#journal of cloud computing

[projectchampionz]

DESIGN AN ENHANCED INTRUSION DETECTION MODEL IN A CLOUD COMPUTING ENVIRONMENT. 

DESIGN AN ENHANCED INTRUSION DETECTION MODEL IN A CLOUD COMPUTING ENVIRONMENT ABSTRACT Cloud computing is a new type of service that provides large-scale computing resources to each customer. Cloud computing systems can be easily threatened by various cyberattacks because most cloud computing systems provide services to so many people who are not proven to be trustworthy. Therefore, a cloud…

[fdrpjournals]

The Indian Journal of Computer Science and Technology (INDJCST) is a peer-reviewed academic journal that delivers cutting-edge research and advancements in computer science to scientists, engineers, and technology professionals.

It highlights the latest findings across four key domains: computing (including theory, scientific, cloud, and high-performance computing), systems (such as database, real-time, and operating systems), intelligence (covering robotics, bioinformatics, and artificial intelligence), and applications (encompassing security, networking, software engineering, and more).

[satansdarlin]

The Valentine dilemma

Tim Drake x nb!reader

Rating: T

Word count: 10k

Warnings: none

Notes: the reader in this is implied to be autistic but it's never stated! Enjoy some soft loving valentines day shenanigans!! <3 comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tim was at a loss. The Timothy Drake, boy genius, youngest CEO in the country—a man who could solve complex corporate mergers over breakfast and decode encrypted files in his sleep—was completely, utterly at a loss. Because of you.

He sat in his office, the Gotham skyline a gray backdrop behind him, tapping his fingers against his mahogany desk in an erratic rhythm that would have driven his secretary mad if she'd been present. The blue light of his multiple monitors cast shadows across his face as he frowned at his calendar, the approaching February 14th seeming to mock him with its cheerful red highlight.

Timothy had partners before—many partners, if he was being honest. More than he cared to admit. He'd gone through what Dick fondly called his "wild phase" in his early twenties, a time when he was trying to find himself between the weight of Wayne Enterprises and his nighttime activities. All of those partners had made this particular holiday easy. Almost formulaic, really.

What was the problem exactly? Valentine's Day. In the past, the equation had been simple: expensive chocolates (usually Godiva) + roses (red, always red) + reservation at whatever restaurant had earned the latest Michelin star + intimate evening = successful Valentine's Day. It was a proven formula, tested and refined over years of dating experience.

You, however, were proving to be an anomaly in his carefully calculated world. The conversation had started innocently enough, on a quiet Sunday afternoon in your shared apartment.

"What do you wanna do for Valentine's?" Tim asked, not looking up from his computer screen where he was reviewing quarterly projections. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he spoke, multitasking as always. "I just wanna know so I can make reservations."

You were sprawled on the floor of his home office, surrounded by puzzle pieces—one of those impossibly difficult ones with a thousand pieces of just sky and clouds. The sight of you there, completely at ease in his space, made something warm settle in his chest, even as your response made him freeze.

"I didn't have anything planned," you hummed back, squinting at two nearly identical pieces before fitting one perfectly into place. "I figured we weren't doing anything."

That made him frown, his fingers stilling on the keyboard. He swiveled his chair to face you properly, brow furrowed. "Why wouldn't we do anything?"

You looked up at him then, and he was struck, as he often was, by how your analytical mind matched his own—except in moments like these, when it drove him slightly mad.

"It's a commercial holiday celebrating love on a day where hundreds of people have been historically killed," you mused, turning another puzzle piece in your hands. "The commercialization of romance is fascinating from a sociological perspective, but ultimately meaningless. Plus," you added, offering him that small, sincere smile that never failed to make his heart skip, "it's not like I need a day to prove you love me, Timothy. It's not necessary for us to celebrate."

You see what he was dealing with here?

Usually, your blunt and analytical view on things was refreshing—comforting, even. It was one of the things that had drawn him to you in the first place. You could match him theory for theory, debate for debate. You understood his need for logic and reason, never demanded he be more emotional than he was capable of being.

Except when it came to holidays.

Christmas? You'd gotten him an incredibly thoughtful gift last year—a rare first edition of his favorite scientific journal—but when he'd asked what you wanted, you'd just shrugged and said his presence was enough. He'd ended up buying you three different presents just to be safe.

Halloween? You didn't dress up, claiming the modern interpretation of the holiday had strayed too far from its historical roots to be meaningful. Instead, you just put out a bowl of candy outside the apartment door with a neat sign asking trick-or-treaters to take one piece each (they never did).

But Valentine's Day? You didn't even want to celebrate Valentine's Day?

Tim ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up in frustration. He needed backup. This required a tactical approach, possibly a flowchart, and definitely advice from someone who understood the complexity of dating a person who viewed holidays through an anthropological lens rather than an emotional one.

He pulled out his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he debated who to text. Dick would just tell him to be romantic. Jason would laugh at him. Bruce... no, definitely not Bruce. Maybe Barbara? She'd always been good at finding logical solutions to emotional problems.

As he contemplated his options, you continued with your puzzle, completely unaware of the crisis you'd sparked in your boyfriend's overactive mind. The worst part was, he knew you meant every word. You truly didn't need grand gestures or commercial holidays to feel loved. But Tim Drake had never backed down from a challenge, and he wasn't about to start now.

He just needed to figure out how to make Valentine's Day meaningful to someone who could quote mortality statistics from the St. Valentine's Day Massacre while assembling a puzzle of the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

Tim slipped out of his home office, mumbling something about needing to make a call. A little white lie never hurt anyone, especially when he was trying to crack the code of making his analytically-minded lover appreciate a day dedicated to romance. Once safely in the hallway, he pulled out his phone, took a steadying breath, and dialed a number he probably should have called sooner. Your best friend would know what to do—assuming she didn't roast him mercilessly first.

The line rang twice before Tay picked up. "Hey Timber, whatcha need?"

Tim winced at the nickname but pressed on. "Do you have any clue what (Y/N) would enjoy on Valentine's Day?"

The silence that followed was so complete, Tim pulled the phone away from his ear to check if the call had dropped. It hadn't.

"Oh boy." Tay's voice was loaded with meaning, none of it encouraging. "Listen, Tim. They aren't exactly... huge on holidays, which I'm sure you know by now. But Valentine's Day? That's probably the one they care about the least."

"I'm aware of that now, Tay," Tim replied, trying not to let his frustration seep into his voice. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.

"Alright, alright, don't get pissy now." There was rustling on the other end of the line, followed by what sounded like papers being shuffled. "Give me a moment." More shuffling. "Well... you could go the nuclear option."

"I'm willing." Tim's voice dropped to an almost vulnerable softness, one that made Tay pause in her paper shuffling. It was the voice of a man who had faced down Gotham's worst villains with less trepidation than he felt about potentially disappointing his partner on Valentine's Day.

"You really care about this, don't you?" Tay's tone softened. "Okay, here's what you need to know about (Y/N)..."

And that's how Tim found himself, three days before Valentine's Day, transforming the entire route from your apartment to his safe house, all the way back to Wayne Manor, into an elaborate puzzle. He'd scattered clues throughout the city—some of which he'd actually workshopped a few nights ago while apprehending the Riddler (he was a multitasker, and hey, if you couldn't test your Valentine's Day riddles on an actual riddle-obsessed villain, when could you?).

He was a good boyfriend, damn it. If you wouldn't celebrate a commercial holiday about love, then he'd turn it into something you couldn't resist: an intellectual challenge. Each clue was a carefully crafted combination of historical facts, mathematical equations, and obscure references that would make your analytical mind light up with interest. The final destination? Well, that was the real surprise.

Tim stood in the Manor's library, surveying his handiwork with the same intensity he usually reserved for crime scene analysis. The room had been transformed into what he hoped was the perfect blend of romance and intellectual stimulation. Books on the history of Valentine's Day across different cultures were strategically placed alongside ancient texts about love and partnership. He'd even managed to track down original documents about the St. Valentine's Day Massacre—because nothing said "I love you" quite like historical artifacts about the very tragedy you'd cited as a reason not to celebrate.

Now he just had to hope that turning Valentine's Day into the world's most romantic scavenger hunt would work. Because if it didn't, he was completely out of ideas—and he really didn't want to have to call Tay back for a Plan B.

.

.

.

Valentine's Day arrived crisp and clear, the kind of winter morning where Gotham almost looked clean in the pale sunlight. You were juggling a bag of groceries as you approached the penthouse door, trying to fish your keys out of your pocket without dropping anything. Tim had seemed so deflated when you'd dismissed Valentine's Day, and while you still stood by your position on commercial holidays, you couldn't quite shake the image of his disappointed face from your mind. So you'd decided to compromise—not because it was Valentine's Day, but because you loved him. You were going to surprise him with his favorite meal when he got back from whatever mysterious errand had called him away this morning.

The door swung open, and you nearly dropped your groceries.

Sitting on the kitchen counter, perfectly positioned to catch your eye the moment you walked in, was a pristine white rabbit plush toy. It was propped up against your hardback copy of "Alice in Wonderland"—the antique edition Tim had given you for your birthday, appreciating both your love of literature and historical artifacts. The rabbit held a cream-colored note in its paws, the paper looking suspiciously like the expensive stationery Tim kept in his home office.

You set the groceries down slowly, your analytical mind already whirring to life. The white rabbit was an obvious reference to "Alice in Wonderland," but Tim never did anything without multiple layers of meaning. Was this a literary reference? A historical one? Both?

Your fingers brushed against the note as you picked it up, the paper thick and textured. The handwriting was unmistakably Tim's—precise and measured, even when he was trying to be whimsical:

"'Begin at the beginning,' the King said, very gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop.' But where is the beginning? Perhaps where time never moves forward... Follow the white rabbit, if you dare. But remember—you're already late for a very important date."

A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. The reference was obvious enough—the quote from "Alice in Wonderland" paired with the white rabbit. But the clue about time never moving forward? That was pure Tim, giving you something to actually puzzle over. Your eyes narrowed as you considered the possibilities, your dinner plans temporarily forgotten in favor of this new intellectual challenge.

Time never moving forward... A clock that's stuck? Too obvious for Tim. Your gaze swept the penthouse, taking in the familiar space with new eyes. That's when it hit you—the antique grandfather clock Tim had insisted on installing in your shared study. The one that hadn't worked since you moved in, its hands permanently frozen at 3:47.

You made your way to the study, the white rabbit clutched in one hand (because somehow you knew you'd need it later). The study was exactly as you'd left it that morning—or almost exactly. The morning sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows caught on something that definitely hadn't been there before: a delicate teacup perched precariously on top of the grandfather clock.

"Curiouser and curiouser," you muttered, a smile playing at your lips as you reached for the cup. It was fine bone china, decorated with intricate clockwork patterns in gold leaf. Inside, another note was folded into an origami rabbit (and you couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken Tim to learn that particular skill).

You carefully unfolded it, appreciating the precise creases that had formed the rabbit shape. This note was written in a spiral pattern, forcing you to turn the paper as you read:

"What runs but never walks, has a bed but never sleeps, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps? In Gotham's heart, where time flows ever forward unlike our frozen friend here, seek the next white rabbit where the answer meets the stars."

A river. The riddle's answer was a river, and given the mention of stars... You glanced at the clock again, 3:47. Then at the teacup with its clockwork patterns, and finally at the white rabbit in your hand. A slow grin spread across your face as the pieces clicked into place.

The River's Edge Observatory. It had been one of your first dates with Tim—he'd taken you stargazing there at exactly 3:47 AM, claiming it was the perfect time to see a particular constellation. The observatory sat right on the bank of the Gotham River, and it housed an impressive collection of antique timepieces in addition to its telescopes.

"Well played, Timothy," you murmured, already reaching for your coat. The grocery bag in the kitchen was completely forgotten now—your analytical mind was fully engaged in the puzzle before you, and you had to admit, if only to yourself, that Tim had found perhaps the one way to make Valentine's Day intriguing.

The River's Edge Observatory stood proud against the winter sky, its glass dome reflecting the afternoon sun. As you approached, you couldn't help but remember that first date—how Tim had seemed so nervous until you'd started discussing the mathematical precision required for astronomical calculations, and then he'd lit up like the stars you were watching.

The security guard at the entrance—who looked suspiciously like one of Bruce's more trusted employees—simply nodded and waved you through with a knowing smile. Inside, your footsteps echoed against the marble floors as you made your way to the antique timepiece exhibition. The collection was housed in the west wing, where the afternoon sun created dancing patterns through the carefully preserved clockwork mechanisms.

You found what you were looking for in front of the observatory's prized possession: a 17th-century astronomical clock that tracked not just time, but the movement of celestial bodies. There, seated on the display case, was another white rabbit—this one made of clockwork parts, its gears visible through a transparent casing. In its mechanical paws was a star chart, clearly torn from an antique book (and knowing Tim, it was probably a replica—he respected historical artifacts too much to damage a real one).

The chart showed a constellation you didn't immediately recognize, which was unusual. You squinted at it, then noticed the subtle alterations. Tim had modified the star chart, connecting different stars to create... was that a tea pot? The constellation had been redrawn to show the outline of a Victorian tea service, complete with cups and saucers.

Turning the chart over, you found your next clue written in Tim's precise hand:

"Time for tea? Not quite yet. But where does a detective go when they need to think? When the streets are quiet and the crowds are gone, there's a place where leaves float on midnight thoughts and mysteries steep in porcelain dreams. Find me where we first shared a cup of something stronger than tea, and watch your step—the next rabbit might be mad as a hatter."

You couldn't help but laugh. The Midnight Steep—a twenty-four hour tea shop in the old district that doubled as a coffee house by day. It was where you and Tim had first met outside of his official Wayne Enterprises duties. You'd been there at an ungodly hour, running on coffee and determination while working on your thesis. He'd been there avoiding sleep after a particularly rough patrol (though you hadn't known that part at the time). You'd ended up sharing a pot of their strongest coffee blend and debating the historical accuracy of detective novels until sunrise.

"Going for the sentimental angle, are we?" you mused aloud, tucking both the clockwork rabbit and the star chart into your bag. The sun was starting to set now, painting Gotham in shades of amber and rose. Whatever Tim was planning, he'd clearly put more thought into this than any simple dinner reservation.

As you headed for the exit, you found yourself actually looking forward to what came next—not because it was Valentine's Day, but because Tim had managed to transform a commercial holiday into an intellectual treasure hunt through your shared history. It was exactly the kind of thoughtful, complex gesture that made you fall in love with him in the first place.

The Midnight Steep looked exactly as it had the night you'd met Tim—a narrow Victorian townhouse wedged between two modern buildings, its windows glowing with warm light that spilled onto the darkening street. The brass bell above the door chimed softly as you entered, and the familiar scent of coffee and tea leaves enveloped you.

The owner, Mrs. Chen, looked up from behind the counter and smiled knowingly. "Back corner table," she said before you could ask, her eyes twinkling. "The one where you two first argued about Sherlock Holmes for three hours."

You made your way through the maze of mismatched furniture, each piece carefully chosen from different historical periods—something that had fascinated you during that first conversation with Tim. The back corner table was your favorite, tucked into a cozy alcove beneath a stained glass window. Tonight, it held a complete Victorian tea service, steam rising gently from the pot.

And there, in your usual seat, was another white rabbit. This one was crafted entirely of tea leaves and coffee beans, preserved somehow to hold its shape. It was holding what looked like a small leather-bound journal, the kind detectives used in the noir films you and Tim sometimes watched together.

Opening the journal, you found pages of what appeared to be random notes about various cases—all written in Tim's handwriting, but in different colored inks. Some words were circled, others underlined, and some had been crossed out entirely. It looked like genuine case notes, except... you noticed a pattern in the circled words.

You pulled a pen from your bag and began writing down each circled word in order:

"When shadows fall and heroes rise,

Where masks hide truth and secrets lie,

Seek the place where darkness meets

The highest point above these streets.

Where first you learned my other life,

Where trust was given sharp as knife.

The rabbit waits in shadows deep,

Where gargoyles their eternal watch do keep."

Your breath caught slightly. You knew exactly where this one led—the rooftop of the old Gothic Revival bank building, forty stories above the streets of Gotham. It was where Tim had first revealed his identity as Red Robin to you, after you'd figured out most of it yourself and confronted him with your evidence. He'd been impressed with your deductive reasoning, and instead of denying it, he'd taken you to that rooftop and shown you his world.

You glanced at your watch—the sun had fully set now, and Gotham's lights were starting to twinkle to life. Time to see what other memories Tim had woven into this elaborate puzzle.

As you stood to leave, Mrs. Chen appeared with a to-go cup of your usual order. "He said you might need the caffeine," she explained with a smile. "That boy thinks of everything, doesn't he?"

"He certainly tries," you agreed, accepting the cup gratefully. You carefully packed the tea-leaf rabbit and the journal into your bag alongside the others. Each rabbit was different, each clue more personal than the last. Despite your usual stance on Valentine's Day, you had to admit—Tim was making it very hard to maintain your academic disapproval of the holiday.

The old Gothic Revival bank building was a masterpiece of architecture, its gargoyles casting long shadows in the moonlight. You made your way to the roof access door—which, unsurprisingly, was already unlocked. Tim had clearly planned every detail. The winter wind whipped around you as you emerged onto the rooftop, carrying with it memories of that first night: the mix of fear and exhilaration as Tim showed you his world, the way your entire understanding of him had shifted and deepened in those moments.

The rooftop looked different in the peaceful night air than it had during that adrenaline-filled revelation. String lights had been carefully strung between the gargoyles, creating a soft glow that didn't interfere with the view of Gotham's skyline. And there, perched on the very same ledge where Tim had first removed his mask, sat another white rabbit.

This one was made of metal—but not just any metal. As you picked it up, you recognized the distinctive material: a piece of one of Tim's old bo staffs, carefully crafted into the shape of a rabbit. In its paws was a small USB drive designed to look like a domino mask.

You pulled out your tablet (because of course Tim knew you always carried it), and plugged in the drive. A single video file popped up, timestamped from three nights ago. When you pressed play, you had to stifle a laugh—it was surveillance footage from the Riddler's latest capture, but with audio included. You could hear Tim's voice, slightly distorted through his mask, workshopping Valentine's Day riddles while he fought.

"How's this one?" sound of a punch landing "Where memories are stored in paper and ink," dodge "Where knowledge flows as free as drink," sweep kick "Where first we met, though strangers then," grappling hook shot "Find your next clue with books as your friend."

Even Riddler had paused in their fight to critique his rhyming scheme.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. The answer was obvious enough—the university library where you'd first met Tim during a Wayne Enterprises tech demonstration. You'd been the graduate student chosen to present your department's research, and he'd been the young CEO everyone underestimated. You'd ended up in a heated debate about the ethical implications of artificial intelligence that had run so long they'd had to reschedule the rest of the demonstrations.

"Only you would use a fight with Riddler to practice Valentine's Day clues," you murmured, tucking the metal rabbit carefully into your bag with the others. The library was only a few blocks away, and you had a feeling this elaborate trail was nearing its end.

As you made your way back to the roof access door, you paused to look out over the city. The string lights reflected off the gargoyles, making their fierce faces seem almost festive. For someone who claimed to be opposed to Valentine's Day, you were surprisingly eager to see what came next.

The trail Tim left wound through the city like a string of memories: from the university library (where you found a rabbit made of pressed book pages, holding a card catalog entry that led you to the museum), to the Gotham Museum of History (where a rabbit carved from an "authentic" Egyptian artifact—knowing Tim, a perfect replica—directed you to the park), to Robinson Park (where a rabbit made of preserved flowers pointed you toward Wayne Manor).

Each location held significance, each clue more elaborate than the last, until finally you found yourself walking the winding path through Wayne Manor's extensive gardens. The winter air had grown crisp, but strings of lights wound through the bare branches of the trees, creating a canopy of stars beneath the real ones. The path was lined with lanterns, their warm glow leading you deeper into the garden.

You turned a corner and stopped, a small laugh escaping your lips.

There, in the center of the garden, was a scene pulled straight from the pages of "Alice in Wonderland"—but with a distinctly Tim Drake twist. A long table had been set up to mirror the Mad Hatter's tea party illustration from your antique edition, complete with mismatched chairs of various sizes and styles. Dozens of teacups and saucers of different patterns were arranged along its length, some stacked precariously high, others laid out with scientific precision. Steam rose from various teapots, and platters of small sandwiches and pastries filled the spaces between.

Fairy lights were strung above in chaotic patterns that, you suddenly realized, mapped out actual constellations. Historical artifacts related to timekeeping—clearly on loan from the Wayne collection—were artfully arranged among the tea settings. Each place setting had a different book beside it, all first editions of various detective novels and scientific texts you'd discussed with Tim over the years.

And there, at the head of the table, sat Tim himself. He'd dressed for the part in a slightly modern take on Victorian formal wear, complete with a top hat that sat slightly askew on his dark hair. When he saw you, his face lit up with that particular smile he reserved just for you—the one that made him look younger, unburdened by the weight of his various responsibilities.

"You're late for tea," he called out, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "But then again, I suppose we're all mad here."

You approached the table slowly, taking in every detail. Each rabbit you'd collected throughout the day had a place at the table, arranged chronologically to tell the story of your relationship. The white plush rabbit that had started it all sat in the chair to Tim's right—your usual spot whenever you dined at the manor.

"This is ridiculous," you said, but you couldn't keep the fondness from your voice. "You went through all this trouble just because I said I didn't want to celebrate Valentine's Day?"

Tim stood, moving around the table to pull out your chair. "Actually, I went through all this trouble because you said Valentine's Day was just a commercial holiday for proving love." He grinned. "So I decided to make it a historical, literary, and intellectual holiday instead. Complete with primary sources, mathematical precision in the constellation mapping, and several riddles that I'm pretty sure even Riddler would approve of."

As you sat down, taking in the elaborate setup that somehow managed to combine every aspect of your shared interests and history, you had to admit defeat. "Well played, Timothy," you conceded, watching as he poured tea from an antique pot. "Though I hope you realize this sets a rather high bar for any future holidays."

"Challenge accepted," he replied without missing a beat, and you could already see the gears turning in his mind. "Though I should warn you—I've already started planning for your birthday. How do you feel about a mystery dinner party based on unsolved historical cases?"

You laughed, reaching for his hand across the table. "Only you would turn my dislike of commercial holidays into an excuse for elaborate intellectual puzzles."

"Is it working?" he asked, and beneath the playful tone was a hint of genuine curiosity.

You looked around at the magical setting he'd created, at all the thoughtful details that spoke not just of love but of deep understanding. "Yes," you admitted. "Though don't expect me to start celebrating Groundhog Day anytime soon."

"Don't worry," Tim's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I already have plans for that involving quantum physics and weather pattern analysis."

You groaned, but squeezed his hand affectionately. Perhaps some holidays weren't so bad after all—especially when they were celebrated in such a distinctly Tim Drake fashion.

As the evening wore on, you shared stories over tea and finger sandwiches, Tim explaining the process behind each rabbit's creation ("Do you know how hard it is to preserve tea leaves in that shape? I had to consult three different botanical experts!") and you teasing him about using actual supervillain encounters as planning sessions ("I still can't believe you made Riddler critique your rhyme scheme").

The fairy lights twinkled overhead, their constellation patterns creating a map of significant moments in your relationship. Tim had thought of everything—even the tea selections told a story, from the strong coffee blend you'd shared on that first late night to the exotic varieties you'd discovered together over the years.

But you had one more surprise up your sleeve.

"Speaking of ridiculous planning," you said casually, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a small flash drive. It was matte black, unmarked except for a tiny red robin etched into its surface.

Tim paused mid-sip, his eyes narrowing slightly at the device. "What's this?" He set his cup down and took the drive, turning it over in his hands with the careful attention he gave to all potential puzzles.

"You didn't seriously think I was going to just settle for second place in a holiday, did you?" You couldn't help but smirk. "Tay is a blabbermouth. You should know this by now. The moment she told me about your call, I knew I had to step up my game."

His eyes lit up with that particular spark that appeared whenever he encountered a new challenge. "Boot it up on your laptop," you suggested, trying not to look too pleased with yourself.

The two of you made your way into the Manor, leaving the magical garden setup behind. The halls were quiet—you suspected Alfred had ensured you'd have privacy for this elaborate Valentine's celebration. Tim led you to his study, a room that somehow managed to be both immaculately organized and completely chaotic, much like Tim's mind itself.

He settled into his chair, pulling his laptop from a drawer, and you positioned yourself behind him, resting your chin on top of his perpetually messy black hair. The familiar scent of his shampoo mixed with coffee and winter air wrapped around you as you watched him insert the drive.

Tim's fingers flew across the keyboard as he accessed the drive's contents, then stopped abruptly. His whole body went still in that way it did when his full attention had been captured by something particularly intriguing. On the screen before him were twelve heavily encrypted files, each one protected by a different type of encryption—some of which he recognized, others that appeared to be entirely custom.

"Your favorite," you murmured into his hair, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "An actual challenge. Each file is encrypted with a different method, and each one contains a piece of a larger puzzle. Some of the encryption keys are based on our shared history, others will require actual detective work." You paused, unable to resist adding, "I may have consulted with Oracle on a few of them, just to make sure they were up to your standards."

Tim leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to look up at you with a mixture of surprise and delight. "You created an encryption-based scavenger hunt... for my scavenger hunt?"

"Mm-hmm," you confirmed. "Consider it your Valentine's Day gift—twelve puzzles that will actually challenge that big brain of yours. And before you ask, yes, I got Riddler's input on some of the riddles. He was surprisingly helpful once I explained I was trying to one-up you."

Tim's laugh echoed through the study. "I love you," he said, shaking his head. "You know that? Only you would respond to a citywide romantic scavenger hunt by creating an encrypted meta-puzzle."

"Well," you replied, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, "only you would turn Valentine's Day into an elaborate historical-literary-detective adventure just because I said I didn't like commercial holidays. I figured it was only fair to return the favor in our own particular style."

Tim was already turning back to his laptop, fingers hovering eagerly over the keyboard. "How long did this take you to set up?"

"Let's just say I haven't been actually working late all those nights this past month." You grinned. "Now, would you like a hint for the first encryption, or are you going to insist on solving it entirely on your own?"

"You know me better than that," Tim said, already pulling up his decryption programs. "But maybe save the hints for breakfast? Something tells me I'm going to be up all night with this."

"I counted on it," you replied, pulling up a second chair. "That's why I brought caffeine reserves. Happy Valentine's Day, Timothy."

The soft tapping of keys filled the study as Tim dove into your puzzle with characteristic enthusiasm, and you settled in to watch him work, content in the knowledge that you'd managed to surprise the World's Second Greatest Detective with a mystery of your own making.

.

.

.

Three days after Valentine's Day, the Batcave had become ground zero for Tim's increasing obsession with your final encrypted file. The previous eleven had fallen to his expertise within the first forty-eight hours—some taking mere minutes, others requiring a few hours of dedicated concentration. But this last one? This last one was driving him to the brink of madness.

"Master Timothy," Alfred observed from the cave's entrance, carefully balancing a tray of coffee and sandwiches, "perhaps a break would—"

"Can't break, Alfred," Tim muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the massive whiteboard he'd commandeered. "So close. Has to mean something."

The riddle was written across the board in Tim's increasingly frantic handwriting, repeated at least six times in different configurations:

'With his partner, Mr. Wright wasn't pleased

Although he would crack a smile whenever they farted and whenever they sneezed,

There was one tiny flaw that took away from their perfection

A small discrepancy that prevented a bigger connection

He thought about telling them, crafted his words, and took aim

Gathered all of his courage just to tell them.... he hated their [blank] [blank]'

"WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!" Tim suddenly exploded, throwing his hands up in frustration. His hair was sticking up in all directions from running his fingers through it repeatedly. "I don't hate anything about (Y/N)! Nothing! Zero things! This has to be wrong!"

Dick, who had been watching from his perch on the computer console with a mixture of amusement and concern, tried to intervene. "Maybe that's not the point of the—"

"No, no, there's something here," Tim cut him off, spinning back to the whiteboard. "The capitalization has to matter. Why is 'Wright' capitalized? Is it a reference to the Wright brothers? But what would aviation have to do with..."

"Drake," Damian's imperious voice cut through Tim's rambling as the youngest Wayne approached the whiteboard, eraser in hand. "I require this space for actual case work—"

Tim literally hissed at him, moving to physically block the board with his body. "Don't you dare! Not until I've figured out this stupid riddle!" His eyes were slightly wild, caffeine and determination creating a dangerous combination. "Touch this board and I will end you, demon spawn."

"Tt." Damian crossed his arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "You're being ridiculous. Over a Valentine's Day puzzle, no less."

"It's not just a puzzle," Tim protested, already darting back to the computer to review the previous eleven decoded files for the hundredth time. "It's... it's a challenge. From (Y/N). Who is absolutely brilliant and devious and..." He trailed off, scanning through lines of code with intense concentration.

"Totally played you," Jason finished, appearing from the shadows with his characteristic smirk. "Face it, Replacement. Your better half got you good."

"Not helping, Jason," Dick called out, though he was clearly fighting a smile.

Tim ignored them all, muttering to himself as he cross-referenced the previous solutions. "Nothing in files one through eleven indicates... no pattern in the encryption methods suggests... this is what I get for dating someone who's practically on par with me intellectually. They knew exactly how to..." He stopped suddenly, eyes widening. "Wait. Wright. WRIGHT. Not W-R-I-G-H-T but W-R-I-T-E?"

The cave fell silent as Tim's fingers flew across the keyboard with renewed purpose. Even Damian paused in his attempts to reclaim the whiteboard, watching his brother with reluctant curiosity.

"Write... writing... written?" Tim typed frantically, trying different variations. But the code remained stubbornly locked. Seven letters. He needed seven letters. "That's not it either! What the fuck!" He threw his arms up again, nearly knocking over his fifteenth cup of coffee.

"Language!" Dick chided automatically from his perch, though his grin suggested he was enjoying his little brother's descent into madness far too much.

A cheerful chime from the computer drew everyone's attention. A small animated version of you appeared in the corner of the screen—a chibi character complete with big eyes and an exaggerated smirk. It danced across his code, holding a sign that read "Need a hint? ♡"

Tim glared at the tiny digital version of you. "Away with you, foul temptress," he grumbled, jabbing at the keyboard to dismiss the hint system. The chibi just smiled wider and did a little spin.

"I can't believe they programmed a hint system with a chibi avatar," Jason snickered, leaning over Tim's shoulder to watch the animation. "That's both adorable and diabolical."

"Master Timothy," Alfred interjected, setting down a fresh cup of coffee and pointedly removing the empty ones, "perhaps if you accepted the hint—"

"No!" Tim protested, running both hands through his already chaotic hair. "No hints. I can figure this out. I have to figure this out. They spent a month creating this puzzle, I can't just—" He waved his hands frantically at the dancing chibi, which was now holding a sign that read "Your caffeine levels suggest you might need help! (◕‿◕✿)"

Damian, who had been watching this display with growing disdain, finally spoke up. "Drake, your pride is making you stupid. More stupid than usual, that is."

"Not helping, demon spawn," Tim muttered, but his eyes never left the screen. The chibi had started doing backflips across his code, each flip leaving a trail of sparkles that suspiciously highlighted certain letters in his previous attempts.

"Okay, okay, let me see this thing," Dick finally hopped down from his perch, moving to stand behind Tim. "Fresh eyes might help. The riddle's about someone named Wright—or write—who doesn't like something about their partner that's seven letters long..."

"Been there, tried that," Tim groaned, but shifted to let Dick see the screen better. "I've tried every seven-letter word I could think of that could possibly relate to our relationship."

Jason, now fully invested despite his earlier teasing, joined them at the computer. "What about their job? Their hobbies? Their—"

"Everything!" Tim threw his hands up. "I've tried everything! Their degree, their job, their favorite book genre, their coffee order—"

"Their coffee order isn't seven letters, Drake," Damian pointed out, having abandoned all pretense of not being interested.

"I KNOW THAT NOW!"

The chibi on screen did a particularly elaborate twirl, and a new hint bubble appeared: 'if seven letters are too hard try thinking of eight~♡♡'

"Eight?" all four brothers said in unison.

"But the blanks in the riddle..." Dick started.

"Clearly indicate two words..." Jason continued.

"Which should total seven letters..." Tim finished, slumping in his chair.

"Tt. You're all incompetent," Damian declared, shoving his way to the keyboard. He started typing rapidly, trying various eight-letter combinations.

Alfred, who had been quietly observing this whole scene, merely raised an eyebrow as he collected another round of empty coffee cups. "Perhaps, young masters, you might consider—"

"Not now, Alfred!" they chorused, all hunched over the keyboard as the chibi continued its merry dance across their failed attempts.

Even Bruce, who had entered the cave somewhere between Tim's fifteenth and sixteenth coffee, found himself drawn into the puzzle. He stood behind his sons, cowl pushed back, frowning at the riddle on the whiteboard.

"Have you considered—" he began.

"Yes," all four boys cut him off.

"What about—"

"Tried it."

"Maybe it's—"

"Nope."

The chibi version of you was now doing the macarena, trailing hearts and question marks in its wake. A new speech bubble appeared: 'Wow, the whole family's here! Still not getting warmer though! ╮(︶▽︶)╭'

"They're enjoying this way too much," Tim grumbled, but there was unmistakable fondness in his voice. "You all realize they're probably watching this through the cave's security feed, right?"

Four heads snapped up to look at the nearest camera. The chibi did a cheerful wave.

The sound of feminine giggling drew everyone's attention to the cave entrance. Cass and Stephanie stood there, both clearly trying—and failing—to maintain straight faces. Stephanie had her phone out, obviously recording the scene before her.

"Oh, don't mind us," Stephanie managed between poorly suppressed snickers. "Please, continue. This is gold."

Tim's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You know something."

Cass's smile was enigmatic as ever, but there was definite amusement in her eyes. She signed quickly, 'It's obvious.'

"If it's so obvious, care to share with the class?" Jason asked, crossing his arms.

Stephanie lost it completely then, doubling over with laughter. "Oh no, no way. (Y/N) swore us to secrecy. They said, and I quote, 'Let them suffer.'"

"They did well," Cass nodded approvingly, watching as the chibi on screen started doing the robot dance.

"Et tu, Cass?" Tim groaned, slumping further in his chair. "I thought you loved me."

"I do," Cass signed, her smile growing. "That's why this is funny."

A new hint bubble appeared above the dancing chibi: 'The girls know what's up! (｡♥‿♥｡)'

"Wait," Dick straightened up. "If Steph and Cass know..."

"Then it has to be something obvious we're all missing," Bruce finished, his detective instincts kicking in.

"Or something only people who weren't raised by the World's Greatest Detective would think of," Stephanie suggested innocently, still recording.

Tim squinted at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Stephanie sing-songed, moving to perch on one of the cave's workbenches. "Just that sometimes the simplest answer is the right one. But please, keep trying to decrypt it like it's a message from the League of Assassins."

"I hate all of you," Tim declared, turning back to the computer. The chibi had started a conga line with multiple copies of itself across his screen.

'Simple is best! ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ' the hint bubble agreed.

The chibi suddenly stopped its conga line, popping up in the center of the screen with an exaggerated thinking pose. A new message bubble appeared:

'Not a hint don't worry! But if I was me I would have asked the people I knew wouldn't get involved in this for help or for something else. You've sorted out two. The last remains a mystery but hey are there. Always watching. ;P'

Tim's eyes widened. "People who wouldn't get involved... sorted out two..."

"Oh my god," Stephanie whispered to Cass, "I think he's finally getting it."

"Slow," Cass signed back with an affectionate smile.

"Wait," Dick leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Always watching?"

"The cameras?" Jason suggested, glancing up at the cave's security system.

"No, no," Tim was muttering, pulling up the previous eleven decoded files again. "It's something about people who wouldn't get involved... who have we talked to about this? Oracle helped with some of the encryption, Riddler gave input on the riddles..."

"Don't forget Alfred's obvious disapproval of your caffeine intake," Damian pointed out dryly.

The chibi started doing backflips again, leaving a trail of sparkles that seemed to be trying to direct their attention somewhere specific. Tim was too focused on his screen to notice, but Bruce's eyes narrowed as he followed the pattern of the sparkles.

"Tim," Bruce started, but Stephanie's barely contained laughter cut him off.

"No, no, let him figure it out," she insisted, still recording. "This is just getting good."

Tim suddenly went very still, the kind of stillness that usually preceded a major breakthrough. His eyes slowly moved from the screen to where Alfred stood, calmly arranging a fresh pot of coffee on a nearby table.

"The monthly lunches," Tim breathed out. "You and (Y/N) have monthly lunches together."

Alfred's expression remained perfectly neutral, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Indeed, Master Timothy. Your partner and I do enjoy our regular discussions about literature, history, and..." he paused meaningfully, "various other topics."

The chibi on screen started doing cartwheels of excitement.

"You know the answer," Tim accused, spinning his chair to face Alfred fully. "You've known this whole time!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Master Timothy," Alfred replied, but his eyes were twinkling. "Though I must say, your partner's creativity with encryption methods is quite impressive. Almost as impressive as their ability to maintain composure during our last lunch while you were in the corner booth trying to decode the ninth file."

"I KNEW I saw them that day!" Tim exclaimed, jumping up from his chair. "You two were in on this together!"

"Tt. Of course Pennyworth knows," Damian crossed his arms. "They probably planned half of this over their pretentious tea meetings."

"Earl Grey is hardly pretentious, Master Damian," Alfred corrected mildly. "Though I must say, the Ceylon blend we had while discussing the final riddle was particularly excellent."

The chibi was now doing a victory dance, complete with tiny fireworks effects.

'Alfred appreciation squad! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶' the hint bubble proclaimed.

"Alfred," Tim tried, putting on his best pleading expression. "My most favorite person in this entire family..."

"I believe, Master Timothy," Alfred cut him off smoothly, "that accepting a hint at this point would rather defeat the purpose of your partner's carefully crafted puzzle." He began gathering empty coffee cups onto his tray. "Though I will say, sometimes the answer is rather closer than one might think."

With that cryptic statement, Alfred turned and headed for the cave steps, leaving behind a chorus of groans and, in Tim's case, a dramatic slump back into his chair.

"That's it," Jason announced, shoving Tim's chair aside with one hand. "I can't take this anymore."

"Jason, no—!" Tim lunged for the keyboard, but he was too late.

Jason clicked the hint button with excessive force, prompting the chibi to do an excited spin before presenting a new message bubble:

'There's a spelling error in the Riddle. One letter should not be where it is. One letter. One.'

"YOU TRAITOR!" Tim shoved Jason away from the computer, but the damage was done. The chibi was now doing an enthusiastic spelling bee dance, complete with tiny letter blocks floating around it.

"You're welcome," Jason smirked, dodging Tim's attempt to strangle him. "Now maybe we can all go home sometime this year."

"I had it under control!"

"You really didn't," Dick chimed in, already scanning the riddle again with new eyes. "Okay, so one letter is wrong..."

"But which one?" Bruce muttered, moving closer to the whiteboard.

Stephanie was practically vibrating with contained laughter at this point, while Cass simply smiled her knowing smile.

The chibi started juggling alphabet blocks, occasionally dropping one with an exaggerated 'oops!' expression.

Tim had returned to the whiteboard, scanning each line with intense concentration. "One letter... one wrong letter... but which..."

"Perhaps," Damian suggested with exaggerated patience, "you should focus on the words that matter most in the riddle."

"All the words matter!" Tim protested, but his eyes were fixed on the final line. "Gathered all of his courage just to tell them.... he hated their [blank] [blank]"

Dick had gone oddly quiet, his eyes darting between the riddle and Tim's increasingly frantic expression. Then, without warning, he reached for the eraser.

"Dick, I swear to god if you—" Tim started, but froze as Dick deliberately erased just the 'W' in 'Mr. Wright.'

The cave went silent.

The chibi on screen started doing enthusiastic cheerleader moves with tiny pom-poms.

"Mr... Right," Tim said slowly, then louder, "Mr. RIGHT!"

"FINALLY!" Stephanie threw her hands up, nearly dropping her phone. "I thought we were going to be here until next Valentine's Day!"

Cass was signing rapidly, 'Now he sees.'

"Wait," Jason leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. "If it's Mr. Right, and the blanks need eight letters total..."

Tim was already typing frantically. "Last name... last name... what's wrong with their last name?" His fingers paused over the keyboard. "Eight letters..."

The chibi had produced a tiny banner that read 'So close! SO CLOSE!'

Bruce, who had been watching this entire scene unfold with what might have been amusement (it was sometimes hard to tell with him), finally spoke up. "Tim, what's your last name?"

"That doesn't make sense," Tim huffed in frustration, "my last name is five letters. D-R-A-K-E." He wrote it out on the whiteboard, underlining each letter for emphasis.

The chibi suddenly produced a tiny professor's cap and glasses, pulling down a mathematical chart. A new equation appeared:

'5+7=8!! And you've only figured out you need seven letters. Not how many characters you need. ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ'

Stephanie was practically crying with laughter at this point. "Oh my god, this is the best thing I've ever recorded. The look on his face right now..."

"Wait," Dick moved closer to the whiteboard, looking between the equation and Tim's written name. "Five plus seven equals eight... that's not..."

"Mathematics appears to have escaped all of you," Damian sneered, though he was eyeing the equation with growing interest.

"Shut up, demon spawn, I'm thinking," Tim muttered, staring at his last name on the board. "Five letters plus seven letters somehow equals eight... but that's not mathematically possible unless..."

The chibi had started drawing something in the air with a sparkly pen, but kept erasing it before anyone could read it properly.

Jason, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly straightened up. "Holy shit," he whispered, then started laughing. "Holy shit, replacement, you're an idiot."

"What? What am I missing?" Tim spun to face him, but Jason just shook his head, now laughing too hard to speak.

Then Jason straightened up, addressing the chibi directly. "Seven letters, right?"

The chibi nodded enthusiastically, releasing tiny explosions of confetti.

"And I'm guessing eight characters?"

More vigorous nodding, the chibi now practically bouncing with excitement.

"So," Jason's grin grew wider, "there's a space somewhere. The password isn't actually an answer, is it? It's a question."

The chibi erupted into a full celebration mode, throwing confetti everywhere and doing backflips while tiny fireworks exploded across the screen.

"A question?" Tim repeated slowly, then his eyes went wide. "A question... about my last name... seven letters but eight characters..."

Stephanie had given up trying to hold the phone steady, she was laughing so hard. "Oh my god, he's actually getting it."

"Finally," Cass signed, smiling broadly.

"Drake," Damian said with exaggerated patience, "what might someone ask about your last name that would require seven letters and a space?"

Dick's face split into a huge grin as he caught on. "Oh. Oh that's good. That's really good."

Bruce had actually cracked a smile, which in Bruce-terms was practically rolling on the floor laughing.

Tim stared at his last name written on the whiteboard, then at the riddle about Mr. Right, then back at his name. The chibi was now holding up a tiny sign with a question mark on it, bouncing it up and down suggestively.

Suddenly, Tim shoved everyone away from the computer with such force that Jason nearly toppled into Dick. His fingers flew across the keyboard: M-A-R-R-Y-M-E.

The file lock clicked open with a satisfying digital chime. The chibi threw up its tiny arms in victory before dissolving into a shower of hearts.

The screen filled with photos, cycling through like a slideshow: Tim and you in the university library during that first heated AI debate, both of you gesturing passionately; a candid shot from the coffee shop where you'd first really talked, Tim's eyes bright with caffeine and interest as you explained your thesis; the two of you at a Wayne gala, you rolling your eyes at something while Tim tried not to laugh; a series of pictures from various puzzle nights and study sessions that had slowly transformed into dates; the first picture of you both after Tim revealed his identity as Red Robin, you looking utterly unfazed while pointing out the flaws in his attempt to throw you off the trail; countless moments of your shared life together, each one flowing into the next.

Then the photos faded into video footage. It showed Tim from just the night before, sprawled across his bed, completely passed out from his puzzle-solving attempts. He was drooling slightly on his pillow, his hair a chaotic mess, looking absolutely nothing like the composed CEO he presented to the world.

You appeared in frame, pressing a finger to your lips in a conspiratorial gesture to the camera. In your other hand was a red velvet box. You tiptoed to Tim's jacket—the same one currently thrown over the back of his chair in the cave—and carefully slipped a golden band into the pocket.

The video faded to black, and text appeared on screen:

'This one is a click choice: Yes or No'

The cave had gone completely silent. Even Stephanie had stopped laughing, her phone still recording but forgotten in her hand.

Tim slowly reached for his jacket, his hand shaking slightly as it dipped into the pocket. The ring caught the cave's lighting as he pulled it out, simple and elegant and perfectly sized for his finger.

The chibi reappeared on screen, now wearing a tiny tuxedo and holding what appeared to be wedding bells, waiting patiently for input.

Tim's hand was trembling slightly as he slipped the ring onto his finger—a perfect fit. Through vision that was definitely not blurring with tears, he clicked 'Yes.'

The screen immediately filled with your face, beaming with triumphant joy. "I know you love those 'how it's made' videos so... here's mine! This actually has taken me the better part of a year to make. It is shockingly difficult to write code while having emotional moments, so I had a little help." Your grin turned mischievous. "Actually, everyone around you had a part. Oh yeah. They are all traitors who have been lying about not knowing the answer."

Tim spun in his chair to face his family, who were all wearing varying degrees of satisfied smiles.

"Jason helped pick out the riddles with me," you continued, and Jason gave an exaggerated bow. "The Mr. Wright one was his favorite."

"Because it was genius," Jason confirmed, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Dick did distraction on you, kept you busy these last few months."

"All those 'emergency' training sessions?" Dick grinned. "Not so emergency after all."

"Damian did the part of figuring out your ring size, without cutting off your finger—it was a hard talk down."

"Tt. Your hands move too much when you sleep, Drake," Damian commented, though he looked slightly proud.

"Stephanie and Cass helped be moral support."

"And recorded everything for posterity!" Stephanie added, still filming.

"And of course," your voice softened slightly, "I had to ask Bruce and Alfred both for permission."

Bruce's hand came to rest on Tim's shoulder, squeezing gently. Alfred, who had mysteriously reappeared in the cave, was definitely dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"I even got Conner and Bart to help out with keeping you later at boys nights so I could finish up the code on these."

Tim let out a watery laugh. "That's why they kept insisting on 'one more round' of everything?"

The chibi had returned, now joined by tiny digital versions of the entire family, all doing a celebration dance.

"You all knew," Tim accused, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. "This entire time, you all knew."

"Master Timothy," Alfred said warmly, "some mysteries are worth waiting to solve."

The screen flickered, and your voice took on a more serious tone. "Now that little me has gotten her celebration over with, I'm sure congratulations can wait for the moment. I ask that everyone other than Tim leave the room. Including the cameras. As much as blackmail sounds funny and all, this part is the important one and it's private."

Your leg had started bouncing in the video—a nervous tell Tim knew well. The family exchanged knowing looks and began filing out. Stephanie finally lowered her phone, giving Tim a quick kiss on the cheek before following the others. Bruce was the last to leave, pausing only to squeeze Tim's shoulder once more before heading up the cave steps.

The cameras' red lights blinked off one by one.

Only then did you smile softly at the camera, and Tim's heart caught at the vulnerability in your expression. "I've never been one to be sugary. Pet names are not my thing, I'm not one for flowers or chocolates, I'm not a normal partner and you made me feel okay in that and seen." You paused, taking a steadying breath. "But if you're seeing this part of the video, it means you clicked yes. I had to prerecord this otherwise I'd be a crying mess right now. Which is less than needed for this."

Tim leaned forward in his chair, his new ring catching the light as he reached out to touch the screen where your face was displayed. The cave was completely silent now except for your voice and the soft hum of the computer.

You took a deep inhale before letting it out slowly, your eyes fixed on the camera as if you could see Tim watching. "The times we have spent together over the years have been some of the best moments of my life. From the camping trip that ended in a spider-infested tent to late night binge sessions of that stupid detective show that's not even in English that we both hate to love."

A soft laugh escaped Tim as he remembered that camping trip—how you'd maintained your analytical calm even while helping him evacuate the tent, cataloging each spider species you encountered.

"You have never once made me feel odd or unloved and I hope I made you feel the same even if it's difficult for me to articulate." Your voice grew softer, more intense. "You are my person and I don't put that lightly. In a universe filled with millions upon millions of atoms, I'm so glad that mine have gotten to know yours."

Tim's vision blurred again, but he didn't try to wipe away the tears this time.

"And although I don't believe in marriage as I told you when we first met," you continued with a slight smile, "I'd rather die of radiation poisoning from sleeping next to you for the rest of our lives than never have gotten the opportunity." Your own eyes were getting watery now, despite your earlier claim about pre-recording to avoid crying. "You are my missing piece, Timothy. I love you. And I'm so excited to see where this new ring-sized door leads."

The chibi appeared one final time, offering a tiny tissue to the screen before fading away with a gentle shower of hearts.

Tim sat in the quiet of the cave, his finger tracing the band of his ring, a smile spreading across his face despite the tears. Trust you to propose with encrypted files, riddles, and a speech that referenced both quantum physics and your shared hatred of pretentious foreign detective shows.

He reached for his phone, knowing exactly where you'd be waiting.

"Hi future husband," you answered on the first ring, making Tim bark out a watery laugh.

"You. Suck. You know that?" He responded, voice thick with emotion. "You beat me to the punch!"

"Huh?"

"Check my bedside drawer."

There was a pause, then the sound of movement on your end. Tim could perfectly picture you crossing your shared bedroom to his side of the bed. The drawer squeaked slightly as you opened it—he'd been meaning to fix that.

Then silence.

"Timothy Jackson Drake," your voice came back, slightly strangled. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Third drawer back, behind my spare laptop charger," Tim confirmed, unable to keep the grin off his face despite his tears. "I've been carrying it around for two months trying to figure out the perfect way to ask. I had this whole plan involving that quantum physics conference next month and the observatory and—" He broke off with a laugh. "And you just completely outmaneuvered me with probably the most elaborate proposal in history."

The sound of a box opening came through the phone, followed by your sharp intake of breath. "You got me a titanium ring."

"With a carbon fiber inlay," Tim added. "Because you said traditional jewelry metals weren't practical for someone who works with chemicals regularly. I had it custom made to be acid-resistant."

A choked laugh came through the phone. "We really are perfect for each other, aren't we?"

"Well," Tim smiled, looking down at his own ring, "I did just click 'yes' to spending the rest of my life with you, so I'd say so." He paused, then added, "Though I have to know—what would the chibi have done if I'd clicked 'no'?"

"Bold of you to assume I programmed that as an option," you replied, and Tim could hear your smile. "The 'no' button was just for show. It would have rick-rolled you and then asked again."

Tim laughed out loud, the sound echoing through the empty cave. "I love you so much. You know that?"

"I love you too," you replied softly. "Now come home so I can see how that ring looks on you in person. And maybe you can tell me more about this quantum physics conference proposal plan that I completely derailed."

"On my way," Tim said, already heading for his motorcycle. Then he paused. "Wait—do we have to tell the family they can come back into the cave now, or..."

"Oh, they've definitely been watching on the backup cameras that I didn't have access to shut off," you said matter-of-factly. "Hi everyone! Sorry for the emotional display!"

Distant cheering could be heard from the upper levels of the cave, confirming your theory.

"Typical," Tim sighed fondly, but he couldn't stop smiling. "See you in ten minutes?"

"Make it five," you countered. "I think we have some celebrating to do before Alfred inevitably appears with engagement cake."

"It's probably already baking," Tim agreed, swinging onto his bike. "Love you, future spouse."

Your laugh was the last thing he heard before ending the call, and it carried him all the way home.

.

.

.

[wanderingskemetic]

🐄Subtle Hetheru Worship💃

Greatly inspired by @khaire-traveler's wonderful subtle worship series, which can be found here.

Dance like no one's watching

Play a musical instrument or learn to play one

Drink milk or wine or make something using them as ingredients

Spend time with friends and family (blood or chosen)

Learn about and uphold Ma'at

Make a playlist or listen to songs that remind you of her or you think she'd like

Make a collage/moodboard/pinterest board/similar collection of photos and images you associate with her, especially if some of the images are your own

Wear a piece of jewelry or other clothing item that reminds you of her

Light a candle or incense that reminds you of her (safely)

Carry a picture of her in your wallet, pocket, phone case, etc. or as a phone or computer wallpaper

Have cow, horns, sistrum, sun, lion, snake, or sycamore imagery

Send a nice message to your loved ones/check in on them regularly

Be kind to children, play with them if offered

Show support for any parents in your life, especially new ones; help out when/if you can

Donate children and baby supplies to homeless shelters

Singing/listening to your favorite songs

Sunbathe

Watch sunrises and sunsets

Say good morning or goodnight to her

Freely express your emotions in healthy ways

Pick and/or press flowers (only from areas you're allowed to)

Have perfume/cologne that you dedicate to her

Give compliments to strangers

Watch love or travel focused shows or movies

Embrace yourself; give yourself love

Wear make-up (if you enjoy it and are able to)

Practice compassion, especially towards yourself

Learning about/implementing different types of safe sexual or sensual activities

Hosting or attending parties, if you're attending see if you can help out the host

Donate to food banks, medical debt forgiving organizations, wildlife organizations and other causes you think help life

Honor your ancestors/souls that have passed

Visit cemeteries; leave flowers at graves (with permission); or help clean up gravesites (if allowed)

Get involved with your government (vote, go to local meetings, protest, write/call a leader, etc.)

Take charge/leadership roles in parts of your life

Look up and appreciate the beauty of the sky

Keep a self-care/self-love journal

If you have a partner, set aside time to do something special with them

Stand up for family members blood or otherwise (keep in mind they might be in the wrong)

Engage in activities you're passionate about

Give yourself compliments; wear things that make you feel attractive or powerful

Make a list of things you enjoyed throughout your day; little things matter just as much

Remember that rest is productive; take breaks when you need them

Start a skin/body care routine

Go cloud-watching or star-gazing

Collecting different souvenirs or other objects from different places

Take care of your body physically to the best of your ability (shower, eat well, get a good amount of sleep, etc.)

Collect rocks and minerals you like (from areas you're allowed to)

Take your medications, if any; take medications as needed

I may add more to this list in the future. Suggestions are always appreciated.

Link to the Kemetic Subtle Worship Masterpost

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Soft Yandere Simp with CamGirl Reader, part 2

3, 2, 1, FINALLY IT’S TIME! He can hardly contain himself as he counts down the days until he finally gets to meet you in person. 

During your nightly video chats with him, which he’s grown to cherish dearly, you brought the idea of meeting up to his attention. You have no idea how happy he was that you brought it up on your own accord! 

Through some shady research, he already knows you are about 3 hours away from his home-city. It wouldn’t hurt to drive your way. He’d row a damn boat for hours if it meant getting to see you in person. 

The two of you decide on meeting up for a picnic, and then a shopping date at the mall closest to your vicinity. 

The night before the designated meetup, he sits at his computer desk studying everything he had learned about you over the past couple of months, lest he forgets something important.

He wishes he had a perfect memory, but he doesn’t. So he opted to writing down every fact he had ever learned about you in a special journal, dedicated to you and only you. All your likes, dislikes, blood type, height, weight (all three of which he had to break into your medical records to find) , favorite games, health issues, the amount of freckles on your face—every little detail he knew about you was written down, along with many, MANY hearts and grade-school doodles because he really can’t help it. You make him feel like a giddy kid again. 

Saturday morning. It’s show-time. He leaves thirty minutes early, dressed up and ready to tackle the day and meet the love of his life for the first time. He shoots you a text when he arrives (Did he ever mention his background screen was a photo of you?), nervously standing at your doorstep with a box of your favorite chocolates in hand, as well as a little vase with succulents in it, since you’re allergic to the pollen in actual flowers. 

You greet him with a hug and he just about melts in your arms, taking in your scent and rubbing his face into your beautiful locks. 

You’re pretty on camera, but nothing beats the real thing. You’re simply a goddess in the human form. He wishes he could take a photo to capture this moment forever, but his eyes will have to make do.

The drive to the park is an awkwardly quiet, but serene one. He swears you might be able to hear his heart pounding the entire ride, despite the music playing in the background (a playlist he made dedicated to you, obviously). When he glances over to the passenger seat, you’re gazing out the window with the cutest little smile on your face. He’s happy you’re happy. 

When the two of you arrive, he opens the trunk and removes all the supplies he brought to ensure today’s picnic would be great. He brought a giant blanket for the occasion, a small speaker for music, and even packed sandwiches and cookies that he had made himself, praying to god they would taste good. He wasn’t the greatest cook, so he watched about five different baking videos on how to make the perfect cookies. He hopes Youtube hasn’t failed him yet. 

He silently thanks whatever god lives in the sky when you take a bite into a cookie and compliment his baking skills. You take another bite and moan, making him feel ten times hotter than the warm spring day already made him feel. 

30 minutes pass and both his and your bellies are full. You lay down on the blanket, inviting him to do the same, and he nervously lays next to you. He relaxes once you intertwine your fingers with his. He thinks he’s never felt more at peace than in this moment, relaxing with you. The two of you talk about random things, watching the clouds in the sky morph into various shapes as time passes. 

Eventually, you both pack up and head to the mall. You buy him a figure from his favorite video game, and he gets you a new set of earrings. You laugh when his face turns fully red as you two walk into a store specializing in lingerie. 

He feels like he might faint from the sheer intense feelings he has when you ask him to pick something out, ‘just for his eyes only’ you say with a whisper into his ear. 

If he didn’t have such good self control he’d bang you in the try-on rooms right then and there. But no. He’d be a gentlemen. 

But be prepared for all his pent up longing when you two finally share an intimate time together. Let’s just say he has…plenty in store for you :) 

The date ends with you being dropped off back home. You invite him in for a drink, and chat a little more before it becomes late. He finds your yawns adorable, and he kisses you on the forehead before heading out for the night. 

He sincerely hopes you don’t ever find the tracking device he’s planted in your purse when you weren’t looking. He convinces himself it’s for peace of mind since he’ll know where you are, whenever you are. To protect you. That’s what good boyfriends do, right? 

Wait. Are you two even dating now? 

He wants to pull over on the drive home and just sit in utter defeat because his dumbass totally forgot to ask this. 

He sighs as he asks the dumbest, most cliche question in the world. He shoots you a text. 

“Hey, Y/N. What are we? (｀・ω・´)”

[probablyasocialecologist]

A Generative AI system might use around 33 times more energy than machines running task-specific software, according to a recent study, external by Dr Luccioni and colleagues. The work has been peer-reviewed but is yet to be published in a journal. It’s not your personal computer that uses all this energy, though. Or your smartphone. The computations we increasingly rely on happen in giant data centres that are, for most people, out of sight and out of mind. “The cloud,” says Dr Luccioni. “You don’t think about these huge boxes of metal that heat up and use so much energy.” The world’s data centres are using ever more electricity, external. In 2022, they gobbled up 460 terawatt hours of electricity, and the International Energy Agency (IEA) expects, external this to double in just four years. Data centres could be using a total of 1,000 terawatts hours annually by 2026. “This demand is roughly equivalent to the electricity consumption of Japan,” says the IEA. Japan has a population of 125 million people.

[justsimplytalented]

The Halfway Point of Longing

Gun X Goo, ft OC

Word count: 3,000+

I've been having some intense writer's block for the past few days, and it was a struggle just to get this written, but I managed to do it! Please enjoy the fic...

The relentless drumming of rain against the bookstore window was a monotonous counterpoint to the quiet rustle of pages. Han Soojin, perched on a stool behind the counter, was engrossed in a well-worn copy of "The Count of Monte Cristo," the dramatic tale a welcome escape from the usual humdrum of her Saturday shift. The bell above the door jingled, announcing a customer.

Soojin looked up, ready with a polite greeting, but her words caught in her throat. Standing just inside while shaking droplets of rainwater from his impeccably styled hair was Gun Park. He rarely frequented this part of town, let alone her small independent bookstore. He scanned the shelves with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes lingering briefly on the manga section before moving on.

He wasn't alone. Leaning against the doorframe, a wide and almost predatory grin splitting his face, was Goo Kim. Even on a dreary day, Goo managed to exude an almost blinding level of chaotic energy. His vibrant blond hair was slightly damp, and he held a clear plastic umbrella haphazardly, seemingly more for show than actual protection from the rain.

Soojin swallowed, a flicker of unease prickling at the back of her neck. While she wasn't directly involved in the messy world of underworld gangs, she was quite aware of the power these two individuals wielded. Their presence together, especially in her quiet sanctuary of books, felt like a storm cloud had just rolled in.

"Well, well, well," Goo drawled, his voice carrying a playful, almost mocking tone that echoed in the small space. "Look what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, what Gun dragged in. Feeling literary today, my dear Gun?"

Gun ignored him, his gaze now fixed on a shelf filled with classic Korean literature. He reached out and gently pulled out a slim volume of poetry.

"Just looking," he stated, his voice low and even, a stark contrast to Goo's theatrical pronouncements.

Goo pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered further into the store, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he surveyed the surroundings. "Such a quaint little place. Smells like old paper and… existential dread. I approve." He picked up a small, leather-bound journal from a display near the counter and flipped through its blank pages with exaggerated interest. "Imagine all the angst one could pour into this. Tragic love affairs, betrayals, the crushing weight of societal expectations…" He sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Ah, the human condition!"

Soojin, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy, offered a small hesitant smile. "We have a wide selection of journals if you're interested."

Goo's head snapped up, his gaze locking onto hers. His smile widened, revealing a hint of something sharper beneath the playful facade. "Oh? And what do you think I should fill it with, hmm? Perhaps a detailed account of my many daring exploits? Or maybe a heart-wrenching ballad of unrequited love?"

Before Soojin could formulate a reply, Gun spoke, his voice cutting through Goo's theatrics. "We're not here to browse for your sentimental scribblings, Goo." He turned towards the counter, the poetry book still in his hand. "I need this."

Soojin blinked, surprised. Gun Park, reading poetry? It was an image that didn't quite compute with his fearsome reputation. She took the book from him, her fingers brushing against his briefly. His hand was surprisingly warm.

"It's a collection by Kim Sowol," she explained while trying to ignore the curious gaze of Goo, who had now perched himself on the edge of a nearby armchair, his chin resting on his hand. "His work often explores themes of longing and loss."

Gun simply nodded, his expression still unreadable. Soojin rang up the purchase, the silence in the store punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of the rain and the soft whir of the credit card machine.

As Gun paid, Goo suddenly straightened up, his eyes gleaming with an almost mischievous light. "Say, Gun, since we're already making a detour from our… important business, wouldn't it be terribly rude to leave without properly experiencing the local culture?" He gestured vaguely around the bookstore. "Perhaps a friendly chat with the proprietor? Or maybe a dramatic reading? I know just the passage from Hamlet…"

Gun shot him a look that could have frozen molten steel. "We have things to do, Goo."

"Oh, come now," Goo persisted, undeterred. "A little cultural enrichment never hurt anyone. Besides," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, though Soojin could hear every word, "you know how tedious waiting for our… acquaintance can be. This is far more stimulating, wouldn't you agree, Miss…?" He trailed off, looking expectantly at Soojin.

"Han," she supplied, feeling a blush creep up her neck. "Han Soojin."

"Miss Han," Goo repeated, drawing out the syllables with exaggerated politeness. "A pleasure. You have a lovely establishment. It reminds me of a forgotten corner of a grand estate, filled with secrets and whispered stories."

Soojin wasn't sure if she should be flattered or slightly unnerved by the comparison.

Gun sighed, a halfway rare display of exasperation. "Fine, Goo. Five minutes." He turned to Soojin. "Sorry for the intrusion."

"It's… no problem," she stammered, feeling the weight of their combined presence in the small space.

Goo clapped his hands together. "Excellent! Now, Miss Han, tell us, what is the most tragically romantic tale you have within these hallowed walls? Something to truly stir the soul!"

Soojin hesitated, glancing at Gun, who was now examining the spine of another book, seemingly trying to distance himself from Goo's antics. "Well," she began, thinking quickly, "there's 'The Sorrows of Young Werther'…"

Goo gasped dramatically. "Ah, yes! The quintessential tale of unrequited passion and ultimate despair! A masterpiece!" He launched into a theatrical recitation of a particularly melodramatic passage, complete with sweeping gestures and a pained expression.

Soojin watched him, a strange mix of amusement and bewilderment swirling within her. He was undeniably ridiculous, yet there was a certain captivating energy to his performance. She glanced at Gun, expecting to see annoyance, but his expression was surprisingly neutral, almost… tolerant.

After a few minutes of Goo's dramatic flair, Gun cleared his throat. "Time's up, Goo."

Goo sighed dramatically, as if being pulled away from the greatest performance of his life. "Alas, duty calls. It has been a truly enlightening experience, Miss Han. Perhaps we shall meet again, under less… literary circumstances." He winked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Gun simply nodded curtly at Soojin before turning to leave. Goo followed, pausing at the doorway to give her one last exaggerated bow.

As the bell jingled again, signaling their departure, Soojin let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The silence that followed felt almost deafening. She watched through the rain-streaked window as Gun and Goo disappeared down the street. The two may have worked together, but they were heavily contrasting figures: one tall and imposing, the other flamboyant and energetic. She glanced at the pair one more time as they were quickly swallowed by the grayness of the afternoon before turning back to her shop.

She wondered what "important business" had brought them to this quiet corner of town and why Gun of all people had bought a book of poetry. And then there was Goo… His over-the-top personality was certainly something she wouldn't soon forget.

Life returned to its usual quiet rhythm. Customers trickled in, browsed, and left. Soojin tried to lose herself again in the adventures of Edmond Dantès, but her concentration kept drifting back to the unexpected visit. There was something about the dynamic between Gun and Goo, a strange sort of understanding beneath the surface that intrigued her.

Two weeks had soon passed. Soojin had almost relegated the bookstore encounter to a strange, slightly surreal memory. Then, one particularly slow afternoon, the bell jingled again. This time, it was just Gun.

He was dressed in his usual dark attire, his presence still commanding despite the casual setting. He walked straight to the counter, his gaze meeting hers briefly before he placed a small, slightly worn paperback on the counter.

Soojin recognized it instantly. It was another collection of Kim Sowol's poetry, this one looking like it had been read multiple times.

"Do you have anything else by this author?" Gun asked, his voice quiet.

Soojin, surprised but trying not to show it, nodded. "Yes, we have a more comprehensive anthology in the back. I can get it for you."

She retrieved the larger volume, her mind racing. What had sparked Gun's interest in poetry? Was it a genuine appreciation, or something else entirely?

As she placed the anthology on the counter, Gun’s gaze fell upon a small display of handcrafted bookmarks. He picked up one made of pressed flowers, its delicate beauty a stark contrast to his usual image.

"He liked things like this," Gun said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Soojin frowned slightly, confused. "He?"

Gun hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he simply shook his head. "Never mind. How much for the anthology?"

Soojin rang up the purchase, a sense of curiosity lingering. As Gun paid, he glanced towards the armchair where Goo had held his impromptu Hamlet recital weeks ago. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips before vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

He took the book and the bookmark, his movements precise and efficient. "Thank you," he said, his eyes meeting Soojin's again. There was a flicker of something in their depths, something that wasn't coldness or command, but… something else.

As he turned to leave, Soojin found herself saying, "You know, Kim Sowol's poetry often explores the complexities of relationships, the unspoken emotions, and the lingering echoes of connection."

Gun paused at the door, his back to her. He didn't turn around, but she saw a slight tensing in his shoulders. After a moment of silence, he simply nodded once and stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

The bell jingled softly behind him, leaving Soojin alone again with her books and thoughts. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had just glimpsed a side of Gun Park that few others ever saw.

A few more weeks drifted by. Soojin had almost convinced herself that the poetry incident was a one-off, a strange anomaly in the otherwise predictable flow of her days. Then, one evening, as she was locking up the bookstore, she saw him.

Goo Kim was leaning against a lamppost across the street, his blond hair vibrant even in the dimming light. He spotted her and pushed himself off the lamppost, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Miss Han! Fancy meeting you here," he called out, strolling across the street towards her.

Soojin felt a sigh escape her lips. "Hello, Mr Kim."

"Please, call me Goo," he said with a flourish. "We're practically old acquaintances by now, bonded by the sacred texts of literature, wouldn't you say?"

Soojin simply nodded, not quite sure how to respond to his usual brand of theatricality.

"I was just in the neighborhood," Goo continued, his eyes twinkling. "And I thought, why not pay a visit to our favorite purveyor of fine literary wares?" He glanced pointedly at the bookstore. "Though, alas, it seems I've missed closing time."

"Yes, I was just locking up," Soojin confirmed, jingling her keys.

"A pity," Goo said, feigning disappointment. "But perhaps this presents an even more intriguing opportunity. Might I perhaps offer you some… after-hours enlightenment? A stimulating conversation about the deeper meanings of life, perhaps over a cup of something warm?"

Soojin hesitated. She wasn't entirely comfortable with Goo, his unpredictability making her wary. But there was also a strange curiosity, a desire to understand the connection between him and the seemingly stoic Gun.

"I was just heading home," she said cautiously.

"An excellent direction!" Goo exclaimed. "Allow me to accompany you. Think of it as… literary protection. One never knows what dark forces lurk in the shadows, yearning to snatch away those who appreciate the finer things in life."

Soojin found herself reluctantly agreeing. As they walked, Goo launched into a rambling monologue about everything from the latest fashion trends to the philosophical implications of instant ramen. He was a whirlwind of chaotic energy, his words punctuated by dramatic gestures and sudden shifts in topic.

Soojin mostly listened, offering occasional polite nods or brief responses. She tried to steer the conversation towards Gun, but Goo was surprisingly evasive, deflecting her questions with witty remarks or elaborate anecdotes that led nowhere.

Finally, as they reached the corner near her apartment building, Soojin stopped. "Well, this is me," she said, relieved that the impromptu escort was coming to an end.

"Ah, such a shame," Goo said, though he didn't seem particularly disappointed. He leaned against a nearby wall, his eyes fixed on her with a curious intensity. "You know, Miss Han Soojin… you seem like someone who sees more than what's on the surface."

Soojin raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone.

"Gun… he's not exactly the most open book, is he?" Goo continued, his usual playful demeanor softening slightly. "But there are things… things that even he can't keep hidden."

Soojin waited, sensing that he was leading somewhere.

"That poetry," Goo said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It wasn't for him, not really. He was… remembering someone. Someone who appreciated those words."

A sudden understanding dawned on Soojin. The pressed flower bookmark… the quiet question about other works by Kim Sowol…

"Someone… important?" she ventured.

Goo's smile widened, though there was a hint of melancholy in his eyes. "Let's just say, someone who left a rather… significant void. A void that even Gun Park can't entirely fill with brute force and calculated strategies."

He pushed himself off the wall. "Well, I should be going. Wouldn't want to overstay my welcome or, heaven forbid, bore you with my ramblings." He gave her a mock salute. "Until our next literary encounter, Soojin."

And with that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Soojin standing on the corner, the weight of his words settling upon her.

Over the next few months, Soojin noticed subtle changes. Gun frequented the bookstore more often, always gravitating towards the poetry section. He never spoke much, but he would often ask her about different authors or specific poems, his questions surprisingly insightful. Sometimes, she would even catch him looking at the pressed flower bookmark he had bought, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Goo would occasionally stop by the bookstore as well, his visits always chaotic and unpredictable. He would often tease Gun about his newfound interest in poetry, his words laced with a strange mix of amusement and something that almost resembled… understanding.

One rainy afternoon, both Gun and Goo were in the bookstore at the same time. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension, a silent acknowledgment of their complex relationship. Gun was browsing the poetry shelf, while Goo was perched on his usual armchair, flipping through a graphic novel with exaggerated sound effects.

Soojin was helping another customer when she heard Goo suddenly say something, his voice cutting through the quiet murmur of the store. "You know, Gun, that particular poem… the one about the fading memories… It always struck me as particularly tragic. To hold onto something so tightly, knowing it will eventually slip through your fingers like sand…"

Gun didn't respond, his back still to Goo. But Soojin saw his hand clench slightly around the book he was holding.

Goo continued, his tone softening almost imperceptibly. "But perhaps… perhaps the beauty lies not in the permanence, but in the fleeting moment itself. The intensity of the feeling, however brief, can leave an indelible mark."

Still, Gun remained silent.

Soojin finished with her customer and walked over to the counter, feeling an almost voyeuristic sense of witnessing a private conversation.

Goo looked up at her, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Miss Han here understands, don't you think? The power of words to capture even the most elusive of emotions?"

Soojin nodded slowly. "Poetry often allows us to express things that are difficult to say directly."

Gun finally turned, his gaze meeting Soojin's for a brief moment before shifting to Goo. There was a flicker of something in his eyes; it wasn't anger, it wasn't annoyance, but something akin to… vulnerability.

"Shut up, Goo," he said, his voice low but lacking its usual sharp edge.

Goo simply grinned, unfazed. "Just offering my profound insights, my dear Gun. Wouldn't want you to wallow in melancholic silence."

A tense silence hung in the air for a moment, broken only by the drumming of rain against the window. Then, something unexpected happened. Gun walked over to the armchair where Goo was sitting and, without a word, placed the book of poetry he had been holding on the small table beside it.

He didn't look at Goo and didn't offer any explanation. He simply turned and walked towards the counter, placing a different book in front of Soojin; it was a collection of short stories.

"I'll take this one," he said, his voice back to its usual neutral tone.

Soojin rang up the purchase, her mind reeling. It was a small gesture, almost insignificant, but it felt like a crack in Gun's usually impenetrable armor. A silent acknowledgment, perhaps of Goo's earlier words, or maybe even a shared understanding of the weight of unspoken emotions.

As Gun paid, Goo watched them both, a rare, almost serene expression on his face. He picked up the discarded poetry book and idly flipped through its pages, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Gun took his new book and turned to leave. He paused briefly at the door, glancing back at Goo, who was now engrossed in a poem. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, a silent communication passing between them that Soojin couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't animosity, nor was it overt affection. It was something… else. A complicated tapestry woven from shared experiences, battles fought side-by-side, and the lingering echoes of a past love.

Then, Gun was gone, the bell above the door jingling softly in his wake.

Soojin looked at Goo, who had now closed the poetry book and was looking at her with a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Interesting, wouldn't you say?" Goo murmured, placing the book back on the table. "Our stoic Gun, finding solace in verses of longing and remembrance."

Soojin nodded slowly. "It seems there's more to him than meets the eye."

Goo chuckled softly. "Oh, Soojin, my dear. There's always more than meets the eye with everyone. Especially with him." He stood up, stretching languidly. "Well, I suppose I should be going as well. Wouldn't want to miss out on all the exciting mayhem the world has to offer."

He paused at the counter, his gaze softening slightly as he looked at Soojin. "Thank you for the literary interlude. It's… surprisingly grounding, amidst all the chaos."

Soojin offered him a genuine smile this time. "You're welcome, Goo."

As Goo turned to leave, he hesitated at the door, just as Gun had. He didn't look back at Soojin, but his voice, when he spoke, was uncharacteristically quiet. "And Soojin… sometimes, the halfway point is where the most important discoveries are made. The space between what was and what could be."

He didn't elaborate; he just simply stepped out into the rain-streaked evening and disappeared in the opposite direction from Gun.

Soojin watched them both go, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. The encounter had left her with more questions than answers, but also with a sense that she had witnessed a small, significant moment in the strange and complicated relationship between Gun Park and Goo Kim.

She looked at the poetry book Goo had been reading, then at the short story collection Gun had purchased. Two different genres, perhaps reflecting two different facets of their intertwined lives. The longing for what was lost, and the search for new narratives.

The rain continued to fall, washing the streets clean. Inside the quiet bookstore, Soojin began to tidy up, the echoes of dramatic pronouncements and unspoken emotions lingering in the air. She didn't know what the future held for Gun and Goo, or what their halfway romance truly entailed. But she had a feeling that their story, much like the verses in the worn poetry book, was far from over. And perhaps, just perhaps, they were both slowly finding their way towards a new chapter, guided by the lingering echoes of a shared past and the uncertain promise of a future yet to be written.

Just writing this took up so much of my motivation! I've been reading other fics, stories, and just books in general so I can try and get some new ideas to write, and it's working a bit.

I'll try to get something posted again before next Thursday, but I can't promise since I still might not have any motivation by then.

But as always, thank you for deciding to read this! If you like it, don't be afraid to give me a suggestion on what I should write next! My requests are always open!

[vampiriirot]

dear diary (k.ys)

!! pairing: yeosang!nonidol au x fem!reader !! genre: angst !! summary: an arranged marriage that was steering in the right direction, except neither of you realized how much you loved each other. especially yeosang..except he found out too late. !! word count: 1.5k !! playlist: hug me cover by yeosang, j's lullaby by delaney bailey &, present by lloyd vaan

notes: i will write fluff and crack soon i swear!! but oh gosh i sobbed the whole time writing this esp while listening to yeo's hug me cover OML.. but uh here yall go i suppose (this isn't proofread yet jjsjs-) alsooo credits to @fairytopea for this beautiful divider <3

“I found this..when cleaning your room sir” the maid’s voice was distant, muddled as if he were underwater and she watched from the shore. “Leave it on my desk” the words were robotic, Yeosang’s eyes glued to the screen in front of him. Fingers clicking noisily at the keyboard, the laptop’s brightness burning holes into his lenses. Light no longer peeked in through the blinds of his home’s office, the darkness similar to the shadows casted beneath his weary eyes. Hours on end, without halt, were spent before the computer. He stopped going into the office, requesting to work from home. Sometimes spending days and nights, typing away, proofreading files that had been checked over thrice already.

He didn’t have much to look forward to these days.

Nonetheless, once the maid had wandered off, his eyes strayed towards the item she’d brought..a peculiar book. Worn out with time, but familiar regardless. Flashes of the book on the nightstand, sometimes on the porch swing, and then hidden at any other given moment. It was a silly cover, mimicking the book from the infamous anime ‘Death Note’. His heart shrank at the sight, soft laughs taunting his mind as his eyes stared down the inanimate object. He couldn’t focus on the repetitive work on his laptop any longer, so he heaved himself off the chair.

“Take a shower, you reek” a harmonious fit of giggles left her lips, and Yeosang rolled his eyes at the antics. 

Snatching the book off his desk, he trudged through the dim hallways of his home. It resembled a ghosttown at the moment, he was the sole inhabitant currently. The maid, long gone to her gold haven with family. His bedroom was swallowed in darkness, like storm clouds resided over the bed. He didn’t bother changing, only falling backwards into the plush, icy mattress. Chills settled permanently over the house, the atmosphere was constantly cold and lifeless.

He gripped at the notebook, lifting himself upwards so he was seated on the bed. Eyes lingering on the stickers pressed all over the gloomy black cover, little smiley faces staring back at him. It was a sight of normalcy he craved, the eccentric chaos he missed. Her beautifully peculiar nature. After a lifetime, his finger peeled open the cover, to reveal neat handwriting scrawled into the first page. It was dated for May 3rd, one year prior.

“Dear diary…No that sounds weird. Dear journal? I don’t know what to call this, I’ll figure it out. But today marks my first week of being married (even though it was arranged)! You think a girl would be swooning, especially since he’s such a hunk. But..I kinda think he hates me. Unfortunately because he’s so handsome, I guess it’s my mission to get him to fall in love with me. It will take loads of work, since he’s so quiet but I’m determined! My first tactic will be cooking him his favorite meal..and I will update once it’s done!”

“Update, I nearly burnt the kitchen down. Thank god the maid was there and it wasn’t too bad but oh god he looked so angry..He didn’t even come into the room after..disheartening but I hope some takeout will make it up to him..”

A small smile tugged at his lips, the words ushering him into their first week of marriage. He remembered it all too well, coming home to her shrieking and the maid helping her put out the small fire. He was indeed infuriated, so much so he had spent the rest of the night in his office. At an ungodly hour of the night, he heard knocking at the wooden door. She peeked her head in, holding out a tray like a peace offering.

“M’sorry for the whole..accident. I got some takeout though!” he couldn’t forget the way his heart swelled at her gesture, when she placed the tray and rushed out of the office in a flustered hurry. The plastic container was neatly arranged with utensils and a crisp bottle of water. A note attached the napkin, and it provoked a snicker from him.

‘Sleep soon or else you’ll be cranky in the morning.’

Lost in the memories, he needed more, flipping frantically onto another page. This entry was dated to December 24th of last year, Christmas eve? 

“Dear diary (it’s so cringe but anyways). It’s already Christmas, wow time flies when you’re so busy. Things are the same I suppose, but I bought him a gift! It’s a really stupid gift but I thought it suited him really well. He’s like a doberman, Yeosang the doberman. It has a great ring to it, so I got him this doberman plushy. It’s big and super cute, and I wrote this card with it…I hope he’ll like it. He seemed extra stressed this week and I didn’t want to make it all worse. What’s stupid is that, no matter how distant he seems, I find myself falling for him even more. Beneath all his stoicness, he’s a sweetheart (or that’s what I keep telling myself). Anyways, I’m writing this like two minutes before midnight so merry christmas to my journal.. Thanks for listening to me ramble!”

Her innocence, and childishness, was so sugary sweet. A delicacy he pushed away constantly, for no reason besides the fact that their relationship was an arrangement. The smile that stretched over his lips upon opening the gift, and reading over the note when she was asleep. He didn’t realize it, but he was beyond obsessed, infatuated with this angel he’d been blessed with. In her sleep, he pressed one tender kiss to her forehead, and watched over her gentle form with sheer adoration. It was the best Christmas a man like him could’ve ever asked for.

May 2nd of this year…it was the page he flipped onto without mind. Her final entry, the morning before everything was meant to crumble. 

“Dear diary, today I’ve got an appointment with my doctor for a checkup. Yeosang’s busy in a meeting so he can’t drop me off, but he’s sent the driver to pick me up. Tomorrow’s our one year anniversary, and I’ve got a whole surprise planned. First: We’ll have dinner at the beachside restaurant and then we’ll go on a walk across the sand till sunset. Once the sun starts setting, I’ll tell him..how much he means to me. I don’t think he realizes it and I don’t know if he feels the same way, but in the year that we’ve been married, I felt my life take a 180. He’s one of the only people who deals with my antics without complaint, even though he seems annoyed..he’s still silent about it. Gosh I sound so lovesick…but he makes me feel complete. I love him so much, I know this was just an arranged marriage and yet..I can’t help but love everything about him. His pretty smile that is reserved for my silliest jokes, the birthmarks on the side of his face that I just can’t help but reach out and pet sometimes… I hope he loves me even if it’s just a little bit, I’ll be over the damn moon! The driver’s here now, I’ll update you later :)”

His fingers dragged along the penmanship, a tear staining the page. He couldn’t ruin this too, this didn’t deserve to be tainted. Streams of painful tears stained his cheeks and continued to flow, a choked out sob crawling out of his throat. Heart constricted and aching, he hugged the notebook and bawled. Nobody would come to comfort him in this loneliness, the sunshine long gone and he couldn’t even say a proper goodbye. He couldn’t tell her how much he loved her gorgeous smile that would brighten his world. Her sense of humor that would beat any comedian in her path. Everything about her made it all worthwhile.

“Yeosang?” her voice croaked, Yeosang’s hands holding onto hers for dear life. On the hospital bed, bleeding and bruised, the doctors at the bedside ready like grim reapers. “I’m here angel” a single tear trickled down her battered face, and he rushed to wipe it away. “It’s the first time you called me that” she wept, and pulled his hand close to her lips. She pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his hand, and all the strength he was mustering came so close to crashing down. He had to be strong for her, he wouldn’t want her final memories of him to be a sobbing mess.

“I love you Yeosang” the final part of his name came out in an exhausted sigh. Her hold on his hand fell limp, and the machines laughed at him with their flatlining noise. He cried out, shaking her as nurses shoved him out of the room. Their attempts were feeble, all the doctor did was place his hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. As if it could soothe him, yet nothing would. Nothing in the world would soothe him anymore, the sun was gone, the candle’s flames all burnt out.

“I love you too” he whispered into the mocking silence, with hopes that she was watching over him now. In his broken state, crumpled on the bed, with her book tight in his arms.

[magnetokisser]

Can you write Clark Kent x reader (ft. Perry White) who is a newswoman for the Daily Planet and is Perry White's daughter. Lmao the idea of Clark dating his bosses daughter is so funny to me. He is so shy and akward, him being more nervous all of a sudden after y'all start dating, trying to keep the affection on the down low. Knowing damn well you can't hide anything from your dad, or a building full of journalists, who job it is to you know, figure out the new!!!!!!

the daily planet's worst kept secret!

summary: despite your father’s growing disdain for Clark Kent, you can’t stay away from him.

pairing: clark kent x reader

warnings: none!

word count: over 1.7k i lost count

author's note: my first request omg!!! Im sorry this took so long to write, I’ve been swamped with testing and school. Life’s been catching up with me, but I hope you enjoy!! Perry’s a gossip girl in this :p. also, my requests are still open!

you thought you were being sneaky, but alas, nobody could ever hide anything from perry white. especially when it had to do with his daughter and a co worker.

he didn’t necessarily hate clark kent, he just enjoyed giving him a tough time. besides, his old fling with lois lane was something he enjoyed watching. to him, love was a world that clark didn’t know how to navigate. so imagine his surprise when he found out you were dating the daily planet’s resident golden boy. he had questions— and he had a lot of them.

that’s how you found yourself here, sitting in front of your father’s oak desk. it was place right in front of a window that you felt was far too big, and was a pure invasion of privacy. but your father was all about invading privacy— be it yours, or your now not so secret boyfriends.

“you know why you’re in here?” he asked, placing a fat cigar in his mouth. this made you frown, the smoking. but it was apart of his character, was it not?

“stop talking like that, you’re not a cop.” you grumbled, placing one leg over the over as you crossed your arms. despite his tough exterior, you two were still able to joke with one another. it was just one of those things that flowed easily between the two of you. “when were you going to tell me, your father, might i remind you, that you were dating clark kent?” he asked, leaning over the desk. his eyes bore into yours, but you could see the hint of amusement in them. he’d give you shit about it, but he just wanted you to be happy.

“i would have told you eventually. you know, maybe once i’m a couple hundred miles away from you.” you smiled, finally relaxing in your seat. he let out an over exaggerated exhale, rolling his eyes as he did so.

“why kent?” he asked, puffing out a cloud of smoke as he clicked around on his computer, his brows furrowed in curiosity and slight confusion. you had a sigh of your own to let out at this question. you were never able to tell if he liked clark or not— which is exactly why you weren’t ready to bring the man around your father just yet. he was an intimidating guy, and clark was one of the most shy and awkward people you’ve ever met. just thinking about it felt like an understatement.

“because he’s kind and treats me well? and he’s very caring, thank you very much.” you explained. “oh, and he’s superman!” you thought, wondering how your father would react to that. but that was clark’s place to tell him— if he ever did. not yours.

“let me find out he tries something you don’t like..” he trailed off, giving you the stink eye. you rolled your eyes and stood up, brushing your skirt off as you looked at him. “i know, dad. you’ll tear him a new one and probably fire him.” you smiled, walking around his desk to give him a side hug. you swore he was almost as grumpy as batman.

you eventually left his office and returned back to work. just because you were his daughter didn’t mean you were exempt from working. you had to work the same boring journaling job as everyone else.

the day went by as it usually did. superman saves the city, and the daily planet is on it. even though they’ve been separated for a while now, lois still couldn’t give up the role of being superman’s star reporter. as much as it made your stomach churn, you knew everything would be fine.. right?

wrong. you were completely and utterly wrong. walking into the break room, you ran into your father giving a very jittery clark the stink eye and the infamous ‘you hurt my daughter and i’ll hurt you’ talk.

“dad!” you exclaimed, rushing over to clark with a frown. the poor guy looked like he was ready to have a heart attack. “why are you patronizing him?!” you asked, moving to cover clark. to anyone walking in, it would look comedic. clark was so much bigger than you were, it was like a child trying to hide behind a lamp.

“i was not.. patronizing him. i was just giving him a very down to earth talk!” your father said, giving you a look full of fake innocence. you raised a brow, watching as he looked back at clark. “i wasn’t patronizing you was i, kent?” he asked, causing you to deadpan and turn around to look at your blue eyed boyfriend. “don’t answer that. and if you do, don’t lie just because he’s your boss. if he fires you, i’ll quit too.” you spoke, a grumble from your father coming from where he was at across the room.

clark swallowed, his eyes darting between you and your father. “i-i wouldn’t say patronizing..” he trailed off, averting his gaze from yours. “you know what— clark, we’re going to the cafe next door on break. a little date!” you said, glaring at your father. he’d have to accept your and clark’s relationship sooner or later. with that thought in your mind, you grabbed clark’s hand and dragged him out of the break room.

the next few weeks were.. calm, to say the least. your father kept bothering clark, but only how he did before he found out the two of you were dating. you knew something was off about it, but you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. that was until cat grant finally broke and started asking you a bunch of questions about clark. so your father let it break. how wonderful.

“sooo? you and kent?” the blonde sang, standing next to you as you filled up your coffee. you had to bite back a groan and hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

"yes he's amazing, no he's not using me to get over lois, and yes perry knows." you said, rolling your eyes. “and i know dad sent you over here to try and figure out if there’s trouble in paradise, but there’s not. you can go ahead and tell him clark is taking me to some fancy restaurant tonight.” you spoke, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. with that, you strut off, going back to work.

later, you found yourself getting ready for your date. this was the most expensive one to date, with clark saying something about having a friend who paid for it for free. you wondered where he got all of these friends from.. either way, you were excited. you had only hoped your father hadn’t scared him away. your thoughts were soon interrupted by a knock on your front door, and you smiled. rushing over, you opened the door, meeting a red faced clark who was holding flowers.

“you– you said you liked these.. but if you don’t, i can just throw them away!” the blue eyed giant stammered, holding a bouquet of red hyacinths. you felt your face grow hot as you took them, your eyes meeting his. “thank you, clark. they’re lovely. this feels more like a first date than our first date actually was.” you giggled, setting the flowers inside before meeting him outside and locking the door behind you. you watched as he visibly relaxed, seeming like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. he lifted his arm and let you take it, leading you towards the lobby of your apartment building. every time clark took you on a date, you’d walk. not because you didn’t like driving, but because you enjoyed taking as much time as possible to spend with him. today was the only exception, as the restaurant was halfway across the city.

“my dad hasn’t been giving you a hard time, has he?” you asked, your voice soft as you looked up at him. his blue eyes met yours, and you nearly melted on the spot. “no– well, i have to say no, because he’s your dad, but i think he’s just acting how every dad would!” he nervously laughed. he opened your car door, smiling as you kissed his cheek before getting in. “my dad isn’t like other dads. he’s a bit.. how do i say this, psychotic when it comes to me?” you said, looking at clark as he got in the driver’s seat.

“i mean, he did say he’d fire me and make sure you never saw me again if i broke your heart, but..” he trailed off, backing out of the parking space. “he’s so aggressive. i doubt you could ever break my heart. besides, i get to say i’m dating superman,” you said, adding the last bit in a low whisper, “i’m practically the most special girl in the world.” you smiled. clark smiled, and the two of you talked for the rest of the car ride before stopping in front of some expensive restaurant. clark got out and opened your door for you before you could even think about getting out of the car, and it was almost comical how shy he still was. holding his hand, you followed clark into the restaurant, looking around in awe.

“i want to know who this friend is and where you found them at.” you said, wide eyes gazing around the room. clark chuckled, his body vibrating as he did so. he was so shy all the time, you almost forgot how deep his voice was. “uh.. one day.” he said, his face a soft tone of red.

the two of you were quickly seated, and you were quick to look at the menu. clark didn’t say anything and listened to you talk about how good or how weird the food looked, staring at you with love in his eyes. and no, he wouldn’t tell you that he noticed perry in the corner of the restaurant hiding behind a newspaper.

you looked up, your eyes meeting his through his long eyelashes. his eyes were full of love and affection, making your heart stutter. you paused for a moment before your lips slightly curled up in a smile, and you knew that you were set for life. clark was everything you could've wanted in a man, and to top it off, he was literally a symbol of hope.

you were pulled out of your thoughts by clark, who had his head tilted as he looked at you. "you're staring at me and smiling. are you making fun of me in your head?" he asked, his voice holding a nervous undertone to it. he always worried too much-- but it was endearing. to you, it showed he cared.

"you worry too much. i was just thinking about how lucky i am to have you." you explained, taking his hands across the table. he blushed, a shy smile gracing his features as he took in your words.

the rest of dinnee went well-- clark felt like everything was perfect. he was more comfortable and had gotten you buttered up. he didn't even notice the look of begrudging approval perry gave him before leaving the resturant, and didn't miss the text your father sent you as he carried a very sleepy you into his apartment. though, something told him perry wouldn't stop the teasing.

[a-very-tired-raven]

what do their bedrooms look like (boys of your choice)

Nado: He has a very pleasing room to look at. While the overall colors of his room(walls, bedsheet) are a nice sky blue and grey, he has many models of air planes, storm chasing vehicles, and race cars that give a nice vibrant contrast. Not to mention a modest baseball hat and jersey collection donning one wall. He has a regular sized closet.

His room is very neat and organized, saved for a couple playing cards scattered between his model shelf and work desk, a couple pencils and pens left out, a trashcan filled with rejected sketches, and spare model parts laying around.

Also..his bed sheets have clouds on them, the bedframe having engraved stars and tornados, and a signed baseball bat in the corner next to his bed.

Beats: His room is a contrast between being both retro and vintage themed. His room is rather big, as he needs space to relax and practice cordeo when he doesn't want to go to the studio.

Under his bed, and stretching out underneath his desk and tables, he has a very large black rug. It has the same colored shape patterns on it you'd see at old skating rinks. He has numerous vinyl records, tour posters, and glass frames of albums on his wall of his favorite musicians(two of those including two of tangos biggest hitting songs.) He has a huge closet.

In the corner, he has a large bean bag. Next to it, he has a vintage vinyl record table, a very very old radio(both with their own tables.), and a big shelf with a cd player, CDs, and a whiteboard.

His walls are a weird grey green color that fits oddly nice, and he has a full length mirror behind his door.

Boxer: He doesn't have a very big room. It's not small, but it's just big enough to his liking. He has a smaller bed, not too big, and the kind that has shelves underneath as the bedframe. It has a red comforter with a basic pirate design printed all over. The walls are brick, with a smooth floor the same as gym floors. He has a black mat directly in the center of his room, with a punching bag. There's a rack with three hooks right above his bed that he keeps his three hats on.

He has a dart board on the back of his door, weights in the corner of his room, and very very small shelves with vintage comic books. On the bottom of his shelf, is pre-assembled models of two helicopters, a train, and a pirate ship. He also has a couple figures of his favorite heroes made of paperclips that he paid gen to make him. He doesn't have a closet, but does have a very small chest at the foot of his bed and a mini fridge.

Next to his bed he has the skinniest nightstand you'll ever see, with a family photo, and a small box with a ring collection, and a silver watch dead center. His is the only room here without a window

Sap: Sap has a very cozy room. The walls are a lovely maple color, and his floors wooden with a red stain. He has a small walkway from the door to his bed made of carpet.

He has a small closet, though instead of hanging his clothes up, he keeps them in a wooden chest that's inside his closet. Because of this, his closet is pretty empty actually, save for a trashcan, and a suite and hat that's hung up for special occasions.

He has one desk in his room, that's actually pretty big. It has a computer modled from the 2010's, a vintage radio, a stack of journals, a cup holding pens and pencils, and a very very very old rubix cube he got from his Alphys. He only has three things in his walls. A mirror above his nightstand, a huge world map above his bed, and a dart board all alone on his wall across from his bed.

And lastly, he has a cute nightstand next to his bed. It has a photo of him and his brother, a photo of his undyne, a beautiful pocket knife his undyne gave him, and a pack of playing cards in the one drawer that's in it.

Patch: His room is the biggest mix between a hippie vibe and a clinic. He has a hammock for a bed, to which he sleeps with a patchwork blanket. He has a metal desk, with numerous lab equipment, sharped pencils, and notebooks laid across.

On the wall behind his door, he has a bookshelf filled with books, photo albums, CDs, and wood carvings. Next to it, is a huge circular window with a ledge you can sit on. Right next to his hammock is a small bin filled with knitting tools, and he has numerous cross-stitched fabrics on his walls. He also has a huge cage for his pet rats.

[mariacallous]

Dozens of Consumer Finance Protection Bureau employees were terminated on Tuesday evening, sources tell WIRED.

The cuts largely targeted contractors and so-called probationary employees, workers who have served less than two years at the agency. Sources tell WIRED that the CFPB’s enforcement division was hit hard, but it’s unclear how many employees were let go.

Workers were informed that they had been fired with a frenetic email delivered around 9pm ET on Tuesday night. An evidently failed mail merge meant that some affected employees were addressed as [EmployeeFirstName][EmployeeLastName], [Job Title], [Division].

“This is to provide notification that I am removing you from your position of [Job Title] and federal service consistent with the above references,” the email from acting chief human capital officer Adam Martinez says. “Unfortunately, the Agency finds that that [sic] you are not fit for continued employment because your ability, knowledge and skills do not fit the Agency’s current needs.”

The firings follow a tumultuous few days at CFPB. On Friday, staff for Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency shut down a portion of the agency’s homepage after a day of struggling to obtain access to the CMS and other systems. WIRED reported last week that three DOGE staffers, including Gavin Kliger and Nikhil Rajpal were given access to CFPB’s HR, procurement, and financial infrastructure. The DOGE workers were later granted access to all of the agency’s systems on Friday, Bloomberg reported this week, including bank examination and enforcement records.

Later on Friday evening, Russell Vought—Trump’s newly confirmed director of the Office of Management and Budget—took over as the acting administrator for CFPB late Friday evening, as first reported by The Wall Street Journal. Soon after, DOGE staff began sending out email requests asking CFPB managers to give Kliger additional access to agency systems, including physical access control system, payroll processing systems, and the ability to edit the CFPB’s website, sources tell WIRED.

Just before 10:30pm ET on Friday, sources say someone who appeared to have administrative privileges, accessed the agency server using Secure Shell (SSH), a protocol that allows remote control of a computer over a network. Bypassing the content management system, they [unpublished] the homepage file, causing a portion of the CFPB homepage to display a “404: Page not found”, notice typical of a website that has been deleted or is otherwise missing. The remainder of the site was functional, including submission forms for industry whistleblowers and consumer complaints.

Around 11pm on Friday, the CFPB’s X account disappeared and shortly after, according to a CFPB staffer, DOGE left the building.

CFPB sources who spoke to WIRED described being blindsided by the DOGE staffers. "They said they would follow protocol but repeatedly did not," one says, noting that the level of access these staffers have could allow them to lock others out of the building, take down the website, and “obstruct the bureau’s ability to carry out its mandate.”

One source at CFPB on Friday says they saw two young DOGE staffers wandering through the halls of the building trying to open doors.

“DOGE pulled a Darth Vader in cloud city where they came in promising to respect our rules and ask for read access and then tonight [Friday] at 6 they took a heel turn and demanded website access,” another CFPB source told WIRED at the time.

In a pair of emails sent Saturday and Monday, Vought effectively ordered all work at the agency to stop, freezing various enforcement efforts and work on regulations that would affect payment programs run by Big Tech companies.

The CFPB has long been a target of both Elon Musk and conservatives more broadly; the Project 2025 chapter on financial regulatory agencies describes it as “a highly politicized, damaging, and utterly unaccountable federal agency” and calls to have it abolished. Musk wrote “RIP CFPB” with a gravestone emoji in an X post Friday afternoon. Last November, he posted “Delete CFPB.” There are around 1,700 employees in total at the agency.

The CFPB was established by the 2010 Dodd-Frank Act, a sweeping piece of legislation that imposed significant regulatory reform in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis. Its remit is to protect consumers from unfair or deceptive financial practices, and the agency claims to be responsible for $19.7 billion in consumer relief since its inception, as well as $5 billion in civil penalties.

Some of those wins have come against payment processors including Block, which was ordered to pay a total of $175 million in penalties last month for allegedly failing to sufficiently protect users of its Cash App from fraud. CFPB also has an active lawsuit against JPMorgan Chase, Bank of America, and Wells Fargo for similar alleged failures on their shared payment app Zelle. Elon Musk will soon be in the peer-to-peer payments business as well, after X entered a partnership with Visa in late January.

[superlinguo]

Research Data Management. Or, How I made multiple backups and still almost lost my honours thesis.

This is a story I used to tell while teaching fieldworkers and other researchers about how to manage their data. It’s a moderately improbable story, but it happened to me and others have benefited from my misadventures. I haven't had reason to tell it much lately, and I thought it might be useful to put into writing. This is a story from before cloud storage was common - back when you could, and often would, run out of online email storage space. Content note: this story includes some unpleasant things that happened to me, including multiple stories of theft (cf. moderately improbable). Also, because it's stressful for most of the story, I want to reassure you that it does have a happy conclusion. It explains a lot of my enthusiasm for good research data management. In Australia, 'honours' is an optional fourth year for a three year degree. It's a chance to do some more advanced coursework and try your hand at research, with a small thesis project. Of course, it doesn't feel small when it's the first time you've done a project that takes a whole year and is five times bigger than anything you’ve ever written. I've written briefly about my honours story (here, and here in a longer post about my late honours supervisor Barb Kelly) . While I did finish my project, it all ended a bit weirdly when my supervisor Barb got ill and left during the analysis/writing crunch. The year after finishing honours I got an office job. I hoped to maybe do something more with my honours work, but I wasn't sure what, and figured I would wait until Barb was better. During that year, my sharehouse flat was broken into and the thief walked out with the laptop I'd used to do my honours project. The computer had all my university files on it, including my data and the Word version of my thesis. I lost interview video files, transcriptions, drafts, notes and everything except the PDF version I had uploaded to the University's online portal. Uploading was optional at the time, if I didn't do that I probably would have just been left with a single printed copy. I also lost all my jewellery and my brother’s base guitar, but I was most sad about the data (sorry bro). Thankfully, I made a backup of my data and files on a USB drive that I kept in my handbag. This was back when a 4GB thumb drive was an investment. That Friday, feeling sorry for myself after losing so many things I couldn't replace, I decided to go dancing to cheer myself up. While out with a group of friends, my bag was stolen. It was the first time I had a nice handbag, and I still miss it. Thankfully, I knew to make more than one back up. I had an older USB that I'd tucked down the back of the books on my shelf (a vintage 256MB drive my dad kindly got for me in undergrad after a very bad week when I lost an essay to a corrupted floppy disk). When I went to retrieve the files, the drive was (also) corrupted. This happens with hard drives sometimes. My three different copies in three different locations were now lost to me.

Thankfully, my computer had a CD/DVD burner. This was a very cool feature in the mid-tens, and I used to make a lot of mixed CDs for my friends. During my honours project I had burned backed up files on some discs and left them at my parents house. It was this third backup, kept off site, which became the only copy of my project. I very quickly made more copies. When Barb was back at work, and I rejoined her as a PhD student, it meant we could return to the data and all my notes. The thesis went through a complete rewrite and many years later was published as a journal article (Gawne & Kelly 2014). It would have probably never happened if I didn’t have those project files. I continued with the same cautious approach to my research data ever since, including sending home SD cards while on field trips, making use of online storage, and archiving data with institutional repositories while a project is ongoing.

I’m glad that I made enough copies that I learnt a good lesson from a terrible series of events. Hopefully this will prompt you, too, to think about how many copies you have, where they’re located, and what would happen if you lost access to your online storage.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

New SpaceTime out Monday

SpaceTime 20250505 Series 28 Episode 54

Discovery of a vast molecular cloud next door

Astronomers have discovered a vast invisible molecular gas and dust cloud near our solar system.

Jupiter’s giant polar cyclones under the microscope

New data from NASA’s Juno mission is shedding fresh light on the fierce winds and cyclones raging in the far north of the gas giant Jupiter and the extreme volcanic action on its fiery moon Io.

A Russian spacecraft about to crash back to Earth

A failed Soviet era spacecraft designed to land on the planet Venus is about to crash back to Earth.

The Science Report

83.7% of the world’s coral reef area now impacted by heat stress.

Taking cannabis gives you a higher risk of heart attack.

The unexpected evolutionary history of echidnas and platypuses.

Skeptics guide to the South Carolina ghost lanterns.

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through your favourite podcast download provider or from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime daily news blog: http://spacetimewithstuartgary.tumblr.com/

SpaceTime facebook: www.facebook.com/spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime Instagram @spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime twitter feed @stuartgary

SpaceTime YouTube: @SpaceTimewithStuartGary

SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States.  The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science.  SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research.  The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network.  Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor.  Gary’s always loved science. He was the dorky school kid who spent his weekends at the Australian Museum. He studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on a career in journalism and radio broadcasting. Gary’s radio career stretches back some 34 years including 26 at the ABC. His first gigs were spent as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist, and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. He was part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and became one of its first on air presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary developed StarStuff which he wrote, produced and hosted, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth. That compares to the ABC’s overall radio listenership of just 5.6 per cent. The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually.  However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage.  Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently.  StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode being broadcast in February 2016.  Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times weekly (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

[marcelwrites]

Easter Sunday, 2025.

It was grey this morning. That greyness lingered throughout the duration of the day, both in mood and climate. Eventually the clouds broke and there was a brief downpour. I can remember looking out my door to the water as it cascaded down the railings and onto the many plants in my front yard. There was no joy to be found in any of this—| couldn't even go outside for a long walk to just get my blood flowing a little-so l spent most of my day on the computer. I did nothing.

Looking out my office window, where I have a perfect view of the canals, out over the ocean, it was somehow 6:00 p.m. and already dark, and there were forks of lightning in the distance. I resented the fact that I didn't do more with my day.

I can already tell this winter is going to be brutal, if not in weather, then in mood. Those days where I can't just be outside in the sun, working up a sweat, start taking a toll awfully quick. Maybe I just need an ounce of fucking perspective, just a modicum of appreciation for the fact that I have everything I need in life. I am just tired of this farce.

Writing these "journal" style pieces in the first-person

—how else are you going to write journal? —the constant use of the pronouns I and my, "I", "I", "I", blah blah blah, it makes me want to tear my fucking hair out. It all seems so… focused on the self. I suppose that’s sort of the trade-off here though, I unburden myself, and you read it. Right?

Made vegan tacos for dinner. I typically use red kidney beans and black beans with fresh garlic and red onion, along with a bunch of spices and seasonings. This time I opted to be a lazy cunt and used "jarlic" instead. Poor choice. Next time I won't be so damn lazy. Pickled jalapenos. Fresh iceberg lettuce. Avocado. Lime juice. It's simple but delicious.

After dinner I continued reading Apt Pupil by Stephen King. It's interesting enough but hasn't particularly grabbed me yet but I'm still early into the novella. It's about some kid that's fascinated with Nazis and manages to track down an old man that was an SS Officer that helped their concentration camps run more efficiently. So far l've yet to ascertain the point of the story but l'm sure it'll reveal itself to me soon.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm going to hit the weights and try to hit 20,000 steps, and I'm not going to use the weather as some petty excuse. I may order a new bicycle too, I need something more suited to mixed terrain, rather than a city bike that's simply not built for a place like where I live.

[darkmaga-returns]

by Murtaza Hussain

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—Drop Site News

In mid-March, Google announced that it was paying the staggering sum of $32 billion for the acquisition of the Israeli cloud-computing security company Wiz. The acquisition, pending regulatory approval, will be the largest ever of an Israeli firm.

“Organizations of all sizes—from start-ups and large enterprises to governments and public sector organizations—can use Wiz to protect everything they build and run in the cloud,” Google said in a statement announcing the acquisition. The statement added that Wiz would join Google Cloud, but that the Tel Aviv-based company’s security services would still be available across other cloud platforms used by major firms, including Amazon Web Services, Microsoft Azure, and Oracle Cloud.

What was left unsaid in Google’s announcement, however, were the personal backgrounds of its four founders. The co-founders of Wiz—Yinon Costica, Assaf Rappaport, Ami Luttwak, and Roy Reznik—are all veterans of Unit 8200, the signals intelligence division of the Israeli military, which is playing a key role in helping to carry out Israel’s wars in Gaza and Lebanon.

[squishranger]

AT LAST SEVERAL MONTHS OF BRAINROT COME TO FRUITION

here's a carrd for all tptmers who want to meet some Fun New Girls That I Made (it defaults you to the first girl, but the button leading to the second one is at the bottom... and at the bottom of the second girl's page... is a button leading back to the first! careful not to get stuck in an infinite loop.)

EDIT: OH GOD ITS SO UGLY ON MOBILE. USE YOUR COMPUTER PLEASE

the full designs, transcripts and screenshots of the carrd for mobile users, and other such ramblings are under the cut

REVERIE GIRL , she/they/cloud/dream/star/whatever suits your fancy, wants the world to spin both faster and slower than it does... if she had the gumption, they'd have everything she wanted by now, but they tend to only have the energy to lay in bed and think about lost times. she's a nostalgiacore girlie and she has little else to go off of in terms of defining who she is. (star's... basically just a self-insert.)

PAGE:

JOURNAL TRANSCRIPT: ohhhh my god what am i doing . i cant keep living like this. like its not even living im not even doing anything every morning i wake up and i regret i regret waking up i dont want to wake up but how am i ever supposed to live if i cant do anything other than stare at the ceiling and pretend things are better than they are ??? at this point i'd rather give up. live in my daydream forever with my friends and my cat whos been dead for like two years now i think but i wanna go back to her i wanna go somewhere else. i havent given a shit about reality in fucking forever im so done with it but some part of me wants to live. maybe even get out of my fucking parents house. get a job learn to drive be a person or something. but i'm so stuck. i just hurt all the time. i dont know what part of my heart to follow. i dont know what to do. i can't just go back to bed this time i can't…. i can't…. i always tell myself that and then i do. i need to make up my mind.

CARRIER GIRL, she/he/they/it, has been abandoned by everyone who ever loved her. though she lives a generally stable life, it's a distinctly lonely one, and it isn't enough for her. there is something yet to be fulfilled. some kind of desire. she only wants to feel as loved as she once was.

PAGE:

JOURNAL TRANSCRIPT: hello blog!! i got myself an iced matcha latte from my favorite local cafe today! it was really good. but it like, it got me thinking… will any little treat i buy myself ever make me feel better about how freakin' lonely i am?? man, i dunno why i started thinking like that… i get matcha all the dang time. so often they're starting to feel more like breadcrumbs. i think it'd taste like something again if i shared it with someone. i think i peaked in high school. that was when i had friends and before all that awful stuff happened and yeah maybe i wasn't doing great but i had people. and then they all went to college or got married or had babies or something and… augh!! i can't be bitter!! they're living their best life… just… without me. and now every time i reach out i get brushed off, pushed away… i want someone who won't leave me. will i ever have someone who won't leave me? maybe i won't. maybe i should just accept that. everyone always leaves. i've been nothing but kind to people, i really think that, so what am I doing wrong? ohh boy this one really spiraled outta control didn't it… sorry ;-; i'm just gonna save it and go think for a bittt….

THIS WAS A VERY FUN EXERCISE for character design and branching out with my art style (i did in fact draw both of these characters.. it's probably pretty obvious but i tried to make them look like they were sorta drawn in different styles like the canon girls bc it's cool i think. if that makes sense JSDFJSDF) and coming up with metaphors, i actually had so many other girl ideas that got scrapped for one reason or another, and only two came out unscathed... there may be more... in the future... as for songs, i don't know if that'll ever happen. i have most of the tools, aside from voice synth, so i'd probably just use my own voice. which might be CRINGEEE (ironic statement) so we'll see how that goes!! ^^' don't... don't count on it...