#call centers are just boring and repetitive

[notafantasticcat]

It's usually the most basic, formulaic calls that get used. I've worked at a few call centers, even done QA, and they always want to teach with the bland calls, not the ones that actually challenge the rep. So if your call was like 7ish mins and you forgot what happened immediately then,

You Bet They Used it 👍

[bellaxgiornata]

Letters from the Outside 1:| The First Letter

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.7k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; prison!Jax, bit of sunshine/grumpy dynamic, prison pen pals, fluff, angst, mentions of violence, potential smut, canon-divergence, mentions of Reader having a brother, mainly short pieces about Jax and Reader's letter correspondence

Summary: When Lowen encourages Jax and the other incarcerated Sons to enroll in Stockton Prison's new program, Wire of Hope, in order to increase their odds of parole, Jax thinks it's absolute bullshit. Hoping to get back home sooner, he signs up anyway. But what he doesn't expect is how quickly he begins to look forward to your letters.

a/n: I've had this idea in my head since December before I even started writing for Jax. These are mostly short installments because it's mainly centered around their letters, but there will be moments we get more than that. And there may be more to Reader than what we first see... Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

series tag list: @kmc1989 @callmesev @secretlysamcro

A slight sheen of sweat coated Jax’s brow as his breath came in sharp pants. Loose strands of his shaggy hair fell into his face, a few of the blonde pieces clinging to the dampness along his forehead as he continued the repetitive motion of his push-ups. 

There wasn't much else to do in here. He'd already had breakfast earlier, and time in the yard didn't happen until after lunch. His work assignment in the laundry facility with Opie didn’t start until just before dinner, so for now, all he had were the same three fucking walls and the damn cell doors that overlooked the cell across the hall from him for entertainment. And unfortunately the cell across the hall held some scrawny ass by the name of Moore who jerked off far more frequently than Jax would’ve liked to be forced to overhear. 

As he continued his push-ups, Jax heard the loud buzz through the cell block which meant guards were making their way through. He’d been in here so long now that he’d barely noticed the noise, his attention currently on counting his push-ups and pacing his breathing. He’d been so focused that the sound of someone roughly smacking the metal bars of his cell door startled him, causing his head to whip up as he’d pushed up from the dirty floor.

A guard was standing outside of his cell, someone that Jax quickly recognized as one of the few who often delivered the daily mail. He was standing just past the metal bars with the usual large, black mail cart in front of him. In his hand he was holding a white envelope.

“Teller,” he said, sounding bored. “You’ve got mail.”

The guard didn't even bother waiting for a response, his expression neutral as he chucked the thin envelope through the bars. Jax watched as it flew to the floor and slid across the cement. The letter stopped just beneath his small, pathetic excuse of a bed as the guard continued on, pushing the mail cart down the corridor. 

Jax's attention shifted to the letter, staring down at where it was now half-hidden beneath his bed in confusion, his body still held in a push-up. Since when the fuck did he get mail? If one of the guys not locked up needed to reach him, they found a way to call or pass him a message. Gemma frequently came out to visit him whenever she could, usually bringing Abel with her. She'd laugh at just the absurd fucking idea of sitting down and writing him something. And if their lawyer, Lowen, needed to contact him, she'd just make an appointment.

Sitting back on his heels, Jax ran his forearm across his forehead to wipe away some of the sweat that had accumulated there during his workout. His chest still heaving from the exercise, he continued to suspiciously eye the letter on the floor. 

Who the fuck was that from?

Exhaling roughly, he pushed himself up from the floor and walked over to his bed. With one hand flat against the mattress, Jax bent down and grabbed the envelope from where it was laying. Vaguely he noticed how it had been opened already for prison security to examine it first. With his brows pinched together, he studied the writing on the outside of the envelope, not recognizing the script. 

“The fuck?” he muttered to himself.

Reaching his fingers inside, Jax pulled out a single sheet of slightly off-white paper that was folded neatly into thirds. Sitting down on the edge of his stiff mattress, his breath still coming in hard, he unfolded the paper. One of his brows gradually rose on his forehead as he saw that the page was three-quarters of the way filled with pristine handwriting. As if someone had taken their time writing it. 

“What…?”

Completely confused, Jax focused on the top of the page. Hunched forward on the bed, he rested his elbows on his thighs and began to read the letter.

Hello to whoever is reading this,

Apparently you're the one fortunate enough to be assigned to me for Stockton's Wire for Hope program.

Jax paused and lowered the paper, running a hand across his forehead and brushing away a few loose blonde hairs still clinging to his damp skin. So that's what this was, that goddamn pen pal bullshit Lowen had talked him and the guys into doing. She'd told them it would look good when they applied for parole. Make it seem as if they were trying to rehabilitate and form meaningful connections or some bullshit. 

And apparently this pathetic dumbass was who he'd be stuck writing to for the foreseeable future while he was locked up. 

“Goddammit,” he muttered.

Looking back down at the paper in his hand, he contemplated crumpling it up in his fist and chucking it out into the hall. He didn't have to read it, he could just scribble some bullshit onto paper and have it sent to you. Just participating in the stupid program was enough.

But as he stared at the neat writing on the page, he knew he didn't have anything else to do right now. It wouldn't kill him to just read the few stupid paragraphs you'd written. He was bored as hell anyway.

If you're reading this far, I'm guessing you resisted the urge to tear this into shreds. Because I get it, this whole program probably seems completely fucking stupid, right? And I'm well aware that most of the inmates in the program are probably just doing it solely for the increased chances of parole. Creates a good image and all that. 

An amused huff fell out of Jax as he read. At least you weren't a complete naive dumbass. But you were still dumb enough to be writing inmates in the first place.

And that's fine. But I also imagine you're bored as shit in there. Only so many times you can attempt to make wine in your toilet, right?

That was a joke. But if you're turning into a toilet sommelier over there, maybe you've found yourself a new hobby for when you get out.

That was also a joke.

Despite himself, Jax chuckled at your terrible prison humor. Who the fuck had they paired him up with for this shit?

Honestly, I've never done one of these programs before. And since I'm the one writing first, I don't really know what to start with here. Can you tell? It's really awkward trying to begin a letter to a complete stranger.

I guess maybe I should tell you some things about myself, right? But don't expect anything too personal because I'm not about to give you my home address or anything. You're still some strange, incarcerated man after all.

“So you have some semblance of sanity, at least,” Jax murmured condescendingly to the letter. “Good for you, darlin’.”

I'm not really that interesting, as you’ve probably already gathered yourself. Certainly not the type to land myself serving time in a state prison. I'm more the type to be reading a book (something I imagine you're probably doing a lot of from sheer boredom), cooking and baking, or spending time in my garden. Wholesome shit. Things I bet you're sitting there rolling your eyes at. Because you are, aren’t you?

“Sure seem pretty aware of your audience,” he muttered dryly to the paper.

Anyway, I like to think I'm funny, but I suppose my humor grows on you. Or so my brother has often told me. 

“Think your brother is a bit biased, giggles,” Jax grumbled.

And he often says I talk too much. So I'm trying not to ramble, but somehow you're still reading this. Though I guess…what else are you going to do, right? Your options are sadly limited in there.

But who knows? Maybe this whole stupid pen pal program will end up being more beneficial than you probably first thought. Or at least, maybe it might provide you some brief entertainment while you're stuck serving time. I'm not sure if you're someone who gets visitors, but having someone talk to you like you aren't some caged animal might at least be nice. But what do I know? I've never personally been incarcerated. Though from my knowledge, the guards treat you like less than human, and I can't imagine how that weighs on a person over time.

“Jesus Christ,” Jax muttered to himself. “You tryin’ to be my fucking therapist now, giggles?”

Okay maybe I should just end this here. I feel like I'm just going to start rambling if I don't, and I'm sure you don't want me to bore you.

“Too fucking late for that,” he muttered, still reading.

Feel free to write about whatever you want in response, but I wouldn't mind learning a bit about who I'm writing to. I would actually like the opportunity to get to know whoever you are–that is the point of this, after all. Though I imagine you're going to give me some false name with some false backstory. But you know what? I like stories, so go ahead and make up some interesting bullshit. I'll still happily read it even if you claim to have a peg leg, an eye patch, and a pet parrot.

The letter ended abruptly there with your first name. Jax found himself staring at the paper in his hands for a long moment, wondering what the fuck he'd just read. You sounded so much like…not the kind of person he'd ever find himself having a conversation with. Ever. Outside of this goddamn pen pal program, you and him would never interact. You had nothing in common. Flowers and baking? Who the fuck were you, Martha Stewart? 

He set the letter down next to him on the mattress before running a hand down his face. You sounded too fucking sweet to be writing to shitheads like himself in prison . He already knew he'd offend you with whatever he wrote back. Because it was an absolute joke that he could form some sort of “friendship” with some girl like you through letters. But he knew he had to participate for it to count as him being active in the program. 

“Fucking Lowen,” Jax grumbled to himself. “This shit better get me parole.”

[coldfanbou]

The First One is On The House

Ningning fic once again a challenge given by @i-am-lifeform24

Length 2K

Ningning X Mreader

“Hello? Yes, I can fit her into my schedule. I should have an opening at 7. Later? I guess I could take her in after the show. Alright, I look forward to her visit.” You put the phone back on the receiver and walked back to the table; you were so looking forward to going home early for the evening when you got a call from that customer. You would've preferred taking the appointment for another day, but you wanted to keep your weekend free. You sit back in your office chair and stare at the ceiling before gazing at the clock hanging on the wall. Three hours, that’s how long you’d have to wait for your guest to arrive. 

Getting bored, you pulled out your phone and checked social media, seeing posts from stars from earlier in the day as they walked the red carpet for some fashion event nearby. You see a few of your usual clientele post pictures, liking them before moving on. Eventually, you get tired of that and begin some repetitive tasks, trying to seem busy as you wait for the client to arrive despite them arriving a couple of hours from now. 

Soon enough, you went back to looking at your phone, checking out photos from the event, and seeing the different kinds of people that went. You stopped on a picture of Ningning from the group Aespa when you heard the door open. It was your friend, a manager for various groups. “Sorry for getting here late. She just felt so tired during the show, and we thought it best to call you.”

“Just who is it? That they needed a massage so desperately? I could’ve had a nice evening for myself.”  

Your friend stands aside, letting his gues walk forward. “I’m sorry for making you stay late.” You recognize the woman as she bows her head; it’s Ningning. She was still in the same clothes you had seen in the picture a moment ago, a revealing short black dress that clung to her body.

You wave her off as you refocus. “It’s fine. Just prepare for the massage. I’m going to talk to your manager a bit.” You point the small woman toward a changing room and look back toward your friend. 

You see him heading out the door before you can say anything. “I’m going to get some food. I’ll be back in an hour.” 

“Hey!” The door shuts, and you’re left alone again. You head toward the window and watch him walk toward a nearby restaurant, shaking your head. “I’m gonna talk that guy's head off when he comes back.”

A small voice catches your attention, “I’m ready.” You turn back around to see Ningning covering herself with the towel provided. “Where did my manager go?”

“He went to go eat across the street. Anyway, please follow me.” You lead Ningning into one of the massage rooms and have her lie face down on the table. “I hope the clothing in there wasn’t too tight. I’m going to move the towel down now.” Ningning nods her head.

You move it down slowly, revealing the tan bra that was provided to all female guests who would rather not be naked. It was thick and padded, meant to be comfortable. Your eyes move down her back, noting her flawless skin. You lather your hands in an unscented oil, rubbing it in between your fingers before placing your hands on her lower back. You apply slight pressure on her back, dragging your thumbs away from the center of her body. “Did you have a good time at the fashion show?” 

“It was alright, but the chairs were so uncomfortable. My body started to ache from sitting in them.” 

“I see. Is there anywhere that aches specifically?” 

“I mean, my butt hurts,” Ningning says with a laugh. You just nod along, creating an awkward atmosphere. You kick yourself for not laughing at her joke. Continuing the massage, you move your way up her back, reaching her shoulder. You could feel the tension in them and increase your strength as you began to massage all the knots out. Ningning groans as she feels your hands dig into her shoulders and release the tension in them. “Ooh, that feels so good.” You focus your efforts on Ningning shoulders, and once they relax, you take a step back. 

“I’ll be moving down now.”

“That’s fine,” Ningning moans as she places her head on top of her hands. You move the towel up slightly, keeping her ass covered as you begin to work on her thighs. As you ran your hands across them, you could feel the toned muscles underneath. Working on the one nearest to you, you give her thigh a strong squeeze.

Feeling your hands move across her thighs, Ningning feels her body getting warmer. She used her hands to cover her mouth, struggling to keep her groans from filling the room. Your hands felt good; Ningning could feel a growing wetness between her legs as your finger brushed against the inside of her thigh. Her cheeks begin to turn red as you switch to the other side, starting the process over again. When you accidentally squeeze her thigh a bit too hard, Ningning couldn’t hide her moan—letting the long, smooth sound of her voice fill the room before catching herself. She buries her head in her hands, too embarrassed to look anywhere in the room. You try to ignore it and continue on.

Needing Ningning to turn onto her back, you finally speak up, “Ningning, I finished with your backside; I need you to turn over.”

“O-okay,” She turns herself over slowly, glancing your way. You began to massage her arms, and as you got to her shoulders, you noticed Ningning continually glancing at you.  Nearing her chest, Ningning groaned again. She rubbed her legs together, growing more aroused as your hands glided along her body. Moving down to her legs, you noticed the wet spot between Ningning’s legs, and she knew it too.

You tried to ignore it, but Ningning continued to rub her legs together as you tried to massage her. “I…I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. We’ll just stop here.”

Ningning grabs your hand. “Wait!” She let go briefly before grabbing your hand again. “I-is there any other services you offer?” You understand what she means. Ningning’s voice grew smaller as she went on. “I mean, I see in videos that sometimes masseurs offer special services. Is that an option here?” You were about to reply when Ningning placed your hand on her breast. I can pay you. I-my body just feels really good when you touch it.”

You had to admit that Ningning was a beautiful woman that you’d be lucky to have sex with, and you considered your options. You look at the clock on the wall; half an hour has passed. Knowing your friend, he’d likely be going for seconds right about now and want to take his time getting back. “Alright.” Ningning gives you a soft smile and lets go of your hand. You place it over her slit, the briefs she was wearing keeping your away. Still, it was enough to make her groan. Like the bra provided, the briefs were meant to keep customers more comfortable. Ningning stares at you with lustful eyes as she squirms on the table.  You snake your hand under the briefs and drench your fingers in her nectar as you slide your hands along her slit. Feeling your fingers touch her sends Ningning over the edge; you watch her toes curls and eyes shut as she cums at that moment. “I’m sorry. It’s my first time,” She mumbles.

“I…figured.” You reply as you begin pulling down the briefs. Ningning covered her face, her shyness taking over. You turn her body towards you before dropping your pants. Ningning’s eyes become glued to your growing bulge. “It’s not polite to stare.”

“It just looks so big.” Her comment makes you chuckle. You pull down your underwear, revealing your cock to the young woman. She reaches toward it without uttering a word; you feel her soft hand wrap around the tip. “It’s so warm…”

“So you’ve used toys?”

“...yes,” She says shamefully. 

“It’s natural, Ningning. No need to be ashamed, but let’s see how the real thing compares.” You tell her as you take a step forward and rub the tip of your cock against her slit. Ningning whimpers and stares at your cock as it runs along her cunt. You lean in, kissing her neck softly as you push your head against her cunt. She wraps her arms around you, holding you closely as she begins to fill the room with her moans. You feel her walls squeezing your cock as you push inside of her. 

“Ahh, hold on,” Ningning moans, her hands gripping your shirt. You stop moving, giving her time to adjust. You pepper her with kisses as you wait, softly squeezing her body. “You can move now.”

You push more of your cock into Ningning, watching her expression carefully. You see her shut her eyes and moan as you bury yourself inside her. Her walls are tightly wrapped around your cock, rubbing against the head. You begin thrusting slowly, holding onto her hips to keep her in place. Each thrust brings out more moans from Ningning.

The small woman holds you tightly, wrapping her legs around you as you thrust deeply into her. You could feel Ningning’s walls tighten around your cock, as she neared another climax. “I’m cumming again,” She whimpered. “I’m going to cum.”

You speed up your thrusts, making her cry out from pleasure. You feel her thighs squeeze your sides as she cums. You continue thrusting into Ningning, making her let out a high-pitched whine. Each one was driving her crazy as you overstimulate her. You force your tongue into her mouth as her eyes roll into the back of her head. 

Ningning’s arms lose strength. Falling onto her back, Ningning lets out weak moans. You revel in the feeling of her walls clamping down on your cock. When you feel your orgasm coming, you begin to slow down. You pull out entirely and turn Ningning onto her stomach. You press your cock against her cunt, holding onto her waist with one hand. You ram the length of your cock back inside the petite woman, slipping in with ease. As you drive your cock in and out of Ningning, you watch her ass bounce as it slaps against your body. “You’re so tight, Ningning. I’m getting pretty close to cumming.”

“Cum…” Ningning mumbles as her head bobs with every thrust. You feel yourself getting closer. Your hands dig into Ningning’s flesh. 

“Where do you want it?” You ask as you ram your cock deep into her cunt. Ningning doesn’t respond to the question, only repeating the word cum. You make the quick decision to pull out, knowing it would only cause trouble if she got pregnant. You pull out at the last moment, painting her back as you spurt cum onto her. Ningning feels the warm cum hit her back, groaning as her mind slowly returns to her. 

You check the clock; your friend should be back in a few minutes. You grab a few towels and wipe the cum off Ningning's back. “Your manager is going to be coming back soon. You better get changed.” 

“Manager?” Ningning slowly blinks as she realizes. He’ll be coming back soon. She struggles to stand up, and you’re forced to help her get into the changing room while you clean up. You wait by the entrance for her manager to show up, and soon enough, he appears. 

“I’m back.” He says with a burp. “Where’s Ningning?”

“You really didn’t hold back on eating, did ya? Did you get me anything?”

“Uh, no, sorry.” Ningning steps out of the changing room looking like she did when she first stepped foot inside, the only difference being her slightly frazzled hair. “Oh, there you are.”

“Sorry for the wait. I struggled with the heels.” 

“That’s okay. Let’s get you back to the dorms. Thanks for dealing with her.” Ningning nods her head and follows her manager out the door, picking up a business card before giving you a wink and leaving.

[ladybirdswritings]

Bound - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel O’Hara was never known to be a man wanting. He was beyond content with the power surging through him upon his multiversal throne. That is until he lays his hungry eyes upon you. Now, he will do whatever it takes just for the taste of you… dark!miguel x reader fic. very steamy as always <3

Notes: I couldn’t stop myself from this hades and persephone-esque fic so I hope you enjoy!! SW&P is far lighter if you desire that <3

next chap

one

Morning is a sweet greeting to you, warm and incandescent to shine it’s rays upon soft skin. As it always is. Though you find it to be dreary on days like this, as it is the same as the day prior, and the day prior to that day. As if it is not sparkling gold but shadowing gray.

All the same repetitive waltz for you.

Yet to your unknowing mind, much would change within the quick hour. Change not in the way of little things but rather in the way that would make your toes curl and your eager hands grab your tresses so you might not trip upon them on your dash toward the tallest hills.

You would have run had you known what was to come.

Yet you didn’t; and so? Your morning was quite a bore.

Similar to a zombie are your sunken cheeks and coffee kissed eyes decorated with awful bags. Your toothbrush is made of oak as is your boar-bristled comb. You tend to your prettying before slipping away from the hustle and bustle of a lively home. Four sisters and two brothers you sport, and an overbearing woman you dare to call your mother.

You made routine of this. Sneaking away with the latest print picked up from the small shop next to the apothecary in town. Out the oak wood door and past the burnt toast and meat to cuddle yourself comfortably against your favored weeping willow by the bend.

Your only company is the ducklings these days, though you don’t mind them much. They are mostly quiet beyond the occasional quack.

Serenity became you as you lay there in the remnants of springtime’s shadow, willfully sprouted in peonies and lilac blossoms.

Your print is a work of Austen, an old and worn thing but one you’d found comfort in recently. It would be your fourth time revisiting.

Would… however.

“Oh heavens sakes! You must enjoy making your mother walk upon tousled soil, girl! Have you got half a mind!? I don’t presume so otherwise you’d avoid any possibility of me losing a leg!”

A whine like that of a carnaged cat rings out from behind the bend. In the grassy plains your mother struggles her way toward you. You stand to your feet in swift motion, but your wandering eye finds curiosity in an unfamiliar bloom. Its colors an odd pairing of red and blue unfurled toward the sun.

What an odd thing, you think.

The huffing and puffing snaps your attention center, and you nearly grumble in complaint as you hurry toward your mother.

“Mama I was just—”

“Oh save it. I see you slip out each morning, I know full well your disdain for the company of your own family… but I didn’t come here to admonish you, sweet girl. Quite the opposite in fact. I am here to ask a favor of you. It seems the cold air has made our chickens most unwilling to provide us with eggs. Won’t you go in town and gather some?”

Like the rainfall’s mist caught by breath of wind, your hopes and plans of reading in the bend till dawn have dissipated. Pursing your lips, you nod— not wanting to administer a guaranteed headache at wake of your protest.

In to town you’ll venture.

✧*̥˚ … *̥˚✧

The cobblestone is cracked underneath your boot, as it is dampened by springtime’s departured mist. You like the clicking sound, though it is most lonesome at this ungodly hour.

The house cannot be run well with lack of your aid. Father left long ago and mother is just a dreadful housewife. The doctor blames her dissonance on the ailments within her mind’s confines though— she swears herself always to be whole and well.

Regardless, for the sake of your sisters— you help. Besides this, you owe it to her.

Your basket is made of weaved wicker and adorned with crimson cloth, at the end of the cobble is where life shines proud. A more lively gathering of townsfolk in search of early morning eggs to enjoy with their breakfast.

A single carriage, outdated as the things are, surges forward in an unstable command by a young man. He cannot be past twenty three, and his face is speckled with pale freckles. His hair is a burnt orange rasp.

The stallions are dark as midnight, sweat being huffed like chimney smoke from their nostrils. Dear god, the way he commands them is certain to ensure an accident.

You tuck the thought away in to the back of your mind to be focused upon your task. You’ll need no more than a dozen or perhaps three what with the vacuum cleaner your eldest brother refers to as his mouth.

Babblebrooke, it is where you’ve lived most your orphaned life. Surely some places have technology of picture books and magazines you skim through when you are awarded the rare chance but— you find yourself content with a place so simple.

You cannot imagine a life of loudness, no quiet space to tuck away and read. It’s a frightening thought.

The stand is nearby, only a few more passing steps and you’ll reach it. Your eyes are locked on the fresh berries, but you know full well you won’t have enough for them.

A bark startles you out of your trance, one excited and pointed. You jump at the sound and turn your head to find a cocker spaniel hound circling round and round to chase its own tail. You giggle at the sight, and its chestnut ears raise in alarm at the vibration.

Oh, it’s noticed you.

The little thing hobbles over excitedly, and you cannot help but bend on your knee to brush back its silken locks.

Beyond a canvas collar of pale pink lays a heart, engraved in molten silver the title: “Lyla.”

So she belongs to someone. Such a kind thing, they are to be a lucky companion indeed.

You smooth back the hair from her excited eyes before lifting to your feet again and continuing forward. She begins to follow you, but a movement in the alleyway shadows is a matter she finds far more pressing for her attention.

“Lyla…” you test in a whisper as you make your way behind a man hunched and gray— awaiting his eggs for breakfast.

Time seems agonizing and the line moves awfully slow, you peek behind the elder man to find annoyance laced in the eyes of the townsfolk. Blaire has taken a liking to the farm boy— it seems she’s busying herself with conversing nonsense with his mother rather than picking her fresh fruits for tart pastries.

You sigh, checking the time on your cracked, golden watch with impatience brewing at the soles of your boots. You sway on them, shifting your weight forward and back. No use just staring ahead.

Though it is quite loud, it doesn’t stop you from reaching in to your tote for “Jane Eyre.”

You find your favorite part, their first midnight meeting in the hallway. How romantic it is, you only wish that to be a possibility for you one day. You forbid yourself from joining the season of course but somewhere tucked away inside— you wonder how marvelous it would be for a broody and handsome thing to appear upon your doorstep with a bouquet the size of France.

You grin at the thought. Though it is swiftly interrupted by the quick patter of familiar paws.

“Woah! Easy!”

Your head snaps up at the gasps of those around you, and you are most horrified to see that the horses have reached the steep bend mere steps away. The ginger fool, they halt in warning and he kicks at them— slapping them with a russet pole. They comply, and the carriage loses control.

It creaks, hurling forward and disconnecting from its rusted shell. Tumbling at godspeed down the cobble and straight for little Lyla who lays mindlessly and happily on her back now.

Panic surges, and your eyes find worry in everyone’s features and yet no motive to act alongside it. Such cowardly men, allowing the poor thing to succumb to the bite of freak nature and cruel fate.

You won’t allow it. Though you feel frozen, the sharp and desperate shout of “Lyla!” from a phantom voice is enough to snap you back into the most horrible moment present.

“Christ!” You breathe, tossing Jane Eyre to the sapphire sky before surging forward. The carriage stalls on a pebble for a quick moment and it’s enough time for you to beat it by a mere step. You scoop the silly thing into your arms and as the wheel just grazes your skin— it is you now that is saved from immediate death.

A warm hand tugs at your wrist and you’re certain the brick wall has grown awfully large palms and fingers; for what you slam up against is hard and unpleasant.

You grunt, Lyla yelping in surprise where she is tucked up tightly against your chest.

Whistles and claps overtake the coward crowd and you sway upon your own boots as the wind itself makes you unsteady with its light graze. Firm palms steel you, grasping your shoulders tight to keep you together and well.

Your eyes venture on an upward path to find two crimson pupils imploring your features as if they are etched in stone and stored away in a beloved museum somewhere in Rome.

Brows pinched and quite bushy, eyes cold but curious, his reddened orbs search your face for what feels like a millennium. Fascinated.

Awed.

You blink, and the cry of the sweet creature in your arms breaks the trance you were entangled in. Lyla leaps from your arms and onto the cobble path— and you only huff and reach a weak arm toward her before the exhaustion of a skipped meal and your adrenaline fueled actions bring you to sit on the cobble ground.

He kneels beside you, the stranger. Yet you cannot find yourself mustering enough energy to truly examine his face. Just his eyes, rare things they are.

“She’ll be alright.” He whispers, hands still pleasantly upon your shoulders as if he fears you’ll topple over and shatter once he parts.

When you do lift your gaze however, stricken curious by the sickly silken sound of his voice, he’s gone.

“Thank y-”

The word croaks in your throat, and you can only wonder how it was possible… how quickly the phantom left you upon the cobble. The farm boy rushes over soon, much to the demise of poor Blaire. She stares on at the carriage and ginger man as if she wishes it was her nearly trampled.

He hands you fresh water and berries, and you wave his concern away and the crowd’s curiosity with a weak hand.

Your mind is only glued upon one thing.

The phantom.

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @cybersry

[let-roman-bite-someone]

it's been a while since i made an analysis here but as anyone else in this fandom, i've been speculating on orange. i know that by now, most people are convinced that orange is anger or something related to that.

however, we need to look at the previous patterns in order to figure out who orange might be. “the dark sides” were all facets of c!thomas that he was unwilling to accept or acknowledge. his anxiety, his ability and capacity for deception and probably the most jarring for him, the violent and/or disgusting thoughts that pop into his head without warning.

despite virgil's arc, anxiety was probably the easiest for thomas to accept. virgil didn't even have to introduce himself; thomas already knew he existed and while he was not happy about that, thomas had already accepted by that point that anxiety was a part of him. janus's existence was a harder pill to swallow and remus's was even harder.

so with all this, orange turning out to be anger (or wrath, rage, whatever you want to call it) would be a little underwhelming. while anger is not an emotion that is always encouraged, it's certainly not that hard to accept. especially compared to having repetitive intrusive thoughts about murdering people.

besides, thomas has already acknowledged his own capacity for anger before.

here, he refers to logan and roman having short tempers. they've shown this multiple times in the series too. if logan and roman are prone to anger, then it follows that thomas is also prone to anger and that he is aware of it. and regarding the nonchalant way he addressed it, i doubt he's troubled about his temper at all.

since there were only two short episodes before the introduction of virgil, we don't have enough context as to whether thomas was aware of his anxiety or how accepting he was of it. for janus and remus however, we have several instances of thomas either being in denial or being completely unaware of their existence.

regarding the concept of lying, thomas chose not to lie to people to the best of his ability. regarding intrusive thoughts, while there's no instances of thomas straight-up refusing to feed into them, he was a lot more "clean" before remus came along. he didn't swear as much and when he did, usually censored the swears (probably a conscious decision from thomas & co. but i think it had a canon reason too) and using more technical terms for sexual activities.

anyway, all of this is just a complicated way to get to the point, so i won't bore you any longer. my point is that orange would have to be something bigger, something more terrifying and that thomas would likely be in denial about.

one thing thomas has constantly been shown to fear is losing his friends and loved ones. this has surprisingly been a consistent theme from the early stages of the series.

a lot of the episodes like Making Some Changes, Can Lying Be Good and the SvS duology were centered around thomas's fear of losing his friends. friendship is very important to thomas and different situations in his life often feeds into the fear of being left behind.

now what is a common theme in all the scenes that orange has been hinted at?

the feeling of being ignored or belittled. logan gets mad at roman because roman mocks his attempts at trying to communicate honestly. SvS Redux has thomas feeling irritated and upset that lee and mary lee barely paid attention to him during the wedding. the intrusive thoughts asides video, of course, has both thomas and logan getting angry over being ignored.

so, with all this, i conclude that orange is desperation (n; a state of despair, typically one which results in rash or extreme behaviour). a need for validation, a need for attention and affection. thomas, at this point, is especially disturbed by a lot of things going on in his life. but a recurring theme throughout the show, especially after the introduction of janus and remus, is thomas's fear of driving away his friends. he is overly judgmental of each of his actions, worried that they may lead to him being lonely and left behind.

and again, in WTIT, thomas is also desperate to be noticed by nico. he fears dying alone but at the same time, he struggles to reach out to people. still, he makes the first move by texting nico but the fact that nico doesn't reply makes thomas more and more fearful of ending up alone. he is desperate for love and support, he is desperate for validation; but he needs to focus on himself and fix his own issues, if he wants to maintain a healthy relationship with other people.

like all the other sides, i think that orange is also only trying to help thomas. he's trying to get thomas to come to terms with the fact that nothing is stagnant. most things in life are temporary and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to let go of any worries weighing you down. thomas just needs to face that fact and focus on living in the moment, instead of worrying about what could be. he also needs to have a little trust in himself and know that he's trying his best to be a good person.

and logan is the right person to target for this. because first off, logan himself is suffering from the desperate need for validation, he is visibly struggling to get to thomas. secondly, a sign of deteriorating mental health is when logic becomes clouded due to emotions and this affects a person's basic functioning, such as decision making, problem solving and if gone too far, even everyday activities. the one time logan temporarily left the group, we saw how much of a chaos the others were. i believe orange thinks that this is the only way to make thomas understand how dire the situation is.

so yeah, that's just my take on this whole orange deal. i could be completely wrong but it's still fun analyzing these things.

[cakeinpants]

***

Pat was feeling nervous. Happy and very nervous at the same time. Because today was a very special day.

The dancer hasn't left the Residence for weeks since the fight with Maximus. His room and the classroom where he rehearsed with Jabodo was all the dancer's life consisted of lately.

But today, as a reward for his good behaviour and diligent work, Delvona finally allowed him to visit Master, who's condition improved enough to accept a guest.

The mudokon was sitting in silence on the back seat of an intromobile, watching Nolybab streets pass by through the window. This time, in the company of two slig guards. One was driving, the other was just there for backup. They didn't seem very friendly, but Pat was just happy no one was trying to talk to him (or buy him anything). So, the mudokon could get lost in thought until they reached their destination.

There it was. Care and recovery center for the disabled "The Hope Lss". The building was apparently once painted in colorful stripes in an attempt to soften the bleak corners of it's facade, but the paint has faded a long time ago and now had a sickly pale look.

The inside of the building was pale too. Pale, and filled with sterile smell and silence.

Pat was so worried what condition he was about to see Master in. How bad are things if they're deciding to keep him in this facility and even revoked his rights to own mudokons?

But in the end all that mattered is that he'll see him alive.

Pat obediently followed the Sligs to the reception, were they talked to an infinitely bored looking Intern. When the Intern was finally satisfied with their explanation of who they were what they were doing here, he called a mudokon nurse and muffed something to him. Pat looked at the nurse with interest. Green uniform, his skin almost matching it's colour, not a single feather on his head. There was nothing attractive about his face. Clearly a low breed mudokon, but his blue eyes looked with such kindness.. Such kindness that shouldn't survive here, but somehow did against all odds.

"Follow me, please. I'll take you to Мr. Malgaine." The nurse said politely. His voice was the only thing that felt soft and warm in this place. The trio followed into the repetitive depths of the building's corridors, scattered with doors to hospital rooms and doctor's offices.

"Mr. Malgaine's recovery is going really well. The progress he's making is truly a miracle." The nurse commented on the way. "He practically had to learn to walk and speak all over again.. with the help of our best professionals, of course, but it's his strength that makes all the difference. He's strong. Very strong."

They ended up on the very top floor. It felt more spacious and a little lighter here. This is where only highest class patients stayed. The nurse stopped them at a small lounge area with a couple orange sofas and a TV on the wall.

"Wait here, please." He said. "Mr. Malgaine insists he'll meet you here. He refuses to meet guests while laying on his hospital bed.."

'That sounds a lot like Master..' Pat thought to himself.

His heart trembled with impatience.

***

Next

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[twilightbl]

[BL Twilight Fanfic] <- LINK

┃Chapter 2 / Edward POV┃

II — The New Boy

Edward POV

———

Eternity isn't what the poets imagine.

It isn't made of light or promises. It's repetition.

A routine dressed up as normalcy.

Every day, the same carefully maintained façade. The same rehearsed gestures, the same simulated conversations, the same classes taught by minds so slow they drag like time itself when you've already lived through everything. The illusion of eternal youth, when there is nothing older than an immortal.

We attend high school by choice, though sometimes I struggle to remember why. Carlisle, with his boundless patience, insists on this way of life. On coexistence. On appearances. He believes there's redemption in the attempt. That if we live among humans, if we avoid bloodshed, if we suppress the part of us that howls to be let out, something of who we once were might survive.

I'm not so sure anymore.

But I keep trying. For him. Because I love him. Because he saved me from death, and then from something worse: the void. And because I know what I would have become without his guidance. A monster with no purpose.

This, at least, is a routine. And routines, no matter how tedious, give time a shape. They make it livable.

I pretend to be seventeen. That I care about exams, the weather, music. I walk among ageless teenagers. I sit at lunch without eating. I breathe without needing to. I blink without reason. I listen without wanting to. And when I forget why I keep doing it, I think of Carlisle. Of his faith. Of his borrowed hope.

And I begin again.

Forks was painted in soft, cold watercolors this morning. The sky, a weightless gray, draped over the pines as fog pooled in the gaps between trees. A fine drizzle had started around second period, more a whisper than rain, slicking the asphalt in the parking lot until the tires hissed across it.

The air smelled of wet earth, coppery moss, and diesel smoke, same as always. Inside, everything was warm, vibrant, full of life; the cafeteria smelled of grease and damp jackets. Scents that clung to me freely, though I'd long since learned to ignore them.

I didn't feel the warmth, but I could smell it.

I sat beside Alice, motionless. As I did every morning. Both of us silent, marble statues with untouched trays, our food already going cold. Pretending not to notice the glances cast our way, fewer than before, but we never ceased to be the center of attention.

I was used to the way they looked at us. Like weirds, off, no social. Beautiful in a way that unsettled. Untouchable. And that was the point.

The cafeteria was a beehive of human voices. Disordered thoughts invaded from every corner, who liked who, which teacher sucked, what song was playing in their earbuds. A mental cacophony. An unbearable symphony. The tables were filled with packs: the jocks, the popular girls, the loners, the bored.

Thoughts flitted through different subjects, but one kept repeating this morning: the latest addition to the student body.

A new boy named Blake Hammer.

So not just the Swan girl, then, I thought.

More minds opened around me like paper lanterns, flickering with impressions. Curious girls, dismissive boys. Some startled thoughts, the screeching voice of Jessica Stanley, loud even in her own head: "He's kinda cute."

But I didn't focus on their thoughts. Not at first. I was more focused on sinking into the misery of monotony, or so I wanted to believe. But through the adolescent minds I caught glimpses of the new boy, overshadowed by last week's arrival: Isabella Swan, Bella, she corrected every time someone called her Isabella. The daughter of the Chief of Police, Charlie Swan.

She was still the main subject in every male mind in the building, and it was unpleasant, to say the least. How all the boys orbited her like she was some kind of prize to be won, just for being pretty.

I sighed, not out of necessity, but out of fatigue, as I pushed aside yet another mental image from Oliver Baker fantasizing about kissing Isabella Swan. He wasn't the first, and sadly, he wouldn't be the last to stain my mind with such disrespectful, unpleasant visions.

Alice caught my subtle sigh and turned her thoughts toward me. «Something wrong?» she asked curiously, twirling an apple in her hands. Her gift wasn't showing her anything entertaining this morning, everything was calm, so even the smallest bit of gossip or tension intrigued her.

To appease her boredom, I shrugged.

"New student," I said without interest, moving my lips too fast for human eyes to catch. My gaze fixed on some distant corner of the cafeteria, already used to choosing a blank spot to rest my mind.

Still, in my peripheral vision, I saw Alice's eyes sweep the room, and she hummed, her brows furrowing ever so slightly.

«I didn't see a new student in my visions», she thought, puzzled. I could feel her interest perk up like someone had just placed a gossip magazine in front of her.

I tried not to sigh again.

"Your visions aren't always accurate," I muttered, though I didn't block her thoughts. I watched through her perspective as her curious eyes scanned every face in the cafeteria, only to feel her disappointment when she realized the boy wasn't there.

And I already knew why, Mike Newton and Jessica Stanley's conversation provided the answer. The boy had ended up in the nurse's office after being hit in the face with a ball during gym class.

Newton looked far too proud of being the one who'd thrown it, and his friends weren't holding back their laughter either.

Alice's frown deepened, her body tensing. «Blood, and I didn't even get a glimpse of it. If he had bled near us...» she whispered in her mind, blaming herself. I could hear her teeth clench. «If Jasper had been there...»

"But he wasn't. And neither were we," I tried to reassure her, though that wasn't my strong suit. Calming or comforting wasn't something I did well. But I tried, with my family, at least.

My words clearly didn't ease her.

And they didn't comfort me either, because in a way, her concern was valid. A human bleeding that close, in the same building, the same room, was a huge temptation, especially now, when our throats burned with hunger. Our last hunt had been a week ago, and while Alice and I had the most control after Carlisle, animal blood never truly dulled the burn enough to lull the beast.

«Emmett had gym today. Where's Emmett?» she asked with alarm, making my shoulders tense. I immediately reached out for the volatile mind of Emmett somewhere in the school, trying to locate him.

He was in the gym, focused, oddly enough, on not exploding the basketball as he played.

"In the court, playing basketball," I answered as I stood, my movements practiced and graceful, ignoring the eyes that turned toward me. "I'll go check on him."

Alice nodded carefully, relaxing just a little. «Keep me posted», she sent my way like a mission order.

I nodded wearily.

As soon as I left the cafeteria, I tried to keep my pace slow, human, but there was urgency in my stride. I needed to reach Emmett. Because something was spinning in his mind, something I couldn't catch clearly.

I didn't want to call it urgency, but it was something close. A flicker of... unease.

The halls were nearly empty, just a few students milling about who wanted privacy or were headed elsewhere, so it didn't surprise me to see someone ahead at their locker. I didn't pay much attention, until he closed it and I saw his face.

Blake.

His name rang in my mind like someone had whispered it in my ear, someone who sounded far too much like me.

Blake Hammer.

That was his name, from what I'd picked up in passing thoughts. But this morning I hadn't paid much attention, hadn't looked closely enough to notice that the new boy's face was familiar.

Now that I saw him up close, not from hundreds of feet away, I knew.

This was the boy I'd seen in the woods last week. I was sure of it. An immortal memory forgets nothing.

Back then, I'd been tense, dealing with Jasper's instability and the pressure of Alice's frantic mind, I hadn't had space to focus on the boy. But here he was, right in front of me.

His eyes turned toward me as he noticed my presence, and I could swear he had the reaction of a rabbit sensing a predator nearby. His eyes locked on mine, his shoulders tightened, shrinking in on himself, his hands clutching the edges of his open backpack as he finished slipping in a book, and finally, to top it off, his breath caught.

I waited for his thoughts. Something exaggerated or dramatic.

And heard nothing.

Just silence. Unusual. Maybe he was too dazed from the hit.

Something prickled at my fingertips and I looked closer, studying his expression. Then my eyes dropped to the collar of his hoodie, and I saw it. A dark spot on the fabric. A drop of blood. Just one, but still my body locked up, and I quickened my pace, cutting off my breath and looking away. I'd noticed too late, but luckily, I'd had enough time to stop breathing, unnecessary to live, but necessary to pass as human, before the scent hit me and pushed me toward his throat.

It was dramatic to imagine that, lunging at his throat. My control had improved with every year. But still, the image disgusted me.

I didn't let myself look at him fully, but from one glance, it was clear, he was too small. Fragile. His body shrank just by seeing me, likely feeling the wrongness of my presence, the predator's presence. It was normal. Humans didn't understand it, but their bodies did.

They could sense something dangerous nearby. Their brains warned them something was wrong, something cold and bloodthirsty was close. But our ethereal appearance, beautiful, impossibly carved, fooled them. Not enough to make them trust us, but enough to keep them from running on sight.

"Hammer," a voice called down the hall. My eyes shifted. Angela Weber was walking toward the new boy with tissues in hand. "Sorry it took me so long. Is your nose better?" she asked gently.

He mumbled a "thanks" so low it was barely audible. Then his eyes flicked back to me, and I turned, finally rounding the corner that led to the gym.

But his gaze clung to me a moment longer, until I pushed it from my mind.

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

Hi, sorry for suddenly sending another ask after a long ask. It's the anon complaining about her music and I just wanted to say. I realized after I send the ask that I was kinda going soft because I was in a "need to hold back or swifties will kill me" mode. And you know what? I don't need to hold back.

Taylor Swift is literally the female equivalent of the "white man with guitar" that people have shit on like Ed Sheeran or Shawn Mendes. But somehow she gets to praised as the greatest songwriter of our generation despite mediocrity and inconsistent lyricism. She's not a vocalist, she's not a performer, her songwriting isn't anything interesting. She's literally only popular because she's so "inoffensive" to the demographic of white cishet people. I also fucking hate how she weaponizes her white woman tears to stay on top. Even worse is her jumping on trends to look appealing without meaning it. Literally this woman only started supporting gay rights and feminism because it was safer now to talk about it than not.

I don't think she's even an interesting artist. I see swifties say her lore makes her music interesting but it's just literal celeb drama. Who fucking cares? There are artists who are singing about more fascinating issues and have messages to say to the world but somehow she gets all the praise for profound lyricism. Folklore/evermore are two albums I never got the "it's so different" praise for because they're. still. love songs. She just can't write about something that's not her and that's why her song topics are so redundant and repetitive every album.

You can see that with her so-called political songs! This woman keeps centering herself on issues it's ridiculous. She also has such shallow takes on it, it almost feels like parody. I remember not getting why so many fellow queer people loved YNTCD so much because it was so fake to me.

Taylor Swift isn't an interesting artist. She's not that diverse in her discography. She talks about the same topics, reuses the same metaphors, and her genre range is not as experimental as swifties make it sound to be. She isn't influencing new genres and sounds, she's following trends. How can she be the generational songwriter when she can't even write about the current issues in her generation? She's so. damn. boring.

It's fine if people just accepted she made pop songs for the radio to be catchy or whatever. But why do I have to sit here and pretend her discography is some musical masterpiece? Why do I have to sit here with swifties telling me I'm so dumb because I didn't understand super simple metaphors??? I'm not a native english speaker and I get what she means, it's not rocket science.

God, I just. Hate her music and the way swifties talk about it. They're so damn obnoxious. Just go listen to other artists, and maybe broaden your scopes before spouting some bullshit.

(2/2)

[theamityelf]

We’ve got enough Kamukuras to fill up a bucket or something at this point, lol. Regarding that, what’s your thoughts on a Kamukurafied Komaeda? I’ve seen peoples takes on him before but I’m just curious on what yours would be

Oh, I love this. More Kamukuras than we know what to do with. I've definitely seen some sketches of a Nagizuru concept, and those were awesome, but let me think, lol.

I feel like his luck has to do something during the surgery itself. Like, I think we almost can't have a character with Nagito's luck and say his luck was being chill during something as pivotal and time-consuming as the Kamukura Project. So I'm thinking the scientists made a small but crucial mistake on him that is both good luck and bad luck depending on how you look at it.

I'm going to say, instead of just removing his emotions and autonomous motivation, the scientists manage to accidentally give him super overactive reward centers. The rest of the project was a success. His emotions are still gone in most ways, but now, unlike most Kamukuras, he gets powerful hits of dopamine for completing tasks. He considers himself lucky, since he's enjoying himself more than the other Kamukuras, but the result also means that he becomes severely pleasure-seeking.

The only thing he can feel is reward. This means he is addicted to practicing his talents, but it also means he will go out of his way to use as many of his talents as he can.

The scientists initially write this off as a positive; feeling highly rewarded for a job well done means he's more engaged in what they ask of him than any of his predecessors. Sure, they're a little worried when he starts disassembling and reassembling things over and over, worried that becoming addicted to small, meaningless busy work will start to take priority over the actual things they want him to do. But he's still a Kamukura, and he still eventually gets bored of repetition, so it's fine.

They should be more worried about the disassembling part. The fact that he feels just as rewarded by tasks he himself creates, just as rewarded by work he himself makes necessary, just as happy to fix what he himself breaks, should worry them more.

They should be really worried about how easily he gets bored.

But this trial of the Kamukura Project (and if we're including every other AU in this, then I guess he's Iteration 4, after Mahiru's Iteration 3, lol. Byakuya I still see as more of a joint endeavor between the Togami Corporation and Hope's Peak, not nominally a part of the Hope Cultivation Plan, but rather a "separate" project, maybe called the Heir Enhancement Plan. He's still called Byakuya Togami. Then again, it would make sense for Nagito to have been before Makoto, since I could see Hope's Peak using a luckster and a reserve course student one year, then the next year's luckster as well. Maybe Mahiru got thrown in because she caught them dragging off Sato, idk. So, Iteration 1 is Hajime's Izuru Kamukura. Iteration 2 is Nagito. Iteration 3 is Makoto. Iteration 4 is Sato, but for right now I'm saying there was some complication and she died while they were working on her. And Iteration 5 is Mahiru.)

But this trial of the Kamukura Project is really pleasant to be around. When the scientists question him, he's very eager to answer the questions. After all, positive social interactions are highly rewarding for him.

He's extremely physically affectionate with the other Kamukuras, though Makoto is the only one who always tolerates it, so Makoto is the one he goes the farthest with, especially when Izuru isn't around to stop him. (Byakuya will also intervene, but not as regularly. And Mahiru sees it as respecting Makoto's autonomy to let him decide who's allowed to touch him.) He'll just be cuddling Makoto and nuzzling into his hair, and Makoto is just blinking and stoic. Bonus points if Makoto says something like, "I like it," one time when they do this, and it's the first thing he's ever said he liked. His first opinion ever, as Iteration 3, is that cuddling is nice.

(Izuru will be jealous of this. And Nagito would feel extremely rewarded by the accomplishment.)

Nagito Kamukura does not have compassion or all that much regard for the consequences of his actions. Because of his new analyst talents, he's able to plan ahead which courses of action will be the most rewarding for him, which means his pleasure-seeking isn't short-sighted, but if a course of action contains 5 guaranteed instances of pleasure and 10 possible negative repercussions, it is probably full steam ahead on that plan unless he can think of one with more guaranteed instances of pleasure. The only consequences that matter are ones that limit his ability to keep doing things.

In the at-this-point-inevitable event that there's some mass breakout of the Kamukuras, I could see Nagito staying behind to tend to the few scientists who didn't immediately die by Byakuya's or Mahiru's hand. Once he finishes bandaging them up so they're on the mend, he'll break an arm here, a leg there, so he has more stuff to heal.

[inwintersolitude]

- May 28th 2025 -

Do you have a pool? No.

How many times have you been on a plane? Around 1,000 times, roughly. Back when I was a pilot, I flew 4-5 days a week.

Favorite icecream flavor? Either strawberry or cookies-and-cream.

The key to happiness is? I don't think it's only one thing, and it probably varies from person to person. For me, the keys to my happiness are self-acceptance, having good/loving relationships with my husband and my family, and practicing gratitude and mindfulness.

Favorite movie actress/actor? I don't really have any favorites.

Last time you ordered fast food? I ate at Swenson's a few weeks ago. Normally I get a burger, but they had a limited-time hot chicken sandwich made with some locally-made small-batch hot sauce brand, so I tried that. It was pretty good.

First CD you ever purchased? I actually don't think I've ever bought a CD. Well not a music CD, at least. Just software CDs (back when that was still how you bought software haha). I was a very early adopter of iTunes, I started using it in 2002-ish when I was around 12.

Favorite book you read? The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark, by Carl Sagan. That man was brilliant and did so much for science education. I wish that book was required reading in high schools.

Do you own anything from Tiffany&Co.? Nope, not my style.

Do you have a TikTok? No.

Closest red object you see: A gift card to one of the cafes in town.

Last time you went to the zoo, year: I went to one two weekends ago. They were having a Renaissance Faire there.

I made an extra grilled cheese, want it? I would LOVE a grilled cheese right now.

Do you enjoy driving? Sure, I don't mind it.

First initial of your middle name; M.

How many TVs do you have in your home? Three.

Do you play The Sims 4? No.

Have you ever made your own bath bombs? Nope.

Your favorite store as a teen? Souvenir shops lol. I also liked tech-y stores like Brookstone and Micro Center (and I still do).

Favorite memory of 2020? Having a year-long stay-cation because of covid. My husband was on paid leave from work from March 2020 til June 2021, so we spent most of 2020 just chilling at home together. We binge-watched a bunch of good shows and movies, we'd go on walks around the neighborhood, go on short hikes, play with our birds, play video games together, cook together. Yeah sure it was a little boring and repetitive because neither of us had anywhere to be, but it was also so relaxing.

Happy 21st Birthday, what was (or will be) your first legal drink purchase? My first legal drink purchase was actually a few days before my 21st. My husband and I were on a cruise and we stopped in Belize where the drinking age is 18 and I remember getting a cocktail called a Miami Vice. But then for my 21st birthday, we had dinner at the French restaurant on the cruise ship and I had a glass of wine.

Do you wear socks to bed? No, I hate the feeling of wearing socks without shoes. Too tight/restrictive. My feet tend to get cold while sleeping, so instead of wearing socks, I buy men's extra long sleep pants and just tuck my feet up into the pant legs.

Who do you know who enjoys sushi? I enjoy sushi more than anyone else I know lol. But I know my sister-in-law likes it, too.

You get 2 pizza toppings, what are they? Zucchini and mushrooms.

Ever dipped your pizza in ranch? Rarely, and only with certain kinds of pizza. I would never dream of dipping a nice margherita or wood-fired pizza in ranch. But if it's a shit-quality Cleveland-style pizza, then yeah, it needs something to improve it.

Ever dye your hair blonde? Nope. I had naturally blonde hair when I was a kid, though.

Do you know anyone famous? Not really anymore, but I knew Emma Stone when we were kids. Our moms have been best friends since they were in 7th grade together.

Favorite YouTuber? MaxVelocity Weather, Simone Giertz, Sabine Hossenfelder, Molly Burke, Bright Sun Travels, Chani Japan, Curt Jaimungal Theories of Everything, Finlandia Diaries, Peter Santenello, Technology Connections. And yes, I looked through my subscriptions list for this question lol.

You can only listen to one genre of music for the rest of your life, you choose: Classical.

Name a Pokémon: Geodude.

[beevean]

Nuke Sage. She brings nothing to the table lol

So far, she really hasn't.

I know that many people love her. Some love her arc, how she develops emotions and the need for a familial bond. Others love how efficient she allegedly is, how utterly loyal to Eggman she is even after she grows a heart. I know this, but there is nothing about her that appeals to me. She's bland, quirkless (she supposedly told Eggman one joke, offscreen), repetitive in her dialogue, the discount copy of Rei Ayanami and more blatant about it than the Death Egg, and her sacrifice for the sake of her "father" was literally nullified twice over.

Oh, you enjoy her because she develops emotions? Gamma is literally right there. And his sacrifice stuck. And I got to play as him and experience his change of heart. Frontiers' story is just a half-baked SA1, and that game already needed more time in the oven. no you cannot @ me.

And we talked multiple times how she's actually not as impressive as the game makes her out to be, and by all means, Eggman should have lost his patience the moment she kept insisting that he needed to team up with Sonic, like he did when Infinite disappointed him one too many times. mfw in the Japanese script, Eggman ends up saving himself from Cyberspace because Sage is that incompetent lmao

And the writing itself flipsflops between "Eggman is only proud of her because she's so impressive that it shows how great he is" (mostly in the missable memos) and "Eggman genuinely cares about his daughter and cries when she has to die and call her his daughter and adorable and holds her hand in the DLC and genuinely ponders whether she likes being called 'she'." It's... forgive me for the joke... wildly inconsistent :P

^ the thing is not that he assigned a gender to a creation of his, because he calls most of his robots "he", it's nothing new. The thing is that he actually stops in his tracks and questions if Sage would prefer "she" over "it". It's that he cares about her opinion, when by all means he shouldn't give a single shit about an AI's preference.

Then you add how fans, already juiced up over years of discourse on Mr. Tinker, took this undecisive writing and decided that this is proof that Eggman was Not So Bad After All, that he has a good heart deep down, that this sudden love for his "daughter" is what finally makes him human and tridimensional! They Fixed The Bad Character! Now yes I shouldn't base my opinions on the fandom, but as I said, if Flynn's intentions were to paint Eggman as a self-centered creator, he did a very poor job, because there is a reason the voice director ordered Pollock to sound like he was in tears when he said lines like "I understand. Go, fulfill your function".

And the kicker? Sage hasn't made a meaningful appearance yet. She cameo'd in MOSTH, looking sad and red/black instead of blue/white, and she's nowhere to be seen in Eggman's dreams in Dream Team, which lowkey implies that he actually doesn't love her as much as it seemed like in Frontiers.

but in the Takeover that everyone will take as gospel, Eggman says that she is the reason he keeps existing. Who wrote that. How can you put those words in that order in Eggman's mouth. And fans not only gush about how cute this is, but roll their eyes that Sonic is bored at this wildly OOC display of affection.

Sure, as a character she barely existed for one year, there's plenty of time for her to come back and finalize Eggman's direction. But yeah... so far she hasn't done anything to ingratiate me.

[roxy-morinaka]

Dickbabs has always been one of those ships were there is a lot of telling. There is this panel that is telling you just how much sexual tension they have but the two characters are literally looking away.

You are told they are soulmates. You are told they are star-crossed lovers. You are told they are best friends. A lot of it feels like because they were Batgirl and Robin they just naturally would fall in love.

As an audience we know these characters and we know why we like them. After all these years why do they like each other? And not just some meta explanation of their relationship or what we as an audience know about them.

I understand that seeing a disabled character in love is amazing, but it feels it that is the only reason why some people think you should like them. Barbara's disability becomes a shield for the relationship. And Barbara deserves better than that. Let's not forget the time Dick was ableist towards her and told her he would take out the elevator and left Barbara crying. Oh wait I forgot, Dick Grayson can do no wrong so it's ooc. It's not like in his last relationship he called Koriand'r a savage or anything.

For me comics are a visual medium as well as written, if they cannot show me that chemistry is there then I do not see it.

I have also just read comics for a long time and seen the boring and/or toxic repetitions of this relationship which is why I liken it to Scott/Jean.

For treatment of partners, Barbara has been shit to Dick over the years and he has been shit to her. Same with Dick and Koriand'r which is another relationship that needs to stop coming back again and again. Comics writers rarely care about longterm repercussions and writers used to be out of the door before it mattered.

It all just feels forced...look at the Grayson run people he had chemistry with left, right and center but because they wanted to round off the title suddenly he is actually still in love with Barbara. Lazy even though that relationship in the new 52 was barely established.

[izzy-b-hands]

A one shot that was meant to be flash fiction (I tried, not very well, lmao) for Ferguson Friday! The end is also a mini sneak peek into the beginning of the Denise/Ferguson fic I've been working on the last few weeks (and hope to have done sooner rather than later!)

A snapshot of Ferguson prior to the meetup in the aforementioned longer fic, giving a look into what he's like outside of work/what worries him/how he lives. Also my chance to give him the backstory the original show wasn't able to lol, including a focus on his relationship with his aging mum and deceased father.

TW for mentions of coping via less than ideal habits with cigarettes and alcohol

There’s a particular creak of the floorboard at the center of his entryway.

He always manages to press directly on it; the toe of his slightly scuffed black dress shoes pressing down into the dip of the board. A sign of rot? Just a quirk of the flooring, older than him by more than a stretch?

He settles his woolen coat, then his suit coat, onto the coat rack in the corner of the entryway. A gif from his mum, when he’d first moved in. It’s been ages since she’s been out to visit, but with her emphysema, she doesn’t get out much at all anymore. Per the doctors, it’s safer for her, and he can always come to visit her.

But the work takes over his schedule, and she tells him to put himself first. She won’t be around forever, but she’s ‘not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.’ He doesn’t know that she’ll get as much choice in that as she wishes, and he misses the sight of her coat on the rack. Vintage fur in the winter, a tan lighter wool one for the spring and summer. Fall, she doesn’t leave the house, when the memory of his father’s death presses upon her.

His father wasn’t particularly impactful. Not much good, but did minimal harm, overall. Left the three of them with an addiction to cigarettes from the stress of getting on together, and a predilection for alcohol at the worst of times.

“What would he say about all of this?” Trevor asks aloud as he pours himself a dram of whiskey. “He didn’t teach you to act like that.”

He didn’t refute it either. That’s not an excuse, barely an explanation, and he desperately wants to call Denise.

It wouldn’t be appropriate, and why on earth would she want to hear from him now anyway? After the years of shouting at her, admittedly for things that were going to get her in trouble, might have even ruined her career-

He pulls off his tie and tosses it over the arm of the armchair before he drops into it with an exhausted sigh. His work now isn’t tiring because of the effort, but because of how fucking boring it gets. How repetitive. Everyone wants the accolades for doing something good or useful, but no one wants to actually do it, and it feels useless advising people that make more money than him about it.

The drink is good, and after he has a new cigarette lit (from the good pack, the better brand that he hides down the side pocket of the chair, only for his worst days), he can almost pretend he’s relaxing.

The phone is on the small end table near his chair. He’s kept it old school, with a corded phone that stretches nearly all over his flat so he can keep moving as he talks to people.

Not that anyone other than his mum and boss ever call, but. The option is nice to have.

He pulls the table closer now, so he can dial. But his fingers don’t move as they linger in the air over the buttons of the dial pad.

“She’ll tell me to fuck off, and she’d be right to do so,” Trevor mutters.

But he’s heard rumours. Just little things, but with massive implications for Denise if true.

And in his heart, he knows they likely are. She wanted the man caught, and she didn’t care how. He can’t blame her, but there’s next to nothing he can do to protect her.

He tosses back the rest of his drink, and dials his mum’s number instead.

“Hello?”

A voice, not unfamiliar, but not overly familiar either. The new nurse he’s hired to keep an eye on her in the afternoons and evenings. He’d forgotten she’d be in already. “Trevor?”

“Yeah, hi,” he stammers. “Is Mum in?”

“She is, but she’s gone down early tonight. She did ask that I wake her if you would call, do you want me-”

“No, don’t wake her,” he rushes through the words, regretting having called at all. She gets so tired, of course she’s not awake this late into the evening. “Thank you for answering, and for keeping watch on her. Is she doing alright? Do you need anything? I can pop down and bring anything you-”

“The pantry is still full of the snacks and things you bought last time you visited,” she cuts him off gently. “I’ll let you know when we start running out. She did okay today. We managed a walk down the lane which she really liked. Wished for a camera, so she could show you the birds we saw.”

He makes a mental note to find her a camera, something not antique, but that she won’t struggle to use either. “Thank you. I’m glad to hear, and I appreciate everything you’re doing for her. I know she can be-”

“She’s no worse than anyone else on my schedule,” the nurse laughs, and he’s in a panic trying to recall her name. Close to Denise’s, so he’d kept getting them confused-

“Trevor, maybe you should get to bed as well, hm?” Dena. That’s it. Dena, specified on her resume that it’s spelled with an ‘e’, not an ‘i’. “I’ll let her know you called in the morning, and she might reach out then after I go. You two can chat over breakfast.”

He’ll be out for the day, but she has his office number too. One of the few who does, along with Denise. “Sounds good. Thank you, Dena.”

She hangs up with a gentle chuckle, and there’s a flutter in his stomach again.

He could try. He could call her and apologise for all of it. Let her know that it’s not an excuse, barely an explanation, but he’ll do what he can to make up for it. Even if he can’t do much for her current troubles, if there’s anything at all-

His phone rings, and he nearly drops the receiver as he picks it up. “Hello?”

“Can you come over?”

Denise. Sounding like she’s on the edge of tears.

“Sorry?”

“Can you just come over?”

He panics, nearly dropping his cigarette as he sets it into the ashtray on the table. He’s got a bit of an envelope and a pen that works if it’s held at a very exact angle, and even if he can’t get the address of wherever Denise is down perfectly, he’ll wander until he finds her.

He interrupts her own panicking flurry of words. “Where are you?”

[gamedesign120]

Racer Development Post

Throughout the development process of RacecaR, i have run into quite a few issues, firstly, i am having some issues with keeping the road centered as if i resize the window it moves the position of my car and the road. This can be resolved by forcing my game into a certain aspect ratio, or scaling my car and road together perfectly so the responsive window doesn't lead to any issues in the gameplay.

The second issue i have bumped into is the spawning traffic section in the workshop, I think that i might try a different way of spawning traffic at set spaces at different intervals to see if I can get the traffic working as it is a core part of the gameplay.

The third issue is that I am yet to develop the boost mechanic that grants invincibility. I think i can do that by assigning a key as the boost and making the movement 200% faster for 1.5 seconds with invincibility frames so it shouldn't be too difficult. But otherwise development has been smooth and everything works as intended.

Something I learned was that using timers in GDevelop is much harder to get working than one would think.

As I mentioned in my elevator pitch, I was heavily inspired by Initial D and the JDM scene. Here is an image of a Trueno Sprinter for reference.

Sourced from tygerstrypes, August 15, 2018: https://itrolls.wordpress.com/2018/08/15/initial-d-fujiwara-tofu-shop-ae-86-toyota-sprinter-trueno-gt-apex/

A concept I read from Tracy Fullerton called stagnation worried me about my game. Basically when nothing new happens for a while it drastically reduces the fun level that the players experience. So I have to be careful when making my game as it could become repetitive then boring for the players. Just something to consider.

[dichvutieccuoihcm-com]

A Student Love Story and the Startup Journey with Dịch Vụ Tiệc Cưới HCM

Starting from Zero: The Life Story of a Wedding Service Entrepreneur

Repeating a Year and the Journey Toward Independence I was once a student at the Posts and Telecommunications Institute of Technology. Due to my lack of responsibility in studying, I had to repeat a year to retake failed courses. For many, that might have been a major setback — but for me, it was the turning point of my life. During my final year, I didn’t rely on my family for support. I woke up every day at 3–4 a.m. to go to Bình Điền wholesale market to get fruit and then brought it back to sell at Lê Thành apartment complex. I carried all the burdens alone — rent, tuition, living expenses, even saving up for a computer and phone for my studies. After one year, I not only survived but managed to save over 40 million VND — which, for a student from the provinces like me, was a miracle.

A 7-Year Love and the Things Left Unfinished Amidst the hustle, I had a relationship that lasted 7 years — from my freshman year until I had a stable job. We went through end-of-month instant noodles, Saigon rains, and dreamy talks in parks about our future. I believed wholeheartedly that if we worked hard together, we’d have a happy ending. But life isn’t that simple. When I started working at TMA, the pressures of the job and personal goals gradually pulled me out of our shared path. She needed someone stable, while I was still struggling to find myself. We parted ways gently, with no blame — but it left a huge gap inside. Even now, I’m still grateful for that relationship — because it taught me how to love, to share, and to understand that emotions alone aren’t enough to sustain something long-term.

Work, Bitcoin, and the Lessons About Money After graduating, I worked at HTC Telecom, under Hanoi Telecom Corporation. My job was as a network operations engineer, working in a control center in District 1, Ho Chi Minh City. During that time, I frequently traveled to southern provinces like Vung Tau, Nha Trang, Da Lat, Dong Nai, Moc Bai, An Giang, Can Tho... to implement enterprise network solutions like L2VPN, L3VPN, and leased lines — helping connect headquarters and branch offices of large companies. I learned a lot during this period — about discipline, workflow, and real-world network infrastructure. However, after about 1.5 years, I switched to TMA Solutions as a software tester. My starting salary was 15 million VND/month — a dream income for many fresh graduates. Three years at TMA exposed me to international software development processes, professional teamwork, and cultivated a meticulous work ethic. But the repetitive nature of the job eventually bored me. I no longer felt passion writing bug reports day in and day out. Throughout my time at TMA, I kept pondering: “How can money do more than just sit in a bank account?” I began exploring investments and got intrigued by the "get-rich" stories surrounding Bitcoin. I decided to invest. Over four years, I poured more than 300 million VND into crypto:

100 million from savings during my fruit-selling days and my time at HTC.

100 million borrowed from banks via unsecured personal loans.

100 million from monthly savings while working. I didn’t dive in recklessly. I invested consistently and gradually — believing that patience would eventually pay off. I dreamed of tripling or quintupling my account and using the capital to start something of my own. But reality proved different. When the crypto market crashed, the coins I held plummeted. I wasn’t quick enough to sell off, nor brave enough to cut my losses early. Eventually, I lost almost everything. The only lucky part? I had just finished repaying my loan when I left TMA. I borrowed 100 million, but after three years, I paid back 146 million — a wake-up call. I don’t regret it. That experience was a painful but essential lesson. Investing requires not just faith and emotion, but knowledge, risk management, and self-control. This mistake taught me how to evaluate opportunities more rationally and not let emotions dictate my financial decisions.

Jobless – Newly Married – and Lost I left TMA around the same time I got married. But financially, I was at rock bottom. Losing the 15 million VND monthly income left me feeling lost and anxious. The only silver lining was that I had just finished paying off my debt. Instead of waiting for opportunities, I returned to things I once tried: selling websites, doing sales, and offering online business consultation. I relearned everything — from UI design and sales copywriting to personal branding. Clients started coming in. I signed small contracts. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep me going.

A New Dream – and the Birth of Dịch Vụ Tiệc Cưới HCM After over a year in sales, I started dreaming of something of my own — something simple, meaningful, and sustainable. I realized that demand for wedding decoration services in Ho Chi Minh City was huge — but few providers were thorough and dedicated. So, I started Dịch Vụ Tiệc Cưới HCM. At first, I did everything myself: planning, transporting items, setting up, cleaning up. No showroom, no staff — just faith that doing a good job would bring customers back. And I was right. From those first few orders, I gained loyal clients and referrals. I started hiring helpers, investing in more equipment, building a website, and doing SEO. Before long, I had a stable income, with peak months hitting over 200 million VND in revenue — far surpassing what I earned as an employee.

Conclusion: The Journey Continues I’m not someone successful — just someone who dares to stand up after every fall. From a student selling fruit, failing at investing, struggling after losing my job — to building the Dịch Vụ Tiệc Cưới HCM brand, I’ve learned one thing: "As long as you don’t give up, every journey will find its way."

DỊCH VỤ TIỆC CƯỚI HCM — https://dichvutieccuoihcm.com Thanks for listening to my story. If you found it inspiring, please leave a like — it’ll motivate me to share more!