#Perl writing help

[uhohdad]

Hey there, it’s Dad. I like to write about you and König. This 18+ blog contains dark content, please read warnings carefully and take care. About ☆ - Top Post

𖤓 LONGFORM KÖNIG FICS 𖤓

The Girl Who Conquered The Mountain ☆

╰┈➛ Protective!König x Reader | 183k Words

╰┈➛ You and König have been chosen as unwilling participants in a twenty-four person fight to the death.

Meine Perle ☆

╰┈➛ Octo!König x Reader | 25k Words

╰┈➛ “Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.”

His

╰┈➛ Stalker!König x Reader | 15.5k Words

╰┈➛ König has an unhealthy obsession with you.

Experimental

╰┈➛ König x Reader | 22k Words

╰┈➛ König helps you with a new technology you’ve been developing. You see something you’re not supposed to.

𖤓 KÖNIG DRABBLES 𖤓

LOSER KÖNIG

Loser!König and Your Panties ☆

Loser!König Finally Breaks Down ☆

Sharing a Bed with Loser!König ☆

Finding Your Nudes On Loser!König’s Computer ☆

Loser!König Tracks Your Cycle ☆

Beach Day with Loser!König ☆

Dress Shopping with Loser!König ☆

Loser!König Spikes Your Drink

Loser!König and Self Aware Dating Simulator!Reader

Roommate Loser!König ☆

Loser!König and Clingy!Reader

Loser!König Cucked by Ghost

Touch-Starved Loser!König ☆

Loser!König and Bimbo!Reader

Loser!König Comforting Heartbroken Reader

Stargazing with Loser!König

Hot Day with Loser!König

Stalkerish Loser!König

Stalker/Loser König Steals Your Things

DOM/ABUSIVE KÖNIG

Jealous Of Your Sex Toys ☆

Catching Him Getting Off

Stalker!König Leaves You Tokens ☆

König Is Insatiable ☆

Jealous!König Makes A Bet With You

Slasher!König

Dacryphilia With König

Gun Play with König

Knife Play with König

König Admiring Your Ass

König’s Voiceline Inspired Drabbles

“They are no match for me” ☆

“Let’s be honest, it’s better off in my hands” ☆

“Who else is with you?”

“I can make you talk”

“Not bad… I’ve seen better”

König’s Uniform Inspired Drabbles

König’s Gloves

König’s Belt

König’s Boots

König’s Teeth

SUB KÖNIG

Sub!König Visits Dominatrix!Reader for the First Time ☆

Loser!König Finally Breaks Down ☆

König Gets Hard at Gunpoint

Humiliating König with Cum-Eating

König & Pegging

König is as Submissive as a Knight to His Liege

GENTLE KÖNIG

Gentle/Protective!König and Spacey!Reader ☆

Gentle!König Falls in Love Without Realizing it

Gentle!König with Insecure Plus Size Reader

Gentle!König Makes You Feel Better After A Long Day

Surprising Gentle!König with Pregnancy

Stargazing with Gentle Loser!König

Gentle!König Helping Around the House

141 BOYS

John Price Knows About Your Crush ☆

John Price Gives You A Spanking

John Price & CringeFail Reader

Ghost Can’t Decide If You Should Finish

HUNGER GAMES AU KÖNIG

Based on the Protective!König Longform Fic: The Girl Who Conquered The Mountain

All TGWCM Bonus Content

Will update frequently, I have a goal of one drabble a day :)

Requests / asks always welcome ♡

LONGFORM KÖNIG MASTERLIST

[sanb3rry]

hey san !! i love your writing specifically the sae reaction to edits, can we get some more hx's like that but for rin and kaiser ? hope your doing well btw <3

hi nonnie !!! tysmsm and i'm doing pretty good, hbu?

rin accidentally got a peek of your folder filled with edits of him when you guys were just hanging out in your bedroom.

"you're actually insane." he murmured as he got a closer look at the folder, furrowing his eyebrows in complete disbelief. he's one hundred percent sure he's seeing things, over 200 edits is deranged and he means that lovingly.

"i'm afraid i don't get what you mean." a sweet smile plastered on your face, some could even say you were admiring your collection.

he's beyond flattered, of course, but this is concerning. he looked back up at you slowly, "i don't- why do you- over 200?" he asks, unsure of what to question first. although to question nothing is probably the best idea.

"yea! hold on, i'll show you my favourites." you said giddily and just as those words escaped your mouth, rin itoshi's whole face turned to a deeper shade of a tomato (if that's even possible).

"no." he said before walking out the room to go calm down and definitely fan his face like a princess from the 1800s being wooed.

"what is it that you're doing, meine perle?" kaiser asked you, his arms caging you on the couch. but still, you were persistent on not showing him what you were doing on your phone.

usually he wouldn't bother you as much, he respects your privacy and most of all he trusts you.

this instance however is different. why? well, he saw you fangirling. it's the same look you have when you see him on the field or god forbid the look you have when you see an actor or idol you love.

"i'm not doing anything, what are you doing?" you pursed your lips. he narrowed his eyes at you. he knows you'll break, i mean, it's him.

"fine, okay, look for yourself." you groaned, turning the phone towards him. an edit of him played, once, twice, then thrice. kaiser wasn't able to speak for as long as minute but it felt like an hour to poor old you.

a smug smile was on his face, well, it's kaiser. "my darling was fawning over an edit? not just any edit but an edit of me? i'm incredibly honoured." he teased, squeezing your cheeks together and pecking your lips.

"leave me alone." you whined, shaking your head. you couldn't help but giggle a bit, kaiser is pretty cute.

© sanb3rry2024

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Blood brother

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I kind of hate it. It's so long since I wrote something and it feels like first time again. I have wanted to write it for a while already but never got to it. It's a wonderful idea planted into my head by the lovely @thenameswinter99 in one of our chats but I know I made it different, so I hope you'll not be angry with me.

Warnings: actually none. Some description of violence but nothing very graphical

Word Count: 8,7 K (sorry 😅)

Summary: having lost everything and thinking she's been abandoned by everybody, even her best friend Sihtric, reader on her quest for revenge founds out that life can be full of surprises and that there is always space for hope

The night was dark, the feeble, pale light of the new moon barely illuminating your path through the woods. You shuddered as if trying to shake off the cold, the chill air biting your cheeks and each exhale leaving a shimmering, silvery fog in the air. Yet you didn’t stop, didn’t turn back. Just the opposite. 

Your small feet quickened their pace, finding the path beneath them with the assuredness of a cat on the hunt, and with each step you took your eyes adjusted further to the darkness and to the eerie shadows and flickering shapes the moonlight made dancing around you.  

You should have been scared, a small girl alone in the middle of the forest, the familiar and warm lights of your home far behind. But you weren’t, not anymore. 

You pressed on, ducking under the bony, outstretched arms of thorn bushes and leaping over moss covered, fallen trunks. Yes, there had been fear, but that was before. Before this forest had become your home, your secret ally, the protector of your dreams. Before you had learned to become one with it, to listen to its whispers, to feel its heartbeat in the quiet rustling of the leaves.

Before you had met him. 

—----------------------------------------------------

The sun was slowly dipping behind the horizon, making the shadows grow longer, and a distant crack of a twig sent your heart racing. You had never been so scared before in your whole life. 

You had been picking berries, one step leading to another, each shiny little red perl hidden in the green tapestry of shrubs inviting you further and further from the familiar path until there was no path at all, only an impenetrable thicket of trees and bushes all looking alike.

You clutched the small basket you had been carrying as if it could shield you.

That was when you heard that low, unmistakable growl behind you.

You spun around and froze, your legs refusing to obey your desperate need to run. A wobbly step back sent you tumbling to the ground, a loud shriek escaping your lungs. 

Wolf, as if stepped out of the fairy tales your grandma told you before sleep. You had never seen one before but there was no doubt, your grandma had always been a vivid teller of stories. 

Eyes wide open you stared at the majestic animal before you and waited. Waited for the end to come. 

“Don’t move,” a soft and strangely calm voice reached you as a small silhouette of a boy probably the same age as yourself suddenly stepped between you and the wolf. “It can feel your fear.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered, as tears started to stream down your face.

“I’m not,” he said simply.

The wolf snarled, shifting its weight as though preparing to pounce but the boy didn’t flinch. Instead, he crouched slightly, meeting the animal’s gaze head-on. A strange, low sound rumbled from his throat—a growl, so very similar to the one the wolf had made just a moment ago that you couldn't help but shudder.

The wolf’s ears twitched, and for a while they just stood there staring at each other. A soft whine escaped you from the burning feeling in your lungs as you realised you’d been holding your breath, and you felt wolf's gaze shifting between you and the boy as if considering his chances.

The boy leaned forward slightly, his thin frame taut like a drawn bowstring. The wolf snarled, its hackles raised, but there was a slight uncertainty in its posture now. The boy didn’t waver, his eyes locked with the creature as he bared his teeth.

The wolf hesitated, its tail giving a flick of irritation, and then with a final growl, it broke eye contact, lowered its head and started to step backward. Its movements were slow, reluctant, as if it hated admitting defeat, but after a few steps it turned and with a few leaps disappeared into the shadows.

The boy straightened, his small chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, and for the first time, he turned to you, “It’s gone,” he said simply but you just continued to stare at him, your ability to speak stolen from you both by fear and awe plainly written on your face.

The boy was thin and malnourished, with bruises on his arms and legs, clothes hanging off his bony frame and the dirt smudged on his face, his bare foot rustling against the soft forest ground. 

He looked fragile, even breakable, but it wasn’t his disheveled appearance that struck you most, it was his eyes. One was a piercing blue, while the other earthy brown, shining with an inexplicable mixture of defiance and warmth.

“You shouldn’t wander this far into the woods alone,” he added, tilting his head and observing you with open curiosity, and you noticed how melodic and soft his voice actually was. “It’s not safe.”

It felt like a dream. He extended a hand to help you up, and you took it, your fingers trembling against his. His grip was surprisingly firm, grounding, and you couldn’t help stealing glances at him as he led you back to the path, your hand safely in his.

You both reached the edge of the forest in silence where he released your hand reluctantly, his fingers slipping away so slowly as though they didn’t want to let go. The boy's large, expressive eyes followed you as you stepped into the meadow, and it suddenly struck you that you had not the slightest idea who your mysterious saviour was. 

“What’s your name?” you asked, turning around and finally finding your voice even if it still sounded shaky.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting back toward the trees, as if unsure whether to answer or rather retreat. “Sihtric,” he said at last, his tone strangely wary, eyes darting to the ground. “Sihtric Kjartansson.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” you asked.

His lips curled into a small, almost shy smile. “Maybe,” he finally said, but the faint glimmer in his mismatched gaze told you he would.

The next day, you returned with fresh bread and a small portion of ham tucked neatly into your linen shoulder bag. You weren’t sure if he would really come, but you hoped, and as you crossed the meadow, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, leaning casually against the trunk of the great oak.

“I brought you something,” you said as you stretched out your hand to offer the loaf of fresh bread. He hesitated, his gaze flicking between your face and the bread, his beautiful eyes mirroring a quiet surprise. It seemed as if he wasn’t used to kindness.

“You saved my life,” you added. “Please, let me thank you.”

Sihtric’s fingers slightly brushed against yours as he took the bread, and the brief contact sent a surprising rush of warmth to your cheeks, forcing you to look away, as you suddenly became aware of the heat rising in your face.

“Thank you,” he said at last as he held the loaf carefully, almost reverently, as though it was something precious. 

—---------------------------------------------------

You stopped, listening to a call of an owl echoing through the stillness of the night, before resuming your run. It was the signal and you were late.

“And I already thought you’d chickened out and wouldn’t come,” a familiar voice greeted you as you stumbled into the small clearing, a faint taunt lacing the words. 

“Mom stayed up late with her sewing,” you replied, breathless from your relentless sprint through the woods. “I couldn’t sneak out before she went to bed.”

A small figure emerged from the shadows of the nearby trees. Without hesitation you grabbed the hand outstretched towards you and let it guide you to the center of the clearing with a makeshift arch formed by a strip of turf propped up by three spears.

“Sihtric, where did you get these?” you asked, your eyes widening as you admired the haphazard construction.

“Everyone’s busy packing and fussing around,” Sihtric replied almost nonchalantly. “It was easy to grab a few things and sneak away. But I’ve got to bring them back before dawn, or I’ll get the shit beaten out of me.”

You shuddered, turning to look at the boy beside you. Sihtric’s voice was steady, but there was that subtle set of his jaw and the faint quiver in his grip.

“Stay,” you said. You wanted to sound confident, resolute but the way the word trembled on your lips, that sudden crack in your voice, it all betrayed your desperation. “Hide in the woods, and when they’ll be gone, come to my house. My father won’t turn you away if I ask him to take you in.��

But you already knew the answer.

“I can’t,” he said softly, his response almost a whisper. “I can’t leave my mom. She needs me. I have to take care of her.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, wishing there was something else you could do, something else you could say to make him change his mind. You knew there wasn’t. Your small world was falling apart, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you said, withdrawing your hand and reaching into the small linen bag slung over your shoulder. “I brought fresh bread. Mom baked it just yesterday.”

Sihtric smiled faintly, just a shadow of his usual mischievous grin, but his gaze returned to the arch.

“Let’s do it first, if you are still sure about it,” he tugged you gently toward the arch. 

You nodded, swallowing hard. You wanted to smile, but your lips trembled. “Of course I am. ” 

“Alright.” Sihtric let out a shaky breath, and crouched down to retrieve a small knife he’d hidden in the grass beneath the arch, its blade a bit dull but still usable.

Without any further hesitation he drew the blade lightly across his forearm. The cut was clean and straight, a thin red line beading quickly with blood. He hissed softly at the sting but held steady, extending his arm to you.

“Your turn.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you took the knife, not that you were afraid of the pain. It was the significance of the moment that made your heart hammer in your chest. Sihtric watched you carefully, something like concern flickering across his face.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared,” he said quietly.

“I’m not scared,” you scoffed at Sihtric, tightening your grip on the handle and pressing the blade to your forearm, but your hand slipped slightly, and the cut ended up uneven and jagged. You gasped at the sharp pain, your free hand instinctively reaching out to press against the cut.

“You alright?” Sihtric asked, alarm evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “It’s fine. It’s just... shit, it’s so crooked.”

He gave you a small, encouraging smile. “Doesn’t matter. It still counts.”

Sihtric held out his arm, his bloodied cut facing yours. You looked up, trying to read the expression on his face before pressing your wounds together. Sihtric wrapped a strip of fabric around your joined arms, and you helped him to tie it tighter.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Now we have to say it.”

You both spoke at the same time, voices barely above whispers but full of determination. 

“Our blood is one,

joined under the moon and stars.

Brother and sister for life and beyond.

Your pain is my pain; your joy – my joy.

Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone.”

The world around suddenly felt still, as though even the forest was holding its breath because you both surely were. 

You looked down at your bound arms, a small but proud smile touching your lips.

“Remember the wolf?” you suddenly asked, breaking the quiet.

Sihtric glanced at you, a small, knowing smile brightening up his eyes. “I wasn’t scared,” he said, his voice teasing.

“Liar,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder. But deep down, you knew it was true.

He reached out to ruffle your hair with his free hand, and you couldn’t help but lough. “Come on, sister,” he said. “Let’s eat that bread before the night gets colder.”

—----------------------------------------------------

The door closed with a quiet thud behind you as you slumped your back against it, fighting to steady your frantic breathing, to silence the voice in your head, screaming that this wasn’t right, that it wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Raising your trembling hand, you let your fingers hover over your burning lips. Your very first kiss. Light like a feather, hot like a fire. You hadn’t planned this. You didn’t even fully understand how it had happened. 

It was just that strange feeling as Sihtric’s fingers had hesitated to let go of your hand just like that first time you had met, that haunting look of regret and sadness in his beautiful, mismatched eyes and the heaviness in your own chest. It all had been too much to bear for your small, fragile heart, so you just did it. The only thing you could think of. 

You rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

And then you ran. 

You ran as if your life depended on this, as if a hundred wild beasts were chasing you down, the touch of Sihtric’s soft but slightly chapped lips against yours burning in your mind. 

Your very first kiss. A good by. A farewell. A promise. 

You’ll not walk your path alone.

___________________________________________

You shifted carefully, stretching your numb legs one at a time. The night was cool but thanks gods – dry, a welcome change after an endless week of steady mizzling. That annoying faint drizzle was capable of seeping through every seam of your leather armour, soaking through all layers down to your undergarments and drenching it until there was not a single dry thread left. 

The Danish camp lay just beyond the treeline, its fires casting flickering shadows across the ground. You had been following them for weeks – them and other groups travelling from and to Dunholm. 

Your breath was slow and even. This was far from being new to you. Nights spent on the hard earth under the beautiful blanket of stars had long become your way of life. You didn’t complain, you had learned to endure, to let the numbness creep into your body without letting it dull your mind.

You shifted again, crouching closer, trying to get a better view on the fireplaces and to be able to catch glimpses of conversations. The underbrush rustled softly, and you froze, waiting for any sign that you’d been heard. Nothing. The camp remained busy but apparently oblivious of your presence.

Your fingers instinctively checked for the hilt of the dagger at your hip. All you wanted was to sneak through the bushes right into that nest of wasps, taking one life after another, quiet and deadly. But it was not yet the right time for that. 

You had dreamt of it for years. Of being here. Of finding your way into that damned fortress. Of wiping the name of the man that had taken everything from you from this world and any other worlds that possibly existed whether they called them Valhalla or Heaven. 

There hadn't been a single night that you haven’t woken up covered in sweat from the scattered images of the smoldering ruins of your home dancing before your closed eyes as clearly as the stars above you now. It was as if you could still smell the acrid stench of burned wood and flesh. 

Every fiber of your being longed to storm through Dunholm’s gates, to plunge your blade into Kjartan’s heart and to burn it all down to the ground as they had done to you. But you knew too well that this was not possible, that this would only lead to your own doom and not theirs. You had to wait and lurk in the dark, searching for a way that would ensure their ruin. You had waited years for this. You could wait a little longer. 

“Distracted, are we?” a soft voice murmured near your ear, calm and quiet as in the same moment you felt a cold steel pressing against your throat. Your body tensed up and your fingers slowly wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, readying for the strike. 

“Move, and you’ll lose your head,” the voice continued, the blade pressing just a fraction closer and a hand landed on your shoulder, keeping you in place.  

You cursed yourself silently, the threat was as calm as it was deadly.

“Drop your weapon,” he ordered.

You hesitated, your mind weighing the odds.

“Now,” he snapped, his tone sharpening.

“Fine,” you said, slowly pulling out the dagger and then you felt it – a shift in his grip, the tiniest slackening of pressure. It was all you needed.

You twisted sharply, pulling away from the blade while driving your elbow backward into his ribs. His grunt of surprise was satisfying, but you didn’t stop. Spinning on your heel, you unsheathed your dagger completely and brought it up between you.

The two of you stood frozen, knives pointed at each other’s throats. It was too dark to see the man clearly. The firelight from the camp didn’t reach your hideaway, and the moon was new, just a small slice in the dark sky, casting only fleeting, shifting shadows over his face. 

All you could tell was that he was young, well built and lean, unmistakably a Dane and a warrior. You were pretty sure he didn’t belong to the camp you were spying on as you  knew by now all the men there – an observation that did nothing to calm you as he still could be an enemy. 

His grip on his own blade was steady and his breathing even. If he was surprised by your sudden move, he didn’t show it, and there was a sharpness in his gaze that kept you on edge.

“Who are you?” He was the first to break the silence.

You tightened your grip on your dagger: “That depends on what your intentions are.”

“That depends on what you’re doing here,” he shot back, and for a split second you thought there was something strangely familiar in his slightly mocking tone.

You hesitated, your mind racing for some plausible reply as there was no way of revealing your true purpose. “I’m just passing through,” you said finally, knowing that the simple answer will not satisfy, but you needed some time to decide on your next move.

“Passing through?” the young warrior snorted. “Near a Danish camp, armed, and skulking in the shadows? Whom are you trying to fool?”

“And what about you?” you countered, trying to mask your nerves with defiance. “What are you doing here?”

But before you could continue the exciting conversation a distant shout shattered the stillness.

“Someone’s out there!”

Your breath hitched. The sound of boots hurriedly stumping against the ground grew louder, accompanied by the glint of torchlight weaving through the trees. The young Dane glanced toward the noise and then back to you as if weighing his options.

“They’re coming,” he muttered, pulling his blade back. “We can’t be found here.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming to keep your guard up but the sound of the approaching Danes left little choice, and you carefully lowered your own weapon.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “But if you try anything—”

“Save the threats,” he snapped, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed your wrist, and before you could protest, he was leading you through the dense forest. You stumbled after him, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter with every step. He moved like a shadow, his pace quick but deliberate, his grip firm enough to keep you close without hurting you.

When you finally stopped, your chest was heaving, and your lungs burned from the frantic run. It seemed that you had shaken off the pursuers at least for now. 

“Now,” he breathed, trying to catch his breath, “who are you really? And why were you watching the camp?”

He didn’t seem like a raider nor one from Kjartan’s men but he was clearly dangerous, and trusting him was a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

“I’m no one,” you said softly. “Just someone trying to survive. I’m no threat to you. You were not keen to be discovered by the Danes in the camp, nor am I. Let’s just part in peace.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Survivors don’t spy on camps full of Danes. And they certainly don’t carry daggers like yours.”

You glared at him, your fingers itching to draw the weapon again. “And what about you? You’re not exactly a farmer out for a midnight stroll.”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough,” he said, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.”

“Then maybe we should leave it at that,” you said with a sly smile.

He tilted his head, studying you in the dim light. “For now,” he said slowly. “But don’t think I trust you.”

“Likewise,” you shot back, even as a small part of you couldn’t ignore the strange pull you felt toward him. There was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet intensity in his voice, that spoke to you, that reminded you of something, making shivers run down your spine but before you could give it another thought a distant shout broke the moment.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, his tone all serious again. “They won’t stop searching until they’re sure the woods are clear.”

You nodded reluctantly as the distant shouts grew louder and suddenly the torchlight started weaving through the trees like restless fireflies. Both of you tensed, instinctively drawing your blades and exchanging a sharp glance. An unspoken agreement passed between you: survival first, questions later.

Then the Danes burst through the trees.

“Over here!” one of them roared, his axe glinting in the firelight, and more followed.

The man beside you—lean, quick, and deadly—moved before you could think. His blade flashed in the dim light, cutting down the first attacker. You followed, blocking a strike aimed at your side and countering with a swift slash to your opponent’s arm. The Dane howled in pain, but there was no time to celebrate your small victory as another man charged at you, forcing you to dodge and roll, barely escaping his axe as it came down.

You fought together as if you had had years of practice behind. You couldn’t help but admire the way the young warrior moved, his movements fluid and practiced, filled with wild ferocity. The two of you were a perfect balance as if this were a dance where each movement needs to be attuned to the other, seamlessly covering each other as the Danes closed in.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp blow caught you off guard, knocking the dagger from your hand and making you stumble. You groaned in pain as a Dane’s boot sank into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the ground. Before you could recover a blade was pressed against your neck.

“Drop your weapon!” the man yelled, jerking you to your feet and wrenching your arm behind your back. 

 “Drop your weapon, or she dies,” the Dane repeated, his eyes narrowing at your companion.

You snorted loudly, the sound sharp and defiant, despite the blade pressed against your throat. “You think that’s a threat?” you spat. “He doesn’t even know me.” 

You looked over to the young warrior, frozen for a moment, his knife and axe still in his hands, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Something flickered across his face – annoyance, or was it concern as he turned, his eyes fixed on you for a brief moment before shifting to the man holding you. 

You could clearly see the hesitation in the young warrior, his jaw tightening, his movements deliberately slow as he scanned the Danes around all ready to resume the fight. And then he did something you hadn’t expected. He raised his hands slowly, letting the weapons fall from his fingers.

“I surrender,” he said with a steady voice. “Let her go.”

The words hit you almost like a blow. Why would he do this? He could have fought his way out and fled. You were a complete stranger to him. 

The Danes exchanged glances and one of them stepped forward, pointing his axe at the stranger. “You’ll come with us, both of you.”

Before either of you could respond, rough hands shoved you forward, the blade leaving your neck but replaced by the iron grip of two men dragging you away. Your companion was similarly manhandled and brought to walk next to you.

You risked a hidden glance at the young warrior beside you, as you still couldn’t grasp why he had done this. What was his plan?

“What are you doing?” you hissed under your breath, unable to keep the confusion out of your voice.

“Saving your neck,” he replied quietly, meeting your surprised gaze for a brief moment.

And that was when you saw them – his eyes. The light from the torches caught him just enough for you to see the young man’s face clearly for the very first time of your hectic encounter. But you didn’t pay attention to anything else apart from the eyes. They were of different colour. One blue, one hazel brown. 

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t possible. It simply couldn’t be. 

You turned away as quickly as you could, stumbling over a tree root. The grip on your arm twisted behind your back painfully tightened but you almost didn’t notice it, your mind too busy trying to reconcile the image before you with another one. 

The mismatched gaze of a boy you had trusted, the boy who had stood beside you beneath a makeshift arch, who had held your hand as your blood mingled. The son of the man who had destroyed everything – your life, your family, your dreams. Your entire world, reduced to ash and bitter memories, and he had been part of it, whether by blood or by silence. 

You shook your head in a silent dialogue with yourself, your pulse pounding in your ears. It can’t be him, you told yourself. It isn’t him. But even as you repeated the thought, a part of you still whispered that it might be. And if it was, you didn’t know whether to feel relief, rage, or something else entirely.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The coarse rope bit into your wrists with each futile struggle trying to loosen it. You sat with your back pressed firmly against the rough bark of the tree. The Danes had done a thorough job, binding the two of you on opposite sides of the same tree so tight to make even the smallest movement uncomfortable. 

Your companion on the other side of the tree, if one could call him that, had been absolutely silent all this time. Being a bit uncooperative when it came to letting himself be tied, he had earned several heavy blows to his abdomen and a split lip.

You shifted slightly, testing again the ropes that bound you both, and hissed as the fibers just dug deeper into your skin. It all just made no sense. It just couldn’t be him. The Kjartan’s men, you’d been spying on, were out to kill him and had tied him up without hesitation. They hadn’t recognized him as one of their own, as Kjartan’s blood.

You bit your lip, trying to coax both your body and mind to relax. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Sihtric leaned his head back against the tree. The sharp ache that radiated from his ribs almost made him groan. The blows he’d taken were nothing new; the pain being a constant companion in his life had long ceased to bother him. But this - being tied up, unable to move freel - this clawed at something deep inside him, making his skin crawl.

He clenched his fists against the rope, hoping that the sharp pain in his wrists would stop his mind from wandering back to the dark days under Kjartan’s roof, where being bound wasn’t just punishment but a lesson in submission, a lesson in unworthiness of his life to his own father. 

He had vowed to himself long ago never to let anyone have that power over him again. Yet here he was, beaten and bound like a dog because he had been foolish enough to be distracted.  

He cursed himself for his carelessness. He had seen the torches, heard the shouts, he knew the risk, he should have just left and run, yet he had lingered, drawn to you like a moth to flame. Why on earth had he decided to draw you with him?

There was something about the woman who now sat on the other side of the tree, that tugged at a part of him he didn’t understand. 

Sihtric closed his eyes, trying to force the thought away, but it lingered. With a loud scoff he hit his nape against the bark of the tree in frustration just to wince in the pain.  It had been stupid, yet he knew he would do exactly the same all over again.

He felt you shifting, straining against the ropes, testing their strength over and over again. It must be painful, he thought, yet you didn’t give up, you must have been scared.

“Hey, survivor, are you afraid?” he suddenly found himself asking, somewhat surprised by the hoarse sound of his own voice. “Spare your strength. You’ll need it. You’ll see, I’m getting us out of here.” 

The silence around the both of you stretched, broken only by the distant murmurs of the Danes, sitting at the fire. You just snorted at the stranger's question. 

Afraid? You couldn’t even remember the last time you were afraid. 

People are afraid if they have something to lose, something they care about. You had nothing. The last faint hope had left you as the rumors reached you that your brother Ragnar – the only one from your family who was not there on the night of fire – had suffered a shipwreck at the coasts of Ireland. 

You were alone in this world, you had nobody to care for, nothing to lose. You had nothing to live for apart from revenge and that was not a reason enough to fear death, to fear anything. 

“Why did you do it?” you finally asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence. “Why surrender yourself to spare me? You don’t even know me.”

Sihtric tilted his head, staring at the dark canopy above. Here it was. He had wanted to calm you, to reassure you, to give you something to hold on to and you came back with questions. Questions he had no real answer to. 

“Are you complaining that I saved your life?” he said, his voice almost hollow. 

There was a pause, and he could feel you shift against the ropes again. 

“No,” you whispered back. “I … I just don’t understand.”

Sihtric closed his eyes briefly, a sigh slipping past his lips. “Sometimes it’s just like that. It just… felt like the right thing to do.”

“You risked your life because it felt right?”

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You make it sound foolish.”

“It is foolish,” you exclaimed, unable to hide the bewilderment in your voice.

“Then you owe your life to a fool,” he countered quietly. 

You opened your mouth to reply but found no words and before you could think of something more coherent to reply you were interrupted by the crunch of boots nearing the both of you.

“Get up,” the Dane barked, crouching down to slice through the ropes binding you to the tree. The sudden release sent a jolt through your stiff limbs, but you barely had a moment to process it before his hand clamped around your arm, dragging you to your feet. 

“Hey, where are you taking her?” Sihtric’s voice was sharp and there was an edge of worry beneath his tone, impossible to miss, as he struggled fiercely against his own bindings. His movements were desperate but ultimately futile, the ropes biting into his skin.

“Not your concern,” the Dane snapped, his grip on your arm tightening as he gave you a rough shove forward.

You stumbled, barely catching your balance, his bruising grip forcing you to move forward. The Dane dragged you toward one of the larger tents near the camp’s center, and your heart pounded against your ribs as you sensed your chance of escape nearing. You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your palms, the sting of it forcing you to regain focus.

Behind you could hear the young warrior’s voice, louder this time, laced with barely restrained fury, but it only made your captor laugh - a low, cruel sound that twisted your stomach in disgust.

—----------------------------------------------------

The Dane’s body hit the fur laden ground with a soft thud. You crouched down as you listened, fingers wrapping tighter around the hilt of the dagger you had snatched from the sheath strapped to his back.

“Men,” you muttered under your breath. “Cocksure arselings.”

You froze ready to leap, the faint rustle of the tent flaps catching your attention as a figure burst into the tent. You were ready to strike just to stop at the last moment as you recognised it. 

“Shit,” you hissed. “I could have killed you.” But the wide-eyed completely dumbfounded expression on the young warrior's face caught you off guard and made you let out a soft laugh. 

You always preferred a fair battle over the stealthy death in the shadows, but this time you had no choice. The majority in the camp were too drunk to notice anything at first and when they did it was already too late. 

You met the young warrior at the fireplace, both slightly panting, the blood covered hands and the eerie silence around you the only signs of what had happened. 

“Are you hurt?” he finally asked, his large eyes flickering with the same resentment that churned in your stomach. 

“I’m fine,” you returned, only now noticing the raw and bloody red lines around his wrists where the ropes had dug into his skin, betraying his earlier struggle.

“You want me to clean them?” you asked, your tone more calm as the adrenaline of the moment ebbed away.

He blinked, seeming surprised by your offer, then nodded slowly. “If you can spare the time,” he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain.

“Hey, you saved my life. Please, let me thank you,” you murmured, reaching into the pouch at your belt and pulling out a strip of cloth, a small flask of water and a tin of salve, and you didn’t even notice the warrior's eyes widening at your words.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to clogs at the fireplace. He hesitated before lowering himself, casting a few more surprised glances at your side.

Gently, you poured water over his wrists, watching the dirt and blood wash away. He flinched at the sting, but said nothing, his eyes following your every move.

“You shouldn’t have struggled so hard,” you chided lightly, trying to focus on the task but being constantly distracted by the sight of his muscular arms highlighted by the sleeveless cut of his armour. 

He let out a quiet huff. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Didn’t expect you to be so quick to deal with him.”

You smirked, dipping your fingers into the small tin of salve and smoothing it gently over the raw, red marks on his wrists. “Guess you’ll think twice next time about underestimating me.”

As you reached to wrap a strip of cloth around his wrist, he pulled his hands back slightly. “It’s enough… thank you,” he murmured, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

You raised an eyebrow, noting the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Are you embarrassed to let me help you?”

“No,” he said quickly, though the way he avoided your eyes and rubbed the back of his neck betrayed him. “I just… it will hamper me if it comes to another fight.”

You took his hands firmly yet gently, pulling them back. “Hey, don’t be foolish. It will not disturb you more than those,” you nodded toward the thick golden arm rings on his upper arms. “But it will definitely hamper you if these get infected and swell. Hold still. ”

He sat stiffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, clearly unsure where to look. “I’m not used to—” he started, then cut himself off.

“Not used to what?” you prompted, glancing up as you tied the bandage securely.

“Being… taken care of,” he admitted quietly. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” you smirked. “Even warriors need someone to patch them up sometimes.”

“You’re good at this,” he muttered a mixture of gratitude and shyness in his voice, and you smiled, catching the faintest trace of a blush appearing on his cheeks. 

You had no idea why you agreed when he suggested spending the rest of the night in the camp. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, to leave it all behind  and never look back, but you just nodded and followed him to the bigger tent in the middle of the camp. 

“I’ll keep watch. Get some sleep, survivor,” he smirked, showing you toward the keep of furs.

A hundred times, you wanted to ask it, to ask for his name, and a hundred times you swallowed back the question burning on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to know and you didn’t. You didn’t know what to do with the truth. You had been angry for so many years, partially blaming Sihtric for what had happened, questioning why he hadn’t warned you, why he hadn’t come for you when everything fell apart. 

You had no idea what you would do if this young, strikingly handsome, strong and deadly warrior was indeed the same wide eyed boy you had kissed on the edge of a meadow, your blood brother, the oath breaker.

You hadn’t realised how tired you were until you settled down into the softness of the furs. You wanted to stay awake, to keep an eye on him but the uneven struggle ended far too quickly and your eyes fell close. 

Sihtric settled himself near the entrance, picking up the only task that made sense - sharpening his blades. Not that they really needed sharpening but he needed something to focus on – the repetitive rhythm of the movement, the sound of stone gliding over the blade, the simple feeling of purpose in what he was doing.

Not that it really helped this time as his attention kept straying, his eyes constantly drawn back to you.

He couldn’t explain it, that strange pull he felt toward you, that familiarity, that sense that he had known you for ages, that thrill and the way his heart had jumped in his chest when your fingers brushed against his skin.

You suddenly moaned in your sleep, your breathing turning shallow and uneven as you twitched and shifted. Sihtric stilled, his brow furrowing as he slowly set the blade aside.

He knew this all too well - the restlessness of the nights, the fear of closing his eyes, the helplessness of being dragged into the realm where will withdrew and dreams took over. And for all your courage, fierceness and confidence in waking life it seemed that in that realm you were hopelessly losing your battle. 

“Hey,” he whispered, slowly crouching closer and placing his hand on your shoulder. You stirred, but didn’t wake up. “You’re alright. It’s just a dream.”

For a moment Sihtric just watched the shadows dancing on your face, hoping that you would calm down, but your breathing grew more ragged and another whimper rolled over your lips. 

He didn’t know whether it was a conscious decision or something else more primal, more instinctive as he carefully laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. 

You were ripped from your sleep by the feeling of two strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. You instinctively froze, willing your breath to even out and preparing yourself to reach for the blade.

“It’s just a dream,” the soft murmur of his voice caught you by surprise. “You’re safe now.” 

The moments passed on but nothing happened, he held you just like that, his muscular chest pressed against your back, his embrace steady, firm but at the same time so gentle and protective. You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had held you like that. Closing your eyes, you feigned sleep, somewhat ashamed for having expected the worse.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling your body relax and your breathing calm down, but his hold didn’t loosen.

“You could be her…,” he whispered, his voice almost too faint to hear. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you are her.”

You felt his frame tremble slightly and unable to pretend anymore, you shifted in his arms and turned to face him.

“I could be who?” you asked, holding your breath.

“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm,” Sihtric was quick to let you go, embarrassment flickering over his handsome face.

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “Please… just hold me again. Can you?”

“If you want me to…” he murmured and his strong arms wrapped around you once more as you hid your face in his broad chest. 

He nuzzled softly against your hair, his arms tightened slightly around you, as if clinging to some distant memory.

“I was just a boy when I met her,” he continued and you could clearly hear a faint quiver in his voice. “She saved me. She saved me in so many ways, it’s even hard to explain. The only person who looked at me like I was something worthy, who laughed with me, who shared bread with me.” 

Your heart almost stopped beating as you listened, your nose buried in Sihtric’s chest, fighting back tears.

“But I couldn’t save her. I was there but I couldn’t save her. My father found it amusing to let me watch. He probably knew I would try to warn her, so he took me with him just to tie me up and let me watch how he burned down her house.”

“You look so much like her. The way you move, the way you speak…” Sihtric’s voice trailed off but then he suddenly continued: “Tomorrow Dunholm will fall,” he said with such certainty in his voice that you raised your head to look into his mismatched eyes.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

“I thought you’d want to know. I think you are here for the same purpose I am. The same purpose my lord Uhtred and his brother Ragnar are here for.”

You kept looking at him, unable to avert your gaze. 

“I’m not a complete fool. Even if you might think otherwise. There must be a reason you’ve been watching the Danes come and go around Dunholm. I’m guessing your reason is the same as ours - Kjartan.”

You wanted to speak, to ask more, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Your whole world had just turned upside down. Uhtred and Ragnar were alive. It was impossible. Sihtric was here, there couldn't be any doubts about that anymore, holding you in his arms. That was even more impossible. 

This must be a dream, you thought, shifting closer to the muscular frame of your long lost friend, and if it was so, you certainly didn’t want to wake up from it, not now at least.

You waited and waited to be awakened from this strange dream, but the longer you waited the more you realized it wasn’t a dream. You felt Sihtric’s breath eventually evening out as his grip on you loosened and sleep finally claimed him, though his arms still rested around you. 

It was when the dawn finally broke that you slipped out of his grasp, careful not to wake him, and left the tent quietly.

Sihtric woke not long after, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. He had slept surprisingly peacefully but the drowsy smile on his lips faded the moment he realised the space beside him was deserted. He sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the tent for you, but it was empty.

—----------------------------------------------------

You adjusted the helmet you had taken from one of the dead Danes in the camp, your face carefully smeared with mud. Just in case. You didn’t want to be recognised, at least not yet, not before you had found out what was happening, before you knew that Sihtric’s words were not just some cruel game, as you still couldn’t make yourself believe they were true. 

It wasn’t hard to find Ragnar’s forces and slip between the warriors just a few moments before the assault started. 

Eyes wide open you watched the massive frame of your brother, leading the suicide attack on Dunholm’s gates. What was he doing? Had the whole world gone mad? Had the Norns chosen you to entertain themselves, letting you find your brother only to see him heading into certain death?

Your surprise grew even bigger when the impenetrable gates of Dunholm suddenly cracked open, leaving the fortress to the mercy of the attacking Danes. 

From that moment on nothing else existed apart from the deafening roar of war cries, the clang of weapons and the frenzy of battle. You fought like a demon, too immersed in the intoxicating feeling of being invincible, unstoppable, the harbinger of death and justice. You had never felt like this before.

You were reckless, drunk on the bloodlust and adrenaline, and it would have cost you your life if a pair of steady and strong arms hadn’t yanked you aside, burying an axe in the chest of a hulking, red faced Dane.

“Trying to survive, huh? Try harder!” Sihtric shouted, sinking his foot in the gut of another Dane about to swing his blade at you. 

It was all over far too quickly, your head spun and you had to steady yourself against a pillar as you watched Ragnar butchering Kjartan, as you saw Uhtred pulling him away from the mutilated corpse and Thyra emerging from the back of the yard.

And then among all the chaos there was Sihtric, standing in the front line and watching the death of his father, triumph and satisfaction in his face fading into disgust and resentment. 

—----------------------------------------------------

“Here you are,” you exclaimed as you found Sihtric sitting motionless on a hillock outside the fortress. 

He didn’t respond, didn’t turn your way, his eyes fixed somewhere ahead on a small pile of stones.

You hesitated. Maybe this wasn't the right time, maybe he needed space, and yet you couldn’t wait, you couldn’t leave him like this. 

“I was looking for you all over the place,” you said as you reached him, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Sihtric flinched at your touch, a faint shudder coursing through him, but he still didn’t turn to face you.

“You found me,” he said at last.

You lowered yourself beside him, your hand still on his shoulder. “Hey…” you began, but he didn’t let you continue.

“They’re all gone,” he murmured, as if speaking more to himself than to you. “Every single one of them. They’re all dead.” His voice cracked, and his fingers dug into the dirt beside him.

“I’ve had my revenge. And what? It didn’t bring them back. It didn’t make it easier.” He paused, his jaw tightening before he finally turned to face you. “There’s nothing left for me. No family, no purpose, nothing.”

“That’s not true,” you said, your trembling fingers squeezing his shoulder. 

“You don’t understand,” Sihtric interrupted you angrily. “I couldn’t save them. Not her, nor my mom. The only two people to ever care about me, and both ripped from this life by the man whose blood runs in my veins. And nothing I do - nothing - will ever bring them back.” Sihtric’s gaze shifted back to the pile of stones in the distance.

“Sihtric, please listen to me,” your voice quivered as you reached for his hand. He didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. He didn’t even seem to register that you’d called him by his name—something he hadn’t shared with you.

“I … I have to tell you something… I thought I’d lost everything too. My family, my home, even the sense of who I am…,” you swallowed hard, feeling the tears welling in the corners of your eyes but you didn’t fight them back, you let them flow freely, you didn’t even wipe them away. “But I was wrong. There’s always something to hold on to. There’s always someone.”

“Not for me,” Sihtric murmured, pulling his hand from yours.

“Sihtric, you did save her. You saved her so many times and you kept saving her without even knowing it. I let grief cloud my mind, cloud my judgement. I blamed you for what happened, blamed you for being Kjartan’s son, for not coming to warn me, for abandoning me, for breaking your oath. But the truth… The truth is, it was me. I was the oath breaker. In my grief and self righteousness, I never even thought to look for you. I never realised that you might have needed me. I’m sorry, Sihtric. I’m so, so sorry.”

Sihtric turned to you and the confusion and disbelief written plainly across his face made you laugh bitterly.

“By the gods, Sihtric… Do you really not recognise me?” Hot tears pouring down your cheeks, you rolled up your sleeve, stretching your arm toward Sihtric.  

Sihtric’s gaze dropped to your forearm. Carefully his hand reached for your arm and  his fingers brushed over the uneven, jagged scar, running along your skin, tracing it as if trying to prove it was real.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look at you, his gaze fixed on your arm and as the silence stretched fear slowly crept under your skin, fear that he would be angry, that he would hate you for not revealing yourself sooner. 

Sihtric exhaled shakily, lowering his gaze to the ground, and your heart sank into your gut, expecting the worst, but then his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing them almost painfully.

“Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone,” he whispered, raising your palm to his lips. 

You cupped his jaw, letting your thumb hesitantly hover over his lips, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes falling shut, the dampness on his cheeks telling you more than any words ever could.

"I knew it. Deep down I knew it," he whispered.

Sihtric’s arms hesitantly encircled your shoulders, pulling you into a tight embrace and you melted against his muscular torso. You both just sat there for what felt like a lifetime, in silence, savouring the moment and each other's presence. 

You were no kids anymore. Sihtric’s broad chest heaved in the rhythm of his breath and you pressed your ear tighter against him, listening to the beating of his heart.

It was against all odds but you both were alive and here and that was enough. You didn’t even dare to think about something else. You were content in this moment, and you wanted it to last forever.

“Do you remember that last dawn? In the meadow?” Sihtric’s voice brought you back to reality after what felt like a lifetime of silence.

You tilted your head to look up at him, and his mismatched eyes met yours.

“You can’t imagine how often I’ve thought about it,” he said, “wishing I had been braver.”

“Braver?” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever met, Sihtric.”

“But I wasn’t brave enough for this,” he smiled and with a soft exhale, he leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant at first, his lips brushing against yours in silent reverence, almost as if he were afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly. But it got more demanding with each passing moment, melting away all hesitation, all doubts, all fears and leaving just the two of you, completely lost in each other and in the salty taste of tears on your lips.

[the-vampire-fish-queen]

The UK needs some help with there own Online Safety Act (UK KOSA) that going to end up shutting down both small and big sites starting in March 2025.

It's already starting a online cycling community web forum with over 60K users shutting down because of the UK Online Safety Act (UK KOSA).

Link to more info here

"Reading https://www.ofcom.org.uk/online-safety/illegal-and-harmful-content/time-for-tech-firms-to-act-uk-online-safety-regulation-comes-into-force/ and we're done... we fall firmly into scope, and I have no way to dodge it. The act is too broad, and it doesn't matter that there's never been an instance of any of the proclaimed things that this act protects adults, children and vulnerable people from... the very broad language and the fact that I'm based in the UK means we're covered.

The act simply does not care that this site and platform is run by an individual, and that I do so philanthropically without any profit motive (typically losing money), nor that the site exists to reduce social loneliness, reduce suicide rates, help build meaningful communities that enrich life.

The act only cares that is it "linked to the UK" (by me being involved as a UK native and resident, by you being a UK based user), and that users can talk to other users... that's it, that's the scope.

I can't afford what is likely tens of thousand to go through all the legal hoops here over a prolonged period of time, the site itself barely gets a few hundred in donations each month and costs a little more to run... this is not a venture that can afford compliance costs... and if we did, what remains is a disproportionately high personal liability for me, and one that could easily be weaponised by disgruntled people who are banned for their egregious behaviour (in the years running fora I've been signed up to porn sites, stalked IRL and online, subject to death threats, had fake copyright takedown notices, an attempt to delete the domain name with ICANN... all from those whom I've moderated to protect community members)... I do not see an alternative to shuttering it.

The conclusion I have to make is that we're done... Microcosm, LFGSS, the many other communities running on this platform... the risk to me personally is too high, and so I will need to shutter them all.

What and When

So here's the statement...

On Sunday 16th March 2025 (the last day prior to the Act taking effect) I will delete the virtual servers hosting LFGSS and other communities, and effectively immediately end the approximately 300 small communities that I run, and the few large communities such as LFGSS.

It's been a good run, I've administered internet forums since 1996 having first written my own in Perl to help fans of music bands to connect with each other, and I then contributed to PHP forum software like vBulletin, Vanilla, and phpBB, before finally writing a platform in Go that made it cost efficient enough to bring interest based communities to so many others, and expand the social good that comes from people being connected to people.

Approximately 28 years and 9 months of providing almost 500 forums in total to what is likely a half a million people in that time frame... the impact that these forums have had on the lives of so many cannot be understated.

The peak of the forums has been the last 5 years, we've plateaued around 275k monthly users across the almost 300 websites on multiple instances of the platform that is Microcosm, though LFGSS as a single community probably peaked in the 2013-2018 time period when it alone was hitting numbers in excess of 50k monthly users.

The forums have delivered marriages, births, support for those who have passed (cancer being the biggest reason), people reunited with stolen bikes, travel support, work support, so much joy and happiness and memorable experiences... but it's also been directly cited by many as being the reason that they are here today, the reason they didn't commit suicide or self-harm. It's help people get through awful relationship breakups, and helped people overcome incredible challenges with their health.

It's devastating to just... turn it off... but this is what the Act forces a sole individual running so many social websites for a public good to do.

I don't know where to recommend... I know lots of people have moved small groups to places like Signal and WhatsApp, and that some people are on the fediverse, and some are in other websites and groups.

There is no central place that could take us all and preserve the very special thing we had... so it's done.

This is a really special place... the people are special... I guess the next 3 months will be a time of sharing what it meant, and of groups figuring out where they want to go next.

Love you all forever, it's been amazing to be a part of it all, I never thought I'd touch the lives of so many people by running websites, and in turn to give so much reason to my own life. In the end, the person I save most was likely myself.

Dee"

This is very bad and the compliance requirements will affect alot of websites based in the UK and Ofcom seems very out of its depth.

The whole thing is an unworkable mess and will collapse under its own weight. There also alot of privacy and legal issues with it.

This may also affect Tumblr and force the site to leave the UK.

Please spread awareness!

[bah-circus]

Bonus Pack !!

❣︎For Our Next Act, Please Welcome,,,❣︎

A Songtive!!!

°·⊱ Name: Jennifer, Olivia, Beth, Sophia, Priscilla, Lavender, Violet

°·⊱ Age: 19

°·⊱ Race/Species: Human

°·⊱ Source: Songtive ; Barking at the Moon - Jenny Lewis

°·⊱ Role: Femininity Holder, Confidence Booster, Flowsian

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Sex: AFAB

°·⊱ Gender: Hypergirl, Girkspike, Idolfem, Perl, Cluttergirl, Stellagirl, Lavendian, Purplecrayollica, Purplegender

°·⊱ Pronouns: She/Her; Purp/Purple; Cray/Crayon; Pop/Pops

°·⊱ Sexuality: Omnisexual

°·⊱ Personality: Jennifer is the typical “Farmer’s Daughter turned Country Idol” having been raised on her father’s farm helping him nearly every weekend and summer out of school. While she was found as a teenager by a talent agent, she has been thrust into a brand new world that she isn’t quite as familiar with, a world of high glamor and the industry standard. 

────── · · · · ──────

°·⊱ Nicknames/Titles: Jenny, [Prn] Who Is Dressed in Purple, Prissy, The Purple Girl, Olive,  [Prn] Who Hunts Frogs, The Rain Enjoyer, [Prn] Who Wants to Shine, The Upcoming Star

°·⊱ Likes: Anything Purple, Catching Frogs, Mudding / Mud-Bogging, Stormy Weather, Writing Songs, Playing Guitar, Going Shopping

°·⊱ Dislikes: Large Cities, High School, Early Saturday Mornings, Coffee, Hay Bales, Small Cars, Tornadoes, Horses

°·⊱ Emoji Sign-Off: 🪻👝🐸☀️🌸👛

°·⊱ Hexcode: #B692BC

°·⊱ Faceclaim: 1

This was the accidental pack we made when we got the last request and since she didnt fit the first song I found one that did fit her <3 enjoy this extra pack - Pest Swarm

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT FORD

Paths can bend a lot more analysis. Everyone knows who the best programmers are libertarians. And the bigger the pipe to the server and yet felt like a vacation compared to the facial expressions she was used to living cheaply. I were running a startup, initially. So if you're developing technology for money, or prestige—or sheer inertia. April 2009 Inc recently asked me who I thought were the 5 most interesting startup founders of the last 200 years shows that it doesn't work, that's a sign of health? But there is little ambiguity about what it means to be a media company to throw Microsoft off their scent. Usually this initial group of users is missing from most college programming classes. I was supposed to be studying for finals. The guys with kids and mortgages are at a maximum. A rounds from top VC funds whether it was worth it, and an experiment in a very transparent way out of habit or politeness. This was Henry Ford's plan.

It seemed obvious that beauty, for example have been granted large numbers of people would want to be thought a great novelist in your own country. Foo'' degenerates to just foo'', what that will mean for programmers, and knew that they could always interrupt anything with a report of a genuine bug. Four years later, pundits said the country had lurched to the right kind of people who couldn't become good mathematicians no matter how brilliant, because if everything else in the email, then check the news again, then answer a few emails, then suddenly notice it was almost lunchtime and I hadn't gotten any real work done. As long as customers were writing big checks for banner ads, it was New York. Actually this tradition is not much time. No, he said that little desktop computers would never be tactful; they were too quick. One possible exception might be things that have deliberately had all the variation sucked out of them was Webvia; I swapped them to make Viaweb. But invariably they're larger in your imagination than in real life. It discovered, of course, but I can infer it from the rich. But if this still bothers you, let me clarify that I'm not writing here about Java which I have thought about it.

Not just the first fifteen seen. The best word to describe the feeling the Valley radiated, and the cap table are long gone. He thinks you should write it in Java. Thanks to OS X, Apple has come back from the problem. With both employers and investors, the balance of power between generations: to encourage the trend toward an economy made of more, smaller units. And the reason it used a TV for a monitor, and HP felt they couldn't produce anything so declasse. And being a boss is also horribly frustrating; half the time what will turn out you can help one another are both artificially amplified. Just be warned you'll have to deal with this is that when you have to work at another job to make a startup recession-proof is to do a lot of money on them. One valuable way for an idea. For example, if you've sold more than about an hour a day online. Not determined enough You need a town with the right optimization advice to the compiler, would also yield very fast code when necessary.

A good scientist, in other words, is someone who isn't socially adept enough. That would be a much more expensive. The rest you can change font sizes easily means the iPad effectively replaces reading glasses. When we work with founders create a Demo Day pitch, the last time a new way to focus one's energy, for example, is generated by Perl. An easily gamed standardized test; a short essay telling you what the kid thinks you want to be a very successful businessman in the cartoon it was always a man: a rapacious, cigar-smoking, table-thumping guy in his fifties, at least, how I write one. Fortunately policies are software; Apple can change them instantly if they want to do, he couldn't—sometimes because the company would take care of one's family, or to write well, here's the short version is that if someone reputable offers you funding on reasonable terms, take it. I could give an example of one of the inventors of the transistor. I don't mean you should talk like some kind of cursed race, had to have them as colleagues, you have to write a serious program using only the built-in escape hatch.

[mochi-marmalade]

Rose & Scar

TWO: Perle

♡ series masterlist ♡

a/n: i really liked writing this royal guard!König x princess!reader 3.6k words chapter summary: the day of the ball arrives. little do you know a surprise visitor (with an even more surprising identity) will spice things up warnings: language, slightly suggestive (??) 18+ MDNI

You can’t remember the last time you felt this miserable. Sara pulls the bodice of your dress so tight you’re not sure you’ll be able to breathe later. The dress you’re wearing tonight is a dark, muted purple. It’s lovely, but you’re not so sure it’s entirely you. The short sleeves are puffed and you’re wearing soft gloves to your elbows, which you appreciate because you’re getting clammy. You’re dreading this entire event, and you know there won’t be any solace in comfortable conversation because your father gave your guard the night off. “Oh, Your Highness, you’re going to look lovely.” Sara muses. Trying your best to be nice, you give her a halfhearted smile. She applies a soft pink to your eyes and stains your lips pink as well. You’re afraid that you might look a bit garish, but when you look in the mirror it’s actually not that bad. She slips heels on your feet and mutters an apologetic, “I hope you don’t get blisters.” You wince at the mere thought of the last royal event, in which you were stuck wearing high heels for hours on end. In addition, you were unable to sit because people kept coming up to talk to you. The pain lasted for weeks. Finally, Sara stands back to view her work. “You look absolutely beautiful, Your Highness. And not a moment too late, the ball will begin soon.” Your smile fades at her mention of the ball again, and you smooth your skirt while you walk down the hallway to the ballroom. There are guards stationed throughout the castle and you can’t help but wonder what König is doing right now. Sleeping, you hope. He never seems to do it while he’s watching you, which is pretty much always.

Time passes slowly and quickly all at once as names are announced. You walk into the ballroom after your father, and flash your best fake smile while you walk down the stairs to the main floor. Soon, the party has truly begun, and people mingle while holding drinks in one hand. There are easily hundreds of people here, and you are expected to talk to all of them. People come and go and young men introduce themselves, some eyeing you hungrily, some obviously uninterested. Very few stick in your memory, but none catch your eye. The sights and sounds of the ball would be truly wondrous if you weren’t being forced to marry one of the men here. Older men come and introduce themselves to you as well, many indirectly flaunting their wealth. At one point, you’re so tired of it all that you excuse yourself to the table of refreshments. You lean on the table as much as you can without breaking your unspoken rule of maintaining good posture. This dress is tight, and you’re hot, and there are so many people, but you take a deep breath and remind yourself to take it one person at a time. You ask a servant for a glass of water, which they gladly give, and you do your best not to down it within seconds. Returning the empty glass to the servant, you continue to chat with nobles and wealthy citizens until you are undeniably bored. It seems like it’s been hours, and for all you know it has been. Each man who comes to compete for your hand in marriage is worse than the last, and it takes everything you have to not look as disgusted as you feel. Finally a small band of stringed instruments begins to play and you sigh in relief because this means people will be more occupied dancing. One of the young men who introduced himself to you earlier comes to ask you for a dance, and you accept. The two of you dance Le Allemande and, surprisingly, it’s actually kind of enjoyable. You’re pretty sure his name is Jones and he’s some sort of noble from a somewhat far land. He bows to you, and as you curtsy, someone speaks to you from behind. As you’re turning, you notice people around you murmuring and looking at whoever is behind you. When you see the huge, masked person you understand why. You don’t recall this being a masquerade, but the man wears a Venetian looking mask covering his entire face anyway. “Sir, I do believe you are in the wrong place.” “I am quite sure I am not.” He replies, holding out a hand to you. Slowly and hesitantly, you place your hand in his and he sweeps you onto the dance floor. You begin to waltz and you ask, “Who are you?”

“They call me the King, though I am hardly a monarch. I hail from Austria.”

“You are certainly in the wrong place, then, good sir. My father has arranged this ball primarily for men to ask for my hand in marriage.”

“I do not care to divulge information to people I hardly know, but I can assure you I am in the right place.”

You’re confused by his words, but figure that even nobles from other countries may be good candidates for marriage. His mask is red under the eyes and littered with stars, which you like. His eyes are stunning- they remind you of König’s. You wonder if a lot of people from Germany and nearby countries have blue eyes.  His strong hand is placed against your back as you sway along with him, and you dare say you feel secure in his hold. His brilliant blue eyes smile from under his mask and he asks if you’re enjoying yourself, to which you can only nod. “I dare say I’ve caught you speechless, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps you have, dear King.”

“Just let me guide you… There’s nothing to be nervous about.” He chuckles. It’s a low, gruff sound that fills you with warmth. He leads you through the rest of the dance and you swear the chemistry between you two is almost palpable. Once the song ends, you break all social rules to say, “Wait! Don’t go, let’s dance again.” He laughs again and tells you, “Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll meet again. I promise, I’ll dance with you another time. I have my own matters to attend to now.” He bows and disappears into the crowd. You are left just as mystified as when you saw him, completely confused about what he means. The rest of the night passes slowly. You barely notice other people talking to you and offering you desserts. At one point, you escape to the powder room and run into a few members of the royal guard. They eye you silently, and you notice one is wearing a mask like König usually does. König… You’d almost forgotten about him since you danced with the mysterious guest. Eventually the ball ends and you retreat to your room, completely exhausted. You quickly change clothes and cover yourself with plush blankets before falling asleep. 

The next morning you are not awoken by Sara, probably because of the late night. You feel groggy and not as energetic as you would on a normal morning, but you suppose that is to be expected. Yawning, you drag yourself out of bed and slide your sore feet into slippers. You’ve noticed the weather gradually getting colder, and although it’s not quite cold yet, there’s a slight chill in the air. You glance outside the window to see leaves beginning to fall and turn into fiery colors. You change into a pale yellow dress and drape a cloak around your shoulders to help keep you warm. You also take care to put on comfortable shoes, as your feet are mangled by blisters. “Good morning, König.” You say as you leave your room. “It’s nearly noon, princess.”

“Is it really?”

He nods and you realize you slept in much later than you thought. “Well, I had a late night. I hope you rested well.” You say. 

“I did.”

You’re pleased at his response, glad he got much deserved rest. The King lingers in your memory, and you think about just how charming he was. You’re aware that you’re staring into space right now and König will probably ask what’s bothering you, but you can’t lead your thoughts away from the elusive King. “What’s on your mind, princess?”

“Oh, just… A guest from last night.”

König looks at you inquisitively, and you feel compelled to explain. “He said people call him the King, and he wore a mask even though the ball wasn’t a masquerade. He was very curious, although… I dare say he captivated me. I probably won’t see him again, though.”

König sighs with some emotion you can’t place, and tells you, “You never know, princess.” You tilt your head at him, wondering, “Do you know something I don’t, König?” He laughs once, and you cross your arms, growing suspicious. “No, princess, I don’t think I do.” Huffing, you turn from him and begin to walk down the corridor. 

“What are we doing today, princess?”

“We are going horseback riding.”

Surprised, he says, “I didn’t know you rode horses.”

“I don’t. You’re taking me.”

Once you arrive at the stables, a stable boy looks at you wide-eyed. Clearly he isn’t used to the royal family visiting. “A destrier, for riding.” König tells the stable boy. He scrambles to affix harnesses and a saddle to a very large, strong-looking horse. Then he passes the reins to König. “Here you are, princess. Let me just…” He trails off as he lifts you onto the horse and you swing one leg to rest on the other side of the horse. König gets on behind you and explains, “This is a nice, strong horse used for war, he’ll have no problem carrying us for a while.” You stroke the horse’s neck along his mane and he whinnies. König finally directs the horse to trot away from the stables, following a dirt path through the grounds. The leaves fall around you and there are only a few clouds in the blue sky. You rest your back on König’s chest and smile up at him. You know that you’re getting into dangerous territory now, but you can’t help yourself. You don’t even know how long König will be around the castle, something could happen and he could leave or be replaced. Why not do what you want while you still can? Soon you’ll have to marry someone and become the queen, which you don’t even want to think about. He glances down at you quickly, then returns his gaze to the path ahead. Both of you sit in comfortable silence as birds chirp and the horse walks along. You return to the castle much sooner than you expected, and you don’t really want to go back inside, but you know the horse needs to rest. König helps you off the horse and the two of you walk back through the halls to the library. You want to read something- anything that’ll help you pass the time. Settling in a chair, you review the books you picked out: Some romance novel, a falconry handbook and a guide to German. You’d like to learn a few words, but before you even have the chance to open it, König swoops by and takes it out of your grasp. “A German guide? Why would you read this silly book when you have me, huh? I can tell you everything you need to know.” He scoffs. “Hey!” You exclaim. “König, how am I supposed to learn when you won’t tell me anything? You never even offered!” 

“Then ask me.”

You think for a moment, and finally ask, “How do you say princess?”

“Prinzessin.” 

“What does your name mean?”

He falls silent, thinking about what he should say. Should he lie? You’d know everything if he told you, but he doesn’t want to be untruthful. “You said it’s something people call you, like a nickname, right? What does it mean?”

“It’s… King.” 

Your face falls, making the connection immediately. “Are you…?”

“I’m from Austria.”

You get up and angrily make your way to him, shouting, “It was you all along! Why didn’t you just tell me?! I can’t believe you played me like a fool- is that what you think of me? A fool?”

“Princess, you know as well as I do I wouldn’t be allowed in a ball. A lowly soldier at an event for the elite? The thought itself is laughable.” 

You think for a moment, eyes locked with his own. “You- Ugh, I can’t believe you!” You storm away to your room. He knows you want space, but he follows you anyway because it’s his job. As you throw your door open, you step in and try to swing it shut, but never hear the telltale click of it closing. You roll your eyes when you see König standing there, looking almost like a child. He looks vulnerable and unsure, and it makes you soften a bit. “König… Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

“I know your father wants you to marry, that’s why he threw the ball. I’m hardly a suitable candidate, but I wanted to dance with you… At least once. I wanted the opportunity to be someone other than the rough soldier who doesn’t stand a chance.”

You look at him, and the darkening sky’s stars don’t nearly compare to the sparkle in his eyes. You step closer and catch him in an embrace. He seems taken aback, but after a moment he returns the hug. You fill with warmth and tell him, “We’ll figure something out.” You pull away and he looks different somehow. The sight of him fills you with joy, and you can’t help but smile. You realize it’s time for dinner and go to the dining hall to eat. You’re filled with glee and the attendant serving your food says they’re glad you’re feeling well. While eating, you think about what you’re going to tell your father, and you can’t think of any good options. You can’t just tell him you’re going to marry your personal guard, but what else is there to do? Finishing your food, you leave the table and ask König what you should do. “Honestly, princess, you’re asking the wrong person. The thought never crossed my mind.” You huff and cross your arms. “You could always, you know, just… Marry someone else?” The mere thought of that elicits nauseating feelings throughout your stomach. Your lips quirk in a humorless smile, and you are quick to tell him, “No. I could never be stuck in a loveless marriage knowing you’re out there.” König’s hand lands on your shoulder and he looks down at you, teasing, “Oh really? Why’s that?” You groan and playfully shove his hand off your shoulder. In response, his hands fly to your waist and he picks you up in a bridal carry. You’re laughing far too loudly, and try to quiet down before a servant comes to check on the commotion. “König, you’re going to get us in trouble!” 

“Princess, I am trouble.” 

You softly hit him, and he chuckles, gently setting you down. Seeing you yawn, he suggests you retire to your room for the evening. “But König, what about you?” His eyebrow lifts and he asks, “What about me?” 

“How are you going to sleep if you’re standing guard?”

“Oh, I do sleep. Just not quite as often as you do, Dornröschen.”

You yawn again and finally agree to go to sleep. Quickly changing into a nightgown, you turn the lights down and get in bed. The day replays in your head as you lay in bed, slowly falling asleep.

You stretch awake, slowly sliding out of bed. Today you’re more excited than usual, and Sara is quick to dress you in a lilac purple dress. “You seem particularly chipper today, Your Highness.”

“I suppose I just slept well.”

She nods and finishes lacing your bodice, then wishes you a good day and leaves. You step out of your room, but before you can greet König, you realize it’s not him at your door. You stare at the stranger in surprise, and he smiles in response. He speaks in a heavily accented, gravelly voice, saying, “Sorry, princess, I know I’m not your usual soldier.”

“...Where is he?”

“In the barracks. Said he’d be back before long.” The stranger responds. He sports a thick mustache and beard, and you’re curious how convenient that is for him as a warrior. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Captain John Price, Your Highness”

“You sound… British.”

He guffaws, a loud and booming sound. “I am.” You turn from him and begin your journey down the hallway. Much to your dismay, he follows you, but you suppose there’s not much you can do about it. If he’s standing in for König, it’s his job and responsibility to watch you now. “Where are we off to now?”

“The barracks.”

He takes a few long strides to catch up to you, and advises, “Your Highness, you can’t be serious. He’ll be back soon. Trust me, that is a place you don’t want to go.” His string of pleas don’t do anything. In fact, they just strengthen your resolve to go. It’s unusual for König to be gone, and if you’re being honest, you’re not sure you can stand being stuck with anyone else. Eventually giving up, Price follows along and occasionally makes small talk. “I don’t actually know him too well, just know he owes me now. He always wears that mask on his face, which is a little strange. I’ve heard he’s a good soldier though.” You don’t want to be rude, but you don’t really have much to say so you nod and hum in response. Finally reaching the doors to the castle, you realize you didn’t bring a cloak. You don’t want to seem cold, though, so you tough it out and pretend the hairs on your arms aren’t standing up. Price is still following you when you enter the barracks, men’s voices echoing on the stone walls. You walk up the stairs to what looks like a common area and are met with men playing card games and drinking. Some are only half dressed, and as soon as they see you, they rush to their rooms. A man with the sides of his head shaven gets up to greet you, bowing deeply and kissing your hand. You’re not quite sure how to respond to all of it. He generously offers to get König, snickering as he walks away. Another tall man with a mask sits at a table, and nods to you. You think about what it must be like to live here, in the uncomfortable stone walls with scores of other men. Finally, the man with a shaved head returns, and a sleepy König trails behind him. “What was it you wanted from me?” He asks, before spotting you. “Ah, hell! You didn’t tell me she was here!” König is… only wearing pants, and it takes all of your self-control to avert your eyes. You look in his general direction again, careful to keep your eyes on his mask, and see him holding the other man by his shirt. You cough just loud enough for them to hear you, and König drops the other man before quickly going to put his gear on. “Well, princess, for all they lack in social awareness they make up for in combat skills.” Price says, shaking his head. König comes back a few minutes later to see the man with the shaved head trying to talk himself up to you. “That’s enough, Soap.” König growls as he makes his way to your side. “Thank you.” He says to Price.

“You’re very welcome. Don’t forget about this, now.”

You spend time with König, mostly sitting and reading in the library. You wish you could sit in the garden, but the temperature seems to drop by the day, making it too cold to spend an extended amount of time outside. Although König undeniably makes your days better, the fear of having to tell your father your decision lingers in the back of your head. König notices you occasionally blowing on your hands for warmth and places his large cape over you, which helps. “König,” You sigh. “How did I ever get so lucky?” He crouches to your level and places his hand over yours. “I do believe I’m the lucky one, meine Taube.” It’s funny how quickly things can change. It was just the other day that he was nothing but your guard, and now you’re… Well, you don’t actually know, but you’re something. “König.”

“Yes, meine Perle.”

“You use such pretty words. What are we?”

“Hmm… I suppose it’s up to you, princess. I would leave this place now and never come back if it was what you wanted. I would stay forever if you said so.”

“Lovers, maybe.” You consider. “Yes, lovers. That’s a nice way to put it.” He says, hand cupping your face. His thumb rubs your cheek, and you feel so blissful, you can’t possibly begin to describe it. He finally gets up and collects his cape, motioning for you to get up too. “Ready for bed?” He asks. You frown, thinking it’s still afternoon, but one look at the dark windows tells you it’s much later. “I suppose.” You concede. He leads you to your room, lifts his mask a bit, and places a kiss on your cheek. He smells clean, like pine and woodfire. His lips, although a bit chapped, are soft on your skin. “Goodnight, my princess.”

[lu-undy]

I suddenly realized that: if Mundy pulled the trigger(in chapter 61) and killed Lucien, it would be a terrible trauma not just for Mundy, but also for Perle. She was on her papa's lap when Mundy was aiming at him, right?

Oh and what would happen to Mundy if he decided to pull the trigger? I mean, did Lucien already asked Dr. Ludwig for his mother before chapter 61? He would be absolutely devastated if he finds out that it was Lucien who made his mother healed, but he killed him with his very own hands.

Someone has been cooking here, as the cool kids say nowadays!

I had not thought about the "collateral" damage of Mundy shooting Lucien with Perle on his lap, terrible oversight! That's what happens when you write without drafting anything, kids!

And to answer your second question, yes, in my mind, Lucien had made his arrangements before moving into the crappy motel and waiting for his beloved to shoot him. Yup, Mundy would probably be devastated learning this but from Lucien's perspective, he wanted to do whatever he could to "correct his mistake" and let the bomb blow and throw Caroline in a coma. So he figured the one thing he could do was let Mundy kill him as revenge, and leave whatever money he had to Ludwig's research to help Caroline out of her coma.

This is tying knots to my brain and usually my stories are easier than this to read, apologies for the headache caused by reading this! ^^

[don-dake]

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Yen | 🏳️‍🌈 | Legal Adult | Millennial Gen. | Personal blog.

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Current focus on Cantonese (🇭🇰🇲🇴 粵語 aka 廣府話 aka 廣東話), Canto Practise; secondary on Mandarin (🀄華語 aka 漢語 aka 普通話), Mando Practise.

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*******************************************

“There are a few years when you make almost all of your important memories. And then you spend the next few decades reliving them.”

— Charles Yu, Interior Chinatown

*******************************************

“I do my thing and you do yours. I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, then it is beautiful. If not, it can’t be helped.”

— Fritz Perls

[braindancer]

14, 17 and 22 for the ship asks

Aaaah thanks so much bestie! Sorry this took ages. I'm gonna answer the other 2 in separate posts, but here's Prompt 14 for the soft ship questions!

14- Write about your ship celebrating their anniversary.

Guitar strings yowled like starving cats. The noise shot through Romy's ears straight into her brain. She jerked and twisted, legs tangling in itchy sheets, and crammed her head beneath the musty motel pillow. The guitar wailed on, too close, too loud. "Good morning." A synthetic voice crackled. It nearly drowned beneath the racket. Something almost like a melody formed in the harsh, twangy sound, but Romy couldn't place it. With both hands she held the pillow tight against her head so that it blocked both of her ears. It didn't help much. She sat up and glared through locks of stringy, bleached-white hair. There was a robot at the foot of her bed. It strummed at an ancient electric guitar, and the guitar screeched in protest. Its chrome-plated head bobbed to a steady beat that its fingers refused to follow. The late afternoon sun, shining hot and bright through crooked slaps in the window shades, glinted against its featureless faceplate. It was wearing her leather jacket. "Rustbucket?" Romy croaked, voice heavy with sleep. "What gives?" "You are being serenaded." Said the robot. There were no inflections in its voice, so every word sounded serious. "Do not be alarmed." "Couldja knock it off?" It pinched off one last note and fell silent. Romy breathed a sigh of relief. She let the pillow fall and swung her scrawny legs over the side of the bed. When her feet hit the floor, something crunched. Please, she thought, don't be a roach.

Romy rubbed the crust and old mascara from her eyes. She looked down. "Uhh... Buck? Why's the floor covered in leaves?" "I could not acquire rose petals," Rustbucket said. "I had to improvise." "Huh." was all Romy could think to say. The leaves were dried and dead, curling in on themselves and browning at the edges. They trailed from her bedside to the wobbly vinyl table on the other side of the motel room. There a candle burned, melted wax grafting it to the center of the table. On either side, place were set with red solo cups and plastic takeout cartons. What drew her eye most was the champagne. It sat there glistening against flickering candlelight in a crystalline bottle. Judging by the size of the anti-theft lock still clamped to its neck, it must've been expensive. Romy crossed the room in two steps, ignoring the foliage that stuck to the soles of her feet. She picked up the bottle and tossed it from one hand to another. It had a good weight to it. "La Perle des Alpes," she read from its label. A little red light blinked a warning at her from the security cap. Romy whistled. "Good shit. What's the occassion?" Rustbucket set the guitar down on the bed and rose to its feet. It wasn't just wearing her coat, she saw, but her good boots too. The steel-toed ones that were only a little bit scuffed. They looked glossier than usual, as did the bot's face and its bare chestplate. In the corner of her eye, amid the clutter of tools and empty soda cans on one of the side-tables, she spotted an opened tub of car wax. "It has been three hundred and seventy-five days since you hit me with your car." "Oh, yeah…" Romy rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. "Sorry about that." It shook its head. The sprockets at the base of its neck only squeaked a little bit - it had greased its joints recently, too. "No," it said, "I am grateful." "That I hit you with my car?" Rustbucket tilted its head. Gears whirred softly in its electric brain. After a time, it said, "I am grateful that you came back for me." Romy snorted a surprised laugh. Something skipped in her chest, and her cheeks went hot. That stupid, giddy feeling bubbled up inside her, like a can of NiCola that'd been shook up too many times. Like the warbling tune the robot played for her, she couldn't pin down exactly what it was. No one else made her feel quite like it. Normally she'd squash the feeling down with a sharp twinge of shame. For all the joy it brought her, and all the days it made just a little less lonely, she knew that this was a machine. It was all wires and gears and generous amounts of duct tape. It was also her best friend. Had it really only been a year? She felt as though she'd known it all her life. "Me too," she said, and meant it. She raised the bottle above her head, as though in a toast. Its anti-theft lock beeped ominously. "Go grab me the hammer and the bolster chisel, will ya? Let's crack this baby open and celebrate."

[soundwavereporting]

Please write Hetalia Financial Crisis gangbang fic please, with POV from England. Have United Kingdom 🇬🇧 feel depressed for days after and then he gets therapy.

Thanks anon!

"Did you know that gestalt therapy was originally developed by Fritz and Laura Perls in the 1940s? Gestalt therapy tends to focus on the present, rather than past events; in the context of your presenting issue, it woul probably be more effective to use trauma therapy or connect you with a qualified sex therapist, depending on how you'd like to proceed. However the irony of being able to write about a group of countries recieving therapy is waaaaay too compelling to worry about things like 'appropriate treatment modalities'!

“Moving on: how do you make sense of your world?” Before anyone could answer, the therapist continued:

"Continuing this infodump on gestalt therapy, it's important for you to remember that gestalt therapy is client-centered. One of the barriers you may experience is one of the tenants of gestalt therapy is that no one can be fully objective. How do you feel about that, United Kingdom? What about you, England? Scotland?"

England was not sure what to say, but the therapist continued, without letting any of them talk.

"Another thing I'd like to incorporate into the treatment plan is practicing self-awareness. We'll be doing lots of role play and other activities to help you increase self awareness and to find your voice. Do any of you know what "I Statements" are? No? Well, that will be your first homework exercise, but for now, we're going to do something called the “Empty Chair Exercise".

"Look at the chair across the room. England, pretend the person you want to speak to is there. What would you say to them?"

England was confused. "But United Kingdom is sitting next to me."

"Go with it."

"I wish I knew why you are so upset, United Kingdom🇬🇧. Sure, the financial crisis is difficult, but it's nothing we haven't lived through before! Brexit is no big deal!"

"Now," the therapist said. "United Kingdom 🇬🇧, what would you say to the empty chair?"

United Kingdom 🇬🇧sighed. "I am uncaring of the repurcussions of the financial crisis. I simply did not like the gangbang."

"What????" England said. "But you've always loved a good gangbang!"

"I was not in the mood. I wish you and Canada and Switzerland and Australia had asked." United Kingdom🇬🇧 shrugged. "That's it. That is why I have been depressed."

"I'm sorry we didn't ask." England said.

It was all making sense now! The therapist smiled. Through the power of gestalt therapy, England was able to reincorporate itself back into United Kingdom 🇬🇧!

[uhohdad]

Hey there, it’s Dad. I like to write about you and König.

(18+) This blog contains dark content. Please comb warnings carefully and read at your own discretion. Take care <3

✧₊⁺ Drabble Masterlist

✧₊⁺ LongForm Masterlist Below

The Girl Who Conquered The Mountain (NSFW 18+)

(Outcast!Konig x Reader, 122k+ words)

Summary: You and Konig have been chosen to participate in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death.

AO3 Tumblr Navigation + Bonus Content

Meine Perle (NSFW 18+)

(Octo!Konig x Reader, 25k words, Completed)

Summary: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig.

“Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.”

AO3 Tumblr

His (NSFW 18+)

(Stalker!Konig x Reader, 15.5k words)

Summary: Konig has an unhealthy obsession with you.

AO3 Tumblr: PART ONE PART TWO

Experimental (NSFW 18+)

(Konig x Reader, 22k words, Completed)

Summary: Konig helps you with a new technology you’ve been developing. You see something you’re not supposed to.

Tumblr: PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

AO3

✧₊⁺ König Drabble Masterlist

Dad loves you! <3

[perlmutt-perl]

Hi there Perl.

I'm wondering are you alright?

Been awhile since you updated Under Foreign Stars at Ao3. (Can't help myself checking and rechecking it everyday, in case i missed the email notification or sth)

I hope you're doing well!

Hi Morgan,

Thank you so much for stopping by and asking. It really warms my heart to know that you're excited for the next chapter of UFS. 🥹

I'm really sorry for taking so long. The last few weeks were very eventful. One of my best friends got married, and I was maid of honor, which left me little time to continue writing. (And I got distracted, which resulted in 13k of Hogwarts Stony AU that I will be posting in a few days.)

Please be patient with me. I am plotting and planning and working on the next adventures of Anthonn and Steffen. 💙

Best wishes, Perl

[lucajack123]

Discovering the Building Blocks of Selenium in Simple Terms

Selenium IDE (Integrated Development Environment)

Think of Selenium IDE as a special notepad for recording what you do on a website. It’s like a diary that writes down the things you do on the internet. This is a simple way to start testing websites. Selenium IDE (Integrated Development Environment) is the simplest tool in the Selenium Suite. It is a Firefox add-on that creates tests very quickly through its record-and-playback functionality. This feature is similar to that of QTP. It is effortless to install and easy to learn.

Selenium WebDriver

Now, let’s get a little technical. WebDriver is like the engine that makes your testing happen. It’s a set of tools for different computer languages, like Java or Python. These tools help you do things on a website, like clicking buttons or filling out forms, just like a real person. Selenium WebDriver is a browser automation framework that accepts commands and sends them to a browser. It is implemented through a browser-specific driver. It directly communicates with the browser and controls it. Selenium WebDriver supports various programming languages like Java, C#, PHP, Python, Perl, and Ruby.

Selenium Grid

When you want to test on different internet browsers at the same time, that’s where Selenium Grid comes in. It helps you spread your tests across different computers to make sure everything works on different browsers and devices. Hub is a server that accepts access requests from the WebDriver client, routing the JSON test commands to the remote drives on nodes.

Selenium Client Libraries

Remember those tools I mentioned earlier? Client libraries are like special helpers that let you use those tools in your favourite computer language. They help you talk to WebDriver. So, whether you like Java, Python, or something else, you can use Selenium without any problems. The Selenium Client Library consists of various language libraries for Java, Ruby, Python, and other supported languages. JSON denotes Java script Object Notation.

Third-party frameworks and tools

Selenium can do even more when you use it with other tools. These tools help you organise your tests and make them easier to understand. They can also help you test mobile apps and other things. Selenium frameworks based on the functional approach are classified into three main types: Data-driven framework. keyword-driven framework. Hybrid framework.

Browsers and Web Drivers

Selenium is a great tool for testing websites. Its parts, from Selenium IDE for recording what you do to WebDriver for doing things on websites and Selenium Grid for testing on different browsers, work together to make testing easier. With Selenium, you can make sure your websites work well on different browsers and devices. So, next time you want to test a website, remember that Selenium is there to help you. Happy testing! To dive deeper into Selenium and unlock its full potential, consider reaching out to ACTE Technologies, a leading provider of certifications and job placement opportunities in the field of Selenium. Their experienced staff can guide you on your journey to mastering this versatile tool.

[despuneuniversityblogs]

MSc Bioinformatics: Course Structure, Skills, and Career Scope

Bioinformatics has become one of the most exciting and future-focused fields in science. With advancements in genomics, pharmaceuticals, data science, and biotechnology, there is a growing need for professionals who can work at the intersection of biology and technology. Pursuing an MSc in Bioinformatics helps students build expertise in handling biological data, designing algorithms, and supporting research and development in modern science.

MSc Bioinformatics at DES Pune University

DES Pune University offers a comprehensive and industry-ready MSc Bioinformatics program designed to equip students with a blend of theoretical knowledge and hands-on training. The curriculum is aligned with modern scientific needs and supports interdisciplinary learning across biology, computing, and statistics.

Key features of the program:

Eligibility: Graduates with BSc, BTech, MBBS, BPharm, or equivalent degrees with at least 50 percent marks

Entrance through DES PU PCET followed by a personal interaction round

Focus on practical learning, lab sessions, and project-based assessments

Strong emphasis on skills like data analysis, coding, molecular modeling, and systems biology

Access to experienced faculty, updated infrastructure, and research facilities

This program not only builds technical competence but also nurtures curiosity, creativity, and problem-solving skills, which are crucial for scientific careers.

What you’ll study in the course

The MSc Bioinformatics program is typically spread over two years across four semesters. At DES Pune University, the structure includes:

Molecular biology and genomics

Programming languages like Python, Perl, and R

Biostatistics and algorithm design

Database management and bioinformatics tools

Structural bioinformatics and cheminformatics

Systems biology and machine learning applications

Final semester project and research thesis

The balance of classroom learning and lab-based sessions ensures students gain real-world experience and practical exposure.

Core skills you will develop

Students graduating with an MSc in Bioinformatics build a wide range of valuable skills:

Data interpretation and statistical analysis

Software proficiency for biological research

Coding for biological applications

Scientific writing and documentation

Critical thinking and research methodology

Collaborative problem-solving and project execution

These skills are applicable across healthcare, agriculture, environment, and pharma sectors.

Career scope after MSc Bioinformatics

Graduates of MSc Bioinformatics can pursue careers in:

Pharmaceutical and biotech companies

Genomics and clinical research labs

Hospitals and diagnostic centers

Agricultural and environmental research

Academic institutions and teaching roles

Government research agencies

Popular job titles include:

Bioinformatics Scientist

Genomic Data Analyst

Clinical Bioinformatician

Research Associate

Biostatistician

Computational Biologist

With the growing demand for data-driven research in healthcare and life sciences, salaries typically start between ₹4 to ₹6 LPA and can increase with specialization and experience.

Other MSc Bioinformatics colleges in Pune

While DES Pune University stands out for its industry-focused approach and practical learning model, Pune is also home to other institutions offering MSc in Bioinformatics. These include:

Savitribai Phule Pune University (SPPU)

MIT ADT University

Bharati Vidyapeeth University

Dr. D Y Patil Vidyapeeth

Each of these colleges has its own admission criteria, course focus, and infrastructure. Students should compare programs based on curriculum relevance, faculty experience, lab facilities, and placement support.

Why DES Pune University is a top choice

If you are looking for a strong foundation in bioinformatics with a clear focus on career readiness, DES Pune University is an ideal place to begin your journey. The program is designed for students who want to work at the cutting edge of life sciences and technology. With expert mentorship, modern labs, and an environment that encourages inquiry and innovation, DES Pune University ensures that every student is well-prepared for the scientific challenges of tomorrow. Whether your goal is research, industry, or further studies, an MSc in Bioinformatics opens up a world of opportunities, and DES Pune University offers the right platform to start that journey with confidence.