nose, like she’s developing divine stress migraines. "You were supposed to defeat them. Not take them to dinner, deliver self-care gifts, and give them advice on better city destruction tactics."

"But, my Goddess, what is heroism if not—"

She holds up a finger. "Finish that sentence, and I swear on the cosmic balance, I will smite you myself."

Rook, wisely, shuts up.

Your arms cross, and you scowl at her. "So what do you want, exactly?"

The Goddess sighs. "Nothing. I am done. I am sick of this. I gave your world a clear narrative, and you two have turned it into—into—" she gestures wildly at the two of you, "whatever this is."

She looks exhausted. You take a slow sip of wine. Rook sips his tea. Your constructs, still lurking awkwardly in the background, look on in silent horror.

Finally, the Goddess rubs her temples and lets out a long, world-weary sigh.

"I give up," she declares. "I abandon this world."

You blink. "What."

Rook gasps. "Mon Dieu!"

She throws her hands up. "No. Not your "Dieu" anymore. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. Conquer the world. Get married. Build a flying opera house of destruction. I do not care."

She turns on her heel, divine light flaring around her, ready to vanish back into the heavens. But before she fully ascends, she pauses, turns back, and levels one last glare at you.

"And fix your damn roof. I know he broke it." She jerks her head at Rook.

Then, with a flash of light, she is gone.

Silence.

Your constructs do not move. You do not move. The air is thick with the weight of divine abandonment.

Then—

"Mon trésor," Rook breathes, eyes sparkling. "Did you hear? We have divine permission to wed!"

You throw your wine glass at his head.

You were going to prove a point.

The Goddess’s words still echoed in your mind:

"The people adore you."

"Your so-called tyranny is beloved."

Absolutely not. You are terrifying. You are a villain. You are the Dread Overlord of Shadows and Eternal Night, not some beloved community figure.

So, naturally, you stormed into the city streets in full dramatic regalia, determined to strike fear into the hearts of the people.

And, of course, they were absolutely terrified.

(There are children braiding flowers into your hair.)

Their knees knocked together in terror.

(The baker personally handed you a warm loaf of bread, saying, "It’s your favorite, dear. Fresh out of the oven.")

They shrank away from you, trembling.

("Can we get a selfie, Overlord of Shadows? You look so cool today!")

They screamed in fear.

(M’overlord, would you consider attending our town’s Harvest Festival? It wouldn’t be the same without you.")

By the time you made it back to your lair, the weight of reality had crushed your entire soul into a fine powder.

Your constructs barely had time to move out of the way before you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sprawled dramatically, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It was not normal.

Nothing about today was normal.

You were supposed to be evil. The darkness lurking at the edges of civilization. The terrifying ruler who demanded obedience, not… not fan interaction.

You reach up and pull a flower from your hair. A daisy. A cute little daisy.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, you sit up and reach into your pocket.

You pull out the loaf of bread. It’s still warm. It smells amazing.

You take a slow, deliberate bite.

You chew. You swallow.

You scream into a pillow.

Your constructs watch in silence, wisely choosing to let you process your existential crisis.

Then—

A slow, steady clap echoes through the lair.

You groan, rolling onto your side, as Rook Hunt steps into view, absolutely beaming.

"Mon trésor," he breathes, looking so unbearably pleased. "Did you have a revelation?"

You almost hurl the loaf of bread at his head.

You wake up with a revelation so profound it shakes you to your very core.

You don’t have to fight Rook Hunt anymore.

Not because you won—oh no, if anything, it’s because you never actually fought him to begin with.

This so-called “battle” had always been one-sided. You, pouring your very soul into villainy, scheming, plotting, monologuing—only for Rook to respond with enthusiastic admiration instead of righteous fury.

You had never been fighting a hero. You had been performing for a very intense fan.

And you are so tired.

So you get up, summon your constructs, and announce with all the dignity of a fallen monarch:

"I’m retiring."

They blink.

Your war construct, a towering mass of steel and death, hesitantly raises a hand. "Uh. What?"

"I’m retiring." You rub your temples. "I was never really a villain, apparently. The people adore me. The Goddess abandoned this realm. And my greatest enemy is currently sitting on my chandelier, smiling at me like a particularly pleased house cat."

A collective glance is shared. The constructs all look up.

Indeed, Rook is perched there, grinning like the absolute menace he is.

A few seconds of silence.

Then, your constructs all just nod.

"Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

"Honestly, I think we all saw this coming."

"So what now?"

You sigh and gesture vaguely at the lair. "Do whatever you want. You’re free. Find a new purpose. Go live your lives."

And, to your eternal exhaustion, they do.

Your once-feared War Construct? Now bakes delicate cream puffs.

Your impenetrable Shield Construct? Wears a frilly little apron and dusts the rooms.

Your Lurking Shadow Beast of Eternal Horror? Manages the garden.

You watch all of this unfold with a blank stare, feeling your villainous reputation crumble into nothing. And you?

You don’t even care anymore.

You sit at your grand villainous dining table, Rook across from you, smiling, victorious, insufferable.

He raises a teacup in toast. "To the end of an era, mon trésor."

You sip your tea.

Then, with all the resignation in the world, you simply mutter—

"...Yeah."

Rook just winks.

If you were going to commit one last act of villainy, it had to be grand. Poetic. Fitting for the infuriatingly ridiculous story that had become your life.

And so, you decide.

You were going to steal Rook Hunt’s heart.

… Metaphorically. Probably.

So you don your best dramatic cloak, grab the most intimidating bouquet of flowers you can find, and march to wherever Rook is lurking (which, statistically speaking, is either your lair or right behind you).

But before you can utter a single villainous declaration, you stop.

Because Rook is already kneeling.

Already holding out a ring.

Already smiling like he knew this would happen.

"When’s the wedding, mon trésor?" he asks, eyes gleaming.

You stare at him. Stare at the ring. Stare at the flowers in your own hands like an idiot.

And then—

You laugh.

You laugh so hard you nearly double over, because this is your life now.

The Goddess abandoned your world. Your constructs run a quaint domestic empire. The people adore you. And the so-called Hero?

The Hero beat you to the proposal.

You shake your head, still chuckling, before pulling him up by the front of his shirt and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Maybe," you murmur, "we can have the wedding on the anniversary of the day we met."

Rook exhales something close to a sigh, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, soft and victorious.

"Magnifique," he whispers.

And, honestly?

Yeah.

Magnifique indeed.

Masterlist

[catboybiologist]

So.

Re: tumblr bans of transfemmes.

Let's ignore PhotoMatt for a moment. Manbaby tech CEO doubling down on a stupid decision and making himself look like more of an ass doing so is not a new phenomena.

Tumblr has consistently said, in both public statements and leaked internal communication, that they're essentially running a skeleton crew.

They keep saying that they don't have the resources to moderate, manually review posts, have any kind of appeal process, or anything. So, as people have widely received communications about, they seemed to have automated a significant portion of the moderation to operate solely on the quantity of reports (probably with a basic filter, eg quantity of reports regarding a certain post, within a certain timeframe) to automatically ban or shadowban accounts.

And so, they wipe their hands, both to the users, the public, and their own consciousness, and go about their automated operations.

All of this is likely true. Tumblr, at this point, is essentially abandonware internally, a kind of weird vanity project/dumpster ground for server infrastructure for Automattic. Likely, they don't want the bad press of "shutting down" fully. Or maybe the trickle of revenue they get here just barely exceeds operating costs, so why not keep it around?

Whatever is the case, the bans are a result of an automated process working in the background. I'm giving them some benefit of the doubt here, of course, we can't know anything for certain- but it seems like the individual bans are not based on any specific, manual action.

And that doesn't fucking excuse anything.

Because at some point, multiple people sat down at tumblr, and decided how to cut costs.

And they decided that the bare minimum of report abuse prevention was one of the first things on the chopping block.

Before the boops. Before GUI reconfigures.

They decided to cut something that is necessary to manage online communities.

They decided to cut something that ensures any targeted group will have any kind of community online.

And then, after all of that, the only manual intervention is doubling down on the shitty decisions that the automated systems make, and plucking reasons out of their ass for why they were the right decisions all along.

It's pure silicon valley brain. Blame the computer often and always. Use it to shield the active decisions you made when designing the computer that way. Treat it as a fact of life as opposed to something they actively made decisions for.

Is tumblr staff hitting the banhammer on each transfemme one by one? No.

Is tumblr staff deliberately crafting a system that allows TERFs and other conservative bigots to get rid of the "undesirables" for them? Yup. But they sure as hell are trying to not say the quiet part out loud. If they can always point the finger somewhere else, to the advertisers, to the automated systems, to the TERFs, then they can always have juuusssttt enough plausible deniability.

But being the "queerest place on the internet" requires concious acknowledgement that queer people will be targets of harassment, and you will have to protect against that.

Side note, this is why I do try to keep my blog at least somewhat SFW. Its one of the main reasons why I choose not to reblog all of the posts I'm tagged in- if the post is overtly NSFW, I've probably seen it, appreciated it, and consciously decided my level of interaction with it mostly based on how "tumblr friendly" it is. Is that bowing down to them? A little. It's also my choice. I value the community I have here. The pushes that y'all have given me gave me the strength to transition, and honestly gives me a lot of motivation to research HRT biology as much as I can, among many other things.

Yeah, I post pictures that are clearly meant to be found attractive in ways that are generally not socially acceptable , but never actual NSFW. I would like to think that I'm pretty safe from bans, but hey. Who knows. I don't want to lose my follower base, and the community around it.

And yeah, I'm gonna annoyingly remind you of the other places to find me, make sure to check my pin. If you don't know where to go, just find me on reddit and go from there, I'll post about it if anything happens.

[blog-o-meter]

Pump It Up - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: Rained in, (Y/N) decides to workout at home while Nicholas reads a script in the kitchen. Halfway through, though, she realizes that he wasn’t really reading anymore.

warnings: 18+, caught masturbating, needy!nicholas, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, voyeurism, exhibitionism, denial

required listening: n/a

word count: 4,123

a/n: here’s a quick little fic <3 im sorry my word counts are so long compared to others’ — my brain literally won’t let me write unless I drag scenes out to make them seem more realistic/plausible in my head, if that makes sense LOL

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you’d like to see more!

The rain outside was relentless, its constant drum against the window and the occasional rumble of thunder enough to convince me to not leave the house. I’d driven through too many rain storms in this neighborhood to know that risking getting my car flooded from driving through the backed up water at the end of the road was not worth it. That’s horrible infrastructure for you.

I had plans of hitting the gym, maybe even treating myself to a little smoothie that I had been looking forward to all day. Just thinking about the tartness of a berry smoothie after a grueling workout was enough to make my mouth water, but it looked like the rain wasn’t going to let up. The worst part was I had already gotten dressed, and I had so much pent up energy ready to be exerted.

That’s when I thought — why not just do my workout here? The living room was spacious enough, and as long as I had my music, I think I could manage. Sure, I wouldn’t have access to any of the fancy machinery, but I could still do some sets without anything extra — planks, sit-ups, Russian twists, leg raises, etc.

Determined to use up my energy, I grabbed my phone and earbuds and walked out of the bedroom, making my way over to the open-concept living room to find Nicholas perched on the kitchen counter, his back to me. He had been tirelessly looking over a potential script his agent had given him earlier — writing notes, highlighting pieces of dialogue, the like.

I set down my things on the coffee table before coming up behind him, running my hand up his back and settling it on his shoulder, giving him a little massage as I looked over the booklet open in front of him. He let out a sigh, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

“Nic, is it ok if I work out here?” I asked while I brushed away the single strand of hair flopped over his forehead.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded his head.

I turned my attention to the script, bending over the counter a bit to reach for it. The half-scribbled nonsense caught my eye. I could barely make out any of the words he had written, but I guess the only person that had to understand it was Nicholas — and the guy knows his shit.

“Are you sure it won’t bother you while you’re looking over your script?” I asked as I flipped through the script casually.

Nicholas chuckled, leaning back slightly on the stool. His arm stayed wrapped around my waist, his thumb brushing idly against my side. “Don’t worry; I’ll tune it out.”

I smiled, thankful for his understanding. I planted a quick kiss on his temple, running my fingers through the back of his hair. “I’ll try to keep it quiet,” I said as I pulled away from his grasp and walked toward the open space between the coffee table and the tv in the living room.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a yoga mat, so the laminate floor would have to do, whether I liked it or not. Maybe I’d get used to the stiff floor the more my workout progressed, and I would have already done my exercise for the day by then. Note to self: buy a yoga mat.

I grabbed my earbuds, deciding to only put one in just in case Nicholas told me to keep it down, and reached for my phone to press play on my workout playlist, which consisted of EBM and Acid House — no lyrics for maximum concentration. Plus, it helped me keep a steady rhythm.

I began with a series of deep stretches, my arms reaching high above my head before I bent forward, letting my fingertips brush the floor. A quiet groan escaped my lips as I felt the soreness from yesterday’s workout still lingering.

The music pumped softly in one ear, the beat steady and hypnotic as I transitioned through my warm-up. I shifted into a runner’s lunge, my knee grazing the cold laminate as I leaned into the stretch. A soft sigh slipped out, my muscles pulling deliciously.

Rolling up slowly, I shook out my legs and moved into a few standing side bends, my hands clasped over my head. My breathing grew deeper, the ache in my sides fading as I worked through it. A low hum escaped me as I twisted my torso, relishing the sensation of each vertebra popping gently back into alignment.

I stood straight then, shaking my arms as I prepared to start the real workout. “Okay,” I muttered to myself.

I dropped to the floor for my first set of planks, planting my hands firmly and aligning my body. The strain hit almost immediately, my core engaging as I held the position. My breathing grew audible, sharp exhales through pursed lips as I counted the seconds.

“One… two… three…” My voice was quiet but breathy, each number punctuated by a soft grunt.

The timer on my phone ticked down, and when I reached thirty seconds, I pushed myself into a series of shoulder taps. My palm slapped the floor softly with each shift of weight, my breaths turning into little gasps as the effort increased.

“Almost there,” I whispered to myself, my tone more encouraging than determined.

When I finally finished the set, I rolled onto my back, chest heaving and gasping while the music in my ear pulsed. I clocked Nicholas shift in the stool then, but I didn’t think much of it. He had been sitting there a few hours now; his back must’ve been stinging.

Next up were leg raises. Lying flat on my back, I slid my hands beneath my lower back for support and lifted my legs until they were perpendicular to the floor. Lowering them slowly, I felt the familiar burn in my lower abs. Those were killer.

“God,” I groaned softly, squeezing my eyes shut as I held the hover position just above the floor.

My voice came out in broken exhales as I finished the set, letting my legs drop to the floor with a thud. My head tilted back, and I let out an exaggerated sigh, the exertion starting to creep up on me.

After a moment of rest, I rolled back onto my knees and pushed myself into a standing position. I moved into a series of squats, setting my feet shoulder-width apart and sinking low with each rep. The burn in my thighs was immediate, but I leaned into it, pushing deeper with every squat.

“One… two…” My voice grew louder, the numbers mingled with quiet grunts as I tried to keep my form steady.

By the time I reached 20, a soft whimper escaped me. I straightened, pausing to catch my breath before diving into the second set. Midway through, I let out a particularly loud groan, the sound filling the quiet room. I glanced over my shoulder toward the kitchen, half-expecting Nicholas to say something, but he remained silent, his back still turned.

He shifted in the stool again then. I noticed it this time — the way Nicholas’s arm moved. It wasn’t just a casual shift in his posture or an adjustment of his script. His elbow dipped, his shoulder tensed, and there was a sort of rhythm to it.

I thought it weird, but I pushed through the rest of my squats, continuing my quiet counting. But from the corner of my eye I could see him continuing to move his arm ever so slightly, like he didn’t want me to see. And of course, curiosity got the best of me.

When I finished the set, I let out an audible sigh to signal that I had finished my squats. His back was still to me, and I could see past the outline of his other arm on the counter that the script was still open in front of him, but his movements were stiff.

I strolled toward the kitchen under the guise of grabbing something to drink, letting my footsteps fall heavy against the floor to make noise. As I neared, I noticed the faint tremor in his shoulders as he turned the slightest bit away from me as I rounded the counter and made my way toward the fridge, opening the door casually.

I pulled out one of the cold-pressed juices Nicholas liked to keep stocked to indulge in after coming home from the gym and closed the door. I turned around on my heels, glancing over to him. His jaw was clenched, and he didn’t flick his eyes up once to glance up at me. I also noticed his left arm was under the counter while his right arm was propping up his chin, his pointer finger curled against his lips.

“Hey, Nic,” I said, my voice light as I twisted the cap off the juice bottle with a crisp crack. “Is my workout bothering you?”

He stiffened, his body locking up as if I’d just caught him in the middle of something incriminating. “No,” he said quickly, his voice unusually tight. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of the juice as I watched him. He still wasn’t looking at me, his focus seemingly glued to the script in front of him, but he didn’t even have a pencil in his hand anymore, the pencil laying flat some inches away as if forgotten.

“Are you sure?” I asked, the tiniest bit amused at his behavior.

“It’s fine,” he replied a little too fast, his voice clipped. He shifted on the stool, his left arm pulling slightly closer to his body.

I lingered for a moment longer, watching the subtle tremor in his shoulders and the way his right hand moved to grip the edge of the counter. It was obvious he didn’t want me to see what he was doing.

“Alright,” I said with a shrug, “Let me know if I’m being too loud.”

I rounded the counter again, noticing from the corner of my eye Nicholas shifting his body away from me another time as I passed by to make my way back to the living room.

I didn’t sit down right away, instead taking my time to stretch dramatically, letting out a long exhale as I reached for my toes, glancing periodically over to Nicholas. Now that he had shifted from his previous position, I could catch his reflection from the framed artwork hung on the wall perpendicular to him, and it gave me a full view of what he was doing.

Nicholas’s left arm was indeed beneath the counter, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that told me everything I needed to know.

He was helping himself.

His head was tilted slightly forward as if he were trying to focus on the script, his jaw tight, and his eyes were closed — completely lost in the moment. His right hand gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white, as though grounding himself in reality, and he was being very mindful of keeping his noises to himself.

I froze mid-stretch, my fingertips grazing my toes as I processed what I was seeing. Heat rushed to my face and neck, a mix of shock and complete amusement. He had no idea I could see him — no idea that his every movement was perfectly reflected in the glossy surface of the artwork.

The realization sent a jolt of excitement through me. The idea of Nicholas pleasuring himself while listening to me grunt and huff was like a spark to my flame, and I intended to add more fuel.

Straightening from my stretch, I took a moment to steady my breathing and hide the growing smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. If Nicholas wanted to keep up his little secret act, I’d give him something to really work with.

Dropping back down to the floor, I positioned myself for a new set of planks, but this time, I exaggerated every movement, letting my body shift slowly as I adjusted my form. “Alright,” I muttered, just loud enough to carry over the sound of the rain outside.

As I held the plank, I let out a low groan, my voice breathy and drawn out. “God, that felt so good,” I said, my words broken by strained exhales.

From the corner of my eye, I could see his reflection in the artwork. Nicholas’s hand paused for the briefest moment before resuming its rhythm, a little quicker this time. His shoulders hunched slightly, his body shifting as if he were trying to control himself.

Biting back a grin, I moved into shoulder taps, each motion accompanied by a soft grunt. “One… two… three…” I counted aloud, my voice deliberately low and husky.

Nicholas’s head dipped lower, his jaw clenching tighter as his hand moved beneath the counter.

“Is my counting bothering you, Nic?” I called out between breaths, my tone innocent but teasing as I watched him through the reflection.

His head snapped up, and for a second, I thought he might stop altogether. But he quickly recovered, clearing his throat before replying, “No, I’m fine. Keep going.” His voice was rough, strained, and completely unconvincing.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “You sure?”

His jaw tightened, and he dropped his head back down, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to stroke himself. “I’m sure,” he muttered. “Just… focus on your workout.”

“Ok,” I replied lightly, smiling to myself and dropping my hips to the floor as I transitioned into a set of cobra stretches. My back arched as I pushed up onto my hands, letting out a loud groan as I tilted my head back.

Nicholas’s breathing hitched audibly, and I couldn’t resist glancing at his reflection again. His movements had picked up just the tiniest bit of speed, as if he were afraid going any faster might have me catch on. His other hand, though, gripped the counter so tightly I thought it might leave marks.

Pushing back onto my knees, I transitioned into a child’s pose, my arms reaching out in front of me as I let my hips sink low, making sure I let out a soft moan. I tilted my head just enough to glance at the reflection, catching the way Nicholas’s head dipped even lower, his movements more frantic now.

My lips curled into a smirk as I pulled myself up from the floor and removed my earbud, tossing it onto the couch so it could land without making a sound. Keeping my steps light so as to not warn him, I slowly made my way over to Nicholas, inching my way closer and closer.

When I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, I paused, watching as Nicholas continued, completely unaware of my presence. His head was still bowed, his breathing shallow and uneven, his left hand continuing to stroke himself under the counter. I bit my lip, the smirk on my face growing as I leaned forward, positioning myself just behind him.

I stayed there for a moment, hovering, my own breath steady and quiet, while he was too lost in his own world to notice. Then, as quietly as possible, I leaned in until my lips were just inches from his ear, waiting a few beats before letting out a soft moan.

Nicholas froze, his entire body locking up as his hand stopped mid-motion. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock, and I could see the flush spreading rapidly up his neck and cheeks. He started to pull his hand away, stammering something incoherent, but I was faster.

I reached down, my hand sliding beneath the counter to replace his. His sharp inhale echoed in the quiet room, and I could feel the tension in his body as I wrapped my fingers around his hard length.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his ear as I began to move my hand in slow, deliberate strokes. With my free hand, I brushed my fingers through Nicholas’s hair, clutching it in a fist and lightly pulling his head back toward me.

Nicholas’s head fell back against my shoulder, letting out a low, guttural sound as his mouth fell open and his chest rose and fell with labored breaths. His hand, now free, gripped the edge of the counter again, his knuckles whitening as he held on for dear life.

“Did the sounds I was making turn you on, huh?” I teased, my voice a soft purr in his ear as my hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm.

Nicholas groaned in response, his voice ragged and desperate. “Mm-hmm,” he muttered, nodding as his breathing grew heavier. His free hand slid up to cover his face, his embarrassment palpable even as his body betrayed his need. But I made sure to pull his hand away, wanting to see his beautiful face.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whispered, tightening my grip on his wrist to keep his hand away from his face. “You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I teased, increasing the pressure of my hand just enough to make him gasp.

Nicholas let out a shaky breath as his body gave into my touch. His chest rose and fell erratically, and he whimpered softly at the teasing in my voice.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. His hips bucked slightly into my hand, and he let out a needy moan, his restraint crumbling. “Please… don’t stop,” he begged, his voice trembling.

Nicholas’s desperation was intoxicating, and I couldn’t help but savor the way he melted under my touch. His vulnerability was rare, and seeing him this undone because of me was exhilarating. I let out a quiet moan into his ear, mimicking the sounds I was making while working out.

“Such a good boy,” I murmured against his ear, letting my lips brush against the shell of it. My hand continued its slow, steady rhythm, deliberately teasing him. His hips jerked, seeking more friction, but I tightened my grip slightly, controlling the pace.

“Please,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with need. “I need…”

I chuckled softly, my breath warm against his skin. “Need more…?” I asked, my tone dripping with playful cruelty.

Nicholas whimpered, his hand clutching at the counter like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “More of you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Please… I can’t… I need you.”

His admission sent a shiver down my spine. I kissed the sensitive spot just below his ear, drawing a shaky breath from him. “You sound so pretty when you beg,” I whispered, my hand picking up its pace ever so slightly.

His entire body shuddered, and he turned his head to try to capture my lips with his own, but I pulled back just enough to keep him from reaching me. “Uh-uh, you’ve been bad, Nic,” I teased, my voice a low purr.

Nicholas let out a frustrated groan, his head dropping back against my shoulder again. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, his desperation spilling over in the way his fingers gripped the counter.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice trembling and raw. “Please, I’ll be good. I just… I need you.”

I smirked, savoring the way he unraveled beneath me. “Oh, I know you’ll be good,” I replied, my voice laced with mock sweetness. My hand slowed its pace just slightly, enough to make him whimper in protest, his hips shifting to chase the friction. “Tell me how much you want it,” I demanded, tightening my grip ever so slightly. “I want to hear it, Nic.”

He let out a shaky breath, his head tilting back to rest on my shoulder as he turned to look at me, his eyes glassy and pleading. “I need you so fucking bad,” he admitted, his voice rough with vulnerability.

His words sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. I leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to see the way his lips parted, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment.

“You’re so perfect like this,” I said softly, my free hand sliding up to brush through his hair again, tugging gently at the strands. “So needy. So honest.”

Nicholas let out a low moan, his body trembling under my touch. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

I chuckled, the sound low and teasing as I tilted his head back further, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. “You’re mine,” I murmured, pressing my lips against his skin, my hand resuming its deliberate pace. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. “All yours.”

Hearing those words fall from his lips made my heart race. I pressed a kiss just below his ear, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Good boy,” I whispered, my tone both soft and commanding.

Nicholas let out a ragged moan, his body arching into the back of the stool as he surrendered completely to me. Every sound, every movement he made was for me, and I relished every second of it.

“I—” His voice cracked, his body trembling as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. “I need… I need to—please, just let me…”

I chuckled softly, tightening my grip for a moment to make him gasp. “You’re going to make a mess, aren’t you?” I teased, brushing my lips against his ear.

Nicholas let out a broken moan, his head falling back against my shoulder. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice trembling with need. “I can’t—please, I can’t hold it…”

I smirked, my hand picking up its pace just enough to push him closer to the edge. “Go ahead,” I whispered, my voice a low purr.

His entire body tensed, his hips jerking against my hand as he let out a strangled moan. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as he finally gave in. The tension in his body snapped, and a low, guttural sound escaped him as he spilled over, the warm evidence of his release landing on the script spread out on the counter.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of the rain against the windows and Nicholas’s ragged breathing as he slumped backward, his head resting against my shoulder as his lips parted.

I pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, letting my hand linger on his waist as my other hand reached to brush my fingertip against the white ropes that landed all over the counter. I held his gaze as I brought my fingertip to my lips, letting the taste linger on my tongue. A slow, deliberate smile spread across my face as I tilted my head slightly, savoring both the flavor and the effect it had on Nicholas.

Quickly brushing my fingers through his hair, I softly asked, “How about you clean up your mess while I finish my workout, hmm?”

Nicholas let out a weak laugh, his cheeks still flushed as he tilted his head to look at me. “You really know how to humble a man,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but laced with affection.

I leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering warmth of his breath. “And you really know how to make a workout interesting,” I teased, pulling back.

Nicholas groaned softly, running a hand through his tousled hair as he sat up straighter on the stool. “I’ll clean it up,” he muttered, reaching for a nearby paper towel with a sheepish grin.

Nicholas moved with a quiet efficiency, his usual confidence tinged with an endearing embarrassment. As I settled back into my workout, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders were still a little tense, his cheeks still faintly pink as he wiped the counter clean with meticulous care. He avoided looking at me directly, though I could see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally finished cleaning up, Nicholas tossed the used paper towel into the trash with a dramatic sigh of relief. Turning to lean against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest, his eyes locking onto me with a playful intensity. “You know I’m going to get you back for this, right?”

As I settled into my next stretch, I smirked up at him, “I hope you do.”

[violettwrites]

the fall — daryl dixon

a/n: hi guys !! sorry i have been so mia recently, life has just been crazy and work is insane coming into the christmas season. my laptop is currently away for repairs so i wrote this on my phone — please bear with me if there’s any mistakes. im hoping to have that back soon !

if you enjoy this, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment ! your support always means the world to me

summary: daryl loses you during the start of the apocalypse, and then he finds you again.

( this can be read as just daryl dixon from season 1 OR apart of my trailer park!daryl series ! they both work together so it's completely up to you! )

word count: 2,110

warnings: swearing

resources: divider by @/adornedwithlight

➵ masterlist

➵ ask box

➵ rules

“(y/n)?!” daryl’s voice crackled over the phone as you stood in the emergency room, one hand pressed against your ear while the other held the phone to your other ear, trying to make sense of the words daryl was saying over the chaos of the building. the emergency department you worked in was teetering on the edge of an explosion— patients were pouring in, people were screaming, and you could hear ominous groans and growls coming from behind curtains.

“(y/n), can you hear me?!”

daryl’s voice sounded frantic through the static. you could picture him, sitting in the passenger seat of merle’s truck, hand gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles were probably white. you knew he was panicking, probably punching merle’s shoulder to drive faster, to get to you.

“daryl, i—” you started, but gunshots cut through your words. the loud crack of bullets echoed through the hallways. your heart raced as you whipped your head toward the sound, seeing military soldiers in riot gear filing into the hospital, trying to contain what they could.

“shit!” daryl’s voice shouted on the other end, hearing the gunfire through the phone. “what was that?! are you okay?!”

“i don’t know,” you spoke softly, but your voice remained panicked, ducking around a corner as you tried to figure out a way out of the hospital without getting caught in the crossfire. “the military’s here, dar. it’s bad, real bad.”

you could hear merle cursing in the background through the phone, his voice sharp with confusion and fear. he was probably just as pissed as daryl, not wanting to wait around.

“we’re comin’ for ya,” daryl said, his voice firm despite the panic you knew was coursing through him. “jus’ stay where you are.”

“no—” you shook your head, though it was pointless because he couldn’t see you. but you knew that staying in one place would only get you, or them, killed. “it’s not safe here. you need to go, daryl. get outta the city.”

daryl didn’t like how firm your voice was now, like you had accepted your fate. but he also knew you were strong, and you could hold yourself. it was everyone else he wasn’t comfortable with. “i’m not leavin’ without ya!” his words were clipped, but you could hear the desperation seeping through. “jus’ tell me where to find ya.”

“you swallowed hard, ducking down a hallway as more gunshots rang out behind you. “i’ll find you. just go!”

“not an option,” daryl growled, clearly getting more frustrated. “we’re comin’ to get ya.”

“daryl, i swear to god, just go!” you shouted, your voice shaking. you knew you had to make him leave. the city was falling apart, and if he stayed any longer, he wouldn’t make it out alive.

and then, the line went dead.

you stared at the phone for a second, frozen, before shoving it into your pocket. you couldn’t waste time standing there. you needed to survive. you needed to find a way back to him.

the months that followed were a blur. everything crumbled so fast— society, infrastructure, order. the infection spread quicker than anyone had anticipated, and soon, the world was unrecognisable. you’d managed to survive by keeping to the outskirts of the cities, staying on the move, scavenging what you could. it had been a battle to stay alive, but you never stopped thinking about getting back to daryl.

each day, you held onto the hope that he was still out there. that he, and merle, had made it. you had to believe he was still alive. it was the only thing that kept you going.

one day, after weeks of wandering, you had heard rumors from a group of survivors about a camp up near the quarry. a group had settled there, and something in your gut told you to go. you shoved what little you had into your bag and made your way towards the quarry, hoping against hope that daryl would be there.

daryl sat on the outskirts of the atlanta camp, absentmindedly sharpening his knife as he stared out into the treeline. his mind wasn’t on the task though. it hadn’t been for weeks. ever since the outbreak started, ever since he lost contact with you, he hadn’t been able to focus on much of anything.

merle was his usual self— bossy, loud, and always looking for trouble. but daryl? he was quieter these days, more withdrawn. every hunt he went on, he couldn’t stop himself from searching for you, his eyes scanning every inch of the woods, hoping for a glimpse of you.

but every time, he came back empty handed.

he’d given up hope of hearing from you over the phone weeks ago, but he couldn’t give up the idea of finding you. you were out there somewhere— he just knew it.

“hey! you gonna sit there all damn day, or you gonna help me with this firewood?” merle’s voice cut through his thoughts, causing him to grit his teeth and ignore his older brother. he was tired of merle’s shit.

daryl stood up, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder without a word. he made his way towards the tree line, scanning the area out of habit. the camp wasn’t the safest; no walls, walkers always lurking, and the occasional survivor that would wander too close for comfort, but they had done a good job keeping it secure. for now.

just as he was about to head back, movement caught his eye. daryl squinted, grip tightening on the strap of his crossbow as a figure stumbled out of the woods. for a moment, he thought it was just another survior— a poor soul lost and scared like the rest of them. but then his heart skipped a beat.

it was you.

“(y/n)?” the words ripped out of him before he could stop it, and in an instant, he was running toward you, his legs carrying him faster than he thought was possible. you looked different— thinner, worn down, like you had walked through hell. but it didn’t matter. you were alive.

your eyes met his, and the world around you seemed to fall away. after weeks, months— you weren’t sure. but you had finally found him.

“daryl,” you breathed out, your voice weak but full of relief.

he didn’t hesitate, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest, holding you tight. you could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your ear, the warmth of his body grounding you in a way nothing else had since the world fell apart.

“i thought i lost ya,” daryl muttered, his voice rough and his breath warm against your neck.

you held him tighter, your fingers gripping the back of his shirt under his crossbow like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. “i’m here,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “i’m here.”

for a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto each other and letting the weight of the time split up crash down around you. all the fear, the uncertainty, the loss— it all seemed to fade in that moment.

when you finally pulled back, daryl kept his hands on your shoulders, like he needed to keep touching you to make sure you were real. his eyes scanned your face, taking in every detail.

“merle?” you asked softly, knowing daryl’s older brother never strayed far from his side.

“he’s back at camp,” his voice steadying. “still a pain in the ass.”

you let out a weak laugh, the sound foreign after so long without joy. “figures.”

“come on,” he said, his hand lingering on your arm as he started to lead you back toward the camp. “you need to get some rest.”

the camp was quiet as the two of you entered, the crackle of the campfire being the only sound besides the soft rustle of leaves. merle spotted you first, his eyes narrowing before recognition flashed across his face.

“well, i’ll be damned,” merle said, leaning back with a grin. “look who finally showed up.”

you met merle’s eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “good to see you too, merle.”

daryl guided you to a spot by the fire, his hand never leaving yours as if he couldn’t bear to let go. you settled beside him, exhaustion finally catching up to you. but for the first time in months, you felt safe. you were with daryl. that was all that mattered.

as the fire crackled in front of you, it’s orange glow casting flickering shadows on your face, you leaned back against a log and let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding. the tension in your shoulders loosened ever so slightly, but the weight of everything you’d been through was still pressed on your chest. your eyes flickered to daryl beside you— his presence was grounding, familiar, something solid in a world that felt like quicksand.

he hadn’t let go of your hand, his rough fingers wrapped around yours as if he was afraid that if he did let go, you’d disappear again. you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the way this had all worn on him too. daryl wasn’t one to talk about feelings or admit when things hurt him, but you knew him better than that. the silence between you wasn’t awkward; it was full of unspoken understanding. you had both lost too much to let go of each other now.

merle started to wander off toward his tent, mumbling something about needing sleep. “you two lovebirds catch up,” he teased, but it was half-hearted. he wasn’t cruel like he used to be— at least not to you.

as soon as his brother disappeared into his tent, daryl finally spoke, his voice low, like he was afraid to break the moment. “how’d ya make it?” he didn’t ask out of disbelief, he knew you were tough, but it was out of curiosity, needing to fill in the blanks of your absence.

you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, staring into the fire. the memories of being on your own flooded back; sleepless nights, close calls with walkers, finding shelter in abandoned houses, and the hunger that gnawed at your stomach daily. “i just kept moving,” you shrugged, your words so quiet they were almost drowned out by the crackle of the fire. “after that day at the hospital, i knew i couldn’t stay. i had no idea where i was going though, but i knew i had to keep going.”

daryl nodded, his eyes fixed on you, listening intently. he wasn’t the type to press you fore more details, but you could see the questions in his gaze. you gave him a small smile, trying to ease his worry. “i thought about you every day,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “it was the only thing that kept me going sometimes. knowing you were out there, somewhere.”

you watched as his jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as he processed your words. “i looked for ya,” he muttered, his voice rougher than before. “everywhere we went, i looked. really thought i lost ya.” the raw emotion in his voice made your heart twist. you reached out and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

“you didn’t lose me. i’m right here.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. daryl’s hand found yours again, his grip firm, but this time it wasn’t just out of fear. it was something more— something unspoken but heavy between you.

“you gonna stick around now?” he asked, his voice quiter than before, almost hesitant. “stay with the group?”

you hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead yet. the idea of settling down in this camp, was both comforting and terrifying. you knew it wouldn’t be the last time you have to move, but you knew one thing for sure— you weren’t about to leave daryl again. “if you’ll have me,” you replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

daryl gave you a quick, almost unnoticeable nod, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “ain’t goin’ anywhere without ya now,” he said gruffly, the tenderness in his words barely masked by his usual demeanour.

the firelight danced in his eyes, and for the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe again. you leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment. his presence was steady and warm beside you, and for the first time since the world had gone to shit, you allowed yourself to feel safe.

[reasonsforhope]

"Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park in Brazzaville, Republic of Congo has a lot to celebrate.

The park, which celebrated its 30th anniversary on December 31 of 2023, also shared an exciting conservation milestone: 2023 was the first year without any elephant poaching detected.

“We didn’t detect any elephants killed in the Park this year, a first for the Park since [we] began collecting data. This success comes after nearly a decade of concerted efforts to protect forest elephants from armed poaching in the Park,” Ben Evans, the Park’s management unit director, said in a press release.

Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park was developed by the government of Congo in 1993 to maintain biodiversity conservation in the region, and since 2014, has been cared for through a public-private partnership between Congo’s Ministry of Forest Economy and the Wildlife Conservation Society.

Pictured: Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park. Photo courtesy of Scott Ramsay/Wildlife Conservation Society

Evans credits the ongoing collaboration with this milestone, as the MEF and WCS have helped address escalating threats to wildlife in the region. 

This specifically includes investments in the ranger force, which has increased training and self-defense capabilities, making the force more effective in upholding the law — and the rights of humans and animals.

“Thanks to the strengthening of our anti-poaching teams and new communication technologies, we have been able to reduce poaching considerably,” Max Mviri, a park warden for the Congolese government, said in a video for the Park’s anniversary. 

“Today, we have more than 90 eco-guards, all of whom have received extensive training and undergo refresher courses,” Mviri continued. “What makes a difference is that 90% of our eco-guards come from villages close to the Park. This gives them extra motivation, as they are protecting their forest.”

As other threats such as logging and road infrastructure development impact the area’s wildlife, the Park’s partnerships with local communities and Indigenous populations in the neighboring villages of Bomassa and Makao are increasingly vital.

“We’ve seen great changes, great progress. We’ve seen the abundance of elephants, large mammals in the village,” Gabriel Mobolambi, chief of Bomassa village, said in the same video. “And also on our side, we benefit from conservation.”

Coinciding with the Park’s anniversary is the roll-out of a tourism-focused website, aiming to generate 15% of its revenue from visitors, which contributes significantly to the local economy...

Nouabalé-Ndoki also recently became the world’s first certified Gorilla Friendly National Park, ensuring best practices are in place for all gorilla-related operations, from tourism to research.

But gorillas and elephants — of which there are over 2,000 and 3,000, respectively — aren’t the only species visitors can admire in the 4,334-square-kilometer protected area.

The Park is also home to large populations of mammals such as chimpanzees and bongos, as well as a diverse range of reptiles, birds, and insects. For the flora fans, Nouabalé-Ndoki also boasts a century-old mahogany tree, and a massive forest of large-diameter trees.

Beyond the beauty of the Park, these tourism opportunities pave the way for major developments for local communities.

“The Park has created long-term jobs, which are rare in the region, and has brought substantial benefits to neighboring communities. Tourism is also emerging as a promising avenue for economic growth,” Mobolambi, the chief of Bomassa village, said in a press release.

The Park and its partners also work to provide education, health centers, agricultural opportunities, and access to clean water, as well, helping to create a safe environment for the people who share the land with these protected animals. 

In fact, the Makao and Bomassa health centers receive up to 250 patients a month, and Nouabalé-Ndoki provides continuous access to primary education for nearly 300 students in neighboring villages. 

It is this intersectional approach that maintains a mutual respect between humans and wildlife and encourages the investment in conservation programs, which lead to successes like 2023’s poaching-free milestone...

Evans, of the Park’s management, added in the anniversary video: “Thanks to the trust that has been built up between all those involved in conservation, we know that Nouabalé-Ndoki will remain a crucial refuge for wildlife for the generations to come.”"

-via Good Good Good, February 15, 2024

[mariacallous]

The so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) is starting to put together a team to migrate the Social Security Administration’s (SSA) computer systems entirely off one of its oldest programming languages in a matter of months, potentially putting the integrity of the system—and the benefits on which tens of millions of Americans rely—at risk.

The project is being organized by Elon Musk lieutenant Steve Davis, multiple sources who were not given permission to talk to the media tell WIRED, and aims to migrate all SSA systems off COBOL, one of the first common business-oriented programming languages, and onto a more modern replacement like Java within a scheduled tight timeframe of a few months.

Under any circumstances, a migration of this size and scale would be a massive undertaking, experts tell WIRED, but the expedited deadline runs the risk of obstructing payments to the more than 65 million people in the US currently receiving Social Security benefits.

“Of course, one of the big risks is not underpayment or overpayment per se; [it’s also] not paying someone at all and not knowing about it. The invisible errors and omissions,” an SSA technologist tells WIRED.

The Social Security Administration did not immediately reply to WIRED’s request for comment.

SSA has been under increasing scrutiny from president Donald Trump’s administration. In February, Musk took aim at SSA, falsely claiming that the agency was rife with fraud. Specifically, Musk pointed to data he allegedly pulled from the system that showed 150-year-olds in the US were receiving benefits, something that isn’t actually happening. Over the last few weeks, following significant cuts to the agency by DOGE, SSA has suffered frequent website crashes and long wait times over the phone, The Washington Post reported this week.

This proposed migration isn’t the first time SSA has tried to move away from COBOL: In 2017, SSA announced a plan to receive hundreds of millions in funding to replace its core systems. The agency predicted that it would take around five years to modernize these systems. Because of the coronavirus pandemic in 2020, the agency pivoted away from this work to focus on more public-facing projects.

Like many legacy government IT systems, SSA systems contain code written in COBOL, a programming language created in part in the 1950s by computing pioneer Grace Hopper. The Defense Department essentially pressured private industry to use COBOL soon after its creation, spurring widespread adoption and making it one of the most widely used languages for mainframes, or computer systems that process and store large amounts of data quickly, by the 1970s. (At least one DOD-related website praising Hopper's accomplishments is no longer active, likely following the Trump administration’s DEI purge of military acknowledgements.)

As recently as 2016, SSA’s infrastructure contained more than 60 million lines of code written in COBOL, with millions more written in other legacy coding languages, the agency’s Office of the Inspector General found. In fact, SSA’s core programmatic systems and architecture haven’t been “substantially” updated since the 1980s when the agency developed its own database system called MADAM, or the Master Data Access Method, which was written in COBOL and Assembler, according to SSA’s 2017 modernization plan.

SSA’s core “logic” is also written largely in COBOL. This is the code that issues social security numbers, manages payments, and even calculates the total amount beneficiaries should receive for different services, a former senior SSA technologist who worked in the office of the chief information officer says. Even minor changes could result in cascading failures across programs.

“If you weren't worried about a whole bunch of people not getting benefits or getting the wrong benefits, or getting the wrong entitlements, or having to wait ages, then sure go ahead,” says Dan Hon, principal of Very Little Gravitas, a technology strategy consultancy that helps government modernize services, about completing such a migration in a short timeframe.

It’s unclear when exactly the code migration would start. A recent document circulated amongst SSA staff laying out the agency’s priorities through May does not mention it, instead naming other priorities like terminating “non-essential contracts” and adopting artificial intelligence to “augment” administrative and technical writing.

Earlier this month, WIRED reported that at least 10 DOGE operatives were currently working within SSA, including a number of young and inexperienced engineers like Luke Farritor and Ethan Shaotran. At the time, sources told WIRED that the DOGE operatives would focus on how people identify themselves to access their benefits online.

Sources within SSA expect the project to begin in earnest once DOGE identifies and marks remaining beneficiaries as deceased and connecting disparate agency databases. In a Thursday morning court filing, an affidavit from SSA acting administrator Leland Dudek said that at least two DOGE operatives are currently working on a project formally called the “Are You Alive Project,” targeting what these operatives believe to be improper payments and fraud within the agency’s system by calling individual beneficiaries. The agency is currently battling for sweeping access to SSA’s systems in court to finish this work. (Again, 150-year-olds are not collecting social security benefits. That specific age was likely a quirk of COBOL. It doesn’t include a date type, so dates are often coded to a specific reference point—May 20, 1875, the date of an international standards-setting conference held in Paris, known as the Convention du Mètre.)

In order to migrate all COBOL code into a more modern language within a few months, DOGE would likely need to employ some form of generative artificial intelligence to help translate the millions of lines of code, sources tell WIRED. “DOGE thinks if they can say they got rid of all the COBOL in months, then their way is the right way, and we all just suck for not breaking shit,” says the SSA technologist.

DOGE would also need to develop tests to ensure the new system’s outputs match the previous one. It would be difficult to resolve all of the possible edge cases over the course of several years, let alone months, adds the SSA technologist.

“This is an environment that is held together with bail wire and duct tape,” the former senior SSA technologist working in the office of the chief information officer tells WIRED. “The leaders need to understand that they’re dealing with a house of cards or Jenga. If they start pulling pieces out, which they’ve already stated they’re doing, things can break.”

[aurifulgore]

Ok, y’all. I just want it to be understood how important the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) is.

Tampering with NOAA would have more impacts than just the main one I've heard - privatization of weather tracking. Of course it would be catastrophic. That means their weather forecasts, guidance, and warnings would not be available for free. Weather is going to go subscription based if this happens, I bet. This undoubtedly would cause the most immediate impact on our daily lives.

Before long, however, more will come.

NOAA also administers the Coastal Zone Management Act. Under this act are the National Estuarine Research Reserves (NERRs), National Coastal Management Program (CZM), and the Coastal and Estuarine Land Conservation Program (CELCP). 

There are 30 reserves established totalling 1.3 million acres. More are on the way.

No, this isn’t just our oceans! This impacts our freshwater coasts of the Great Lakes.

Grants and funding for institutions, including the University of Michigan. They manage the Science Collaborative, which funds research and exchanges to address coastal management needs of all 30 reserves or projects in collaboration with them.

Blending new technologies with indigenous knowledge with regards to management of wetlands and estuaries, strengthen food and economic stability, water quality, coral reefs, and resilience against climate change (ie. Ola i ka Loʻi Wai, Hawai’i) 

Restore ownership of indigenous ancestral lands (ie. Conservation of Cape Foulweather Headland, Oregon)

Identify for underwater archaeological sites for research and surveys, create a draft tribal climate action plan (ie. Penobscot Nation’s involvement in the Northeast Regional Ocean Council, Maine)

Work with each participating state (regarding the CZM, as it’s voluntary to participate) to address challenges along their coastlines. Maybe reach out to your representatives to see why they’re not involved - looking at you, Alaska!

Population enhancement of coral reefs, manage the Coral Reef Information System, minimize negative impacts of fishing on reefs, mitigate impacts of land-based pollution on coral reefs (Coral Reef Conservation Program)

And much, much more.  I’ll note that the aspects of the projects I highlighted above aren’t all they do. These are just a few I want to highlight here. Links can lead you further and I encourage you to take a few minutes to explore.

Another important note: both our oceans and freshwater lakes impact our biggest trade partners!! If dismantled, it would be yet another way that our foolish president will negatively impact our economy and relationships with our most crucial neighbors of Canada and Mexico. NOAA’s efforts also help support one third of the US's commerce. One third. 

Here is a map which breaks down the 1.3 BILLION in awards from the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law and Inflation Reduction Act. This includes goals towards economic development, flood, etc…

Oh and they also help with oil spills. No one likes those.

And space weather, geomagnetic storms/solar flares ie. impacts to GPS, power grids.

I really stress people to look at what the agency does overall, as well as what they do in your state. It’s more than just weather. You can find that information here. 

Just please understand what we will lose if NOAA is gutted, or even just incapacitated for a long time. We already have little time to lose to slow the impacts of climate change and these are just some of the ways they're leading the charge with that.

It’s vital for us to understand what we will fundamentally lose, and it doesn't end at weather/hurricane predictions.

On a personal note, my dad has put what I can only estimate as hundreds of hours of work into one that was begun before the pandemic. If you can, I’d appreciate it if you’re in that area that you participate when you can, or if anything, donate to the UW Green Bay’s NERR General Fund. He’s also involved with portions of the Lake Superior NERR, so your time, if possible, or a donation if you can, would mean a lot to us.

[dimlylittorch]

this started off as a hurt comfort fic but i changed my mind and it turned into.. manipulation. i am unwell. THIS SHIT IS LIKE 3K+ WORDS BE WARNED.

My Masterlist🌱

Silco x transmasc!reader

small synopsis: he finds the son of an aristocrat in Piltover to be his pawn

He’ll never forget that day. That day on the bridge, when his entire world changed. Ever since then, there’s been a pit inside of his stomach. It churns and twists whenever something that is his is in danger. When something of his is out of his reach.

Grief is a funny thing. It can invoke every kind of human emotion. Anger, sadness.. it tears a person up inside. Leaving scars that will never heal completely. Yes, they fade with time. But sometimes they fester. And wounds get reopened- bringing every single old emotion back in one fell swoop.

Meeting you changed everything he thought he knew. When he thought he’d finally found himself on stable ground, you pulled the world out from under his feet. His heart had grown cold, and he found himself incapable of.. feeling. Feeling anything other than rage, or hate. He had no pity for the weak. Not anymore.

Until he found you.

The day he met you was the day he felt like maybe- just maybe, he could breathe again. A pretty little thing you were. Coming from a good family in Piltover, you were clean and well taken care of, nothing like the people in the Undercity. You were innocent, and completely unaware of the dangers that lied in the Undercity among people like him.

Having packed a small bag, fully intending on exploring some more of the world that your parents kept you so sheltered from, you managed to find yourself near an entrance into the Undercity without even knowing it. Walking through damp alleyways and past the docks, slipping on the occasional patch of worn wood. You had no idea how dangerous it was for you to be out there in the dark.. let alone by yourself.

You found yourself stumbling across run down buildings with holes in the ceiling and ruined infrastructures. One warehouse in particular caught your eye as it seemed relatively stable. You peeked inside through the front entrance before opening the door, it creaking loudly. You take a few steps inside, glancing around at how different it was from the buildings you’d seen your whole life.

“Wow” you whisper to yourself when you look up, a clear view of the moon through one of the holes in the ceiling. Of course, you had no idea Silco was using this place for his own purposes. And you had no idea he was near. Walking through the main area of the building, a small smile creeps along your lips. “Hello!” You call out, hearing a faint echo back, much to your amusement. Silco stood in a dark doorway with his eyes on you, his eye brow quirked with interest. When was the last time he’d heard someone truly laugh?

As you make your way up the large staircase, Silco moves to quietly follow you, curious of your movements. He’d never seen you before.. and you certainly didn’t look like you were from the Undercity. Tripping over debris every now and then, Silco can see the lightness in your movements. You weren’t wary or cautious. Simply exploring like a child would. Once you reach the next floor you see the remnants of old furniture, crouching down and looking at what he would consider trash. He watches with curiosity as you pick up a small item you see on the floor, smiling to yourself as you slip it into your pocket.

Making your way through the run down building, you find a rickety staircase that leads onto the roof. Stepping onto it hesitantly, Silco stays back and watches as you flinch when it creaks and shakes under your weight. Standing still for a moment, you take a breath before heading up the stairs and reaching the roof. Silco hums with amusement as he watches your actions, deciding he might as well follow. He found you intriguing after all. As you settle onto the roof, setting your bag down he slowly follows. But when he hears a sharp creak in the metal, a gasp slips past his lips as he reaches for the roof, the rusted metal staircase starting to collapse.

He saw his life before his eyes- as much as he hated to admit it. The thought of dying to a staircase was embarrassing for a man like him. As he clawed at the wood of the roof, he suddenly felt two hands on one of his arms, and he looked up to see you. The soft face looking back at him, faced riddled with worry.

“Shit- hold on” you say quickly as you tug on him as hard as you can, moving onto your stomach so you can hook your arms under his shoulders, getting a better grip. With a gasp from your lips, he holds onto you out of instinct as he kicks his foot up, using it to push the both of you onto the roof.

When he manages to get onto the roof completely, you roll onto your back, pulling him with you. The both of you breathing heavily, he finds himself in your arms, still holding him. “You okay?” You say softly against his ear before you gently remove your arms from his upper body, leaving him to sit straddled over your hips.

He puts a hand next to your head, using it to sit himself up with a shaky breath as he looks down at you, faces only inches apart. “Fine.” He mutters before he sits himself up further, resting against your hips and thighs. You sit yourself up slightly, hands resting by his knees as you gaze up at him.

“You sure?” You ask softly as your eyes trail over his face, not once flinching from his scars. He looks back at you with a hesitant glance, not used to anyone caring about his wellbeing.

He huffs and moves off of your lap, sitting next to you with a sigh. “I’ve faced worse” he murmurs as he slicks his hair back with his hand.

Sitting up fully, you gently scoot over to be closer to him. You glance over his form, taking in his presence. Fairly tall and slender, but still.. solid. “I’m glad you’re okay.” You say faintly, much to his surprise. He looks over at you, harsh eyes trailing over your form.

“You’re an odd little thing.” He mutters as he looks you over. “And just what were you coming up here for? The scenic view?” He scoffs.

“I’ve just.. never been up here before” you say softly.

“And you got curious?” He muses as he runs his fingers through his hair before standing up and adjusting his not ruffled clothing.

“Mhm” you hum as you stand up with him. Before you can say anything else, a rotted piece of wood breaks under your feet, making you trip forward, grabbing onto him for balance. The force knocks him backwards, making him land on his arse with a huff, you landing on your stomach in his hold. “Christ-“ you gasp when you hit his form and the wood. Gathering yourself for a moment, you look up and meet his sharp gaze. “We have to stop falling into each other like this” you huff with a faint laugh as you sit up slightly, but still leaning over him as you catch your breath.

He sighs when he looks down at you, seeing just how.. soft you truly are. Gentle eyes and a kind smile.. nothing like what he was used to. As you look up at him, your smile widens slightly.

“Hm.. do you have heterochromia? Where your eyes are two different colors?” You question innocently as you sit back and look at him. “They’re really pretty”

He freezes when he hears your words. Pretty. Pretty? Has he ever been called pretty? No. That’s something he would remember. If half of his face wasn’t so scarred it would probably be apparent that he was blushing slightly. Glancing over your facial features, he can’t help but find you amusing. You clearly didn’t know who he was.

“Something like that.” He replies quietly before looking downcast. If only he didn’t have a massive story behind his face. Maybe things would be easier.

Reaching into your bag, you pull out a small brown paper bag and offer it to him. “Are you from the Undercity?” You ask softly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in Piltover before..”

His eyebrows raise when you offer him the small paper bag, but he begrudgingly takes it, opening it and finding.. cookies. Homemade cookies. He pauses as he thinks about what he’s doing. Sitting on a roof with some topsider idiot trying to make conversation. He should be working towards his dream of Zaun right now. But.. a part of him wanted to stay put. He hated to admit it. But he’s missed being treated like a normal person. And not like a crime lord. Grabbing a cookie with a sigh, he sets the bag down and looks over at you. “Yes, I am. It’s clear you’re from topside..” he mutters as he takes a bite of the cookie.

A small smile quirks at the corner of your lips when you see him take the cookie and take a bite. “My mom made those” you say softly. “Do you like them?”

He huffs a little when he hears you mention your mother. God, how old were you? You seemed in your twenties, maybe.. but there was an innocence about you. The world hadn’t ruined you. Not yet. “It’s.. fine.” He says quietly as he eats the rest of the cookie. He had to stay stoic like always- but in reality he couldn’t remember the last time he had something sweet. It was.. nice. Almost too nice. Sweet enough to give him a toothache. “My compliments to your mother.” He adds faintly.

Your smile widens a bit and you chuckle. “I’ll tell her you said that.” You look at the bag for a moment before gently pushing it towards him. “If you have any friends you want to share with- you can have them. I can always get more.”

God, how innocent could you get? Friends? Him having friends? He almost laughed at the thought. “You truly have no idea who I am?” He questions as he looks up, his gaze meeting your own.

When his eyes meet your own, your heart stutters a little. His gaze was sharp and piercing, nothing like you were used to. In Piltover it was all ‘make sure you maintain polite eye contact- staring is rude,’ but he clearly didn’t follow any stupid rules like you had to. “I’m sorry” you murmur, looking downcast before you look back up at him and offer him your hand. “I suppose I should’ve asked sooner. I’ve been terribly rude.” You could practically feel your mothers words flowing through you- ever forced polite response you ever had to give, rushing back on autopilot. “I’m Y/N, of house L/N.”

His eyebrow quirks when he sees how.. formal you are. He stares at your hand for a moment before sighing and shaking your hand. “Silco.” He says simply before retracting his hand. “And just what does your family do? You seem awfully.. well trained.”

You could help but snort at his words. Well trained? That was a new one. But in reality, it made sense. To society you were nothing more than a dog that knows how to behave. “We’re in the mining industry.” You say with a small smile. “My father manufactures a lot of the machinery that the miners use.”

He hums when he hears your words. Mining? He knew quite a lot about that. Having worked in the mines in his youth.. it’s not something he would go back to willingly. “I take it you don’t work in the mines.” He muses.

“Afraid not.” You hum. “I was attending University.. but I needed a break.”

He scoffs at that, rolling his eyes before he moves to stand up. “There is no time for breaks if you truly wish to accomplish something.” He chastises. “Surely your father has taught you that.”

“I’ve learned not to push myself.” You murmur as you lay back on the roof, gazing up at the sky.

“We aren’t alive just to lie around and relax.” He scoffs as he moves to crouch next to you, his knee by your head as he looks down at you. “You think I got to where I am by taking breaks? By not pushing myself?”

A few moments of silence pass before you sit up, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his. “And yet.. I don’t even know who you are.”

Before you know it, you feel his hand on your chin, squeezing your cheeks slightly as he lifts your face closer to his. “I’ll have you know, boy.” He whispers dangerously. “I control the Undercity. And everyone in it. So choose your next words wisely.” He seethes as he glares down at you.

A few more beats of quiet- the only noise the occasional creaking of the roof. He watches as your eyes soften, face becoming more relaxed in his hold. Anyone else would’ve been terrified.. but here you were. Gazing up at him.

“Would you like to come home for dinner tomorrow night?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Pardon?” He questions as he lets go of your face, but not pulling away.

You reach up to rub your chin a little, looking up at him. “Well.. you’re in charge of the Undercity.” You say softly. “And tomorrow we’re hosting a dinner party with other important people.” You murmur. “Would you want to come?”

He stares down at you for a few moments, the cogs turning in his brain. What was this boy’s agenda? He didn’t even know him. But.. the thought appealed to him. Slightly. Being invited to a dinner party in Piltover that is filled with rich bureaucrats, your parents certainly not approving of your choice for a plus one.

“What.. a kind offer.” He says with a small smirk as he stands up, offering his hand to you. Befriending a young aristocrat of Piltover. That could be very helpful with his plans. A little pawn all to himself. “I think it would be rude of me to reject it.”

Reaching up to take his hand, he helps you up as you look at him with a smile on your lips. “I promise it’ll be worth it.” You say sweetly.

He chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking off into the distance over Piltover. “Oh, I’m sure it will be.”

Your parents were certainly happy when you told them you’d be bringing a plus one. While you were sociable, you haven’t exactly been considered for any marriage unions yet with other young aristocrats- much to your parents dismay. You weren’t exactly the typical marriage candidate anyways. You didn’t have much of an interest in business or politics. You’d much rather do things you enjoy.

While you may seem innocent, you weren’t truly that ditsy. You knew your parents wouldn’t like the person you brought to dinner, but a part of you wanted the discourse. To show your parents you could be doing much worse than you are. But you have been well behaved your whole life, and you’re not doing drugs in a ditch somewhere in the Undercity.

Your mind had a knack for making things seem.. less complicated than they were. Call it a coping mechanism. You didn’t see a scenario where your parents would be incredibly upset that you brought home a man like him. Surely they would be welcoming to someone who has power. That’s what your brain told you, at least. You were sweet and innocent to everyone around you because your brain dumbed things down for you on the daily. Without that? You’d be a walking ball of anxiety. It’s better this way, being the silly little child of an aristocrat who could see the good in everyone.

You had agreed to meet Silco at the main bridge between Piltover and Zaun. When he walks through the evening fog, you smile at him. He was wearing a red button down with nice pants, probably some of the best clothes he had- while you were wearing a white button down with black pants. “You clean up nice.” You chuckle as he walks up to you.

“I try” he muses with a smirk as the two of you set off to your parent’s estate.

As the two of you walked, you can’t help but feel your chest tighten. Were you really about to bring a probably dangerous stranger into your parents home?

“What are you playing at, hm?” Silco hums, making you turn your head to look up at him. When he sees the look on your face, he chuckles. “I know this isn’t just a sweet little invitation. You have a motive.”

A sigh slips past your lips as you both mosey through the foggy streets of Piltover. “I needed a plus one.” You murmur.

“I don’t think I’m the kind of man you bring home to meet your parents.” He muses as he looks down at you.

You huff, rubbing the back of your neck. “Fine- fine.” You sigh. “My parents.. need me to get engaged. And I’m not very fond of the idea. So, I thought if I brought home..” you trail off quietly.

“An Undercity rat like me?” He huffs with a chuckle. “They’d realize they’d rather you single than with me? So if we broke up they’d be grateful?”

A groan slips past your lips as you reach up to rub your face. “Something like that.” You sigh. “Do you mind?”

He laughs faintly at your question. “Do I mind pretending to be the fiancé of a pretty little aristocrat?” He muses. “Not at all. Besides.. I’d rather be here than smoking a cigar in my office like every other night.”

The introduction to your parents was.. interesting.

“Mother, Father!” You say sweetly when you see your parents in the large foyer. They smile sweetly and walk up to you, both of their smiles faltering when they see Silco. “I wanted you to meet someone” you practically beam up at them.

Silco glances down and sees the look on your face, a smirk forming on his lips. You were quite the actor.. it was convincing. He looks at your parents and smirks a little wider at how they try to hold their smiles steady. He knew that look- the disapproving gaze as they examine his facial scars, and his inadequate outfit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He says lightly as he looks between the two of them.

“This is Mr. Silco- my fiancé!” You grin.

Seeing your parents worlds shatter before their eyes was quite funny. Even Silco had to admit that.

“Your- your fiancé?” Your mother asks quickly, trying to keep up her sweet act and temperament.

“Surprising, I know.” Silco chuckles. “I will admit, we did rush into it a little. But we both know we could die tomorrow. Why not celebrate our love today?” He smiles at your parents.

Christ, you thought to yourself. He was quite the actor. Even you would’ve believed that.

“Silco, you said?” Your father asks as he reaches out his hand to Silco. “It’s.. a pleasure.” He murmurs hesitantly.

“Let’s introduce you to some of the business partners” you say sweetly to Silco as you pull on his arm, dragging him with you throughout the large ball room area.

The night went on, introducing Silco to whoever you could, the cringe on your parents faces truly satisfying. Maybe two hours later Silco has made a name for himself, managing to keep up with conversation better than anyone expected. He may be from the Undercity, but he was quick of tongue. Eventually you manage to pull him along with you into an empty library with only a fire burning for light. As you close the door, you sigh contentedly.

“You’re better at this than I expected” you chuckle as you lean against the door.

“In my youth I certainly did talk my way through a few.. obstacles” he smirks as he sips on the glass of champagne he had in his hand. “I never did ask..” he murmurs as he walks to look around the room, glancing at the books on the shelves. “You don’t want to marry?”

A sigh slips past your lips as you walk into the room, sitting on a chair next to the fire. “I’m not the marriage type.” You mutter.

“That much is clear.” He smirks as he sets his glass down, walking over and resting his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning down so his face wasn’t far from your own. “You aren’t quite like the rest of them, hm? No crave for greed.. no desires that need to be sated. Am I right?”

Your eyes meet his for a moment before you lean back in the chair, your eyes shifting to the fire. “Right.” You murmur.

He gently cups your chin, pulling your gaze back to his own. “Such a little thing, you are.” He murmurs as his eyes trace over you. “I see why your parents keep you on a short leash.” He smirks.

“Yeah, well” you sigh. “They want to hand the leash off to someone else. Preferably a young aristocrat.”

“What if I said I could make all of your problems.. go away?” Silco’s voice questions quietly as he pulls your chin closer to his own.

“What do you mean?” You whisper faintly as you gaze up at him.

“What if I took a hold of your leash? Instead of some stupid boy who won’t know what to do with you..” he muses.

You scoff at his words, pushing him off of you and standing up. “I’m not going to be pawned off like an object” you say firmly as you turn your back to him.

He sighs, walking up behind you and speaking near the shell of your ear. “Little one.. you’ll be pawned off either way. Would you rather go to someone who will allow you freedom? Or a stranger?” He questions faintly.

A shaky breath slips past your lips as you process his words. “This is crazy.” You say faintly as you run your fingers through your hair.

“There, there” he coos in your ear. “Think of it this way.. you met a nice man, and invited him to a party. He helped you by pretending to be your fiancé.. and now you return the favor.” He says as he turns you around so you’re facing him again. “It’s truly not that complicated.”

“Favor?” You question. “What could I possibly do for you?”

“I already control Zaun.” He explains as he cups your chin. “It is in my best interest that I have ties to Piltover as well. Ties.. that cannot be broken. Such as a marriage.”

OKAY GUYSSS this is officially the longest thing I’ve written!! Merry late Christmas🥱

[qqueenofhades]

fwiw: a lot of people follow @roach-works who just reblogged yo ur comments on history, books, and authoritarian regimes' inability to indoctrinate entire populations.

I'm an ex classics major with a lot of history under my belt, who knows Rome sutmr under a corrupt oligarchy even when it coughed up a hairball like Nero or Commodus. (Of course, it helped that Rome worked on the pragmatic principle, "How can we keep society and infrastructure functioning, given that positions of power tend to be occupied by the rich & corrupt?" I like to joke that Western Rome never fell; it just became the mafia.)

At any rate, my tendency to see the US through the lens of Rome makes me a pessimist: I assume we'll manage even in a dystopia.

I'm working on expanding my knowledge of world history to counteract that, but it's great to check in with a sane historian who will help me resist crowdsourced panicmongering.

Look, as I have said, I 0% blame anyone for being scared. I'm scared. With no exaggeration or hyperbole, Shit Real Bad, and it's undoubtedly going to get worse, at least in some ways, before we have a chance to make it better. It was completely avoidable, but half of America decided they didn't want to avoid it, so here we are.

Nonetheless, as my last reblog also pointed out, there are still basic historical and critical-thinking skills that we can use here, and to acknowledge that even if it is obviously unprecedented to us, it is not unprecedented to others, and we can study those lessons and think about how to apply them to our own situation. Rome is the obvious model for a world empire brought down by corruption, oligarchy, imperialism, endless foreign wars, income inequality, economic upheaval, excessive militarism, etc etc, but it's not the only one, and the "fall of Rome and start of the Dark Ages" is one of those narratives that gets my premodern-historian rant especially exercised. By the time Rome "fell" in 476, the city of Rome wasn't even the capital of the Empire; the western capital was in Ravenna, northern Italy, and the eastern capital was in Constantinople, where it endured for another thousand years. Roman successor kingdoms were founded in Visigothic Spain, Merovingian Francia, etc., and often imported Roman law, religion, bureaucracy/administration, and nobility relatively unchanged, which is why Latin was the legal, ecclesiastical, and educational language of western Europe until as late as 1962 and Vatican II. The "Dark Ages" are likewise at best an extreme simplification and at worst exceedingly misleading imperial-nostalgia propaganda. Etc etc. I will restrain myself.

Rome dominated the (European/Near Eastern/north African) world in the way that the 19th-century British Empire dominated the actual world and American empire dominates now, at least for the moment, and thus we have to recognize that similar dynamics are at play here in a late-stage imperial decline. However, Rome did not just up and vanish in a puff of smoke one day and never appear again, and we also have to recognize that the end of empires is generally a good thing, historically speaking. Yes, absolutely a turbulent, dangerous, and traumatizing time, especially for those living within the imperial core, but still. There's also the blunt fact that America itself has been responsible for a lot (a LOT) of violent regime change, coups, overthrows, bombings, and other disastrous foreign policy interventions for almost the entirety of its existence, and we can't pretend that we are just the shining beacon of unproblematic truth, freedom, and faith that most conservatives, and a lot of saccharine American-exceptionalism liberals, tend to think. If that comes back to bite us and we have to experience the kind of political and social upheaval that we have arrantly and unrepentantly inflicted on other places in the name of our Superior Right... well.

As for the post about history books (here), that was another attempt to push back against the kind of broad-strokes fearmongering that is often prevalent right now. Again: for completely understandable reasons, but still. There is literally no way on earth that the practice of academic history, or the procession of human events, is going to be destroyed because an orange dumbass and his idiot followers took power in America for eight nonconsecutive years. Even if by some miracle he managed to do it in America and the only thing ever officially published was Heritage Foundation balderdash, a) historians in countries other than America would still be writing books about it, and b) again, literally impossible. To return to the history of Soviet totalitarianism that I was addressing in that post, I suggest that people look into the samizdat, the contraband news and literature widely shared in the USSR. They faced far more stringent conditions than we ever will: the KGB controlled access to all word processors and copiers, precisely because they could be used to spread non-regime-approved information, and dissidents had to write and circulate it by hand. If they were caught, they could be disappeared, sent to the gulag, confined in a psychiatric hospital, subject to intensive "state education," etc. But they still managed to pass it around and read it, and it would be literally impossible for this collection of Trumpster chucklefucks to exert even a fraction of this logistical and physical control, when every citizen already owns a laptop and a smartphone. The history books aren't going anywhere.

That all said, of course we are all hyper-alert and anxious and afraid, and we don't want to miss anything that might be important or dangerous or anything else. I get that, I completely do. But we still have to pace ourselves, we still have to apply critical thought and learn how to educate ourselves when something seems huge and scary and unstoppable, and I am attempting to do a small part of that on a niche blue hellsite that won the social media competition by literally doing nothing while its peers all fell face first into being corporate Nazis. The bar is low. But hey, I'm here, and you're here and you're reading it, and we will get through it. I promise.

Courage, etc.

[thezombieprostitute]

Royal Treatment

Summary: You and your friends need to blow off some steam and you make a new friend who's more than he appears.

Warnings: Politics, Talk of economics and government. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female and shorter than Ari. No other physical descriptors used.

Part of the Royal Vows AU.

You grip the letter like your life depends on it. Reading it practically tore your heart out. Years of work, months of preparing your presentation for the King and his advisors, and all for nothing. The preserve would be torn down to make room for more hotels and tourist attractions. Never mind the ecological impact. Never mind that botanists had found potential new medicines. Nope. "Where's the profit" was the name of the game and you couldn't offer anything more substantial than potential profits.

Thankfully your friend group knew that, win or lose, you were going to need to let off some steam. They were hoping it would be getting to enjoy the very tourism industry you were fighting against because you'd gotten a small victory, but now it was just the only way to safely and legally let off steam. The four of you pooled your money together and managed to reserve a room at The King's Rest, the biggest hotel and casino in the kingdom. All you could get was a room with a single king-size bed for an entire weekend. Sure, it'd be cramped and definitely no bringing guys to the room, but it would still be a lot of fun.

You've set up two budgets for yourself: one for food, drink and trinkets, the other for gambling. Once that gambling budget is gone, it's gone. You can move money from the gambling budget to the other one, but not the other way around. If you're lucky, and you're not feeling particularly lucky, you'll walk away with more money than you started. But it's always good to have rules and limits to avoid the heavy debts you can get into.

Candace had scored tickets for a show at the VIP level of the casino. It's not a show you'd seek out on your own but, screw it. You're all going to dress up in your finest and go just because you can. You've got one flashy outfit and accessories and you're going to let yourself feel gorgeous, even if the teal does stand out.

Ari never cared for visiting Lloyd Hansen's kingdom of Rumica. The Hansen line of kings had long built up the reputation of their kingdom being the best place to visit. Not live, though. Hansen has noticed an increase in his people moving to Ari's home of Bellin and was pitching a fit that could lead to trouble for everyone.

Rumica was, on paper, the richest kingdom. People from all over the world would visit just to spend way too much money for the sake of a vacation. The common people getting to live like kings and queens, including dropping money as if they had plenty.

But the kingdom's infrastructure was lacking. It's citizens continuously lost housing and land to "development". The only way to make a living was by serving the tourist. And even then, "a living" was barely enough to support their families.

The kingdom was tourism machine that was never satisfied and Ari hated every second he had to spend here.

So, of course, King Hansen moved their meeting so that Ari would have to spend more time there. Got him the biggest suite at The King's Rest and tickets to one of the shows just to make sure he went out. It would be rude to refuse the gifts after all.

Ari also knew it would be a chance for Lloyd to gather information on him. Lloyd was famously paranoid, and not without reason. Rumor had it he even cooked his own meals just to make sure they didn't get poisoned. The delay between Ari's arrival and their meeting would be used to assess him, find his weak spots.

Ari smirked at the idea. His stepmother had taught him how to read people, how to figure out, within minutes, if you needed to plead, argue or bribe someone to win them over. It was an education reserved for ladies of the court, to be their husband's support. Sarah understood that Ari would be much more capable in a diplomatic capacity if he had that training. Men like Lloyd thought they had power because they could spend the time and money to study their quarry. Ladies only needed a few minutes to get a read on you.

Though he'd been granted gifts due to his status, Ari was adamant to his security team that no one know who he is when he's out and about. When he's outside of the suite, he's Guy Thomas. Sure there'd been family photos of him in the media, but he's grown out his hair and beard enough that the photos barely look like him anymore. And he got along well enough with his security that they could easily pass for a group of friends on an outing.

Ari isn't looking forward to going out and about but, despite its grand size, the suite is too confining for him. He and his team head out to one of the restaurants to eat before the show he has to go to. Usually he keeps himself pretty well on alert, on the lookout for Lloyd's people, but he's suddenly distracted. In the sea of gold and black, there's a spot of bright teal that catches his eye. He wants to walk towards it but Max, head of his security team, draws him back into the group and turns him back towards the restaurant.

The show was set to start and you had no idea what it was about. For once, you didn't do your research beforehand. Then again, when the show is titled "Zombie Burlesque" you're pretty sure you get the gist of what's going to happen. You and your friends settle in, all happy chitters and drinks, eagerly awaiting the entertainment, only quieting when the lights dim, signalling the start of the show.

In one of the balconies Ari is not at all interested in the show. He's spotted the bright teal in a sea of black and red. He's trying not to be obvious about watching you and your friends, but he wants to find out more. Such an odd color choice, one that calls to him. Such lovely laughter, more real than anything he's heard since he landed in Rumica. Others in the audience are so reserved in their mannerisms but you and your friends are so openly enjoying yourselves.

Are you a plant sent to spy on him? Draw him in for Lloyd's spying purposes? Or are you something real? An oasis in the desert?

He has to know.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @peaches1958; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[deadpresidents]

On the cliffs of Normandy, in a small holding area, the President of the United States was looking out at the English Channel. It was only six weeks ago, on the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings, and President Biden had just finished his remarks at the American cemetery atop Omaha Beach. Guests had been congratulating him on the speech, but he didn't want to talk about himself. The moment was not about him; it was about the men who had fought and died there. "Today feels so large," he told me. "This may sound strange -- and I don't mean it to -- but when I was out there, I felt the honor of it, the sanctity of it. To speak for the American people, to speak over those graves, it's a profound thing." He turned from the view over the beaches and gestured back toward the war dead. "You want to do right by them, by the country."

Mr. Biden has spent a lifetime trying to do right by the nation, and he did so in the most epic of ways when he chose to end his campaign for re-election. His decision is one of the most remarkable acts of leadership in our history, an act of self-sacrifice that places him in the company of George Washington who also stepped away from the presidency. To put something ahead of one's immediate desires -- to give, rather than to try to take -- is perhaps the most difficult thing for any human being to do. And Mr. Biden has done just that.

To be clear: Mr. Biden is my friend, and it has been a privilege to help him when I can. Not because I am a Democrat -- I belong to neither party and have voted for both Democrats and Republicans -- but because I believe him to be a defender of the Constitution and a public servant of honor and of grace at a time when extreme forces threaten the nation. I do not agree with everything he has done or wanted to do in terms of policy. But I know him to be a good man, a patriot and a president who has met challenges all too similar to those Abraham Lincoln faced. Here is the story I believe history will tell of Joe Biden. With American democracy in an hour of maximum danger in Donald Trump's presidency, Mr. Biden stepped in the breach. He staved off an authoritarian threat at home, rallied the world against autocrats abroad, laid the foundations for decades of prosperity, managed the end of a once-in-a-century pandemic, successfully legislated on vital issues of climate and infrastructure and has conducted a presidency worthy of the greatest of his predecessors. History and fate brought him to the pinnacle in a late season in his life, and in the end, he respected fate -- and he respected the American people.

It is, of course, an incredibly difficult moment. Highs and lows, victories and defeats, joy and pain: It has been ever thus for Mr. Biden. In the distant autumn of 1972, he experienced the most exhilarating of hours -- election to the United States Senate at the age of 29. He was no scion; he earned it. The darkness fell: His wife and daughter were killed in an automobile accident that seriously injured his two sons, Beau and Hunter. But he endured, found purpose in the pain, became deeper, wiser, more empathetic. Through the decades, two presidential campaigns imploded, and in 2015 his son Beau, a lawyer and wonderfully promising young political figure, died of brain cancer after serving in Iraq.

Such tragedy would have broken many lesser men. Mr. Biden, however, never gave up, never gave in, never surrendered the hope that a fallen, frail and fallible world could be made better, stronger and more whole if people could summon just enough goodness and enough courage to build rather than tear down. Character, as the Greeks first taught us, is destiny, and Mr. Biden's character is both a mirror and a maker of his nation's. Like Franklin Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan, he is optimistic, resilient and kind, a steward of American greatness, a love of the great game of politics and, at heart, a hopeless romantic about the country that has given him so much.

Nothing bears out this point as well as his decision to let history happen in the 2024 election. Not matter how much people say that this was inevitable after the debate in Atlanta last month, there was nothing foreordained about an American President ending his political career for the sake of his country and his party. By surrendering the possibility of enduring in the seat of ultimate power, Mr. Biden has taught us a landmark lesson in patriotism, humility and wisdom.

Now the question comes to the rest of us. What will we the people do? We face the most significant of choices. Mr. Roosevelt framed the war whose dead Mr. Biden commemorated at Normandy in June as a battle between democracy and dictatorship. It is not too much to say that we, too, have what Mr. Roosevelt called a "rendezvous with destiny" at home and abroad. Mr. Biden has put country above self, the Constitution above personal ambition, the future of democracy above temporal gain. It is up to us to follow his lead.

-- "Joe Biden, My Friend and an American Hero" by Jon Meacham, New York Times, July 22, 2024.

[cyberstudious]

2025, week 2 (jan 6th - jan 12th) ☃️

This week felt much smoother than last week. All the holidays are done, I'm back in a routine, and I'm generally feeling pretty good. I started a new project at work & it's going well so far. I've been using pomodoro timers for forever, but I've learned that putting on a study with me video is helpful in keeping me focused. The hardest part is getting started, but once I get going, I can do like three solid 50-minute pomodoro sessions and get a lot done.

One of my next tasks for work-related training is to get the NVIDIA AI Infrastructure & Operations certification. The course is less than 10 hours of material, so my goal is to get it done by the end of February. I'm hoping that the course material is more actual technical content and less NVIDIA marketing material, but we'll see. I put together a study schedule and I shall attempt to stick to it 😅

For my language learning goals, I want to start by focusing on grammar. I struggle with Dutch word order a lot, so I need to just sit down and formally learn the rules. With Spanish, I've forgotten most of the formal rules but I remember enough to put sentences together based on vibes, which is… not ideal lol. I studied pretty casually this week. The planner I ordered to use as a language study planner is supposed to arrive tomorrow (👀) so I'm excited to really start getting back into language learning.

accomplishments this week:

I finished the Google Generative AI for Developers course (my overall impression of the course is meh, I'm glad to be done with it)

I had my biannual review at work and it went smoothly ("biannual review" sounds fancy, it's basically just a chat with my manager lol)

I reached 6.5k words in my current WIP

I reviewed the first chapter of the Dutch grammar book I'm using

I did a quick review of basic Spanish grammar

highlights from the week:

taking a walk through a nearby nature trail & looking at all the little snowmen that people built

thrifting with my partner & getting dinner at our favorite taco place

listening to spotify's acid jazz playlist a lot

watching some episodes of game changer that I hadn't seen before