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dindjarindiaries · 1 year

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When a House Becomes a Home

summary: A new home brings new responsibilities, and there’s only one person who can teach Din how to cook a proper meal: you.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

contains: food, domesticity, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.833k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

Din sighs as he looks over your shoulder at the datapad in your hand. “I didn’t realize cooking would take as much effort as a job,” he confesses, his modulated voice laced with amusement. He points at the vidscreen. “That’s a long list.”

“What you put into it is what you get out of it,” you insist. You gesture to the cabin from where you stand in the threshold. “I’m not letting our first meal in this home be mediocre.” You give his armored shoulder a playful nudge. “And I know you love a good side quest.”

Din tilts his helmet at you. “Only with a good partner by my side.” He sets a gloved hand upon your back. “Come on, riduur. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get back.”

Grogu’s pod floats at Din’s other side as he starts to lead the way into town. You glance at him with an eyebrow raised. “Are you becoming a homebody already?”

Din shrugs, his fingers giving your back a thoughtful tap. “We’ve been traveling the galaxy for many years.” He swings his helmet to look at you. “A night of rest sounds pretty tempting after that.”

“Well, this shouldn’t take too long.” You look over the list of ingredients on your datapad again. “You’re a bounty hunter, after all. Just pretend everything on this list is a quarry you have to find.”

Din huffs at your words. “Like I said before.” He gestures with his helmet to your datapad. “It’s a job.”

You lean close to his visor. “With a delicious payout.” You tuck your datapad on your belt and take his hand from your back, lacing his gloved fingers with yours. “If you cook as well as you make an argument, this will be the best meal of your life.”

Din chuckles at that and gives your arms an embarrassed swing. You laugh and bring yourself closer to his side as you continue closing the distance towards the heart of Nevarro.

It’s easy for Din to navigate the bazaar, even after all this time. He’d spent many years on planet before your travels together began, and despite how much it’s changed since then, Din seems confident in the way he strides towards the merchant’s booths. You release his hand to take the empty knapsack off your shoulder and hold it towards him. “Do you mind helping me collect our items?”

“Sure.” Din nods and takes the knapsack from you, holding it between his gloved hands as you reach for your datapad and reference your list. “Where are we headed first?”

You show him the list and let him glance over it. “We’ll need to find a butcher, a flora stand, and…” you hesitate as you see more of the random ingredients, “I guess we just need to look everywhere.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” Din tightens his grasp on the knapsack and gives his helmet a quick tilt. “I like it.” He pats your shoulder and looks to the way ahead. “Let’s do it.”

You and Din work together to make your way through the booths and collect the freshest versions of everything you need. The hardest challenge is keeping Grogu from eating both your product and the merchants’, one that Din handles for the most part while he lets you make the selections. For once, credits are easy to come by, thanks to Greef Karga’s generosity. The gratitude of the Nevarro citizens helps when they recognize Din and the role he had to play in saving their city.

The walk back to your cabin is even quicker than before. Din keeps the knapsack slung over one of his shoulders and his hand has found its way into yours again. There’s almost a skip in his step that you can’t help smiling at.

“Someone’s excited to get in the kitchen,” you observe, your fond grin only growing.

“I’m holding on to a bag full of food.” Din lifts his elbow to lightly jostle the knapsack. “I’m just ready to have something other than rations.”

You chuckle and wait for Din to take the keycard from his belt. He unlocks the cabin door and pushes the button to open it for you. With a nod, you thank him and walk inside first, taking a deep breath as you look around the space that’s set to become your home. The door slides closed after Din enters with Grogu’s pod and he stands just behind your shoulder, as if he’s also taking in your surroundings. You look at him and watch as he lifts both hands to remove his helmet, his brown gaze shining as the corners of his lips gently tug up in a small smile.

“I’m… still not used to it,” Din confesses, his natural voice always a welcome surprise. “It’s much different than the tunnels and the Crest.”

You turn to face him and ease the knapsack from his shoulder. “Then let’s start to make it feel more like home.” You press a hand upon Din’s cuirass. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll get everything prepped. Okay?”

Din nods, his gaze full of wonder as his eyes search yours for a long moment. Your hand rises to the side of his face as you press a kiss upon his cheek, sending him off with a gentle tap against his skin. You hoist the knapsack onto your shoulder and take Grogu out of the pod, setting him down in the living area with the shift knob from the Crest to keep him busy. He coos with delight and begins to entertain himself, allowing you to focus on preparing the kitchen.

Greef had been kind enough to make sure the cabin was fully furnished, and that included supplies for cooking. You smile to yourself in gratitude as you set the recipe on the datapad in front of you and take out whatever you need. The ingredients are arranged in a way that makes sense, especially for someone as organizational as Din. You pause to check on Grogu every once in a while, watching as he plays catch with himself using his powers.

Din catches you in the midst of one of these moments, his presence adding an even warmer glow to the room as you turn your head to look at him. He’s reduced himself to his pants and the black tunic he wears underneath his flight suit, his suspenders hanging loosely at his sides. His attention is focused on Grogu’s play even as he continues making his way towards you.

“It’s good that he knows how to keep himself busy,” Din states, setting his weight on one hip as he reaches your side. You nod, unable to speak thanks to the overwhelming flutters within your chest. He turns to look at you and raises an eyebrow at your silence. “What is it?”

You beam and shake your head. “Nothing.” You focus back on the preparations in front of you. “Okay, the first thing we should do is roast the flora.” You take the bunches of the flora and offer a few to Din. “Can you help me cut these?”

Din nods, though he hesitates before he accepts them. “Wait.” He goes to the water pump and washes off his hands, making you bite back a smile. Din’s always been adamant about his cleanliness, that of himself as well as his weapons and armor. He returns and gently takes the flora from you. Once he sets it down, you offer him a small knife. “How should I cut it?”

“Into small pieces.” You demonstrate a few for him, pausing to make sure he’s gotten it.

Din copies your work and lifts the small piece in his hand for you to see. “Like this?”

You grin and nod at him. “Perfect.” You turn your focus back to the flora and speak as you work. “You’re well on your way to becoming an expert.”

Din scoffs. “This is just the first step, cyar’ika.” He adds his pieces to the place where you’ve been setting your own. “You’re being too kind.”

You release a soft laugh. “All I’m saying is that a lot of cooking is cutting things.” You gesture with your knife to his work. “And you’ve got that down pat.”

“With all of my vibroblade training, you’d hope I would.”

You give his shoulder a gentle nudge and giggle when he gives you one in return. You finish right before Din does, though he takes his last piece and walks away with it. Your brow furrows as you watch Din bring it over to Grogu, offering it to the little one with a small smile. Grogu coos in gratitude and eats it as if he’s never had a meal before. Din stands from where he’d been kneeling and returns to you.

“The flora has been Grogu approved.” Din brushes his hands together and sets them on his hips. “What’s next?”

You turn to the datapad with an amused smile. “An efficient and eager learner.” You steal a quick look at him. “Your metrics in the kitchen are panning out to be quite high.”

Din’s face turns the slightest shade of pink and he shrugs. You take a vial of oil and offer it to him. He accepts it, though his gaze never leaves you as he awaits his instructions.

“Drizzle this over the flora.” Din nods and opens the vial. “It’ll be ready to roast once we toss it.”

Din pours some of the oil out and stops abruptly. He turns to look at you. “Was that too much?”

You shake your head. “No, no. That’s fine.”

Din closes the vial and sets it down. “It came out faster than I expected.”

“That can tend to happen.” You reach your hands forward to toss the flora in the oil. Once it’s all covered, you gesture to the fireplace and spit. “Can you get a fire going so we can roast it while I wash my hands off?”

Din nods and disappears from the kitchen for a moment. You watch in confusion until he returns with his vambrace on. You can’t help chuckling when he bends down to the tinder and gently engages his flamethrower, getting the small fire started in no time. He stops as he walks by you washing your hands off. “Is ‘use what you’ve got’ a rule of the kitchen?” He gestures to the vambrace on his arm.

You grin at him. “It absolutely is.”

Din returns your smile before he leaves to set his vambrace back in the bedroom. He comes back and exhales, rolling up his sleeves. “The warmth of that fire works quickly.”

“That’s why we’ve got to do the same.” You take a protective glove and use it to set the flora and its container on top of the spit. “The flora will roast fast, and when it’s halfway done, we’ve got to add this tip-yip.”

“Understood.” Din gestures to the meat you’ve already set out. “What can I do?”

You take one of the two pieces of tip-yip and hand it to him. “Can you guess?”

Din chuckles and raises his knife. “Cut it into small pieces?”

You nod and lean closer to him. “You’re catching on.” You give his cheek a kiss and watch as it burns a deeper red this time. “They don’t have to be too small, though.” You demonstrate one strip for him. “Like this.”

Din nods and once again tries to mirror your work. “Is there something else to do with it after?” Din steals a quick glance at you. “At the covert, we just used to throw it on a spit and call it a day.”

“I figured as much, and that’s okay, too.” You point with your knife to a collection of herbs. “Your covert eats for health and nourishment, but we’re cooking mostly for flavor. We’re gonna use that to season it.”

“That sounds nice.” Din’s voice is only slightly strained as he goes on. “I think… my parents used to do that, too.”

You stop what you’re doing and set your full attention on him. His brow is slightly knit as he continues cutting the tip-yip, though he’s quick to finish and return your gaze. He catches your concern and offers a reassuring nod as he sits his hand over one of yours.

“Don’t worry. It’s a good thing.”

You smile and return his nod, exhaling a soft breath as you finish with your piece. You reach for the herbs and other seasonings and set them between you and Din. “All it needs is a few sprinkles of all of these.”

As you finish each one, you hand it off to Din, letting him do the same to his share. Once it’s all distributed, you toss it just as you had with the flora. You take a moment to look at Grogu as you work, though he’s still busying himself with the shifter knob that he tosses into the air over and over again.

“Now that it’s all combined,” you start, taking both your share as well as Din’s and adding it to a transfer plate, “we can add it to the flora. But first…” You trail off, lifting your season-covered hands for Din to see.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Din smiles and races you to the water pump. You laugh as you try to push him aside and he chuckles as he does the same to you. He ends up taking your hands and washing them for you, letting you dry them off while he does the same for himself. Din takes the initiative under your lead in wearing the protective glove and transferring the tip-yip over to the roasting flora. “It already smells good.”

You raise your brow as he sets down the plate and the glove. “How good?”

Din tilts his head at you as if he’s still wearing his helmet. “Really good.”

“Well, you know what?” You step towards him and set your hand on his chest. “It’s gonna taste even better.” You keep your hand where it is as the other reaches around Din and finds the long, metal tongs. “We ought it to keep it from burning, though.” Din huffs and nods in agreement. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Din takes the tongs from you. “I’d be honored.”

You walk with him over to the fire and watch as he gently tosses the roasting food around. “That makes sense for a man as honorable as yourself.”

Din looks at you with an eyebrow raised. “That’s a lot of ‘honors.’”

You chuckle and shrug at him before you cross your arms over your chest. “I mean, I did ask if that was what you wanted.”

Din’s lips start to curl up in a smile as his gaze returns to the food. “I’m trying to focus, cyar’ika.”

“That’s just another rule of cooking.” You come closer to him, hooking a finger on the collar of his tunic to press a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “Multitasking.”

Din’s head whips around to face you, his brown gaze a sweet warning. “I can multitask.” He gives you a once-over. “What you’re trying to do is kill me.”

You laugh, not expecting him to say such a thing. “Din!” You brace yourself against his shoulder. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Din gestures with his head to the roasting food. “I’m tending to food on an open fire and you’re over here doing…” he hesitates, glancing in Grogu’s direction, “that.” He turns his attention back to the tip-yip and flora. “You know you’re my biggest threat.”

You smile at him. “Sure.” You step away to begin setting the table while Din finishes cooking the food. Grogu jumps up from where he’s been playing and coos with interest. You give his head a gentle pat. “Would you like to help, Grogu?”

Grogu nods and babbles. You hand him three utensils.

“Set one of these next to every plate.” Grogu nods and follows you around the table. You’ll set down a plate and he’ll put a utensil next to it. Once you’ve both finished, you brush your hand over his head. “Very good. You made it look so nice.”

Grogu lifts his ears in joy at your praise. You leave him to return to Din in the kitchen. He gives you a quick glance. “I think it’s ready,” he informs you.

You observe the tray and nod. “I think you’re right.” You hand him the protective glove. “Can you distribute it to the plates?”

Din nods and slides the glove on. “I’ve got it.” He gestures with his head to the table. “You and Grogu just lay low.”

You beam at him before you obey his soft request. When you reach the table, Grogu points to a specific plate, making you giggle as you sit there. “Thanks for helping me choose.”

Grogu nods and sits by another plate. He leaves one in between you two for Din, a thought that only makes your smile grow. Din remains careful when he joins you and distributes the meal as evenly as he can, knowing full well that Grogu can eat just as much as the two of you—if not more. Once he’s finished, Din sets his supplies down in the kitchen and joins you and Grogu at the table. He glances at his plate in hunger, yet he still nods at you. “It’s time for you to do the honors,” Din insists.

You know better than to argue with him. You take the first bite and smile in pure content. From the flavors to the memory of its preparation, everything about this first meal in your new home is perfect. “I think you’re gonna like it,” you say, gesturing to Din’s plate with your utensil.

Both he and Grogu try it for themselves. Grogu’s ears rise on his head as he goes on to start devouring it while Din gives you an impressed raise of his brow. “Riduur.” He points at his plate. “You were on to something with this.”

“I told you,” you remind him with a smile. “What you put into it is what you get out of it.”

Din takes another bite and returns your smile. “Then this was a job well done.” He enjoys more of his meal before he goes on. “You were right. The payout is delicious.” Din turns his attention to Grogu. “Isn’t it, buddy?”

Grogu offers a sleepy coo from where he sits with his plate already empty. You laugh as you and Din take your time finishing up your own meals. By the time you’re all set, Grogu’s completely asleep, satisfied with a full stomach and the warmth of the cabin. “I’ll get him to bed,” you assure him as you stand from your seat. “We’ll clean up when I’m done.”

Din nods, giving Grogu’s sleeping head a gentle tap before you carry the little one away to his own room. You tuck him into his pod and give his wrinkly head a soft kiss, imagining the day when you’ve finally gotten him a more comfortable bed of his own to have apart from his pod. You close his door and heave a soft breath as you make your way back to the living area and the kitchen.

You stop short when you see Din’s already cleared the table and is cleaning up on his own.

“Din Djarin,” you scold him, though your lips have already started curling up into yet another grin. Din’s brow furrows as he watches you approach. “I thought I said we’d clean up when I was done!”

“I’ve got it,” Din insists, stepping between you and the dirty dishes. “You planned all of this out and did most of the heavy lifting.” He nods at you. “Let me clean it.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Fine.” Din slowly turns back to what he was doing, giving you the window to reach for a cloth and try to make a dash for the table. Din’s Mandalorian reflexes are too quick and he captures your waist before you can get anywhere. You squeal with laughter and shock as he pulls you away.

“Come on, Din!” you plead, still laughing as he wrestles with you. “Just let me wipe down the table!”

“No.” Din lifts you and sets you upon the nearest countertop. He lifts a finger to point at you like he often does with Grogu. “Stay here and rest until I’m done.” Still, his chivalry can’t allow him to stop there. “Please.”

You let out a dramatic exhale, despite the way you’re beaming at him. “All right.” You take the cloth and set it over his shoulder. “But only just this once.”

Din starts to smile as he nods at you. “Understood.” He goes back to the washing he was doing and you watch him with fond eyes. He’s already put out the fire, but the ghost of its warm glow remains. This night is just the first of many, whenever you and Din aren’t on a job. It’s a safe place where you can come back to time and time again instead of finding whatever’s available. There’s no need for blasters, armor, or any kind of self-defense. It’s something of your own creation, and tonight, you’ve already started a perfect ritual.

This house has finally become a home.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you keep watching Din move around your home. He takes the cloth from his shoulder and wipes down the table. It’s so inefficient for you to be sitting here, but that’s not the point. Things don’t have to be rushed anymore. They can be comfortable and caring, which is exactly what Din is doing for you.

You lose yourself in these thoughts until Din finishes and approaches you again. His brow is slightly furrowed as he unravels your arms and sets his hands upon your waist. “Are you okay?”

You rest your arms on his shoulders, letting your fingers hang loosely behind his neck. “I’m the best I’ve ever been.”

Din starts to smile at that. “Good.” He leans his forehead against yours, taking a moment to breathe in the moment before he goes on. “Well, we’ve made our meal and we’ve enjoyed it.” He circles his jaw with a raise of his eyebrow. “Do you know what that means?”

You don’t speak, instead letting Din answer his question for himself.

“It’s time for dessert.”

You laugh and Din absorbs it with a long-awaited kiss, one that prepares you for something much more sweet and indulgent than anything you could’ve ever dreamed of whipping up in the kitchen.

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#my first addition to the cabin lore and i promise it's sweet #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian spoilers #dindjarindiaries

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destroymeinherz · 8 months

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The Party

A little while back someone posted about a fantasy of being passed around a stethoscope party, with different people listening to their heart. I don’t remember who did so if it was you, I hope you like this. It sparked creativity,

I could continue if anyone wants another part. But I wanted to do the basic idea.

The Party

I’d just signed with a modeling agency. It wasn’t the most exclusive, sometimes the jobs weren’t exactly what I hoped but college was expensive, so I took what I could. How bad could it be? It’s not like I planned to run for office or something.

My agent called me after classes one afternoon asking if I’d be interested in a gig that was more unconventional. After a few basic questions for my safety, nothing seemed too offensive even if it was secretive, and a rep from the agency would be there in case of trouble, I decided to take it.

Friday night I arrived at a big mansion just outside the city. From the looks of it this was old money, probably descendants of oil barons and railway tycoons. Which meant the paycheck would be huge. They’d promised a large payout for anyone who stayed til midnight.

I was let into a large foyer and usher back to a small hallway to a butlers parlor. A woman checked my ID, checked my name off a list and then looked me over.

“You will be required to wear one of two outfits tonight,” She instructed, pulling two hangers off a rack of clothes. “Black is standard, you are willing to do anything that would be clothes on. Call it PG-13.”

She held up a black Herve Luger bandage dress for emphasis. Then in her other hand, she held up a red one nearly identical to the former.

“Red,” She continued. “You are open to sexual behavior, and by wearing red you are giving consent to sexual advance,”

Well, I was single and I was never a prude, so I took the red. Might as well have a bit of fun. Once I accepted my color choice, she handed me an iPad with a waiver basically stating that I would take proper precautions, assert myself and under no circumstances attempt to contact anyone I met here after the event. I would ask for aid if I felt unsafe and leave without a scene. If I did not make it to midnight, I’d be compensated $200 per hour worked.

I shrugged and signed. She then held back a curtain for me to change in a small closet. I slipped inside, squeezed into the dress and as I was ushered to a door she fit me with a bracelet.

“If you need out, press the red button. Security will extract you.” She informed. “Are you ready?”

I blinked. Extracted? My heart started to pound, suddenly feeling crushed by the tight dress. What did I get myself into. But… the money was clouding my judgement. So I nodded, and the door opened. Once I cleared the threshold, it closed behind me.

Just walk around. Be eye candy. That was my only instruction. So that is what I did.

The room was a parlor, antique and dimly lit. It was full of golds and deep rich red textiles, dark wood and gold finishes. Old leather bound editions of classic literature adorned the bookshelves. I felt like I’d gone back in time. Or I was in a vampire’s house. My heart thudded at the thought.

The room was also full of people, in fine clothes, expensive tuxes and dresses. All of them wore masks like a masquerade. As I started to work through the crowd they watched me, with hungry eyes. Maybe I was in a vampire’s den. I was about to be dinner. There were a few other girls dressed in the red or black, varying heights and hair colors and skin tones.

I swallowed and tried to will my poor heart to stop trying to escape my chest. Until finally, a man approached me.

“Well, aren’t you lovely,” He said, holding out his hand.

I took his hand, and he brought it to his lips. He then moved his fingers down my wrist, stopping to feel my pulse. He offered him a soft smile. Then, he nodded before he motioned a waiter over.

The waiter came with a silver cloche, removing the dome top and extending the tray to the man. But there wasn’t food. It was a line of various stethoscopes. His fingers danced along them as he made his selection, a red tube that matched my dress.

He waved the man off, then examined it before placing the buds in his ears.

“Now, deep breath for me. Like a doctor’s office.” He said as he placed the diaphragm on my chest,

I was surprised, but I did as he asked, breathing in deeply and feeling my heart kick in my chest. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

He must have enjoyed the sound of my heart because he moved the diaphragm around my chest, smiling to himself and eventually he stopped. He listened for a long time, and even behind a mask I could see his eyes were closed.

I blushed. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump

Finally, he opened his eyes and moved the diaphragm away. He took the ear pieces out and looked around. Then he must have seen who he needed, because he waved to someone.

“You have a perfect heart, my dear.” He said.

“Uh, thanks…” I replied.

Another man approached, he also had a stethoscope. He looked to the first man oblivious to me and waited for why he’d been called over.

“I think she’s the one. Take a listen.”

The new man finally looked at me. I smiled at him but he simply leaned in with his own stethoscope and listened to my heart. I took a deep breath like I had before.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump

“I think you’re right,” He replied. “Take her in, I’ll grab the others.”

The others? I blinked in surprise. Is this all it was? A bunch of cosplayers listening to my heart for a few hours? That didn’t seem so bad. Even if they wanted to listen to it during sex or something. That was actually, kinda hot.

“Come with me,” The first man said.

I nodded as he took my hand again. This time he lead me down another hallway to a different room. He opened the door and brought me in, then closed it behind me. It was more of a sitting room with a beautiful chaise in the center, raised up on a platform.

I recognized some medical equipment from various movies or doctors visits. Nothing seemed too concerning.

“Now, lay down on the chaise,” He instructed. “You may stay clothed for now. But do remove your shoes as to not damage the upholstery.”

I did as he asked. Once I was settled, he returned to my side. He brought the steth out again and gently placed it on my chest. He let out a content sigh as he listened to my heart pound.

As he listened, others started to fill the room. They lined up behind him. I had never expected anything like this. Just lay here and let them hear my heart beat.

“Before we continue, could I get you anything? Water, soda, wine?”

I smiled. “What would you like me to have?”

“Oh you are cheeky.” He grinned. “Perhaps a little caffeine, to stimulate you. What does everyone think?”

There was a nod of agreement from the group and some muttering of approval. The first man smiled and had one of the caterers being me a soda can on a platter with a straw beside it.

“Go ahead and open it, then use the straw to limit your movement to drink.” He instructed.

I did as he asked. Once the can was open and the straw was in, in leaned over to the table where it sat and drank a few gulps. As I did, the man placed the diaphragm on my chest again.

He closed his eyes, listening and seemingly very content with the sound. Finally he opened them, took my hand and kissed the back of it. He stepped aside and the next person in line stepped up.

There was no clock in the room but it felt like time slowed in this room. Each person took their turn stepping up to my seat and just listening to my heartbeat. Some had me drink the soda, some had me lay down, some had me sit and stand quickly. I’d stand there and pant through running in place and jumping jacks in a too tight dress, as they listened to my heart’s reaction and then recovery.

Ba-dumpba-dumpba-dumpba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump

I had to admit, this was fun.

The last person was a woman, she couldn’t have been much older than me. She seemed more keen then the men had. Her eyes were bright behind her mask. She took a deep breath as her gold and white stethoscope settled on my chest.

“My… your heart… it’s by far one of the loveliest I’ve heard.” She said to me, her voice was lustful. “May I rest my head on your chest? Hear it directly with my ear?”

“Sure. I don’t see why not.” I replied.

“Would you like to hear your heart while I do?” She removed the stethoscope and offered it.

The people in the room all watched, eager to see how I would respond. Well, why not? If it made them happy it was my job tonight. I don’t think I’d ever heard my heartbeat before, not like this anyway.

“Okay. Sure” I replied with a smile.

That was the right answer as she grinned with excitement and placed the ear pieces in my ears. Then she placed the diaphragm down on my skin and rested her ear next to it.

I inhaled as I had before and my head filled with the rhythmic thumping they’d all been indulging in for the last few hours.

Ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump

I closed my own eyes and lost myself in the sound. Maybe I should come to these parties more often. Hearing the steady beat, knowing it was mine… that was intoxicating.

“Do you like it?” She asked.

“Yeah. I think I get the vibe.” I responded.

“Are you ready to try something a little more interesting?” The first man asked, approaching me slowly. “You can refuse any of the requests, we won’t take offense or change your compensation. These would be granting special requests.”

The stethoscope was removed from my ears and I almost whined about it. I liked hearing my heart, understanding what they were hearing. What they enjoyed that brought me here.

“Sure,” I said. “What do you have in mind?”

End?

#cardiophilia #cardiophile #heartbeat #beating heart #female heartbeat #writing #cardiophile story

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cybergrindr · 3 months

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spotify ending payouts for artists that don't hit a certain threshold, apple music giving more money to artists that can afford spatial audio, tidal quietly discontinuing their "artist-friendly" payout model... idk guys i think streaming might be inherently evil

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cowgurrrl · 11 months

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From the Dining Table

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: I feel like I should just leave the author’s note blank because there’s nothing I can do to make it better

Summary: “The love was there. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t save anyone. There were just too many forces against it. But it still matters that the love was there.” [4.5k]

Warnings: oh it’s so sad, mentions of bullying, hard conversations, goodbyes, June ruining everyone’s night yet again

Red Dirt Girl becomes the number one movie in America the first weekend it's in theatres. Box office numbers are insanely high, promising a high payout for everyone involved, and people are already talking about sweeping the competition during awards season. Peter sent flowers to your house to congratulate you, and you and Lilly are scheduled to do as much press together as possible before you leave for Ireland. It's the best-case scenario. So, why can't you let yourself feel good about it?

Instead of basking in your accomplishments and the pride you feel for this project or going out to celebrate on the clear Friday night that settled over LA, you're packing boxes. You're only taking the things you can't live without, but going through your stuff and deeming what you need and don't is exhausting. The rooms in your house feel especially empty as you silently walk around, thinking your way through the tasks. You consider calling Ryan or your mom to fill the eerie quiet but decide against it. You'll have to talk about Joel if you call either of them, and you don't think you're ready for that yet. So, you open your notes app and try to find the strength to do at least one thing on your list of boring, necessary things that need to get done.

Your to-do list feels never-ending and daunting every time you glance at it. You haven't even thought about finding another manager despite it being the most pressing issue besides your move. You'd been with Mel since you came to LA and thought she'd be your manager for at least another four or five years. She wasn't perfect, but she always made sure your name was being spoken in the important rooms and fought tooth and nail for you. She was ruthless on your behalf. She got you to where you are today. That's not nothing.

You sigh and pull your hair into a ponytail, debating on going through your books or closet, when a loud knock sounds from downstairs. To call it a knock is a little generous. It sounds like someone is pounding on your door, but you're not expecting anyone. You grab the baseball bat from your bedroom closet before walking down the stairs and approaching the front door. Your knuckles turn white around the grip as you peek through the peephole to see who could possibly be pounding on your door at nine pm. The second you figure out who it is, you drop the bat and scramble to open the door.

"Ellie?" You ask, cutting her off mid-raised fist. Her hair is in her face, and she's wearing her glasses, your porch light casting shadows over her eyes. A big backpack is slung over her big hoodie, and she looks distraught.

"My dad said I can still talk to you if I want. Is that true?" She asks breathlessly, and you look behind her to see if Joel or Sarah dropped her off but find nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Come in," you say, opening the door wider for her to come in. She takes two long strides over your threshold and into your home while you wrack your brain about how to handle this. Is there a handbook out there for talking to your ex-boyfriend's daughter? "Please tell me you didn't ride your bike here."

"No, I took an Uber." She says nonchalantly as you follow her into your living room. You chuckle and turn to ask her if she wants water or a snack but stop yourself short when you finally get a look at her black eye.

"Oh, my God! What happened?"

"It's not a big deal." She says as you force her to sit at your dining table, put her backpack down, and carefully take her glasses off her face. She winces when you put your hand on her chin to turn her face so you can see her eye better. Under the glow of your kitchen lights, you find a swelling bruise on her jaw and a cut on her nose. How did you not see her injuries in the dark?

You rush around, gathering ice and a bandaid for her nose. She doesn't say anything as she sits there, looking pretty miserable, and your heart aches at the pout of her lips. You hand her an ice pack to hold to her head while you clean and bandage the cut across her nose. None of the bruises look especially scary, and despite a little blood staining her cheek, she's perfectly fine. You take out your phone flashlight and shine the light across her pupils, watching them dilate accordingly.

"Are you a nurse all of a sudden?" She asks, and you smile as you put your phone face down on the table in front of you.

"No, but I've played them enough on TV to know how to check for a concussion."

"Oh, is that the requirement?" She asks, and you hum. She fights a smile as she breaks eye contact with you to look down at her hands, which you notice are also bruised and cracked. "Dad told me you guys broke up." She says quietly. She looks so defeated with her slouched posture and nervous foot tapping. You know now is not a time to lie to her.

"Yeah, we did."

"Why?"

"It's complicated."

"That's exactly what Dad said," she says. The idea of you and Joel parroting each other from opposite sides of the city pulls all the air from you and leaves you floundering. "I'm not a kid. You can tell me what happened." And she's right. She's fourteen. She's old enough to understand how relationships work, but you don't know if it's your place to tell her what happened. You don't know what you're allowed to tell her. You don't know if you're overstepping or how to fix it if you are.

"Sometimes," you start uncertainly, hoping the words will find you along the way. "Sometimes, two people can really care about each other, but that doesn't mean they'll be together forever or even good for each other." You say, and she makes a face.

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does," you sigh. "Now that I told you that, can you tell me why you're showing up at my doorstep at nine o'clock at night?" You change the subject, and she bites her bottom lip as her foot tapping speeds up.

"Dad and I got into a fight."

"Does it have anything to do with your shiner?" You ask, nodding in the direction of her black eye.

"He didn't even try to hear my side of the story!"

"Which is?" You ask, and she very quickly dives into a story of a kid who's been picking on her all year. She said she told Joel what was happening, and he said something about ignoring it or talking to the teacher, which wasn't working. Apparently, the kids' parents are some big-shot tech people the teachers don't like dealing with, so they were just gonna let him do whatever until the end of the school year. Today, he said something along the lines of Sarah's mom coming back and Ellie's mom never being able to.

"And I never even knew her! But that's still my fucking mom, and I know how sensitive Sarah is about Angela, and I just got so angry that I hit him. A lot." She says like she's waiting for you to argue with her, but you can't even imagine yelling at her after hearing that. You open your phone and open your notes app.

"What's your teacher's name?" You ask. She tells you, and you have to take several deep breaths to stop yourself from finding the teacher's phone number and calling him to ask him if he thinks it's acceptable for a student to taunt another student's dead mother. "I'll call the school on Monday, okay? That kind of behavior is disgusting, and you were justified in what you did." You say, grabbing her hand and squeezing. She nods and smiles softly as she looks at you, her dark brown eyes looking right through you.

"You know, I don't usually like most of the people my dad dates," she says. "But I really liked you." Her use of the past tense cuts deep inside you, and you swallow thickly.

"Yeah. I like you too," you smile. "But, just because your dad and I aren't together anymore doesn't mean we can't still hang out or talk. I still care about you and your sister, and I've got quite a few movies I still need to watch." You say, and she nods, but there's something sad in her movements. You wonder if Joel told the girls about Ireland and how they reacted. Even if he didn't, Ellie is smart. She sees the boxes in your living room and the stuff piled together. She knows something is happening. Something that will impede future movie nights and emergency visits in the middle of the night. She shifts in her seat and lets go of your hand to tug at her ponytail, effectively retracting from you.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Did you love my dad?" She asks, and you bite the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. You think about lying or just not answering her question altogether, but that's not fair. She opened up to you. She trusted you, and you know what it feels like to have that trust broken or not reciprocated. You stare into her eyes and try to not get emotional.

"Yeah, I did."

"Did you break up because of us?"

"Honey, no. No, not at all," you say, perching on the edge of your chair so your knees are touching. "Your dad and I... have very different lives and schedules, and we tried. We really, really tried, but I don't think the timing is right for us. I don't know if it'll ever be right for us, but you and your sister had nothing to do with why we broke up, okay?" You say, slouching a little to get in her eye line, and she nods. "When I found out about you guys, I wasn't scared or intimidated. I was excited because your dad only ever told me how beautiful, and brilliant, and amazing, and kind his daughters were, but when I met you, you exceeded all that. You and Sarah have become two of my favorite people on this planet, and there will never be a time when I don't cheer you guys on or want what's absolutely best for you. I mean, if I didn't like you, do you think I would've opened the door?" You ask, and she laughs. The sound makes you smile, and you put your hand on her knee.

"You, Ellie Miller, are going to do incredible things, and I can't wait to watch it."

"Thank you." She says softly, and you nod. There, in your kitchen, you share a quiet moment with Ellie where neither of you needs to say anything more. The love says everything you can't bring yourself to voice just yet. If you squint, you can imagine what her mother must've looked like. All big eyes and toothy grins and wavy hair. But even without any actual Miller DNA flowing through her veins, you see Joel, too. You see how he raises his eyebrows or can't hide what he's thinking to save his life. You see his smile. You see his kindness and anxiety. You see all the best parts of him. This time with her feels like a warm hug, as much as a goodbye. Nostalgic and sad and welcome all at the same time. You don't know when you'll be able to sit at a table with Ellie Miller and just stare at her again, but you know if you never see her again, you can count yourself lucky to have met such an amazing young woman. She must make her mom so proud.

"You know I have to call your dad to tell him you're here, right?" You ask quietly, and she nods. You sit there for another second before grabbing your phone and walking into the next room to call Joel. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at his contact information, a picture of him with his tongue out still set as his contact photo. You took it on Facetime when he was still in Texas. He was complaining about how his stomach hurt from eating too much barbeque, and he was pretending to be dead. Even after everything, it still makes you smile. You press the call button before you lose the courage to do so. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, I can't really talk right now. Ellie and I got into a fight, and she ran off, and I don't know what to do. Has she talked to you? Do you know where she might be?" He says quickly, sounding frantic as he shuffles with something on the other end.

"Yeah, she showed up on my doorstep about thirty minutes ago. She's fine. A little upset, but she's safe." You say and hear him sigh with relief.

"Thank God. Okay, I'm comin' to get her. Can you keep her there until I can get to your house?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," he says. Neither of you immediately ends the call, but you don't say anything either. You can hear him breathing and imagine him standing there, flush with worry, and grinding his teeth despite the number of times you've told him to stop. It's the closest you two have been in weeks. "I really fucked up." He finally says, and you take a breath.

"All the best parents do."

"Yeah?" He asks, that familiar lilt returning to his voice. Your heart squeezes, and you nod.

"Yeah. Reminds your kids that you're human too."

"I guess," he says. It's quiet for another five seconds before he clears his throat. "Thank you for takin' care of her."

"She's a good kid."

"Yeah, she is."

"I'll..." you start. You know you're talking in circles but don't want to get off the phone. He waits you out. "I'll see you soon." You finally say, and the phone moves against his ear.

"See you soon." He says, hesitating before ending the call. You exhale and stare at his contact photo for another second before locking your phone and walking back to the main living area. Ellie has moved from the dining room table to the couch, an old leather-bound book in her hands. You tilt your head to read the title. Much Ado About Nothing. One of your favorite Shakespeare plays that you never got to do. You perch on the edge of the couch near Ellie and smile when she puts her book down to look at you.

"That book looks older than you."

"That's 'cause it is. It was my dad's in high school." She says, and you look at her, confused.

"What?"

"Yeah. He said his music teacher bought it for him or something. Dad really liked him. Wrote his name down in the acknowledgments in his first album and everything." She shrugs like it's nothing. Suddenly, you're back in New York with Joel, his hand over your heart as he listens to you recite a centuries-old monologue.

"He told me he didn't study Shakespeare in school."

"He probably didn't want you to know he's a massive nerd. He loves it. He made us go to the Globe Theatre when we were in England. It was actually pretty cool," she yawns. "I'm tired. Can I go lay down in one of the beds until my dad gets here?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's fine. My room is up the stairs and to the left. I just got new pillows, so that'll probably be the most comfortable." You say, your brain still struggling to piece together what she just said. She yawns again and gives you a thumbs-up before standing with her book in hand and disappearing up the stairs.

Joel told you he didn't know anything about something you, apparently, both love. Why? Was he quizzing you? Was he trying to figure out if you actually know what you're talking about? Or was he trying to get another perspective? Did he pretend not to know so you could explain it to him in your own way? How the fuck did you not know? You want to call and ask him all these things, but you don't. You wait.

You rotate between anxiously pacing your living room, checking on Ellie (who's snoring in your bed with the book open next to her), organizing and reorganizing your stuff into boxes. Anything to keep your mind busy until Joel can get there. From the time you ended the call to when your front door opened and closed quietly, twenty minutes had passed, but it felt like a lifetime. Joel walks into the living room like it's his own house and smiles when he sees you, looking around the room for Ellie. He wearing his own glasses and a plain black shirt with jeans. The bags under his eyes are prominent, and his hair is messy. He looks exhausted.

"She went upstairs to lie down and fell asleep. I didn't want to wake her up." You answer his unspoken question, and he nods, his shoulders visibly dropping.

"No, that's okay. I'm glad she's gettin' some rest," he says, sighing deeply. "Did she tell you bout our fight?"

"A little bit, yeah," you say, and he grimaces. You glance between the place where you and Ellie were sitting and him. "Do you wanna sit?" You ask, and he nods. Carefully, without even grazing each other, you sit across from him and stare at him. You don't know what you're supposed to say. You don't know if you're supposed to say anything.

"You still doin' that movie with Pike?" He beats you to it, and you nod. There's no frustration or anger in his question, only curiosity.

"I leave for Ireland in two weeks."

"Ireland's beautiful."

"It is." You say, not sure how else to respond. He shifts in his seat and looks at his hands as he nervously taps a rhythm into your table.

"Thank you again for takin' her in and makin' sure she was safe. I really appreciate it." He says.

"I'm just happy she knew she could come here."

"Me too," he says. "Can we... do you wanna... I just need to say I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did, and I'm sorry. I should've been better and more honest and less of a dick. You didn't deserve that." He word vomits, and your fingers twitch to reach for his. You take a deep breath and stare at him, watching his emotions play out behind his glasses.

"Thank you for apologizing," you say. "And I'm sorry, too. For everything. I wish things could be different."

"We could start over. Maybe try again," he says, his voice sad like he's trying, but he knows your answer won't change. "I don't... I don't know how to do this. But I wanna learn. I wanna learn for you." His words cut straight through to your heart, and your eyes flutter shut. You pinch the inside of your thigh to stop tears from forming, and take a shaky breath. He doesn't rush you. When you open your eyes, he's staring at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

"Sarah's gonna need you as she figures her mom out. It's gonna be hard, and she loves you more than I've ever seen a teenage girl love her dad. Ellie's gonna feel out of place, and she's gonna need you too. It wouldn't be fair to any of you to add this," you gesture between the two of you. "To that mix. It'd be too much. None of us would feel good about it. We'd all walk away a little burned and lot pissed off. I don't want that for us." You say, and he nods.

"It's a nice dream." He says sadly.

"It is," you agree. "Can I ask you a question?"

"'Course."

"When did it stop being fake for you?" You ask. He shakes his head, and his Adam's apple bobs.

"It was never fake for me. It just took me a little longer to figure out," he says, and you pinch your thigh again. "What bout you?"

"Texas," you admit, only a little ashamed at how late your answer is in comparison. "When you called me every day from Texas. That's when it stopped being fake for me," a tear spills from your eye, and Joel wipes it away before you can. His thumb is warm and familiar, and you almost lean into his touch before it can disappear completely. "This sucks."

"Yeah, it does."

"Do I, at least, get to know what songs on the newest album are about me?" You joke, and he laughs. He presses his lips together and rests his head on his hand as he looks at you.

"All of 'em," he says. "All of 'em are about you. Bout meetin' you or the way you talk in your sleep, but a lot of 'em are about New York."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That was a good time," you say. "Ellie, um... Ellie told me about your trip to the Globe Theatre. Told me all about how much her dad loves Shakespeare," he chuckles like a kid caught with candy, and you smile. "Why'd you tell me you didn't know anything about it?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I really don't. I was thinkin' bout it the other day, and I just remembered seein' how much you loved it. Your eyes got real wide, and you got so excited, and I just... wanted to hear you talk about it. I think I would've stayed there with you all day if I could've." He says. You have to look away from him to hide to tears pooling in your eyes.

This shouldn't be this hard. You're supposed to meet someone you love, and nothing else matters, and you get to be with that person forever. It's hard, but you get your whole lives to figure it out together. Who did you hurt in a past life that took this opportunity away? It's not fair. You want to rip the sky apart and scream at God and demand an explanation. You want someone to blame. You want more time. You want him, and not just the good parts that made you fall in love with him. You want the broken and ridged parts he's still hiding from you. You want the parts he hates. You want to lay them out on the table and show him you don't flinch when they catch the light.

He puts his hand on your shoulder as tears fall from your eyes, and you sniffle. His thumb presses soothingly into your skin, and you let him. You shouldn't, but you do. You don't fall into his arms and sob like you want to. No, just like every juncture of your life thus far, you let yourself cry quietly and without fuss because there are things to do. And when you're done, you turn to look at him and see tears staining his cheeks too. You cover his hand with yours and squeeze his fingers, and he takes a deep breath.

"What are we gonna do now?" He asks. You pull his hand off your shoulder and hold it in your lap, both your hands covering his large one. You smile through your tears and kiss the top of his hand.

"I'm gonna go to Ireland, and you're gonna release your album. It'll hit the top of the charts overnight, and people will be singing your praises from the rooftops and speculating on what different songs mean like they always do. I'll lie in interviews and say I haven't listened to it, but I will because it'll be yours. You and the girls and Tommy'll go on tour, and I'll be there filming, and we'll try to talk when we can, but our schedules will get in the way until we don't think about each other all the time. I'll probably lose my mind because it rains so much in Ireland, and you'll go from selling out stadiums to crying at Sarah's graduation. And we'll both work way more than we should. And life'll go on like we were never really here," you say. "And maybe one day, when we're in LA at the same time, and nothing is stopping us and our schedules align, we'll get a coffee. And we'll talk. And we'll try again." You wipe Joel's tears away and try to keep yourself from falling apart.

"I'll mark it on my calendar." He says, and you laugh. You squeeze his hand and nod.

"I'm counting on it, Miller."

You sit there for a few more minutes before you stand and hug him. It's quick. It has to be, but it's enough to settle your heart for a moment. Joel goes upstairs, scoops Ellie in his arms, and carefully carries her out to his car. He buckles her in and turns on the air conditioning so she doesn't get too hot in the California night. You stand outside, watching him be a dad, with your arms crossed over your chest. He shuts the door quietly and walks over to you.

"I hope you have a lot of fun in Ireland." He says sincerely.

"Thank you," you say. "I hope you have a great tour."

"Thanks," he nods. He looks over his shoulder to check on Ellie in the passenger seat before turning back to you. "I should get her home. She's had a long day."

"Of course."

"I'll, uh... I'll see you around, okay?" He asks, and your heart jumps to your throat.

"I'll see you around, Joel." With that, he walks to the driver's side door, and you walk back toward your house, the space between you growing and growing as you get further away. Your chest hurts, and you know you're gonna go inside to cry some more, but you don't turn around. Not until he calls your name.

"I love you," he says from where he's standing in front of his truck. "And I don't expect you to say anything or change your mind, but I wanted you to know. I love you." Your hands are shaking, and your throat feels like it's tightening, but you manage to give him a weak smile.

"I love you, too."

And then, he gets in his car and drives away with his daughter in the front seat. You go back to your empty house and your piles of stuff, and you cry, and in the back of your mind, you think, if I never speak to Joel Miller again, I think that's okay. I think it has to be.

#one for the money two for the show #rockstar!joel #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller the last of us #tlou au #the last of us au #I can’t believe I forgot my tags

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pinkprettycure · 5 days

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@nuxill replied to your post “@octahyde replied to your post “Like, Ethan's...”:

Nooo iike watching your drawing videos but i understand

like i like chatting and drawing one day i wanna start streaming art but editing videos and making voice overs is so much work and is super exhausting to me and then they hardly ever break the payout thresholds so i just am goin back to I'll record when i record as a treat lmao😭

#Are you telling me Char broiled this burger?#last time i did an art stream was like over a decade ago man i think the site i used is GONE GONE lmao idk how to do it anymore

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miguel5219 · 1 year

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Your First $1000 Check 👉 https://cutt.ly/f5TMeER

are you sick and tired of being sick and tired and getting nowhere? In a free training session on Affiliate Marketing, you can expect to learn about the fundamentals of Affiliate Marketing, including how it works, how to choose the right products or services to promote, how to create effective marketing campaigns, and how to track and analyze your performance. Additionally, a free training session on Affiliate Marketing may cover more advanced topics such as optimizing landing pages, building an email list, and creating effective ad campaigns. You may also learn about the latest trends and best practices in Affiliate Marketing, as well as tips and tricks for maximizing your revenue potential. Overall, a free training session on Affiliate Marketing can be a great opportunity for individuals who are interested in learning more about this field or are looking to improve their skills and knowledge

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beardedmrbean · 30 days

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More than 249,000 veterans will receive part of the $6 billion lawsuit settlement against 3M as part of the Combat Arms Earplug settlement announced in 2023, corporate officials announced.

The figure represents more than 99% of all of the claimants who filed suit against the manufacturing company, accusing them of causing hearing damage in troops through faulty production of military-grade hearing protection.

The earplugs, produced by Aearo Technologies before that company was bought by 3M in 2008, were sold from 1999 to 2015 and used extensively by troops deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as other locations.

The high-profile legal fight has been grinding through courts for years, with a handful of individual claimants winning their cases against the company. In summer 2023, attorneys involved in a class-action lawsuit against the company announced plans to end all outstanding action against 3M if at least 98% of claimants agreed to the $6 billion settlement.

Of the nearly 300,000 cases filed against the company, more than 41,000 were thrown out by the court overseeing the agreement, 3M officials said. Those dismissals allowed lawyers to meet the threshold for triggering the agreement.

3M, based in Minnesota, has not acknowledged flaws with the earplugs.

In past statements, officials from the company have said the equipment is safe and effective “when used properly.”

Veterans involved in the lawsuit will see payouts between now and 2029. Exact amounts will depend on the severity of their injuries, but the total payouts 3M will be liable for will not exceed $6 billion.

In summer 2023, 3M reached a separate $10 billion settlement with numerous municipalities to resolve pending claims over the company’s alleged contamination of drinking water systems through their manufacturing processes.

More information on the settlement is available through an information site set up by the company.

#nunyas news

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firjii · 5 months

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I just saw the Spotify might change their royalties model and that it would hit indie artists hardest. Are you posting your music elsewhere? I follow you on Spotify but now I'm looking into other places for music and want to continue supporting your awesome music!!

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I love you and thanks for asking.

Except for a few covers that are limited by licensing restrictions, my stuff is on all major and some minor platforms (I do sometimes lag in putting things on Bandcamp because lazy). I'm not monetized on Soundcloud because that system is somewhat different and IIRC not as welcoming of truly small artists, so any of my tracks that you find there are either on my "just for fun" accounts or are someone's illegal reupload.

Reminder to the new folks: I'm Firjii everywhere but also started another artist pseudonym as Kathy Warnecke (which should also be on all the same platforms by now).

Tidal and Apple usually have the best royalty payout rates and Spotify is among the worst (but no platform has a guaranteed fixed rate). Youtube is all over the place but usually on the low end. Downloads always pay better than streams, but I know some people can't do this or prefer to continually support with streams over time instead of paying once.

I'm also gonna take a minute to FUCKING RANT explain things to the uninitiated since virtually all my listeners on tungles are freemium Spotify users. From what I understand, this change has been finalized and it's not speculation at this point.

The deal is they'll withhold royalties from a song in a given calendar year unless it's streamed at least 1,000 times ANNUALLY (not lifetime).

Although the change will only consider per-track stats (not social media-like numbers such as followers/listeners or a measurement of how established the artist's presence is), in practice, this will specifically demonetize small/niche artists and have little or no impact on medium and big names. It will also affect the payouts small artists get from distributors because many of those have their own minimum payout thresholds.

I need people to understand just how shitty this is.

Say you're a prolific creator or recorded some live shows from a tour and you released 150 tracks in a year. If each track only got streamed on Spotify 999 times that year, they're pretty much saying you'd get paid for.......yup, exactly zero Spotify streams, not the 149,850 you're otherwise owed. I have no idea if this will impact PRO (performance rights organization) payouts, but I refuse to believe it would be legal to also withhold that share of royalties.

In the Spotify world, 1k streams is a tiny achievement (and still translates to a very small payout, so the concern is: what's to stop them from raising that minimum even more in the future?). But especially when the hurdle is per song per year, this can be a tough goal for indie or specialty genre artists to reach or maintain, including me.

I have a long history of disliking Spotify in particular for many reasons, but I upload there because it's the only way some people will listen. I strongly encourage anyone who is able to use other platforms to explore their options.

I know a lot of folks are too broke to pay for music and Spotify is a notable example of a freemium option, but this change is so, so, SO bad for SO many artists.

#hey maybe I need to start a tag for my music industry rants lol #how about #music industry tomfuckery #yes good let's go with that #nerkierants

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eaglesnick · 1 month

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"Once you realize that trickle-down economics does not work, you will see the excessive tax cuts for the rich as what they are--a simple upward redistribution of income, rather than a way to make all of us richer, as we were told." Ha-Joon Chang

Limited (public) company directors often receive shares in the company they are employed in as part of their salary. These shareholdings can be substantial and the dividends they receive from these shares can be considerable, especially as income from dividends is taxed at a lower rate than PAYE income.

Under the PAYE scheme ordinary working people start paying tax at the following rates:

TAX BAND TAXABLE INCOME TAX RATE

Personal allowance Up to £12,570 0%

Basic rate £12,570 – £50,270 20%

Higher rate £50,270 - £125,140 40%

Additional rate over £125,140 45%

If you are fortunate enough to have unearned income from company share dividends the rates are as follows.

Basic rate 8.75%

Higher rate 33.75%

Additional rate 39.35%

There is a trend in big business for mandatory director share ownership:

“Research by consultants William M Mercer has found that nearly a third of the top 100 businesses in the UK now require top executives to have a substantial shareholding in their company. Some directors must own as much as five times their salary in company shares.” (ereward: 27/02 2017)

Even at lower income levels, company directors can make substantial tax savings.

On a total salary of £50,270, a company director can, by taking much of their salary in share dividends throughout the year and by having their non-dividend salary below the National Insurance threshold, only pay a total tax bill of £3,255.

If you or I earned £50,279 we would pay a total of £11,310 in taxes.

At the other extreme we have Pascal Soriot, the CEO of AstraZenica, who is reported to be in line for a £18.9 million salary this year. However:

“… a scenario outlined in the firm’s annual report showed the total amount could be boosted to as much as £25million if the shares were to rise by 50 per cent.” (This is Money: 20/02/24)

Soriot has a base salary of £1.43 million per annum, the bulk of his massive income being made up by other payments. . For most people Soriot’s basic salary is beyond their wildest dreams, and to be paid nearly £19 million is obscene. I don’t know how much (if any ) of Soriot’s income comes from share ownership and dividends, as this information is near impossible to find out.

What we do know is that “insider individuals” – board members and other top managerial officials of AstraZenica – own at least £41 million worth of AstraZenica shares. (Simply Wall St: 20/01/22.)

As well as having assets worth £41m, these “insider individuals” will receive dividend payouts on their share holdings, and if paying tax in Britain will enjoy considerable tax benefits unavailable to the majority of hard working people in this country.

We all know there is one law for the rich and one for the rest of us, and nowhere is this more apparent than when it comes to paying taxes.

#uk politics #taxes #unfair taxes #rich #company directors #shareholdings #astazenica #pascal soriot #CEO's

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

Tech a la carte

“Oblique Strategies” is Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt’s deck of 100+ cards, each with a sentence of gnomic advice. They inspired Roxy Music, David Bowie, Talking Heads and Devo. My favorite? “Be the first person to not do something that no one else has ever not done before.”

Why that one? Because it challenges us to imagine how something that we perceive as unitary and indivisible might be decomposed into smaller units. It’s a challenge to the notion that one must “take the bad with the good.” What if we could just get rid of “the bad?”

Back in 1998, John Kelsey and Bruce Schneier proposed the “Street Performer Protocol” as a means of funding nonrivalrous, nonexcludable projects — that is, things that can be infinitely reproduced at effectively no cost, and whose reproduction can’t be easily prevented: things like software and digital books, music, and videos.

https://www.schneier.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/paper-street-performer.pdf

As the name implies, the Street Performer Protocol is inspired by the tactics of street performers like magicians, jugglers and acrobats, whose work is nonrivalrous (lots of people can watch the performance without impacting others’ viewing) and nonexcludable (performers can’t limit the audience to people who’ll put money in their hats).

A hypothetical performer draws a crowd with a series of feats of escalating daring and difficulty, building towards a peak. Then the performer halts the show and announces, “You’ve seen how skilled I am, but you haven’t seen my greatest trick. I will perform that trick once there is $50 in my hat. I don’t care how many of you pay, and I can’t make you pay, and if $50 doesn’t land in my hat, I’m going home.”

The Street Performer Protocol is a digital version of this. After producing a bunch of work to attract an audience, a creator announces, “I have some very ambitious song or book or movie I’d like to make. I will make it once there is $1000 in this escrow account, and then release it for all to enjoy. You know I won’t run away with this cash because it’s being held by a trusted third party until I deliver it.”

The Street Performer Protocol arrived at the dawn on the copyright wars (it came out a year before Napster), and in the years that followed, lots of people tried to create a functional Street Performer Protocol service. These all foundered on the same point: the escrow account. A creator who raised $1000 to (say) write a book needed that $1000 to pay their rent while their wrote, but they only got it after they were finished.

The escrow account was deemed necessary to prevent scammers from poisoning the well: if funders were convinced that putting up money for a project would mostly enrich con-artists, then legitimate creators wouldn’t be able to attract funders.

This was a deadlock. Escrow and crowdfunding were inseparable. Doing one without the other courted disaster. Then, 11 years after the Street Performer Protocol was proposed, three technologists tried being “the first person to not do what no one else had ever tried not doing.”

They founded Kickstarter. Kickstarter is a Street Performer Protocol without escrow. Once a project reaches its funding goal, the founder is guaranteed their payout. This meant that a lot of projects raised a lot of money and then never delivered, either because they were run by con artists or by unrealistic dreamers.

Kickstarter was a bet that the excitement at the projects that did happen would outweigh the disappointment and anger at the projects that didn’t. Instead of escrowing funds until delivery, they escrowed them until a funding threshold was met — if you said you needed $50k to make a short film and your backers only pledged $2k, you got nothing.

Once Kickstarter showed that the indivisible prix fixe Street Performer Protocol could be decomposed into an a la carte menu, rivals sprang up to see what else they could remove. Indiegogo took away the threshold escrow — no matter how much you raised, you got paid. Patreon created rolling pledges, first based on the number of works you produced, then on a monthly schedule.

It’s business-model Jenga: removing one block at a time until the system collapses. Removing too many blocks produces hardship and misery (cough Pledgemusic cough). But the insistence that no blocks can be removed leads to stalemate — the decade-plus interregnum between the Street Performer Protocol paper and Kickstarter.

Even better than businesses “not doing the thing that no one has ever tried not doing before” is when people don’t do “the thing that no one has ever tried not doing before.”

Remember pop-up ads? Once upon a time, most web-pages spawned whole flocks of pop-up ads, each more obnoxious than the rest. Some popups were one pixel by one pixel, others ran away from your cursor, others autoplayed music. Some did all three!

How did we get rid of pop-ups? It wasn’t by banning them — it was by blocking them. Browser vendors sought out competitive advantages by adding pop-up blocking to their offerings: first Opera, then Mozilla, and, finally, Internet Explorer.

There was a period of skirmishing here, where pop-up designers created anti-block pop-ups that circumvented the blockers, but eventually they threw in the towel. Your current browser probably has a pop-up blocker enabled by default, but if you turn it off, you won’t be inundated with pop-ups. They’re gone.

Once advertisers realized that most users wouldn’t see pop-ups, they stopped demanding that publishers include pop-ups. Web users, collaborating with browser designers, killed pop-ups more thoroughly than any regulation could have. Rather than banning pop-ups they hunted them to extinction.

Today, pop-up blockers have been replaced by ad-blockers, which a quarter of internet users have installed (Doc Searls calls it “the biggest boycott in human history”). As with pop-ups, internet users are removing the ad Jenga block and seeing whether things fall over:

https://blogs.harvard.edu/doc/2015/09/28/beyond-ad-blocking-the-biggest-boycott-in-human-history/

And, as with crowdfunding, different actors are removing different blocks. Privacy Badger, a project from EFF, doesn’t block ads, but it does block trackers.

https://privacybadger.org/

Proponents of commercial surveillance like to call their products a bargain: “in exchange for this much website, we take this much privacy.” But it’s a curious kind of bargain: visiting a website is like walking into a store where the merchant gets to take as much money out of your wallet as they like, without telling you in advance, and never has to give it back.

Ad- and tracker-blocking can be thought of as a means of bargaining back. When the website says, “To see this content, you must give us all your privacy,” blockers let you respond: “How about ‘Nah’?”

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

Tech platforms don’t like this bargaining, of course, but they couch their objections in the language of impossibility, not choice. When we say, “Give us a search-engine that doesn’t spy on us,” Google responds by saying that this is inconceivable, like asking for a way to go for a swim without getting wet.

But it’s obviously possible to run a non-surveilling search-engine. We know that because Google only started spying on us in 2004, six years after its founding and long after it became the most used search engine online:

https://evgenverzun.com/google-and-user-privacy-the-evolution-of-a-20-year-relationship/

No one came down off a mountaintop, intoning “Larry! Sergey! Thou shalt stop rotating thine logfiles and begin mining them for actionable intelligence.” Spying was a late-breaking addition to Google Search, and what can be added can be removed.

Likewise Facebook. A lot of us have forgotten this, but until 2008, Facebook billed itself as the privacy-friendly alternative to MySpace and promised it would never spy on its users, as is beautifully documented in Dina Srinivasan’s must-read “The Antitrust Case Against Facebook”:

https://lawcat.berkeley.edu/record/1128876?ln=en

Today, Facebook would like us to think that there is no way to talk to your friends without also letting Mark Zuckerberg peel you open from asshole to appetite. It’s bullshit. Web publishing doesn’t require pop-ups. Social media doesn’t require surveillance. These are choices, not foundations.

With both Facebook and Twitter failing, we’re at a crossroads. We’re being told that we can’t get the benefits they delivered — the friendships, debates, transactions, support, and connection — without the increasingly desperate anti-features they’re trying to cram down our throats:

https://doctorow.medium.com/how-to-leave-dying-social-media-platforms-9fc550fe5abf

But a Facebook that you can leave behind without losing contact with your friends isn’t just a fantasy — it’s a technical possibility. Regulators could force Facebook to expose an API to the Fediverse so you could leave the platform but still connect with the people who want to connect with you:

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

Or reverse-engineering guerrilla hackers could accomplish the same thing with bots and scrapers and alternative clients (AKA “Adversarial Interoperability” or “Competitive Compatbility” or “comcom”):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Or we could do both.

Elon Musk now claims absolute dominion over Twitter. That’s only true to the extent that the courts let him exclude rivals who create interoperable add-ons that let you alter the service to suit your needs; or to the extent that regulators choose not to order the service to expose APIs to make life better for users.

We don’t have to give up Twitter, nor do we have to remain on Musk’s terms. As Skylar Hill writes writes, we can embrace “the anarchist philosophy of dual power; do the work to build better systems while the old ones still dominate, and it’ll be there for folks when the bad system finally collapses.”

https://mamot.fr/web/@[email protected]/109303911626298524

For decades, clueless lawmakers have made stupid demands of tech companies For example:

Create an encryption system that works when criminals are trying to steal your data, but stops working when cops want to execute a search-warrant, or

Create a copyright filter that automatically blocks infringement but not parody, fair use, or other legitimate activities.

When technologists insisted that these were impossible, the clueless lawmakers doubled down, shouting “NERD HARDER, NERDS!”

Today, tech barons are weaponizing these moments of idiocy by insisting that demands for privacy and interoperability are no different from the demands for working encryption with police backdoors. Don’t be fooled. Just because some demands are absurd, it doesn’t follow that all demands are absurd.

We can — we must — be the first ones to not do what no one else has ever thought of not doing before.

[Image ID: A remix of the iconic Soviet 'Nyet' anti-drinking poster. In this version, the background has been replaced by a Matrix 'code waterfall' effect and the main figure is refusing a proffered screen full of early-2000s pop-up ads.]

#pluralistic

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