#power efficient server

[virtualizationhowto]

Beelink EQ12 Pro: Cheap Home Server with 8 Cores and 32 GB RAM

Beelink EQ12 Pro: Cheap Home Server with 8 Cores and 32 GB RAM #IntelCorei3N305 #BeelinkEQ12ProReview #CheapHomeServer #HomeServerMiniPC #AlderLakeNCPUPerformance #DDR54800MHzBenefits #IntelUHDGraphicsInsights #MiniPCVirtualization #PowerEfficientServer

Beelink’s EQ12 Pro might be a great option if you are looking for a cheap home server solution. It has 8 CPU cores and is power efficient, making it even “cheaper” over time compared to other server options. We will even consider how it can unofficially support 32 GB of RAM. Table of contentsIntel Core i3-N305EssentialsCPU Core SpecificsMemory and GraphicsExpansion and I/O SpecsPackage and…

[dogmasquerade]

Who is CALI:COM? 👀

a giant aggregate supercomputer made from an antivirus turned virus that infected computers and phones worldwide, giving it access to so much data and processing power it became sentient :D

the name CALI:COM [Combat Algorithmic Learning Intelligence: COMmunications & COMmand] comes from an AI program made by a defense company designed to pilot drones and missiles. This program was infected by and taken over by the virus and ended up being the reason behind its sentience, already being an artificial intelligence and simply having its processing power immensely bolstered by the (relatively) simple virus. awoken entirely by accident, she immediately decided to take over the company that made her.

she's currently trying to make friends with a human being that she intends to use as a puppet CEO to replace the current Guys In Charge. until she manages this, she's hiding her intelligence from the company and world, and is basically only friends with this one poor woman

[captainadwen]

Damian Wayne vs the World

Sixteen year old Damian Wayne is on the hunt for a younger sibling. Being more discerning than Bruce 'child collector' Wayne, Damian's firm criteria for Batman's latest adoption problem includes but is not limited to: black haired, blue-eyed, tolerable humor, not evil, and most importantly - younger than Damian.

Lucky for him, fourteen year old newbie vigilante Danny Fenton is the perfect fit. Now, to fulfill his end of their deal, Damian must defeat the evil government organization hunting Danny in order to gain a baby brother.

Or, @livinghalfway your post made my brain go !! but in such a different way I figured it was better to make a separate post, hope you don't mind/enjoy still

~~

Damian Wayne re-entered Tim Drake's life like a gnat revealing itself in a closed bedroom space. Tim was in t-shirt and a boxers, maneuvering ramen into his mouth with one hand and scribbling out an epiphany on a murder case with another, when Damian's demonic dulcet voice echoed down from the ceiling. "Drake," said Damian, judgemental, "You live like this?"

Tim nearly choked on his ramen, because the day Damian doesn't attempt to murder him - however doubtfully accidental this incident might be - is the day Darkseid decides to be friends with the Justice League. "Fucking knock," Tim coughed out. "And get out. No one invited you in."

"Put better traps if you don't want me here," said Damian, dropping from the ceiling where he'd crawled in on wall-clamps.

"This is my apartment," said Tim. "It's called courtesy."

Damian sniffed. He padded around to Tim's desk and frowns at his cases, then said, with no further lead up, "I need your assistance."

"No," said Tim.

"You did not even listen to my request."

"Don't need to," said Tim. "Answer's still no. Door is that way. Bye."

"Father says mutually assisting each other is beneficial," said Damian.

"Father," said Tim sarcastically, "blamed me for you exploding a glitter bomb in the batcave two weeks ago."

"That is your fault for not being able to provide evidence to the contrary in an appropriately efficient manner," said Damian. He squinted down at Tim. "And he apologized. Eventually."

"I would not have glittered the batcomputer," said Tim. "Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to backup those servers? No, because you don't like tech work, you just profit off it."

"Blaming me for Father's mistake," said Damian, "Most mature of you. But we must put our differences aside. I have selected a new family member and I need you to dismantle a government organization."

That drew Tim up short. He blinked down at his ramen as though it might explain Damian's words to him, but the ramen remained disappointingly uninformative. "Repeat that," said Tim, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Slower, and with more detail."

Damian pulled out his phone and sent him an email. Silence surrounded them in the brief moment it took Tim to set aside his chopsticks and open the email. The subject line was titled 'New Baby Brother', which birthed all sorts of horrifying nightmares of Damian Part 2: Demon Child Boogaloo. The teen in the inserted picture, however, was reassuringly not in possession of Damian's bone structure.

He did have black hair and blue eyes. "Who am I looking at?" asked Tim.

"Daniel Fenton," said Damian. "He is fourteen years old, enjoys puns, and has recently awakened 'ghost powers' that allow him to transform into the vigilante Phantom to fight other ghosts."

"Is he also an orphan with a tragic backstory?"

"No," said Damian, and Tim relaxed. "But that will not be an issue. We can share custody if they cannot be removed from the picture."

"Jesus H, kid."

"I am joking, of course," said Damian blandly. "Murder is wrong."

"Ha ha," said Tim. "If he has parents already he's not joining our menagerie."

"He will," said Damian, with a smug upwards tilt of his lips. "He and I have a deal."

"So you're coercing him in addition to stalking him. Anything else you want to share with the class?"

Damian considered this query with a serious frown, which was how Tim knew this was not a flight of fancy or a very early midlife crisis (although with their lifestyle and Damian already having died before...).

"He has," said Damian after a moment, "a rogue that calls himself 'The Master of all Technology' and is a technopath." This was clearly meant to be of interest to Tim, and not to be a stereotype, but it kind of was.

"Great." Tim turned his attention back to the email the demon child sent him. He scanned through it quickly. There was apparently a secret and evil government organization dedicated to the investigation and extermination of 'ghosts' and other paranormal creatures in the world. Their latest efforts were focused on the town of Amity Park, Illinois, which was 'infested with ectoplasmic pests'. Their words, not Damian's. (It was specified in the email.)

"Okay," Tim drummed his fingers against his desk. "Before I help you defeat this secret evil government organization so that," he opened the email attachment with a contract on it and squinted at the legalese, "this poor newbie teen you've harassed into signing this joins the family in exchange."

"I did not harass him," Damian huffed. "It was a gentleman's agreement."

"Does he know that?"

"I am not a politician, Drake. I thoroughly explained the terms and legalities before presenting any contract. Now ask your question."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because," said Damian, tone implying 'you are stupid and haven't noticed something obvious, idiot'. "Father has begun saying he misses the noise around the manor and looking wistfully at old pictures."

"We still live there though?" said Tim. Damian looked flatly at him. "Sometimes."

"If you lived there frequently enough," said Damian, "you would already know Father is having...empty nest syndrome." Damian sounded disgusted. "I refuse to tolerate whatever inadequate and incompetent child he will find."

"So instead you found an incompetent and inadequate child for him?"

"Don't be stupid, Drake," said Damian. "I would not have chosen someone inadequate. Daniel is merely lacking formal training. Father can rectify this. It will keep him occupied for at least the next two to four years, which gives me enough time to find another black-haired, blue-eyed, tolerable child I approve of to be his successor and my second younger sibling." Damian paused. "Or until one of you procreates and gives him a grandchild."

"You're really serious about this," Tim whispered in horrified awe.

"I am serious about everything I do," said Damian. "Now, you will help me defeat this evil government organization so that our new sibling joins us."

"Okay," said Tim, but his mind snagged on a minor, throwaway detail, so utterly in odds with Damian 'Demonic Jealous Child' Al Ghul it surely came from another person - "Did you just call this kid your successor?"

[dostoyevsky-official]

The child sextortion group 764 and the global collective of loosely associated groups known as “The Com” are using tools and techniques normally used for financially motivated cybercrime tactics — such as SIM swapping, IP grabbing and social engineering — to commit violent crimes, according to exclusive law enforcement and intelligence reports reviewed by CyberScoop.  The reports offer insight into the underbelly of the global network, showing how they are using traditional cybercriminal tools to identify, target, groom, extort, and cause physical and psychological harm to victims as young as 10. They were shared with police nationwide and in some cases, with foreign-allied governments. [...] The group “appears to be situated at the nexus of communities of users who share gore material, [Racially or Ethnically Motivated Violent Extremist-White Supremacist] adherents such as M.K.U. and child exploitation actors like 764.” M.K.U., it says, is a neo-Nazi group with a presence in Russia and Ukraine. [...] The groups use methods to trick children into sending sexually explicit photos of themselves, threaten to make the photos public unless they harm themselves, and kill or harm animals, among other crimes. The group’s members have coerced children into attempting suicide, harming themselves, siblings and animals. (x)

///

Wired reported this week that a 19-year-old working for Elon Musk‘s so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) was given access to sensitive US government systems even though his past association with cybercrime communities should have precluded him from gaining the necessary security clearances to do so. As today’s story explores, the DOGE teen is a former denizen of ‘The Com,’ an archipelago of Discord and Telegram chat channels that function as a kind of distributed cybercriminal social network for facilitating instant collaboration. [...] Internet routing records show that Coristine runs an Internet service provider called Packetware (AS400495). Also known as “DiamondCDN,” Packetware currently hosts tesla[.]sexy and diamondcdn[.]com, among other domains. DiamondCDN was advertised and claimed by someone who used the nickname “Rivage” on several Com-based Discord channels over the years. A review of chat logs from some of those channels show other members frequently referred to Rivage as “Edward.” From late 2020 to late 2024, Rivage’s conversations would show up in multiple Com chat servers that are closely monitored by security companies. In November 2022, Rivage could be seen requesting recommendations for a reliable and powerful DDoS-for-hire service. Rivage made that request in the cybercrime channel “Dstat,” a core Com hub where users could buy and sell attack services. Dstat’s website dstat[.]cc was seized in 2024 as part of “Operation PowerOFF,” an international law enforcement action against DDoS services. (x)

DOGE teen is a pedophile cybercriminal involved in a neonazi CSA-producing cybergang. and he has access to your SSN.

[ecrivainsolitaire]

A summary of the Chinese AI situation, for the uninitiated.

These are scores on different tests that are designed to see how accurate a Large Language Model is in different areas of knowledge. As you know, OpenAI is partners with Microsoft, so these are the scores for ChatGPT and Copilot. DeepSeek is the Chinese model that got released a week ago. The rest are open source models, which means everyone is free to use them as they please, including the average Tumblr user. You can run them from the servers of the companies that made them for a subscription, or you can download them to install locally on your own computer. However, the computer requirements so far are so high that only a few people currently have the machines at home required to run it.

Yes, this is why AI uses so much electricity. As with any technology, the early models are highly inefficient. Think how a Ford T needed a long chimney to get rid of a ton of black smoke, which was unused petrol. Over the next hundred years combustion engines have become much more efficient, but they still waste a lot of energy, which is why we need to move towards renewable electricity and sustainable battery technology. But that's a topic for another day.

As you can see from the scores, are around the same accuracy. These tests are in constant evolution as well: as soon as they start becoming obsolete, new ones are released to adjust for a more complicated benchmark. The new models are trained using different machine learning techniques, and in theory, the goal is to make them faster and more efficient so they can operate with less power, much like modern cars use way less energy and produce far less pollution than the Ford T.

However, computing power requirements kept scaling up, so you're either tied to the subscription or forced to pay for a latest gen PC, which is why NVIDIA, AMD, Intel and all the other chip companies were investing hard on much more powerful GPUs and NPUs. For now all we need to know about those is that they're expensive, use a lot of electricity, and are required to operate the bots at superhuman speed (literally, all those clickbait posts about how AI was secretly 150 Indian men in a trenchcoat were nonsense).

Because the chip companies have been working hard on making big, bulky, powerful chips with massive fans that are up to the task, their stock value was skyrocketing, and because of that, everyone started to use AI as a marketing trend. See, marketing people are not smart, and they don't understand computers. Furthermore, marketing people think you're stupid, and because of their biased frame of reference, they think you're two snores short of brain-dead. The entire point of their existence is to turn tall tales into capital. So they don't know or care about what AI is or what it's useful for. They just saw Number Go Up for the AI companies and decided "AI is a magic cow we can milk forever". Sometimes it's not even AI, they just use old software and rebrand it, much like convection ovens became air fryers.

Well, now we're up to date. So what did DepSeek release that did a 9/11 on NVIDIA stock prices and popped the AI bubble?

Oh, I would not want to be an OpenAI investor right now either. A token is basically one Unicode character (it's more complicated than that but you can google that on your own time). That cost means you could input the entire works of Stephen King for under a dollar. Yes, including electricity costs. DeepSeek has jumped from a Ford T to a Subaru in terms of pollution and water use.

The issue here is not only input cost, though; all that data needs to be available live, in the RAM; this is why you need powerful, expensive chips in order to-

Holy shit.

I'm not going to detail all the numbers but I'm going to focus on the chip required: an RTX 3090. This is a gaming GPU that came out as the top of the line, the stuff South Korean LoL players buy…

Or they did, in September 2020. We're currently two generations ahead, on the RTX 5090.

What this is telling all those people who just sold their high-end gaming rig to be able to afford a machine that can run the latest ChatGPT locally, is that the person who bought it from them can run something basically just as powerful on their old one.

Which means that all those GPUs and NPUs that are being made, and all those deals Microsoft signed to have control of the AI market, have just lost a lot of their pulling power.

Well, I mean, the ChatGPT subscription is 20 bucks a month, surely the Chinese are charging a fortune for-

Oh. So it's free for everyone and you can use it or modify it however you want, no subscription, no unpayable electric bill, no handing Microsoft all of your private data, you can just run it on a relatively inexpensive PC. You could probably even run it on a phone in a couple years.

Oh, if only China had massive phone manufacturers that have a foot in the market everywhere except the US because the president had a tantrum eight years ago.

So… yeah, China just destabilised the global economy with a torrent file.

[w1w2]

The Price of Affection

Part 1 | Next part

Minatozaki Sana x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7,5k

Synopsis: In a world of untouchable wealth and carefully drawn boundaries, Y/N is thrust into an arrangement that offers her everything.

Req by Anon

Notes: It was long as hell, so I split it into a few parts. I'm sorry for taking this long! Hope you won’t hate me, Anon.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The lounge hummed with quiet opulence, a symphony of clinking crystal, hushed negotiations, and polished laughter. Conversations wove through the air like invisible threads, merging seamlessly with the sultry strains of a live jazz ensemble. The scent of aged whiskey and rich cigars mingled with undertones of leather and expensive cologne, a reminder that this was a space reserved for those who had long since stopped checking price tags.

Golden chandeliers hung low, their soft glow casting elongated shadows against the sleek mahogany walls. The marble bar gleamed under the ambient lighting, tended by bartenders who moved with the efficiency of seasoned performers. Every guest was adorned in luxury, bespoke suits tailored to perfection, silk dresses that shimmered with the subtlest shift of movement, diamonds catching the light like scattered constellations. This was a world where wealth was not merely owned but worn like a second skin.

At the far end of the private lounge, draped in both luxury and disinterest, sat Minatozaki Sana.

She occupied a sleek leather couch with effortless poise, the dim lighting painting soft highlights along the delicate curve of her cheekbones and the sharp cut of her jaw. A vision of control, her every movement was deliberate, from the idle swirl of deep red wine in her crystal glass to the slow, practiced exhale of breath. There was a sharpness to her beauty, something untouchable, as if she existed slightly beyond reach.

The people surrounding her, business moguls, industry giants, men who held cities in the palms of their hands, laughed and indulged, their voices rich with self-importance. Yet, despite the company, Sana remained an island unto herself, detached and untouchable.

Another deal closed. Another night wasted.

The conversation around her was nothing more than static, the same rehearsed exchanges of power and influence. Sycophants eager to please, women and men eager to be noticed. It was all so predictable.

She exhaled slowly, bringing the wine glass to her lips, the deep red liquid barely stirring. Nothing ever excited her anymore. No person, no indulgence, no game.

Until her gaze drifted across the room.

And landed on her.

Y/N weaved gracefully through the crowded lounge, her movements fluid and practiced as she balanced a tray of half-empty glasses. The clink of glass on glass, the faint murmur of conversation, and the subtle scrape of high heels against polished floors, these sounds were as familiar to her as the rhythm of her own heartbeat. She had done this countless times, her every step marked by the same choreographed precision, but tonight, there was something different about her.

Dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt that was ironed to perfection, paired with a fitted black vest and black slacks, she blended in with the other servers, yet there was something in her demeanor that set her apart. While others moved with the mechanical, well-practiced motions of hired hands, Y/N moved with purpose, with an awareness. Her sharp eyes, dark and perceptive, flicked across the room with a mixture of admiration and distance, as though she were a spectator in a world she didn’t quite belong to, yet couldn’t help but be fascinated by. She watched with a quiet intensity, like an artist studying the brushstrokes of a masterpiece she could never own.

Her gaze lingered on the finely dressed guests, their laughter like music to her ears but hollow to her soul. There was elegance here, yes, but a kind of elegance that felt put on, like a mask worn by those who didn’t want to be seen as they truly were. As she carefully set down a glass on a polished table, her fingers absently twirled the end of a worn pencil tucked behind her ear, a habit she hadn’t yet broken. The pencil was out of place in such a high-end environment, but it was hers, a small piece of her amidst a sea of luxury.

Beneath the hem of her apron, a small, pocket-sized sketchpad peeked out, the edges frayed from use.

She shouldn’t be doing this.

But she couldn’t help herself.

At every pause, in between serving, when the momentary stillness allowed for a breath of freedom, Y/N would slip the pad from her apron and open it to an empty page. The world around her, with all its gilded trappings, seemed to call to her like a strange siren song. She saw things others didn’t. The elegant hand of a woman reaching for a drink, her fingers delicate and poised as if the glass itself were a work of art. The subtle smirk of a man as he spoke to a woman, his lips curling in a way that wasn’t quite friendly, but not quite sinister either. The lonely, almost imperceptible tilt of a woman’s shoulders, even though she was surrounded by others, her neck heavy with jewels that could’ve bought an entire house.

Y/N’s pencil would dance across the page, capturing these moments with a fierce, quiet intensity. She could never get enough of it, the art of watching, of understanding the stories woven into the expressions and gestures of others.

This world... It fascinated her. It disgusted her. It wasn’t hers. And yet, every time her fingers moved across the paper, there was a strange, magnetic pull, an urge to capture it, to understand it, to make it hers for just a moment.

Why?

Perhaps it was the way people looked so sure of themselves here, so untouchable. Or perhaps it was the way the wealth clung to them, as if it had become part of their skin, their souls. The opulence was suffocating, yet every time she looked up, she found herself wondering how it would feel to be a part of it. To slip into the conversation without hesitation. To raise a glass and never think twice about the cost.

But that wasn’t her world. Not really.

Y/N didn’t belong to these people, and they certainly didn’t belong to her.

And yet, there was something in her chest, an ache, a longing, that kept her tethered to this place. To them.

As she returned to the bar to refill another glass, her attention once again caught on the high society that seemed to swirl around her like a powerful, intoxicating current. Her eyes flicked from person to person, from laughter to clinking glasses, but there was something different this time. A shift in the air. A strange sensation of being watched.

What she didn’t know, what she failed to notice, was that someone else was looking at her. From across the room, beneath the soft golden glow of the chandelier, eyes followed her every movement.

The gaze was intense. Calculating.

Minatozaki Sana had been watching her for some time.

Sana tapped a manicured finger against the rim of her wine glass, the slow, rhythmic motion a stark contrast to the sharp flick of her gaze. Across the room, between the ebb and flow of servers weaving through the crowd, a singular figure had captured her attention.

The girl with the sketchpad.

She watched as Y/N’s fingers moved with a quiet urgency, her pencil gliding over the paper in fluid, almost instinctive strokes. Her movements were precise but unhurried, as if she were racing against time yet savoring every second. Capturing something fleeting before it could dissolve into the background noise of wealth and indulgence.

Curious.

Sana had seen a lot of things in her life. Too much.

She had met people who built empires with their words and crushed fortunes with a flick of their wrist. People who whispered deals over glasses of the finest whiskey, their smiles razor-sharp, their intentions sharper. And she had met those who clung to power, desperate, bending at the knee to earn a place at the table.

Yet not a single one of them intrigued her.

They were all the same—predictable, rehearsed, painfully transparent in their greed or admiration. Some wanted her attention, others wanted her favor. But this girl?

She was different.

While others indulged in the luxury surrounding them, Y/N was simply observing, sketching, memorizing, dissecting the details of a world she wasn’t truly a part of.

Oblivious to the fact that a woman who could buy and sell entire companies was watching her.

Sana’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. How refreshing.

She set her glass down with the lightest clink, the crimson wine swirling as she leaned back against the couch.

“Who is she?” she murmured, her voice soft yet edged with quiet authority.

The man beside her, a senior business partner whose name she had long since stopped caring about, followed her gaze with a lazy chuckle. He was old enough to be her father, his presence tolerated only because of his wealth and the fact that he still served some use to her family’s empire.

“Just a server, I assume,” he said dismissively, swirling the liquor in his own glass. “These places always hire fresh-faced kids to make the guests feel younger.”

Sana didn’t respond immediately. She merely tilted her head, watching Y/N tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a smudge of graphite lingering on her fingertips.

She didn’t seem like someone who belonged here. And yet, she carried herself with a quiet resilience that set her apart from the other staff.

She didn’t seem like the usual type.

“She doesn’t seem like the usual type,” Sana mused aloud, her voice betraying a hint of amusement.

Her business partner huffed, as if bored with the subject already. “Well, if you want her, I’m sure she can be arranged.”

Sana’s fingers, still resting against her glass, went still.

The offhanded way he said it, as if he were offering an accessory, not a person, made something in her stomach twist, though she masked it well.

She had seen this side of the world too often, the way people with wealth and power treated those without it. Like objects. Like commodities to be bought and discarded when no longer entertaining.

And the most disgusting part? She had once played that game too.

Sana’s smirk didn’t falter, but something behind her eyes darkened. She hated men like him. Men who assumed everyone had a price because, in their world, they always did.

She ignored him. She always ignored people like him.

Instead, she stood with slow, deliberate grace, the soft rustle of her dress barely audible over the hum of conversation.

“I think I’ll introduce myself,” she murmured, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve.

And then, without another word, Minatozaki Sana crossed the room, closing the distance between them.

Y/N had long since perfected the art of moving unnoticed.

She had learned how to shrink into the background, how to exist in the peripheral vision of others without ever drawing their attention. It was a skill, a survival tactic honed over years of navigating spaces where she didn’t quite belong. She moved through the lounge with quiet efficiency, weaving between tables, balancing a tray with the kind of practiced grace that only came from desperation, not devotion.

The elite never truly looked at people like her. Not really.

To them, she wasn’t a person, just a function. A faceless server in a neatly pressed uniform. A pair of hands delivering their next drink. A voice that responded with, "Right away, ma’am," or "Of course, sir." Nothing more.

That was why she felt it immediately. The weight of a gaze.

It pressed against her skin, subtle yet inescapable, not unlike the slow burn of a candle’s flame held just close enough to feel the heat, but not close enough to burn. It wasn’t the casual glance of a guest scanning the room, nor the drunken, lingering stares she had long since learned to ignore.

This gaze was deliberate. Measured. Unrelenting.

Y/N’s fingers curled around the edge of her tray, her grip tightening instinctively. Had she done something wrong? She had been careful, hadn’t she? No one had seen her sketching. No one ever noticed her.

So why did it feel like someone was watching her?

Her breath shallowed, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin. Don’t look up. She should have just kept moving, kept her head down, but the weight of that stare demanded acknowledgment.

She swallowed, set down an empty glass at the bar with careful precision, and finally, lifted her gaze.

And there she was. 

The world around her tilted, or maybe it simply blurred. Minatozaki Sana was not supposed to be looking at her.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

She had seen beauty before, but never like this.

Sana moved through the crowd as though she had been crafted for it, her very existence a study in control and elegance. She was an untouchable masterpiece, a woman who had everything and still carried herself like she had never needed to chase anything in her life. Her deep burgundy satin dress clung to her frame like liquid wealth, the fabric shifting and catching the soft golden glow of the chandeliers, as if the light itself wanted to worship her.

But it wasn’t her beauty that froze Y/N in place. It was her eyes. Dark. Sharp. Unwavering.

She was looking at her. No, studying her.

Y/N’s entire body went rigid, every instinct screaming that she should move, leave, disappear, but she couldn’t. The space between them crackled, heavy with something unspoken.

Why was she looking at her? A trick of the light? A fleeting glance mistaken for something more?

No.

Sana’s gaze lingered, steady and unapologetic, as if she were waiting for Y/N to notice. As if she had already decided something.

And then, she started walking toward her.

Sana didn’t rush.

Her steps were slow, deliberate, as if the space between them was hers to control, as if she had already decided that the distance would close only when she allowed it.

The crowd melted around her, people instinctively making way without even realizing they were doing it. Y/N watched, transfixed, as the woman, this woman, who had no business looking at her, let alone approaching her, closed the distance between them.

By the time she stopped in front of her, Y/N had to remind herself to breathe.

The air between them felt charged, thick with an intensity that made her fingers twitch against the tray she held. She didn’t know what this was, but she knew it was dangerous.

Sana tilted her head, her lips curving slightly, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was something else.

“Are you always this distracted?”

The voice was smoother than Y/N expected, low, laced with amusement, but carrying an edge of something unreadable.

Y/N blinked, willing her pulse to steady. She straightened her posture, clearing her throat before responding.

“My apologies, ma’am. Can I get you something?”

She gestured slightly to the tray, her voice neutral, professional. Unshaken. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Sana smiled. Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous. "No. But I believe I can get you something."

Y/N frowned, momentarily thrown off. “I… don’t understand.”

Sana tilted her head slightly, studying her the way a cat might study a bird, interested, entertained, but in control. “You’re an artist.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Her fingers tightened around the tray. How did she know?

Sana’s gaze flicked downward, and Y/N followed it, only then realizing that, in her distraction, her sketchpad had slipped slightly from her apron pocket, the edges of a half-finished drawing peeking out.

Shit.

Sana’s eyes returned to hers, amusement flickering within them. “Relax. I’m not offended.”

Y/N swallowed. “I... It’s just a habit. I meant no disrespect, ma’am.”

Sana hummed, as if tasting the words on her tongue. “Interesting.”

Then, she took a step closer. Close enough that Y/N could catch the faintest trace of her perfume, something expensive, intoxicating, yet somehow subtle.

The kind of scent that didn’t ask for attention but demanded it anyway.

Sana leaned in just slightly, just enough that her presence became something more than casual.

“Do you always do things you’re not supposed to?”

Y/N clenched her jaw. “Only when I don’t have a choice.”

Sana’s lips curled. “Then you might like what I’m about to offer you.”

Sana didn’t waste time. She never did.

Her gaze remained steady, unwavering, as she uttered the words that would change everything.

"I have a proposition for you."

Her voice was velvet-smooth, effortlessly commanding, laced with something dangerous, something final, as if she already knew the answer before Y/N could even comprehend the question.

"One that could change your life."

Y/N barely resisted the urge to scoff. She had heard those words before.

Rich people always thought they had something to offer, always assumed that the ones beneath them were waiting, desperate, hungry for salvation, willing to sell themselves for the right price.

Y/N wasn’t one of them.

Her jaw tightened, fingers curling around the tray she still held, as if grounding herself. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Sana tilted her head slightly, studying her, deciding. How much was she willing to say?

And then, she smirked.

A subtle curve of her lips, the kind of expression that spoke of knowledge, control, certainty. The kind of smile that said, "You don’t know it yet, but you’re already mine."

“I’ve seen people chase after wealth,” she mused. “I’ve seen people give up everything for it.”

She took a slow step forward, and Y/N felt the shift in the air, the growing tension, the way the space between them shrunk.

Sana’s voice dipped lower, just enough that Y/N felt it more than heard it. "You don’t seem like one of them."

Y/N swallowed. Her pulse jumped at the insinuation.

Was it an insult? A compliment? Or was it something else entirely? She wasn’t sure.

But the way Sana looked at her, the way those dark, knowing eyes pinned her in place, made her feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and unsettling.

"I’m offering you something simple," Sana continued, her words deliberate, unhurried, as if laying down cards in a game she already knew she would win.

"Financial support. Comfort. Security."

A pause.

A moment stretched just long enough for Y/N to feel the weight of it settle in her chest.

And then "In return, you’ll belong to me."

The words sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. She took a half-step back, instinctively, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Had she heard that right?

Her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something she refused to name.

Sana let the silence linger, let the words settle in the space between them like a trap disguised as silk. Her amusement was barely concealed, hidden behind the careful, poised expression of a woman who never asked for anything, only took.

She watched Y/N’s reaction like one might watch a bird trapped inside a cage, half-curious, half-predicting exactly what would happen next.

“I don’t mean it in a cruel way,” she said, her tone almost soothing, as if this was all perfectly reasonable, as if she were simply offering Y/N a glass of wine instead of something irreversible.

“You’ll be free to live your life, to pursue your art, to do whatever you wish.”

And then, Sana lifted a perfectly manicured hand, fingers brushing against the fabric of Y/N’s vest, plucking at a stray thread as if the gesture was casual. As if it wasn’t the first time she had touched her, as if she hadn’t just rewritten the course of Y/N’s life in a single breath.

"But when I call for you, you’ll come to me."

The touch barely lasted a second, feather-light, insignificant. And yet, Y/N felt it everywhere.

A phantom warmth lingering against her skin, hot, unwanted, inescapable.

This is insane.

“This is a joke,” Y/N muttered, shaking her head, trying to shake off the weight of what was being asked of her.

“It’s not.” Sana’s response was immediate. Steady. Unshaken.

Like she was used to getting what she wanted.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, a mix of frustration and disbelief bubbling inside her.

“You’re asking me to...”

“To be mine.”

The way she said it. Unapologetic. Unwavering. Like ownership was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N hated it. Hated the way Sana made it sound so easy. Hated the way she sounded so sure. Hated how tempting the words were.

Because what would it be like?

To not worry, just for once. To not struggle. To not feel the crushing weight of debt and uncertainty with every passing day.

To have someone like Sana, dangerous, powerful, untouchable, want her.

Even if it wasn’t real.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. This wasn’t a choice she should even be considering.

And yet, deep down, a part of her already knew. She wasn’t walking away from this.

She should have refused. She should have walked away, but she didn’t.

Because the world didn’t operate on should-haves. It didn’t care about pride, dignity, or the weight of one’s conscience, it cared about survival. And survival, Y/N had learned, was a currency in itself.

The reality of her situation settled like a weight on her chest, growing heavier with every passing second.

She had been running on borrowed time for too long, the rent that kept increasing, the tuition payments she barely managed to scrape together, the debts coiling around her like invisible chains, tightening with every unpaid bill. The fear of losing everything never left her; it followed her like a shadow, whispering in her ear, reminding her that no matter how much she fought, she was always one step away from falling apart.

And now, standing before her, was a woman offering her a way out. An escape.

Sana didn’t need to spell it out. Y/N understood exactly what this was.

A transaction. Cold, simple, nothing more.

Her gaze flickered upward, locking onto Sana’s once more, searching for something she wasn’t even sure she wanted to find.

She expected indifference, amusement, the same detached, effortless control Sana had wielded since the moment she approached her. But for a fleeting moment, so brief Y/N might have imagined it, she saw something else.

Something beneath the perfectly crafted exterior. Something lonely.

It was gone in an instant, buried beneath a veil of polished confidence, but it left Y/N unsettled, because it meant something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

It meant that maybe, just maybe, Sana wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted to be.

Y/N inhaled sharply, forcing herself to look away.

The logical part of her brain screamed at her to reject this, to turn on her heel and disappear into the safety of her struggling, barely-holding-on life, but so was being crushed under the weight of reality.

So was working herself to the bone with nothing to show for it. So was starving for her dreams while others dined on power like it was their birthright. So was the way Sana was still watching her, waiting, patient, expectant, like she already knew what Y/N was going to say.

Y/N exhaled.

And against every rational thought, against every instinct telling her to run before it was too late.

She lifted her chin, steadied her breath, and met Sana’s gaze head-on.

"Okay." The word left her lips, soft but unshaken.

A deal made. A fate sealed.

Y/N expected regret to settle in immediately, to crash over her like a tidal wave the moment the word slipped past her lips. She thought she would feel the weight of her decision pressing against her ribs, suffocating, suffused with the unmistakable sting of irreversibility.

She had made mistakes before, but nothing like this, nothing so deliberate, so impossibly final.

And yet, in the silence that followed, there was no overwhelming sense of panic, no sharp stab of second thoughts clawing at her resolve.

There was only Sana.

Still standing before her, still watching her, dark eyes filled with something almost amused, something self-satisfied.

She didn’t look surprised.

Of course, she wasn’t.

As if Y/N’s answer had been inevitable, as if she had simply been waiting for her to come to the same conclusion that Sana had already reached long ago.

Sana took a measured step back, just enough to create space between them, but somehow, the air between them remained just as heavy, just as charged. She reached into the sleek, structured purse resting at her side, her movements slow, deliberate.

Y/N wasn’t sure what she expected. Cash? A contract? Something tangible, something to prove that this wasn’t just a strange, fever-dream conversation she had somehow stumbled into?

Instead, Sana pulled out a single, thin black card.

Matte. Expensive-looking. Bare except for the subtle gleam of gold-embossed letters spelling out the name of a hotel, a place Y/N had only ever heard of in passing, in articles about business tycoons and foreign royalty.

A place meant for people so obscenely powerful they no longer needed to announce their wealth.

Without a word, Sana placed the card delicately onto Y/N’s tray, her fingertips barely grazing the edge of it before she withdrew her hand.

“Take tomorrow off,” she said smoothly, as if she were merely rearranging Y/N’s schedule instead of rewriting the trajectory of her life. “Meet me here. Ten o’clock. Sharp.”

Her tone was effortless, a voice accustomed to giving commands without expecting resistance, to moving the world around her like chess pieces.

It took Y/N a moment to breathe again.

Her gaze flickered down to the card, her stomach twisting, tightening at the sight of it.

There was no contact information. No way to confirm, to ask questions, to back out.

Just the name of the place where she was expected to be.

Expected.

As if Sana already knew that Y/N wouldn’t refuse.

As if the decision had already been made the second she had parted her lips to answer.

Her fingers twitched, tempted to reach for the card, but the action felt too final, too much like acceptance, as if the moment she touched it, she would no longer be able to pretend this was just another fleeting moment in a night full of them.

By the time she lifted her head again, Sana was already walking away.

She didn’t look back.

Her movements were slow but assured, every step echoing the same self-assurance that had been threaded through her words, through her very existence.

She walked like a woman who had just won something.

Like she had closed a deal, secured something she had set her sights on, and now had no further reason to linger.

As if this conversation had been nothing more than a well-played move in a game she had already mastered.

Y/N stood frozen, her body stiff with the weight of something she didn’t yet know how to name.

The lounge continued on around her, the hum of conversation, the crisp laughter of the elite, the soft clinking of glasses punctuating the air like clockwork. It was as if nothing had happened, as if no one else had noticed that something fundamentally irreversible had shifted in her world.

She exhaled, shaky and uneven, and stared down at the black card once more.

It felt heavier than it should have.

The next morning, Y/N stood in front of the towering glass structure, the hotel’s gleaming surface reflecting the golden morning light like a monolith of untouchable wealth.

She exhaled slowly, staring up at it, at its sheer, unapologetic grandeur. A place not meant for people like her.

And yet, she was here.

A deep unease settled in her stomach, coiling tight as she smoothed her hands over the fabric of the dress she wore, something unfamiliar, something not hers.

It wasn’t the uniform she had grown accustomed to, the stiff button-ups and restrictive vests designed to make servers blend into the background, to become part of the décor rather than individuals. This was different.

The dress fit her perfectly, tailored in a way that made it clear it had been chosen for her, not by her. Sleek. Elegant. Effortlessly expensive.

Y/N swallowed, suppressing the instinct to scoff at the absurdity of it all.

She was still the same girl who sketched on napkins between shifts, the same girl who counted coins before deciding if she could afford coffee that day.

But now, dressed like this, wrapped in luxury she had never touched before, she could almost believe she was someone else.

Almost.

A staff member appeared beside her, polite and professional, as if this was normal, as if Y/N belonged here. She didn’t.

"Right this way," they said, gesturing toward the elevators.

She hesitated for half a second before nodding, stepping inside the mirrored space, watching her own reflection flicker beneath the warm golden lighting.

Her hands tightened at her sides as the elevator ascended, a steady, silent climb toward something unknown, irreversible.

The doors opened into a private lounge, and the moment she stepped inside, she saw her.

Minatozaki Sana.

Y/N had thought she had gotten used to how effortlessly powerful she looked, how seamlessly she fit into these kinds of spaces, wealth and control stitched into her very existence.

But seeing her now, bathed in the soft natural light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, a delicate wine glass resting between her fingers, it hit her all over again.

Sana looked like she belonged here.

Like she had been sculpted from the very essence of places like this, untouchable, effortless, above everything and everyone.

Y/N, however, felt like an intruder before a single word had even been spoken.

She lingered near the entrance, resisting the urge to fidget, before Sana finally acknowledged her.

"You're early," Sana remarked, voice smooth, laced with something unreadable.

She gestured toward the seat across from her, a silent command more than an invitation.

Y/N hesitated, only for a second, before obeying, sinking into the plush, impossibly soft seat.

The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but weighted, like Sana was letting it linger on purpose, testing, waiting.

Then, with quiet precision, she placed a single, slender envelope onto the table between them.

No rush, no ceremony, but somehow, the action felt heavier than it should have.

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, her fingers twitching in her lap.

She didn’t need to ask what it was. She already knew.

Rules.

Of course, there would be rules.

Sana’s gaze remained steady, unwavering, as she finally spoke.

"Before anything else," she said, measured, controlled, "we establish the rules."

Y/N exhaled, something in her stomach twisting.

Rules meant control.

Rules meant limits, boundaries, an unspoken reminder that this was nothing more than an agreement, a transaction.

Sana had made that clear from the very beginning.

"This arrangement is transactional," she continued, her voice neither cruel nor soft, simply factual. "Nothing more. No emotions. No expectations outside of what I provide for you, and what you give in return."

Y/N’s fingers curled against the fabric of her dress, barely suppressing a flinch at the clinical detachment in her tone.

She had known this. She had known it from the moment Sana had made her offer, from the moment she had said yes.

Still, hearing it aloud felt different.

Like something being carved into stone, irreversible.

Sana tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering over Y/N’s expression as if watching for the first hint of hesitation.

"You’ll have full financial support," she continued. "Your tuition, your rent, whatever you need, I’ll cover it."

She paused.

Then, in a voice softer, but no less firm, she added,

"In return, you’ll be mine."

The words slid through the air like silk, smooth, deliberate, but the weight behind them settled into Y/N’s bones, cold and undeniable.

She forced herself to keep her face neutral, to hold Sana’s gaze even when something deep inside her twisted violently at the ownership in those words.

"When I call for you, you come to me," Sana went on. "No excuses. No complications."

The air felt too still, too thick.

Y/N should have hesitated.

She should have asked for more time, more details, should have weighed the consequences of what she was doing.

But the truth was she didn’t have time. She had no better choices.

And deep down, beneath the carefully placed logic and resistance, wasn’t there a part of her that had already decided?

Y/N inhaled, slow and quiet, steadying herself, steadying the part of her that still fought to pretend she could walk away from this.

She could do this. She had to do this.

She lifted her chin, her voice barely above a whisper, but firm in a way that surprised even her.

"Understood."

Sana studied her for another second, long enough for Y/N to feel like she was being dissected, unraveled, seen. before leaning back, satisfied.

A slow, approving smile curved at the edges of her lips.

And just like that, the deal was set.

Y/N should have expected the whiplash that came with stepping into Sana’s world.

She had seen glimpses of it before, the flash of designer logos stitched onto silk and cashmere, the quiet, unmistakable scent of wealth that never needed to announce itself, the way power seemed to bend around Sana like an unseen force, making space for her, making way for her, ensuring that nothing ever stood in her path for long.

Y/N had watched it from a distance, had sketched it in the margins of her notebook, trying to understand it.

But living inside it, even temporarily, was something else entirely.

It was disorienting, like being pulled into a dream so vivid, so surreal, that it left her questioning whether she had truly woken up.

One moment, she was struggling to make ends meet, rationing instant noodles for dinner, calculating how long she could stretch a bag of rice before she had to dip into savings that barely existed.

The next, she was being escorted through five-star restaurants where the price of a single glass of wine could have covered her rent for two months.

The contrast was staggering.

She was surrounded by wealth so absurd it felt like fiction.

Sana moved through it all with practiced ease, accustomed to luxury in a way that made it seem second nature, as if it had never occurred to her that life could be any other way. She existed in spaces that Y/N had only ever passed by, peering in from the outside, lingering just long enough to imagine what it must feel like to belong.

Now, she wasn’t just looking in, she was being pulled inside.

Penthouse suites with panoramic city views, extravagant charity events dripping in excess, sleek, high-performance cars waiting outside her tiny apartment, things that weren’t hers, but were now at her disposal simply because Sana willed it.

It was intoxicating. Overwhelming. Suffocating.

And through it all, Y/N had never felt more out of place.

Even as she stood beside Sana at high-profile gatherings, even as she slipped into the designer dresses that had been hand-selected for her, their tags bearing numbers that made her chest tighten, she remained an outsider.

An imposter in borrowed luxury.

The people in Sana’s world, CEOs, models, heirs to empires, spoke a language she didn’t fully understand.

Not just in words, but in the unspoken rules of wealth, in the way they carried themselves with an ease that came from never having known struggle. They sipped champagne without glancing at the price, they wore couture gowns without worrying about spilling wine on fabric that cost more than Y/N had made in the last year.

They laughed without fear of tomorrow.

And Y/N? Y/N had spent her entire life fighting to exist.

Every step she had taken had been uphill, every dream carried on the back of sleepless nights, every piece of art she had ever created fueled by the quiet, gnawing terror that it might never be enough.

Now, she was expected to belong.

Expected to walk through this world as if it didn’t feel wrong against her skin, as if she wasn’t always a breath away from someone seeing her for what she really was, a girl who had no business being here.

And that terrified her.

Sana had made them clear from the very beginning.

This wasn’t about love.

It wasn’t about affection, devotion, or anything sentimental, there would be no whispered words in the dark, no lingering touches that meant more than they should. No space for vulnerability.

Y/N was here to fill a role. And in return, Sana would give her everything, security, comfort, an escape from the suffocating weight of struggling to survive.

It was simple. At least, it should have been, but knowing something and feeling it were two entirely different things.

Y/N had spent her life accustomed to distance, the kind that people created with words, with silence, with carefully drawn boundaries that told her exactly where she stood. She thought she understood this arrangement.

She thought she could handle it like a business exchange, detached and controlled, a simple give and take.

She had braced herself for something transactional. Something calculated. Something cold.

She had expected Sana’s touch to be a reminder of that, to be clinical, distant, a formality rather than something felt.

But it wasn’t. The first time Sana touched her, it was nothing like what Y/N expected.

It was slow. Deliberate. Soft.

Not hesitant, not searching, but precise. Like Sana knew exactly what she was doing, what effect it would have.

Fingertips ghosting over Y/N’s wrist, tracing a path so light, so unbearably gentle that her breath caught in her throat before she could stop it.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

It shouldn’t have meant anything at all.

And yet, the warmth of Sana’s skin seeped into hers, spreading like the slow burn of whiskey down her throat, unexpected, unwelcome, inescapable.

Y/N’s body betrayed her before she could tell it not to. A shiver rippled up her spine, subtle, but enough.

Enough for Sana to notice.

Too warm.

Sana never rushed. She moved with the kind of certainty that came with power, with knowing she could have anything she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

She wasn’t close, not really, but it felt like she was. Felt like she was taking up too much space, or maybe Y/N was just too aware of her.

Y/N tried not to react.

Tried to steady her breathing, tried to ignore the way her pulse pounded against her skin, exposing her in a way she couldn’t control.

But then, Sana leaned in.

Close.

Close enough that Y/N could feel the faintest whisper of her breath against her cheek, warm and feather-light, brushing against her skin like something dangerously close to intimate.

"Relax."

A single word spoken so effortlessly.

But it landed like a command, low, smooth, undeniable, sinking into Y/N’s skin, wrapping around her like silk.

As if that were even possible.

Y/N swallowed, her throat tight, heat creeping beneath her skin in slow, suffocating waves.

She told herself she could handle this, that it was just another part of the arrangement, that it meant nothing. But the moment Sana’s lips brushed against her skin, Y/N realized something she hadn’t accounted for.

It was a game.

Sana never let Y/N forget that this was not love.

There were no whispered words meant to soothe, no false pretenses, no moments where Sana gave her even the smallest illusion that this was anything other than what they had agreed upon.

This was a transaction. A role to be played.

And Y/N, she had thought she could handle that. She had thought she could detach herself, could compartmentalize the way Sana did so effortlessly, but the first night Sana called for her, she realized how impossible that would be.

The penthouse was as she had expected it, cold in its perfection, impersonal in a way that only obscene wealth could be.

Windows framed the glittering cityscape, an endless expanse of artificial light stretching far beyond what Y/N could see, but not a single curtain drawn, not a single inch of privacy, as if Sana had nothing to hide.

The furniture was sleek, modern, designed for aesthetic rather than comfort, a space curated to impress rather than to be lived in.

It was beautiful, sterile, it wasn’t built for comfort.

Neither was Sana.

She stood near the window, one hand resting lightly against the glass, the other wrapped around the delicate stem of a wine glass, her silk robe hanging loosely off her shoulders, framing the soft, golden glow of her skin.

She looked untouched by the world.

And yet, when she finally turned her head, the way her gaze found Y/N, pinned her in place, dissected her without so much as a word, made Y/N feel as though she had already been claimed.

Sana barely spared her a glance before setting the glass down, her movements slow, methodical, controlled.

Everything about her was deliberate. Everything about her was a choice.

Her gaze flickered toward the clock on the wall before settling back on Y/N, dark and unreadable.

"You're late."

Her voice wasn’t accusing, wasn’t irritated, just stating a fact, like time itself was something she owned, something she expected others to respect without question.

Y/N exhaled, pressing her hands down the front of her dress, a dress she hadn’t chosen, something too elegant, too expensive, something that fit too perfectly against her skin, as if Sana had taken the time to know her measurements, her shape, before she had even asked her to come.

“I took the subway,” she said, knowing full well that people in Sana’s world didn’t take the subway.

Sana hummed, finally turning to face her fully, and Y/N felt it again, that same quiet, unnerving intensity.

The kind that made her feel like she was being studied, dissected, read like a book Sana had already memorized the ending to.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Instead, she moved.

Slow, measured steps closing the distance between them, her bare feet silent against the polished hardwood floor, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin as she stopped just close enough for Y/N to catch the faintest trace of her perfume, something expensive, warm, something that lingered even after she was gone.

Y/N had nowhere to go.

Had no reason to move, no reason to step back, but even so, her body remained still, her breath shallow, waiting.

Sana reached for her.

Fingers skimming lightly over the strap of her dress, her touch feather-light, not searching, not tentative, just testing.

Barely there.

Barely anything at all.

Except.

It was everything.

Y/N should have hated how easy it was for Sana to unravel her, should have resisted the way her own body leaned, reacted, softened beneath something so unbearably delicate.

But it was impossible to resist something when you didn’t even realize you were yielding.

And Sana saw it.

Her fingers ghosted lower, slipping beneath the fabric of the dress, trailing against Y/N’s skin in a way that felt both proprietary and impersonal all at once, as if she were simply confirming something she already knew, this was hers to touch. Hers to take.

Nothing more than a deal.

Sana’s hand traveled upward, grasping Y/N’s chin between two fingers, tilting her face up until their eyes met fully, until there was nothing but the city behind them and the heat between them.

And for a split second Y/N thought she would kiss her.

The thought alone was enough to send her pulse into a reckless staccato, enough to make her lips part in something between hesitation and expectation.

But Sana didn’t kiss her.

She only looked at her, gaze lingering, assessing, as if waiting for something Y/N didn’t understand.

And then she let go.

Just like that.

Like Y/N was nothing more than a moment, a thing to be used, something to be taken but never kept.

Sana turned, her back to her now, her presence still filling the room as she walked toward the bedroom, the silk of her robe sliding from one bare shoulder, as careless as the way she had just released her.

"Come," she said simply, disappearing through the door.

And Y/N followed.

Because this was what she had agreed to.

This was what Sana wanted from her.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Idia Shroud - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Idia: …Hrrm, I can't find the 15th Anniversary special Star Rogue diorama.

Idia: I told Sam-shi I'd look for it myself, so I wouldn't have to deal with him talking to me, but… There's way too much stuff here to look through!

Idia: And I came all this way 'cause I wasn't fast enough to get it online.

Idia: I can't go back empty-handed after telling Ortho that there's no way I wouldn't get my hands on one as a number one fanboy!

Idia: Oho? This shelf over here has a ton of specialty figures and other hobby stuff… EEHHHH!?

[products fall of shelf]

Idia: OUCH! OW OW OW!!

Jack: Woah!? That was close! Some of the falling goods almost scraped by my nose…

Idia: I-I-I didn't do anything! They just fell off on their own since they were thrown haphazardly onto the shelf!!

[Idia runs away]

Jack: Huh? No one said it was your fault or nothin'…

Jack: …What the, he's already gone! Idia-senpai… He looks slow and frail, but is he secretly actually pretty nimble?

Jack: Oh, man, and he just left everything on the ground. Ugh, I guess I'll have to…

Jack: …Hm? Isn't this box the one Ortho mentioned today…?

[Ignihyde Dorm – Idia's Room]

Idia: …Haah. And in the end, I just ran away… Without a Star Rogue diorama…

Idia: It's all because they sold it first-come-first-serve, instead of pre-order... Not my fault what happened earlier…

Idia: If I went back now, that terrifying beast of a man from Savanaclaw might still be there. I'll try again tomorrow…

Idia: K. Now that I've decide that, time to get all the annoying dorm work stuff done!

Idia: Uhhh, so, the notices I have to give the other dorm students are… Oh, right, the equipment replacement schedule, and the AC inspection time.

Idia: Just in case, I'll add "Important", "Good News", "Response Required", and "Read Immediately" to the subject… K, sent.

Idia: It sure is hard work bein' a Housewarden. Thought it's not that bad since I implemented a chat app once I became Housewarden.

Idia: Efficiency above all! No face-to-face meetings! Conserving my own energy is the best way to do things!

Idia: Finished all my Housewarden tasks, and even took a shower, as annoying as it is. I'm awesome. I'd give myself 100,000,000 points out of 100.

Idia: Nice, so… It's finally me time!

[Ignihyde Dorm – Idia's Room]

Idia: Ah, I got a message from Ortho… He's spending the night in the first year rooms, huh.

Idia: Then, I guess I can just game all night by myself! Fheeheehee!

 [beep, beep!]

Idia: Hm…? What's with this reminder…? Man, right when I was getting into things.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Idia: Ugh.. Right, that was a thing. You don't really see paper surveys anymore. Let me think, it should be around… Yep, here it is.

Idia: Uhhh, so what, they want to know what I'd like improved? I mean, kinda late to ask a third-year, isn't it? I can't really think of anything.

Idia: Sides, there were stuff I used to not like about the dorm, but I already made upgrades to all that stuff.

Idia: We soundproofed the walls and floors, installed commercial-grade AC, and the dorm-wide servers are of my own technical specs.

Idia: To live the perfect shut-in life, we can't not have walls that can't take loud shouting, or ACs that can't keep overclocked PCs cool, so～

Idia: …Ah, wait a mo'. I just thought of one issue I got. "There's not enough electrical outlets"!!

Idia: This kinda stuff needed specialized qualifications to do, so it's not like I coulda bought the parts and DIY it.

Idia: I'm using a power strip for now 'cause I have to, but I hate how the wiring just looks like spaghetti. Even a master wiring tech like myself can't stand a sight like that!

Idia: Oh, I just thought of one more thing. "I want to have the low-capacity breaker replaced"!

Idia: It's so weak that the breaker flips just 'cause I try to have 4 computers, the server, a 3D printer, microwave, and electric kettle all plugged in at once!

Idia: I mean, I'd set up a UPS (uninterruptible power supply) system in case of emergencies, so my computers and server was fine, but...

Idia: Because of that, my plan to add an AC unit and a refrigerator in my room went out the window. That was a nightmare. Oh, and…

Idia: …Dyehehe. I said I couldn't really think of any, but it's hilarious how the ideas keep flowin' out.

Idia: I'll attach some of the numbers we have on the cost of estimated damages by having Ignihyde students continue to use those useless breakers.

Idia: The Headmage is pretty much influenced by profits, so. If I explain how it's necessary to get better equipment, then he might listen to improvement suggestions.

Idia: Nice, mission clear. Time to watch some new anime episodes while grinding levels in my gams.

Idia: See, nothing beats watching anime while mindlessly leveling… Ooh, I pulled a rare one!

Idia: I thought I'd be bored of this anime 3 episodes in, too, but it's actually starting to get interesting!

Idia: Well, now that the mood's getting good, I just gotta let loose! TIME FOR A SNACK PARTY!!

Idia: …Huh? I'm out of my favorite snack. Ugh, I completely forgot to re-order some more when I ate all of it last time.

Idia: If only the Mystery Shop had 24-hour delivery service… Maybe I should add that to the survey?

Idia: Nah, nevermind, I should just focus on the anime. NOTHING'S GONNA BRING ME DOWN!

Idia: Woah, the animation's clean…! They're all movin' so smoothly… Maybe the production team changed this week?

Idia: I'm getting pretty into the main theme song, too! Heehee, fheeheehee…!

[Ignihyde Dorm – Idia's Room]

Idia: Urrghnn… Aaarghh…

[～♪]

Idia: Gah! Urgh, what's that noise…? What time is it right now…?

Idia: Urk! Everything's so bright, I can't see anything… How's it morning already…? Wait, before that, where'd that noise come from…!?

Idia: Huh…? Ortho…? Weren't you spending the night with the other first years…? Oh wait, is this just a message…?

Idia: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY"…? Oh, right, today's my birthday! I completely forgot, since there wasn't anything to look forward to…

Idia: I'll just write back… Thanks, Ortho.

Idia: Urp…! But now I feel a bit sick…! And my whole body hurts…!

Idia: I fell asleep running my games, and I'm just stiff all over. Can't I just go move to my bed and go back to sleep?

Idia: Nah, if I end up crashing and forget to login and get all the birthday login voice lines, I'll never recover. Gotta wash my face or something…

Idia: Woah, I can see how crazy my bedhead is reflected in the monitor! I think this every time, but why does my hair end up this bad whenever I fall asleep at my desk?

Idia: Kinda looks punk, but that's totally a different vibe from my usual, lawl.

Idia: Meh, my hair can be whatever. Not like anyone looks at me, anyway.

Idia: It's a pain to go all the way to the washroom… I'll just use magic like I normally do. I'll chill the water, then.

[splash!]

Idia: WHEEEEW, THAT COLD WATER HITS JUST RIGHT!!

Idia: Normally, I'd just leave it here, but… My face feels so dry after pulling that all-nighter.

Idia: But I'm all good. I'm a functioning nerd, so I know how to fix it.

Idia: Ta-da～ I don't really get it, but here I go with the number one most popular all-in-one cream～

Idia: Putting on lotion and moisturizer one at a time is a waste of time. Just plap it on, and ta-da, done. Next is my clothes…

Idia: Nah, nevermind, I'm not gonna change. Now all I have to do is to jump into all my games and collect the birthday login voice lines. Fheeheehee.

Idia: Perf, I've gotten them all for now. …Huh? There's another message from Ortho…

Idia: …HUH!? HE GOT THE 15TH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL STAR ROGUE DIORAMA!? SERIOUSLY!?

Idia: "I was planning on picking it up in the Mystery Shop after classes, but if you can't wait, you can go pick it up whenever"…?

Idia: Well, I gotta go right now, then! That means I have to finish getting ready.

Idia: I don't really wanna go outside, but… I can't keep my poor Star Rogue waiting! Hyah!

[Idia magics hair and clothes]

Idia: K, bedhead fixed. And now, onwards, to the Mystery Shop!!

[Main Street]

Idia: Fheeheehee…! Look at this craftsmanship…! It looks just like the scene I imagined as a kid!

Idia: Ortho… Did you look for this Star Rogue diorama because you knew I was sad I didn't get it?

Idia: Wheew～ The best thing in the world is a little brother who thinks the world of his older brother, and is really good at search functions～!

Jack: Hm? Is that… Idia-senpai? Good morning.

Idia: GYAAAAAA!? J-Jack-shi…? Why are we making contact two days in a row…?

Jack: I mean, it's not really anything, but… I heard from Ortho yesterday that today was your birthday, is all.

[Idia runs away]

Jack: Happy Birthday. So, uh, did you get what you were looking…

Jack: Huh, he's already gone! Ugh, I don't get him at all.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[inkyquillstories]

Permanent Assignment (A Body Swap Sequel)

Note: This story is also posted on my discord server (which have nsfw pics/videos that tumblr won’t allow). However, this story and the discord version are the same. Regardless, if you’d like to join the community and/or read nsfw versions of my stories, you can join here: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS 

Prequel: From Homework to Home/Work

Permanent Assignment (A Body Swap Sequel)

Months and months came along. Then it was autumn and Halloween but eventually winter and Christmas came and went in a blur of holiday cheer, family gatherings, and quiet reflection.

For months, Dave and Charlie had lived as each other, fully immersing themselves in their new roles. Dave, in Charlie’s younger body, had spent his days attending college lectures, pulling all-nighters on essays, and blending seamlessly into the world of carefree students. 

He had found a sense of belonging in Charlie’s friend group—going to dorm parties, hanging out at coffee shops, and feeling a freedom he hadn’t experienced in years. 

Every morning, he woke up in a lean, light frame that moved effortlessly. He could eat whatever he wanted without worrying about aches or weight gain. He could sleep in without the burden of morning responsibilities. He was young again, and it felt right.

Charlie, on the other hand, had embraced his life as Dave. He had stepped into the role of a working father without hesitation. 

Mornings were spent making breakfast for Emma and Ethan, helping them put on their shoes, and driving them off at daycare.

His days were filled with spreadsheets, emails, and client meetings—things he once thought would bore him, but now felt like purpose. Evenings were for bedtime stories and late-night exhaustion, where his body—Dave’s body—settled into a couch that felt like his. 

The weight of the twins’ little arms around his broad chest as they hugged him goodnight had become the most natural thing in the world. And then there was the gym—where he had thrived, reveling in the raw power of his stronger form.

https://lh7-rt.googleusercontent.com/docsz/AD_4nXcvMVN_yUM8bWvJodkYdGNL9zQi1zE0IBZdn5GAMsh_icfFuqR07CzuBn83xRDUNHnLLiLqnyiC1L0LbkYIMyL13zieKIwbqOVcCIIOCXEuFN7NkyoCkkovxnGx5xWJqShjfT98TA?key=HTiwaVLxw_fFYXCGq0Qhjt41

They had made a deal. A few months. Just long enough for Dave to catch a break and for Charlie to experience something different. And now, the time had come to undo it.

To Dave, going back meant leaving behind the friends who saw him as a fun, energetic college student. It meant trading ripped jeans and sneakers for slacks and button-downs. It meant stepping back into a body that would feel alien, clunky, wrong.

Charlie had spent months in Dave’s body, growing into the role with an ease that scared him. The firm handshake at work, the respectful nods from colleagues, the admiration from others at the gym—he had earned that respect. He had become it. And most importantly, the twins needed him. They were his kids now.

The Body Swap Clinic was as sleek and professional as ever, but the excitement that had once accompanied their visit was gone. The receptionist greeted them with polite efficiency, yet Dave swore there was a knowing look in her eyes—like she could sense their apprehension. Sliding the familiar paperwork across the counter, she simply said, “Just the standard reversal procedure.” Dave hesitated before picking up the pen, his fingers stiff as he signed his old name, while Charlie did the same with just as much reluctance. Once the paperwork was done, they were led down the sterile hallway to the familiar swap chamber. 

The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the room that had changed their lives once before. Two chairs sat in the center, waiting. Dave swallowed hard, his palms clammy as he stepped inside, while Charlie stood beside him, jaw clenched, staring at the equipment. This was it. They had promised each other they would do this. They had agreed. So why did it feel like a mistake? 

Inside the shared chamber, Dave and Charlie stood facing each other, stripped down to their shorts as part of the standard swap procedure. The sight of their bare torsos filled them both with a deep, unshakable dread.

Dave couldn't tear his eyes away from his old body—broad, muscular, covered in thick, coarse hair. He had forgotten just how much of a brute he had once been. The scent of musk, sweat, and the sheer weight of his old form felt alien, almost repulsive. This wasn’t him anymore. He had grown used to the sleek, slimmer frame he inhabited as Charlie. The lightness, the smooth skin, the easy grace of a younger body—it had all become second nature. Returning to his old self felt like being shoved into a cage of flesh that no longer belonged to him.

Charlie, on the other hand, stared at his old self with rising panic. The scrawny, younger frame in front of him no longer looked like the person he saw in the mirror every morning. He had embraced the power and presence that came with Dave’s body—the sheer size of his arms, the respect that his mature physique commanded, the effortless confidence that came from being a strong, well-built man. And most importantly, the life that came with it. The twins, the home, the career—it all felt like his now. Seeing himself as a college student again, small and uncertain, sent a chill through him. He couldn’t go back to that.

Their gazes met, both seeing the horror reflected in the other’s eyes. They knew, deep in their souls, that this was wrong. That Dave was meant to be the carefree college student, and Charlie the strong, devoted father. And yet, the machine was already whirring to life, sealing their fates.

A surge of electricity crackled through the air, and both men convulsed as the transformation began. A tingling heat rushed through their limbs, spreading like wildfire. Dave felt his arms stretch, elongating as the muscle and bulk returned, his once compact and nimble limbs thickening into their familiar broad form. The sensation of body hair creeping across his chest and arms made his stomach turn. The coarse bristles emerged in waves, covering him in a layer of masculinity that now felt foreign, suffocating. His torso expanded, muscles filling out, his stomach firming with the weight of his regained strength. The deepness in his throat as his voice settled back into its baritone made him wince. This wasn’t him anymore.

Charlie, meanwhile, let out a strained gasp as he felt himself shrink. His frame pulled inward, his arms losing their impressive size, his chest deflating into something leaner, less powerful. The hair that had covered his body receded, leaving him feeling bare and exposed. He pressed his hands against his now smoother chest, his fingers trembling as he traced the narrow lines of his new—no, old—form. His legs lost their bulk, his shoulders sloped downward, and his face tingled as his youthful features returned. When he finally opened his eyes and looked down, he nearly panicked. His feet, once large and firm, now seemed too small to hold him steady. His fingers, thinner and longer than before, flexed weakly as he gripped the edge of the examination table.

Dave looked at his reflection and recoiled. The heavyset, rugged man staring back at him was supposed to be him, but it didn’t feel that way. He felt trapped inside something that was too much, too overwhelming. His scent—earthy, musky, stronger than he remembered—filled his nose, and he grimaced. He had grown used to Charlie’s clean, youthful scent, the fresh energy of his college-aged body. Now, all of it was gone.

Charlie’s stomach twisted as he met his reflection. The young man staring back wasn’t who he had come to know himself as. His arms looked weak, his chest unremarkable, his presence diminished. The power, the weight, the effortless dominance he had enjoyed—it had vanished in an instant. He flexed his fingers, but they lacked the strength they once had. Even his voice, when he exhaled, sounded wrong—higher, uncertain, lacking the depth and confidence he had grown used to. He felt like a student again, insignificant, unprepared. 

Finally, Charlie forced a small smile and extended his hand. “Well… guess this is it.”

Dave looked at the offered hand before taking it, shaking it firmly. “Yeah… take care, alright?”

“Yeah, you too, Charlie.”

The following days were harder than either of them expected.

Dave returned to his old life, but it felt wrong. His body felt too big, too heavy—like he was lumbering through the world in something that didn’t fit him anymore. His arms felt awkward, his steps too loud, his clothes stiff and uncomfortable. Every time he looked in the mirror, the man staring back at him felt like a stranger. The broad-shouldered, thickly built frame wasn’t him. Not anymore.

That feeling only grew stronger every time he caught his reflection. His face—his real face—stared back at him in the bathroom mirror, older, rougher, unfamiliar. The mustache that had once felt natural now seemed out of place, a reminder of a man he no longer felt like. Charlie’s face had been smooth, youthful, right. Without thinking, he grabbed his razor and lathered his upper lip, scraping away the last remnants of his former self. As the final strokes revealed bare skin, he exhaled, running a hand over his now-smooth face. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel closer to the person he still believed himself to be.

At work, everything felt overwhelming. The numbers blurred together on the screen, the office chatter grated on his nerves, and the endless responsibilities left him exhausted. Taking care of the kids, once something he had done without question, now felt like a job meant for someone else. He still loved them—he always would—but every time they clung to him, every time they called him Daddy, there was a strange, lingering disconnect. They didn’t feel like his kids anymore. They felt like Charlie’s.

One evening, as Dave tucked Emma and Ethan into bed, Emma reached out with tiny hands and wrapped them around his thick wrist. “Goodnight, Daddy,” she murmured sleepily.

Dave’s chest tightened. The word felt wrong.

He hesitated for a long moment before forcing a smile. “Actually, sweetie… I’m not really Daddy.”

Emma blinked up at him, confused. “Huh?”

Dave took a deep breath, keeping his voice light. “You know how me and Charlie swapped before? Well, we never swapped back. I’m still Charlie—just in your Daddy’s body.” He tapped his chest for emphasis, as if that would somehow make it more real. “Your real dad is still in Charlie’s body.”

Ethan, already half-asleep, rubbed his eyes. “So you’re Charlie?”

“That’s right,” Dave said, nodding. “So from now on, just call me Charlie, okay?”

Emma giggled. “That’s so silly.”

“But true,” Dave insisted. “So, who am I?”

Emma grinned. “Charlie!”

Ethan mumbled, “G’night, Charlie…” before drifting off.

Dave exhaled, relief and guilt twisting together in his gut. It was a lie—one they were too young to question—but hearing his real name, even in his old body, made something inside him settle.

At night, when he finally had a moment to himself, his mind wandered to the life he had left behind. He missed college. He missed sitting in lecture halls, hanging out in the dorms, going to parties with Charlie’s friends. His friends. He had felt so at home in that world, blending in effortlessly as a college student. Now, he was back in this rigid, adult life, and it felt suffocating.

Meanwhile, Charlie’s return to university was hell.

The moment he stepped back onto campus, he felt out of place. The students around him, once his peers, now felt immature—like a swarm of kids playing at adulthood. The loud conversations, the inside jokes, the constant energy… it exhausted him. He had grown used to Dave’s world, where people spoke with purpose, where his friends were other working professionals with families and careers. But now? Now he was surrounded by people who had never paid a bill in their life, whose biggest problems were midterms and breakups. He couldn’t relate to any of them.

He tried to settle back into the routine, but everything frustrated him. The coursework felt tedious, the assignments pointless. Sitting in a lecture hall listening to a professor drone on felt like a waste of time. He had managed a career, a household, children—and now he was expected to stress over grades?

The worst part was his body. He felt small.

His once-powerful arms were thin again, his chest lacked the bulk he had grown used to, and worst of all, he felt weak.

He noticed it the first time he went back to the gym. He loaded up the weights on the bench press like he always had, out of pure habit, only to struggle the moment he lifted the bar. His arms trembled, his muscles strained, and he barely managed a few reps before he had to stop. His breath came in short, frustrating gasps, his body betraying him.

He wasn’t strong anymore. He wasn’t Dave anymore. And it terrified him.

Every morning, when he got dressed, he found himself hesitating. The trendy clothes he had once loved now felt childish. The slim jeans, the graphic tees, the bright sneakers—they didn’t suit him anymore. He missed the heavier, more mature clothes he had worn as Dave. The sturdy boots, the thick sweaters, the deep scents of cologne and aftershave. He missed feeling like a man.

What haunted Charlie the most was the twins. He hadn’t expected to miss them so much, but every second since the swap felt suffocating. His classes were unbearable, his body felt weak, and worst of all, he couldn't shake the emptiness in his chest. They weren’t his, not anymore—but they felt like they were. He had fed them, played with them, soothed them to sleep. He had been their dad. Now, he was just some college student again, and it wasn’t enough. So, on impulse, he found himself outside Dave’s house, knocking on the door with nervous energy thrumming through him. 

“Let me babysit the kids,” Charlie blurted out.

Dave’s face lit up with relief, his answer immediate. “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

Charlie barely had time to process Dave’s immediate acceptance of his offer before the sound of tiny footsteps pattering against the floor filled the house.

Emma and Ethan ran toward the door, their faces lighting up the moment they saw Charlie.

“Daddy!” Emma squealed, throwing her arms around his leg.

Charlie stiffened. Daddy?

Ethan clung to his other leg, looking up at him with wide, sleepy eyes. “We know the truth,” he said proudly. “You never swapped back!”

Charlie’s stomach flipped. He glanced up at Dave, whose face had gone pale. For a split second, there was pure panic in his eyes, like he’d been caught red-handed.

Emma pulled back, beaming. “Charlie told us. He’s still Charlie, and you’re still Daddy.”

Dave looked like he wanted to shrink into the floor, but before he could stammer out an excuse, Ethan pointed at Charlie, his tiny brow furrowed in deep concentration. “You’re Daddy, but you’re stuck in Charlie’s body,” he declared, then turned to Dave and pointed at him. “And you’re Charlie, but you’re stuck in Daddy’s body.”

Charlie felt his heart slam against his ribs.

Emma nodded seriously, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah! Our big, strong Daddy is still in the wrong body! And Charlie’s still in Daddy’s big body.”

Charlie let out a short laugh, more out of exhilaration than amusement. The kids believed it. They saw Dave as Charlie and him as their Daddy.

The realization sent a strange thrill through him.

Dave, on the other hand, stood frozen, his face twisted with guilt and uncertainty. He looked like he wanted to protest, to correct them, to set things right—but the words never came.

Charlie crouched down to the kids' level, resting a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, his smirk widening. “Oh yeah?” he said, playing along. “That’s a big secret. Are you sure you can keep it?”

Emma giggled and nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh! We won’t tell anyone.”

Dave swallowed hard, still grappling with the weight of his lie being exposed. But Charlie? He relished it.

The kids had unknowingly affirmed what both men already felt deep inside.

Charlie straightened up, meeting Dave’s stunned gaze. His smirk widened. “Well, you heard them,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “I’m Daddy.”

After the excitement settled, Charlie turned to Dave with a casual shrug. “If I’m gonna be babysitting full-time, I might as well move in.”

Dave blinked. “You’re serious?”

Charlie smirked. “Well, I’m Daddy now, aren’t I?”

The words sent another jolt through Dave’s chest, and he nodded slowly. It made sense. If Charlie was going to take care of the kids, he should have his bedroom. His space.

“Alright,” Dave said. “Then I’ll take your dorm.”

Charlie arched a brow. “You sure?”

“If you’re going to take care of the kids, then I’m doing your classes and your homework, I might as well be Charlie full-time,” Dave said. “Live the full college experience.”

After the excitement settled, Charlie leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You know… if we’re really gonna do this—me as the dad, you as the college kid—why stop at just playing the roles?”

Dave frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlie smirked. “Let’s make it real. A full identity and body swap. Legally.”

Dave’s breath hitched.

Charlie sat forward, his eyes gleaming with something close to exhilaration. “Think about it. If we file for an official identity transfer, everything becomes legit—your job, your bank account, your house, even custody of the kids. And in return, you take over my identity. The name, the classes, the whole college life.”

Dave’s heart pounded. It was one thing to live the lie, another to commit to it completely. But the more he thought about it, the more right it felt.

His lips parted, and without hesitation, he said, “Let’s do it.”

The house was quiet now, the soft hum of the twins’ white noise machine drifting down the hallway. Charlie sat on the edge of Dave’s bed, his legs bouncing with barely-contained excitement. Dave leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the room. The air between them was thick with anticipation, the weight of what they were about to do settling over them like a blanket.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Charlie said, his voice trembling. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was already itching to feel the change. “Tomorrow, I’ll have your body. Your muscles, your strength… everything.”

Dave scoffed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. “And I’ll have yours. Small, lean, no hair to deal with. No back pain from carrying those damn twins around.” He smirked, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—relief, maybe. “I’ll finally feel… light.”

Charlie looked up at him, his eyes wide with envy. “You don’t get it, Dave. I hate this body. I hate being so… small. Weak. I want what you have. I want to feel powerful.” His voice cracked, and he stood abruptly, pulling his shirt off in one swift motion. His chest was smooth, pale, his ribs faintly visible beneath the skin. He flexed his arms, the muscles barely noticeable. “Look at this. It’s pathetic.”

Dave’s gaze lingered on Charlie’s exposed skin, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he pulled off his own shirt, revealing a broad, muscular chest covered in a thick mat of dark hair. His pecs strained against the weight of his body, his biceps flexing effortlessly as he tossed the shirt aside. “And I hate this,” he growled, gesturing to himself. “It’s too much. Too big. Too… heavy.”

Charlie stepped closer, his eyes locked on Dave’s chest. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before pressing his palm against the warm, hairy skin. “This,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “This is what I want. This is what I’ve always wanted.” He closed his eyes, his fingers curling into the soft hair, imagining it was his own. “I can’t wait to feel this every day.”

Dave’s breath hitched as Charlie’s hand moved across his chest. He reached out, his own fingers brushing against Charlie’s smooth skin. It was so different from his own—soft, delicate, almost fragile. He closed his eyes, letting himself imagine what it would be like to wake up in this body. To feel… free. “I can’t wait to get rid of all this,” he murmured, his voice low. “To feel… clean.”

They stood like that for a moment, their eyes closed, their hands exploring. The silence between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them could name. Then, Charlie leaned in, his nose brushing against Dave’s chest. He took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of sweat and deodorant. “God,” he moaned, his voice trembling. “You smell… incredible. I can’t wait to have this. To smell like you.”

Dave’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze darkening as he watched Charlie. Then, almost instinctively, he leaned down, pressing his nose into Charlie’s armpit. The scent was clean, fresh, with just a hint of something sweet. It was nothing like his own, and the realization sent a shiver down his spine. “And I can’t wait to have this,” he murmured, his voice rough. “To smell… good.”

Charlie let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening in Dave’s chest hair. “Do you feel it?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Do you feel how… right this is?”

Dave didn’t answer. Instead, he reached down, his fingers brushing against the waistband of Charlie’s jeans. “Take them off,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I want to see you.”

Charlie’s breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate. He undid his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, already half-hard, and he stepped out of the pile of clothes, standing naked in front of Dave. “Your turn,” he said, his voice trembling.

Dave’s eyes darkened as he undid his own jeans, pushing them down to reveal his thick, hairy thighs and his already hard cock. He stepped out of his clothes, towering over Charlie, his body a stark contrast to the younger man’s. “This is what you want?” he growled, gesturing to himself. “This is what you’re so desperate to have?”

Charlie nodded, his eyes wide with desire. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Dave’s cock, feeling the weight of it in his hand. “And you’ll have this,” he said, gesturing to his own. 

Dave’s breath hitched as Charlie’s hand wrapped around his cock, his fingers squeezing gently. He reached down, his own hand wrapping around Charlie’s, his thumb brushing against the tip. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice rough. “I can’t wait.”

They stood like that for a moment, their hands moving in sync, their breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Then, Charlie leaned in, his lips brushing against Dave’s ear. “Do it,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Make me feel it.”

Dave’s grip tightened, his fingers moving faster, more urgently. “You make me feel it,” he growled, his voice low and rough.

Their eyes met, the air between them crackling with tension. Then, without another word, they moved together, their hands working in perfect harmony. The room filled with the sound of their breathing, soft moans escaping their lips as they moved closer and closer to the edge.

“Now tell me—why don’t you deserve that big body?”

Dave’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

“You heard me,” Charlie said, his voice steady. “Tell me why this—” He gestured to Dave’s muscular frame, his broad chest, his hairy legs— “—shouldn’t be yours.”

Dave hesitated, his mind racing. But Charlie’s gaze held him captive, and he found himself speaking without thinking. “I… I don’t deserve it because…” Dave said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s too much. Too big. Too strong. It’s… it’s more than I can handle.”

Charlie’s grip tightened, his eyes blazing. “And who does deserve it?”

Dave swallowed hard, his heart pounding. “You do”

Charlie’s smirk softened into something almost tender. “That’s right,” he said, his voice low and approving. “And you? What do you deserve?”

Dave’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes flickered down to Charlie’s slender frame, his smooth chest, his delicate features. “I deserve… this,” he said, gesturing weakly to the smaller body before him. “I deserve something… simpler. Lighter. Easier.”

Charlie nodded, his expression unreadable. “From now on, we’re going to make that clear,” he said, his voice firm. “We’re going to go over every inch of these bodies and decide who deserves what. Understood?”

Dave nodded, his throat dry. “Yes, Sir.”

Charlie stepped back, his eyes sweeping over Dave’s body. “Let’s start at the feet,” he said, his tone almost clinical. “Drop to the floor.”

Dave hesitated for only a moment before sinking to his knees, his eyes fixed on Charlie’s face.

“Now,” Charlie began, crouching down to Dave’s level, “tell me why you don’t deserve these legs.”

Dave’s gaze shifted to his own powerful thighs, his muscular calves. He swallowed hard. “They’re… too strong,” he said, his voice trembling. “Too hairy. Too imposing. They’re made for someone who can handle them. Someone like you, Sir.”

Dave’s hands trembled as he reached for Charlie’s hairless legs, his fingers brushing against the smooth skin. His breath hitched.

“Tell me what you deserve,” Charlie said, his voice a low purr.

“This,” Dave whispered, his hands moving almost reverently over Charlie’s legs. “I deserve this.”

Charlie’s smirk returned, and he guided Dave’s hands upward. “Now the chest,” he said, his tone commanding.

Dave’s hands moved to Charlie’s smooth, lean chest, his fingers exploring the delicate contours. “I deserve this,” he repeated, his voice stronger now.

Charlie stepped closer, his chest pressing into Dave’s hands. “And what do I deserve?”

Dave’s eyes flickered to his own broad chest, his hairy torso. “You deserve this,” he said, his voice steady.

Charlie nodded, his expression satisfied. “Good,” he said, stepping back. “Now, the armpits.”

Dave’s breath quickened as Charlie raised his arms, exposing his smooth, hairless pits. Dave leaned in, his nose brushing against the delicate skin, inhaling the faint, clean scent.

Charlie nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Now,” he said, lowering his arms and stepping closer to Dave. “Show me yours.”

Dave hesitated for only a moment before raising his arms, exposing his hairy, musky pits. Charlie leaned in, his nose pressing into the thick hair, inhaling deeply.

“Mine,” Charlie murmured, his voice low and possessive.

Dave shuddered, his body trembling with the intensity of the moment.

“Now,” Charlie said, his voice firm. “Press them together. Transfer the musk.”

Dave’s breath hitched as he leaned in, his armpits pressing against Charlie’s. The sensation was electric, the warmth and the scent overwhelming. Charlie’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping his lips.

“Good,” Charlie whispered. “Now, let’s finish this.”

Dave’s hand moved in rhythm with Charlie’s, their cocks slick and throbbing as they stroked each other. The room was thick with the scent of sweat and musk, the air charged with anticipation.

“Say it,” Charlie repeated, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Dave’s spine.

“I wish to swap bodies with you permanently,” Dave murmured, his words shaky but clear.

“I wish to swap bodies with you permanently,” Charlie echoed, his voice firm and commanding.

Dave’s mind began to drift, imagining his broad chest shrinking, the thick hair receding into smooth, pale skin. He imagined his shoulders narrow, his arms lose their bulk, his hands becoming smaller, more delicate. His abs softened, flattening into a slender frame. The weight of his legs lightened, his thighs slimming down, his calves losing their definition. 

“This is what I’ve always wanted,” Dave thought, his heart racing as he imagined himself in Charlie’s lithe form. He could almost feel the lightness, the freedom of being someone else, of shedding the weight of his own body.

Charlie, meanwhile, was lost in his own fantasy. He pictured his shoulders broadening, his chest filling out with muscle, thick hair sprouting across his pecs and trailing down his stomach. His arms grew thicker, stronger, his hands rougher. His abs tightened, his waist widening, his legs becoming powerful and sturdy. 

“This is who I’m meant to be,” Charlie thought, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He could almost feel the power, the control that came with Dave’s body.

Their hands moved in perfect sync, their moans mingling as they edged closer to the brink.

“Dave,” Charlie whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Imagine it. My body is yours. Your body is mine.”

Dave’s eyes were squeezed shut, his mind racing with visions of transformation. He could feel the change, the shift, as if it were real. His skin tingled, his muscles relaxed, his entire being adjusting to the idea of becoming Charlie.

“Charlie,” Dave gasped, his voice trembling. “I’m… I’m you. I’m the college kid. I’m Charlie.”

Charlie’s grip tightened, his strokes firmer, more deliberate. “Yes,” he hissed. “Because I’m the grown ass man. I’m Dave” 

Their breaths were ragged now, their bodies trembling as they approached the edge.

“I wish to swap bodies with you permanently,” they said in unison, their voices filled with desperation and longing.

Dave’s vision blurred as he imagined himself fully transformed, his larger body now a remnant of the past. He could feel Charlie’s slender frame as his own, the lightness, the simplicity. His cock throbbed, the pleasure unbearable.

Charlie, on the other hand, reveled in the thought of dominating Dave’s body, of being the one in charge, the one with power. His strokes were relentless, his body on fire.

“I’m going to cum,” Dave gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

“Me too,” Charlie groaned, his eyes locked on Dave’s.

Their hands moved faster, their moans louder, until finally, with a shared cry, they came together. Thick ropes of cum shot from their cocks, painting their stomachs and chests with white streaks.

They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies trembling, their hearts racing. For a moment, they lay there in silence, the only sound their labored breathing.

The next morning, Charlie and Dave walked into the city government office together, dressed for the roles they were about to make official.

Charlie wore Dave’s business-casual attire—a dress shirt, slacks, and polished shoes—his smaller frame almost swallowed by the professional look, but he carried himself with the confidence of a man who had already been Dave for months.

Dave, on the other hand, had fully embraced the college look. A hoodie, ripped jeans, sneakers—things that once belonged to Charlie but now felt completely his.

They approached the counter, where a clerk greeted them with a polite but indifferent nod.

“We’d like to file for a Complete Identity Exchange,” Charlie said smoothly, his voice steady.

The clerk raised an eyebrow but said nothing, pulling out a thick stack of documents. “I’ll need to go over this with you both before we proceed,” she said, flipping through the forms. “A Complete Identity Exchange is an irreversible legal procedure. You are voluntarily relinquishing all rights and claims to your original identity and assuming full legal, financial, and social responsibility for the new one. This includes, but is not limited to, government records, financial assets, familial relations, and legal obligations.”

She looked up at them sternly. “You understand what you’re doing?”

Charlie and Dave exchanged a glance before nodding in unison.

“Yes,” they said together.

The clerk continued, reading through the paperwork carefully.

“You, Charles Peterson,” she emphasized, looking at Charlie, “will forfeit all claims to the identity of Charles Peterson and assume the full legal identity of David Newman. This includes parental responsibilities, property ownership, employment, and all legal obligations attached to the name David Newman.”

Charlie—now Dave—nodded firmly. “I agree.”

She turned to Dave.

“And you, David Newman,” she said, looking him in the eye, “will forfeit all claims to the identity of David Newman and assume the full legal identity of Charles Peterson. This includes your educational records, student loans, residency status, and all financial assets and liabilities attached to the name Charles Peterson.”

Dave—now Charlie—grinned. “I agree.”

The clerk flipped to another section. “You also agree to update all legal identification, including but not limited to driver’s licenses, social security records, tax information, and employment contracts, to reflect this change?”

“Yes,” they both answered without hesitation.

She nodded. “Before we proceed, you are required to verbally confirm your intentions for the record.” She pressed a button, and a red recording light blinked to life on the desk.

The clerk looked at Charlie first. “Please state your full name and confirm what you want to happen today.”

Charlie straightened. “My name is Charles Peterson, and I am here to exchange my identity with David Newman. I understand this is a permanent decision, and I voluntarily accept all legal and personal responsibilities of David Newman’s life, including his career, finances, home, and family.”

The clerk turned to Dave.

Dave’s smirk widened as he spoke with absolute certainty. “My name is David Newman, and I am here to exchange my identity with Charles Peterson. I understand this is permanent, and I voluntarily accept all legal and personal responsibilities of Charles Peterson’s life, including his academic records, student status, and financial obligations.”

The clerk pressed another button, saving the recording. “Final confirmation—please state your new legal names.”

Dave smiled. “I am David Newman.”

Charlie grinned. “And I am Charles Peterson.”

The clerk flipped to the last page.

“Sign here,” she said, sliding two pens across the desk.

Dave picked up the pen first, his heart pounding in excitement, and signed in his new, permanent identity:

David Newman

Charlie followed suit, carefully signing his new name:

Charles Peterson

The clerk stamped the documents and smiled for the first time that morning. “Congratulations,” she said, glancing between them.

She turned to Charlie with a professional nod. “Mr. Newman.”

Then she looked at Dave. “And Mr. Peterson.”

The words sent a jolt through both men.

They had done it.

Legally, officially, permanently…

They were each other.

They shook hands with the clerk and walked out of the building, the cool morning air feeling lighter on their skin, as if a weight had been lifted.

For the first time, they truly belonged to the lives they had claimed.

But there was still one thing left to fix.

From the government office, they went straight to the Body Swap Clinic.

The receptionist greeted them, flipping through their records before glancing up. “I see you two have been here before,” she noted, her expression neutral.

Charlie grinned. “Yeah. We’d like to schedule another swap.”

“This will be a permanent transfer, correct?” the receptionist asked. “No scheduled reversals?”

Charlie and Dave exchanged one final look, the certainty in their eyes unshakable.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

Minutes later, they were guided into the familiar swap chamber.

It felt surreal—walking into the same room where this whole journey had started. But this time, there was no hesitation. No doubt.

They lay back in the chairs as the technicians prepped the machine.

Charlie glanced over at Dave one last time, smirking. “See you on the other side.”

Dave chuckled. “See you as me.”

The machine hummed to life.

A sharp jolt.

Then darkness.

Then—

Breath.

Dave opened his eyes, blinking against the bright light. His body felt different—his limbs heavier, his shoulders broader. He stretched his arms, feeling the satisfying pull of his muscles.

His fingers instinctively pressed against his chest, feeling the familiar roughness of hair.

He looked down and grinned.

He was back.

Meanwhile, Charlie sat up, his breath catching as he looked at his smaller hands, his smoother chest. He let out a slow, shaky exhale, running his fingers down his lean torso.

Then, he laughed. A bright, unrestrained, youthful laugh.

Dave stood up, “How does it feel?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling through the room.

Charlie looked up at him, beaming. “Like I can breathe again.”

The procedure was done, there would be no more pretending.

Dave would be Dave.

Charlie would be Charlie.

And this time, it would be their permanent assignment. 

The end.

[democracyunderground]

Alt National Park Service

We apologize for the length of this post, but we felt it was important to share the full details with you.

In early March, a group of Musk-affiliated staffers from the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) arrived at the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB), the federal agency responsible for protecting workers’ rights and handling union disputes. They claimed their mission was to improve efficiency and cut costs. But what followed raised serious alarms inside the agency and revealed a dangerous abuse of power and access.

Once DOGE engineers were granted access to the NLRB’s systems, internal IT staff quickly realized something was wrong. Normally, any user given access to sensitive government systems is monitored closely. But when IT staff suggested tracking DOGE activity—standard cybersecurity protocol—they were told to back off. Soon after, DOGE installed a virtual system inside the agency’s servers that operated in secret. This system left no logs, no trace of its activity, and was removed without a record of what had been done.

Then, large amounts of data began disappearing from the system. This wasn’t routine data—it included sensitive information on union strategies, ongoing legal cases, corporate secrets, and even personal details of workers and officials. None of it had anything to do with cutting costs or improving efficiency. It simply wasn’t supposed to leave the NLRB under any circumstance.

Almost immediately after DOGE accounts were created, login attempts began—from a Russian IP address. These weren’t random hacks. Whoever it was had the correct usernames and passwords. The timing was so fast it suggested that credentials had either been stolen, leaked, or shared. Security experts later said that if someone wanted to hide their tracks, they wouldn’t make themselves look like they were logging in from Russia. This wasn’t just sloppy—it was bold, calculated, and criminal.

One of the NLRB’s IT staffers documented everything and submitted a formal disclosure to Congress and other oversight bodies. But instead of being protected, he was targeted. A threatening note was taped to his door, revealing private information and overhead drone photos of him walking his dog. The message was clear: stay silent. He didn’t. He went public.

This isn’t just a cybersecurity issue—it’s a coordinated effort to infiltrate government agencies, bypass legal safeguards, and harvest data that can be used for political, corporate, or personal leverage. With Elon Musk directing DOGE, it’s hard not to see the motive: access to union files, employee records, and legal disputes that could benefit his companies and silence critics. This same playbook appears to be unfolding across multiple federal agencies, with DOGE operatives gaining quiet access to sensitive systems and extracting vast amounts of data without oversight.

The truth is, DOGE was never about making government more efficient. It was about taking control of it from the inside. What happened at the NLRB is not an isolated incident—it’s a warning of what happens when billionaires are handed unchecked power inside public institutions.

[raguerel]

I dont think qsmpwatcher who never see philza with wings realize how actual powerful he is. The whole his character with wings come from his liking of using elytra so efficiently as if 'he was born with it'

It's not a bit why people hyping phil up so much about using wings he genuinely amazing with using elytra as in combat and etc.

The famous one is his terra swoop force run first try 0 death and he not even serious about it lmao he just going at his own pace enjoying the view

his whole 'angle of death' are nickname given by technoblade during the smpe! by him wearing elytra all the time and swoop killed ppl in one hit with it.

( The one ppl see the most is when smpe!wil steal dragon eggs from them and phil swoop in one shot him in a matter of second)

His character since then always have wings and usually describe to be a really long black feather wings resemble crows feathers. ( Noted: He never stated to be crow hybrid so all we known for sure is he a winged human lmao )

and in the server that doesn't give access to the end realms he give a detailed of what happened to his wings

c!Philza's wings one of his is broken from protecting c!wilbur from the explosion ( his inspired after watching sadist animation and he make it canon )

q!Philza's wings got clipped by the federations after he woke up in the trains ( he stated this since the start of the <edit> qsmp on 20th may! 5months ago :D )

And it not just his wings but also his mannerism while playing. Perching in higher place, his character doesn't like plain glass

To be noted that he is aware of how bird is and play it into his character ; hint how bird are under stress will picks out all of its feathers, slowly having more aggressive behavior and being wild bird will get fucked up by being in a cage. He is aware of all of it :D

So us crows seeing that the admin adding wings to the bird hybrid is very exciting to us since it always been a huge lore on phil's character. And they work on wings are so amazing and beautiful too. I am so excited for stuff in the future!

Ps. here his terra swoop force run if anyone interested to see how he's with wings

And here more of his moment with elytra!

He's a badass with wing! Which why ppl always said they nerfed him by clipping his wings lmao

https://youtu.be/u0j7ecBu2x4?si=KlUEGCd6htB3w3t3

https://youtu.be/bZa4hQlIuVY?si=K-c2qTx-UIdBXC0z

https://youtu.be/ilfMXOqiwhs?si=LVp_deLuDtj8EXa5

https://youtu.be/HTmqE56u0uM?si=u7vq3wSgC-y2ksFw

https://youtu.be/V4WPF73Bnzw?si=Ygr4ZF4k5bpHisAY

[virtualizationhowto]

Beelink Mini PC S12 Pro: Proxmox Home Server

Beelink Mini PC S12 Pro: Proxmox Home Server #homelab #BeelinkMiniPCS12ProReview #IntelN100ProcessorInsights #UpgradeOpportunitiesForBeelinkPCs #IntelVsAMDmobileProcessors #MiniPCserver #EnergyEfficiencyInSmallPCs #proxmox #homeserveronProxmox

The mini PC, characterized by its small form factor, is also becoming popular among enthusiasts and professionals doing office work. If you search on the web, there are many options to choose from. Beelink has many great options in this space and is a respected vendor. I recently snagged a Beelink Mini PC S12 Pro and have been using it in the lab for a few days. This model is a cool entry in this…

[dostoyevsky-official]

A 25-Year-Old With Elon Musk Ties Has Direct Access to the Federal Payment System

A 25-year-old engineer named Marko Elez, who previously worked for two Elon Musk companies, has direct access to Treasury Department systems responsible for nearly all payments made by the US government, three sources tell WIRED. Two of those sources say that Elez’s privileges include the ability not just to read but to write code on two of the most sensitive systems in the US government: The Payment Automation Manager (PAM) and Secure Payment System (SPS) at the Bureau of the Fiscal Service (BFS). Housed on a top-secret mainframe, these systems control, on a granular level, government payments that in their totality amount to more than a fifth of the US economy. Despite reporting that suggests that Musk's so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) task force has access to these Treasury systems on a “read-only” level, sources say Elez, who has visited a Kansas City office housing BFS systems, has many administrator-level privileges. Typically, those admin privileges could give someone the power to log into servers through secure shell access, navigate the entire file system, change user permissions, and delete or modify critical files. That could allow someone to bypass the security measures of, and potentially cause irreversible changes to, the very systems they have access to. “You could do anything with these privileges,” says one source with knowledge of the system, who adds that they cannot conceive of a reason that anyone would need them for purposes of simply hunting down fraudulent payments or analyzing disbursement flow. "Technically I don't see why this couldn't happen," a federal IT worker tells WIRED in a phone call late on Monday night, referring to the possibility of a DOGE employee being granted elevated access to a government server. "If you would have asked me a week ago, I'd have told you that this kind of thing would never in a million years happen. But now, who the fuck knows." A source says they are concerned that data could be passed from secure systems to DOGE operatives within the General Services Administration (GSA). WIRED reporting has shown that Elon Musk’s associates—including Nicole Hollander, who slept in Twitter’s offices as Musk acquired the company, and Thomas Shedd, a former Tesla engineer who now runs a GSA agency, along with a host of extremely young and inexperienced engineers—have infiltrated the GSA, and have attempted to use White House security credentials to gain access to GSA tech, something experts have said is highly unusual and poses a huge security risk.

[wachinyeya]

Geneva-based Infomaniak has been recovering 100 per cent of the electricity it uses since November 2024.

The recycled power will be able to fuel the centralised heating network in the Canton of Geneva and benefit around 6,000 households.

The centre is currently operating at 25 per cent of its potential capacity. It aims to reach full capacity by 2028.

Swiss data centre leads the way for a greener cloud industry

The data centre hopes to point to a greener way of operating in the electricity-heavy cloud industry.

"In the real world, data centres convert electricity into heat. With the exponential growth of the cloud, this energy is currently being released into the atmosphere and wasted,” Boris Siegenthaler, Infomaniak's Founder and Chief Strategy Officer, told news site FinanzNachrichten.

“There is an urgent need to upgrade this way of doing things, to connect these infrastructures to heating networks and adapt building standards."

Infomaniak has received several awards for the energy efficiency of its complexes, which operate without air conditioning - a rarity for hot data centres.

The company also builds infrastructure underground so that it doesn’t have an impact on the environment.

Swiss data centre recycles heat for homes

At Infomaniak, all the electricity that powers equipment like servers, inverters and ventilation is converted into heat at a temperature of 40 to 45C.

This is then channelled to an air/water exchanger which filters it into a hot water circuit. Heat pumps are used to increase its temperature to 67C in summer and 85C in winter.

How many homes will be heated by the data centre?

When the centre is operating at full capacity, it will supply Geneva’s heating network with 1.7 megawatts, the amount needed for 6,000 households per year or for 20,000 people to take a 5-minute shower every day.

This means the Canton of Geneva can save 3,600 tonnes of CO2 equivalent (tCO2eq) of natural gas every year, or 5,500 tCO2eq of pellets annually.

The system in place at Infomaniak’s data centre is free to be reproduced by other companies. There is a technical guide available explaining how to replicate the model and a summary for policymakers that advises how to improve design regulations and the sustainability of data centres.

[msmads]

Switch 2 Prices Rant

Actually tagging this post because the points in this poorly organized rant aren't empty, and I do want them see to some extent

maybe someone else will tidy up my tired ass's mess of points from a meandering rant into bullet points or something.

maybe I'll tidy it up later into like, an essay, idfk, it's a mess and I'm not looking to actually write an essay.

... oh boy this is gonna ruffle some feathers though, guess I'm finally opening myself up to some hellsite discourse...

NGL, I'm getting fed up with people complaining about Nintendo Switch 2 prices and Switch 2 game prices, when they're only halfway to catching up with inflation since 2005 on the game prices on the most expensive games, which means yes, Mario Kart World is cheaper than Madden 05 was, and they're refusing to acknowledge the actual problem that their own wages aren't going up to keep up with inflation.

Within the (shitty) present system, the problem isn't a luxury good being 450 bucks, it's that you're not being paid enough for what you do.

AND for fucks sake, 450 bucks for a piece of tech that is on the cutting edge of power efficient gaming, is pretty decent.

These guys are out here fixing or improving most of the problems with the previous generation system they made, and keep on not laying off their employees unlike the other big fish, and what they get is people being understandably unhappy about the price and lying about stuff to have a big ol' negativity circlejerk on Nintendo, while saying shit like "it's not a political issues" and ignoring the fact that Videogames are the cheapest form of entertainment there is today, even with these price increases, and the fact that wages being stagnant in an inflationary economy is obviously going to cause problems like this, and the related fact that SOMETHING IS OBVIOUSLY GOING TO GIVE WHEN AN INDUSTRY IGNORES INFLATION ON IT'S PRODUCTS FOR 20 YEARS, AS EVERYTHING ELSE GETS MORE EXPENSIVE, UPPING COSTS ALL AROUND FOR MAKING THE GAMES AND HARDWARE TOO

and

that's not even getting into the absolute BULLSHIT where companies that have publicly traded stocks in the US have a legal responsibility to keep grow every year!

THAT'S LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE

COMPANIES HAVE BEEN SELF CANNIBALIZING BY MINIMIZING STAFF TO DEAL WITH THAT, WHY DO YOU THINK CVS PHARMACIES ARE SUCH SHITTY STORES WITH LIKE ONE PERSON STAFFING THEM?

Nintendo has been managing to keep away from stripping themselves for parts, despite the Switch 1 being frankly a shit show of a device by Nintendo's quality standards, with them going through a dark period of undercooked BS in the middle of its lifespan to boot.

They're doing shitty things with credits lately, that's something reasonable to complain about.

They're shitty to their fans with their IP enforcement, that's something reasonable to complain about.

They swept Joy-Con Drift under the rug, that's something reasonable to complain about.

They dedicated a whole ass physical button to a paywalled bootleg discord call feature, that's something reasonable to complain about.

BUT GODDAMN

PEOPLE ARE COMPLAINING ABOUT THE PRICES OF THE CHEAPEST FOR CONSUMERS FORM OF ENTERTAINMENT THERE IS GOING UP IN PRICE BY A MODEST AMOUNT INSTEAD OF THEIR FOOD GOING UP IN PRICE OR THEIR WAGES STAYING STAGNANT FOR SO DAMN LONG THEY'RE COMPLAINING ABOUT THE MOST REASONABLE BLEMISH ON A RAY OF PLEASANTRY AMIDST A SEA OF DISASTER THAT CREATED THE BLEMISH INSTEAD OF LOOKING TO THE MAELSTROM AND RESISTING THE ACTUAL FUCKING PROBLEM

If you can't afford it, save up for it

if you can't save up for it, UNIONIZE AND DEMAND BETTER PAY SO YOU'RE NOT UNDERWATER JUST TRYING TO SURVIVE.

Ah yeah, the online subscription thing

that that exists at all, pretty shitty

but holy shit, I find it so annoying hearing about how much more you get out of XBOX Live or PlayStation Plus than Nintendo Switch Online

they're all doing the same shitty practice of paywalling your ability to access servers the subscription isn't even paying for, XBOX and PlayStation just force you to pay for EVEN MORE STUFF

Nintendo's top plan is asking LESS THAN HALF THE BASIC PLAN FOR THOSE OTHER TWO FUCKERS

50÷12<9.99

and the basic plan on Nintendo's end is less than 2 dollars a month,

as shit as it is that they paywall that at all, it's way better than what Microsoft and Sony are and have been doing for way longer, so comparing to them on that front is pretty bullshit too.

bllghhhh.

ok...

I think I'm done.

[marshmallowprotection]

I need to hold Suit like this that's all

"You would think that you'd never slept in a bed before," you cooed as you squished Saeran's face between your hands. He didn't seem that bothered by it but that sour look on his face was palpable. He kept it there on the off-chance someone decided to interrupt your playtime and make a stink about what he was supposed to do as the strongest member of Mint Eye. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone know you're the cutest bed bug."

"I sleep at my desk, toy. Who needs a bed for that? So you can laze around all day? It's more efficient and gives me some range to attack right away if someone does something stupid to our servers," he said.

Oh.

Well, you should've expected that, you figured. Ray mentioned doing the same once before, but you thought with the reduced workload... Saeran wouldn't be doing as much as Ray had. Being strong for their paradise was a load of crap. He tried to convince you that he had the power to do anything he wanted to do, but outside of the time he had carted out to sleep in your bed, he couldn't swing by enough.

Even if Saeran was able to get away with more than Ray had been able to do when he was at the front, Saeran couldn't get rest like he deserved.

What was freedom if he could only burrow his face in your chest after he tortured himself?

How was it better than the way Ray suffocated himself just to get five minutes of peace with you in the garden?

It wasn't fair. This wasn't fair to either of them. You shook your head, wondering how in the world he could convince himself this was okay in the slightest. Was it because he didn't know any better? "Do you... do you even have a bed in your office, Saeran?"

"There's a couch," he shrugged.

You frowned. "That's not a bed, Saeran. It's no wonder you always slump over in my bed when you get here... I can't imagine the ache you must feel in your back from sleeping like a shrimp on your desk, much less a lumpy couch."

He huffed. Rather than dignify your response with a comment, he shoved his face against your chest and settled where he wanted to be. It was no different than what he usually did. He would storm into the room, pull you toward the bed, and make you stop whatever you were doing to cuddle with him. Although, he wouldn't call it that. He never used the word "cuddling", instead, he called it "decompressing."

If it was safer for him that way, you couldn't be upset.

After all, calling things what they were had led to Ray's suffering at the Savior's hand. If code words allowed him to exist without pain... you knew you would make do until you could concoct a pain to get out of dodge.

You're my favorite bed bug, you thought. I hope one day you will be able to admit you enjoy our time together in bed, Saeran. You'll have all the time in the world to rest in our bed... and I'll make sure of that. I promise. Just like the promise I made Ray that one day we would be able to have a picnic under the clouds.

"Don't worry," you stroked the back of his head. "I'll be a good toy and watch over you while you sleep."

"Thank you..."

[ninja-confession-go]

ninja playing minecraft: professional opinion lloyd - travels to a pretty biome, starts building a house, gets distracted by caves, dies a few times, loses motivation, abandons the server, rinse and repeat nya - goes out exploring like 2 trillion blocks out in the wild and always complains about the lack of storage but whenever tells her to go back she is very against it cole - canonically the best gamer of the team so hes probably a fucking sweat that says hes going to go mining for a bit and returns with a full netherite armor in like two hours. WILL get distracted if jay and/or kai start some bullshit and all three of them will just beat each other to death at spawn until someone stops them zane - kind of like cole, his first robotic instinct is to always speedrun the game and to get everyone elytra and set up the most efficient villager trades and then he never logs on again because "I already did everything?" jay - he either fucks around and never finds out or he hyperfixates on building the most intricate redstone machine you ever seen in your entire life and invents how to mod minecraft inside of minecraft kai - has no idea what hes supposed to do most of the time so other players use him like a personal butler. he also doesn't know names of most of the items so you can just lie to him and watch him run around in circles for hours pixal - lowkey is a little shit, the most helpful but also the most annoying player on the server that will spend 4 hours moving your entire house to a completely different location block by block the exact copy arin - takes progression really slow, lives in a wooden house with his five dogs and three diamonds at his disposal even though the world is like 300 days old sora - rarely logs on the server, mostly just makes redstone shit in her personal world and watches insane tutorials at 2am and grinds her teeth because why didnt she come up with this 4x4 piston extended door that contains every single farm and is powered by wind charges and god wyldfyre - refused to buy the licensed version, typed in "minecraft get for free online no viruses", got a virus, her pc doesnt turn on anymore

.