#simple webpage

[hippydippydruid]

Scary Marlowe my beloved <3 every day I miss her

Alt version under the cut (click for better quality)

If you scroll far enough down I’ve posted this before but traditionally not digital art so I’m being NEW and CREATIVE guys

[blasphemlm]

Okay so I changed all my CWs to drop down lists in the author notes, and it was a lot easier than I thought.

The html code is pretty simple if you don't wanna do anything fancy with it, and ao3 does most of the legwork for you. Here's the plain text:

<details>

<summary>Title</summary>

Body Text

</details>

This is what I put in:

Type the title after "<summary>", aka what you want displayed as the drop-down text. After the second summary, enter your body text. In my case, the list.

It'll look like this:

The default code keeps the drop down closed, so you have to click to open it. Once opened, it'll read like so:

Easy and not at all painful like I thought it would be. Unlike tumblr's html....

[dexaroth]

test sketch based on a real sketch thats a literal thumbnail in size irl. i think the design is final

[masasiblingnaruto]

Heyyy i finally made a straw page

its gonna appeare in my description

[bogleech]

Going to put all this in its own post too by popular request: here's how you make your own website with no understanding of HTML code at all, no software, no backend, absolutely nothing but a text file and image files! First get website server space of your own, like at NEOCITIES. The free version has enough room to host a whole fan page, your art, a simple comic series, whatever! The link I've provided goes to a silly comic that will tell you how to save the page as an html file and make it into a page for your own site. The bare minimum of all you need to do with it is JUST THIS:

Change the titles, text, and image url's to whatever you want them to be, upload your image files and the html file together to your free website (or the same subfolder in that website), and now you have a webpage with those pictures on it. That's it!!!!! .....But if you want to change some more super basic things about it, here's additional tips from the same terrible little guy:

That last code by itself is: <meta HTTP-EQUIV="REFRESH" content="0; url=001.html"> Change "001.html" to wherever you want that link to take people. THIS IS THE REASON WHY when you go to bogleech.com/pokemon/ you are taken instantly to the newest Pokemon review, because the /pokemon/ directory of my website has an "index.html" page with this single line of code. Every pokemon review has its own permanent link, but I change that single line in the index file so it points to the newest page whenever I need it to! While I catered these instructions to updating a webcomic, you can use the same template to make blog type posts, articles or just image galleries. Anything you want! You can delete the navigational links entirely, you can make your site's index.html into a simple list of text links OR fun little image links to your different content, whatever! Your website can be nothing but a big ugly deep fried JPEG of goku with a recipe for potato salad on it, no other content ever, who cares! We did that kind of nonsense all the time in the 1990's and thought it was the pinnacle of comedy!! Maybe it still can be?!?! Or maybe you just want a place to put some artwork and thoughts of yours that doesn't come with the same baggage as big social media? Make a webpage this way and it will look the same in any browser, any operating system for years and years to come, because it's the same kind of basic raw code most of the internet depends upon!

[sanguinarysanguinity]

When I was in my twenties, before the internet was very useful as a reference tool, I painstakingly built myself a collection of how-to reference books: car engine and house repair, knitting techniques, knot-tying, basic cookery... An assortment of topics that I found useful to have at hand.

By the time I got into my forties, that reference shelf was looking rather obsolete. Even foolish! Why had I sunk all that energy into building it? Not that the knowledge on it was outdated, per se, but all information was on the internet nowadays, and often easier to find there, or in more detail, than I could get from one of my reference books. Why, when I was living paycheck to paycheck, had I spent all that money on reference books?

But now I find myself turning to my reference shelf again. Because suddenly the internet is drowning in AI-generated gibberish, and it's no longer easy to find basic how-to information anymore. I wade through webpages and webpages of unreliable AI-crap trying to find a solid answer to a simple question, and finally, in frustration, go consult my reference shelf. Because maybe my books only have a bare-bones and twenty-year-old answer to my question, but by god, it's on-point and accurate.

[saturnisfallingdown]

this is why you support local home grown converter sites instead of the big name malware infested ones

[ID: A screenshot of a webpage, y232.live, a simple html site showing a photo of a white and orange cat with a toy, plain text below reading "This is my cat Ricky everyone say hi Ricky". End ID]

[foone]

So a cool thing my granddad* Alan Turing figured out is Turing Equivalence:

Basically he designed a super simple hypothetical computer, and proved mathematically that it can do everything a more complicated computer can do, just maybe slower or faster.

This is normally brought up for the factoid that could run Doom on Xty Million Crabs, but it also applies to programming languages, not just computers.

See, it means that every programming language is equally "powerful", assuming it's Turing Complete (which is basically just "can do the things this minimal computer can do", which is basically every language except a couple simple theming languages and macro scripting systems), it's just easier or harder to do specific things in a given language. But they can still be done.

So this means the C/C++ your OS and browser was written in is just as powerful as everything else. The Java used for Minecraft and Android phones, the Javascript used for webpages, the C# used Unity, the BASIC used on 80s computers, and DickCode, the joke programming language I made as a university student which had only eight operators, but all eight were different ascii penises a la "8==D".

All equally powerful. You could write an OS, video game, or AI bot in any of these. It just might be a little slower or faster and easier or harder to do (especially DickCode, that one is very Hard).

Aren't computers neat?

*not my actual granddad but I am named Turing

[saphig-iawn]

Repro

Her third monitor flashed with an alert, a new support ticket had been submitted.

In most positions where support tickets are involved, there would be a groan that would accompany this kind of interruption to one's day. One's mind would fill with the usual rigmarole of the same tired remedies that are often the solution: "Is your VPN turned on?", "have you cleared the cache?", "have you checked the cables?", "is it in your junk folder?", "have you turned it off and on again?".

But her role was different.

Such a ticket didn't send her slouching into her chair. It didn't send her to taking another sip of her energy drink. It gave her a massive grin with excited eyes. She stood up and squeezed out of the nook she had built herself in her office. Padding barefoot to the bedroom she swung open her wardrobe. What mood am I in today... she pondered, as she danced her fingers across the different outfits hanging all in a line. She ran her finger down a latex dress. She felt her cheeks flush. It was a simple number, a tulip skirt with slight height to the shoulders. She loved how it felt on her, how it elevated her almost. Her smile weakened and her cheeks dulled when she saw the time. A lot of prep for a simple ticket, she lamented. But then her fingers found the shiny spandex, the black fabric shone in the warm light of the standing lamp.

The body suit hugged tightly. She honestly felt she might leave it on, it was so comfy. She made her way to her dressing table for a few simple adjustments and additions. The first was long plaited pony tail to tame her dark auburn hair. The next was her lips. A red would work well, but then... ah yes, there's my green, she thought, relieved. She painted her lips, paying deliberate attention to the shape of the lips she wanted to portray. Lips no one would be able to their eyes off of. Then the final addition: the face visor.

It was spotless and sleek. The dark reflective glass covered her face, save for her lips and jaw. She arranged her plait so it ran over her chest, accentuating the reflections of the spandex.

She did chuckle about her lack of footwear as she padded back to her 'office', but with the nature of the ticket she received, it wouldn't matter too much.

The user was reporting abnormalities in operation. Seemingly at random things would slow down, especially if a webpage had a lot of gifs. In bad cases, it would hang or freeze. The fix is incredibly simple.

She sat in her chair, adjusted herself, and connected with the user.

...

The chime of a connecting call perks you up. It was surprise more than anything that made you jolt a little. You didn't expect that the Admin would get to your ticket so quickly, but here she is.

You feel the guilt of taking up someone's time line your stomach. You try to convince yourself that its all fine, the option to contact Admin wouldn't be there otherwise, and that there wouldn't be someone on hand if it wasn't something you were supposed to-

The video call connects.

"Hello darling, what seems to be the problem?"

The guilt and anxiety melts. The messy scribbles of thoughts in your head untangle and calm. With an unprecedented clarity, you explain what has been happening.

"Thank you darling, that is incredibly helpful"

You glow and feel... is that blushing?

"Now, would you be a doll and see if you could reproduce things for me?"

You agree, cheeks burning a touch, and offer to share your screen so she could see, but she declines. The confusion surrounding her decision is forgotten a moment later.

You go to the site you usually go to when you want stimulation but either nothing is grabbing your attention or too many things are. You scroll and scroll and scroll, but everything seems fine. You furrow your brow, and explain to Admin.

"Ok, that's no problem darling, why don't you do everything you were doing when things slowed down last."

You close the site, and open up your work program, open up emails, and then you open the site again. It took only moments before everything began to slow.

...

She smiled.

It was a warm smile.

It spread her emerald lips effortlessly beneath the bottom of her visor.

This was the joy of a productivity program. Each one was tailored to each drone. Some wanted a firm carrot and stick approach, others preferred gamification of their work. This is one was unique.

Her visor hid the way her eyes drank in every moment of the drone slowing down. It starts in the neck first. Its like it has disengaged. The head sits lower. Then it spreads to the eyes. First they unfocus, seemingly staring through the screen, and then the eyelids begin to flutter and semi close. The second cutest part soon follows which is the bottom lip growing so heavy that mouth begins to hang open. The main cutest part is how the drone begins to mumble the mantra "Good drones stay on task.".

Her smile softened.

The fact that her drone came to her with a support ticket meant that the unique element of her productivity programming was kicking in.

That the drone had no idea it was a program. A program they had wanted.

This little ticket, was simply a sign it was working. This was why she'd get dressed up, why she'd relish in the moment. It meant she had a little time with her drone to tend to her. To run little checks. There was a bittersweetness to it, that the drone might never know how much care was being put into it, but right then, in that moment, Admin was happy.

She brought the drone's attention to her visor, and she pressed a little button on a controller that made two green lights flash. The drone's sentence truncated in the air. Its posture straightened out as all emotion tucked itself away in compressed folders.

It was time for maintenance.

Simple pleasures like mobility tests, having the drone stand and sit, position its arms and hands, its face and head. It was like playing with a doll, seeing how all the articulation worked. The drone, prior to its conversion and programming, even set out little phrases to use as vocal tests. Some were what you'd expect, following the norm of such a kink. Others were silly, fun, a little embarrassing. The kind of things that would have the drone blushing after being awoken and not quite knowing why.

More advanced tests were always fun to run through. Memory tests like forgetting simple things like numbers or letters and having the drone respond with outputs that would use the 'forgotten' data. Restricting use of specific faculties, like sealing its lips shut and having it attempt to speak, or locking its arms in place and have it attempt simple object manipulation.

She savoured every moment of this time that would soon be squirrelled away. Its address in the memory of the drone erased, waiting to be reassigned when it wanted it.

...

You blink rapidly, like you had woken from a quick but all encompassing daydream. You apologised to Admin, and asked her to repeat what she said.

"Oh that's ok darling, tech talk can be boring. It seemed it was another cache issue, too much bloat being stored and slowing things down. Should all be working normally now."

The urge to check was surpressed immediately without any concern.

You could feel the heat of your cheeks. You didn't know why but you felt so glad you got to chat with Admin for a brief spell.

You thank Admin for her time, even compliment her outfit, you always liked that kind of look.

...

Her smile lingered after the call had ended. She knew it wouldn't be long before her drone would return with issues again, but that was ok. It was a good drone, and she always loved to tend to her good drones.

This was released on my Patreon a week ago! If you want to support me and read these fictions early then head over to my Patreon (patreon.com/MissSaphi)

[bogleech]

Grown adult furious that I deliberately made a webpage template that's as bare bones and simple as possible for people who want one like that

[saja-star]

here's a bit of fun trivia that will allow you to become the most annoying person in your social circle for the month of march: no one can agree on what a shamrock is.

i think most people have a vague sense that a shamrock is a clover. this is also the most common traditional identification. however, most images of shamrocks are actually of wood sorrel. there is some debate about whether the clover or wood sorrel is the Real Original shamrock, but the point remains that people generally treat them as the same thing.

"this is a minor mistake," you may think. "they are both small and have three leaves. they must be closely related." they are not. they are not only in different genuses, not only in different families, but in different orders. their nearest shared clade is the fabids, which isn't saying much as that clade contains over 50,000 species. clover and wood sorrel are as related to each other as they are to oak trees, pitcher plants, kudzu, pumpkins, peanuts, blackberries, and poinsettia.

also, fun fact, wood sorrels are edible and delicious with a lemony flavor (disclaimer: do not eat if you have kidney problems. always make sure you can 100% identify a plant before you eat it) while clover is not edible and tastes like grass. trust me if you are snacking on them you learn the difference real fast.

in this google image search for "shamrock," the red squares are all wood sorrel, and the single yellow square is an actual clover.

so below, for all your know-it-all needs, is a crash course in recognizing wood sorrel:

the best identifier i find is that while both tend to have three leaves, but the leaves of clover are round or flat at the ends (sometimes with a tiiiiny little notch), while the leaves of wood sorrel are heart-shaped. many clovers also have a white ring imprinted on their leaves, like you can see in the google image result above. not all do, so if it's absent, that doesn't guarantee it's wood sorrel, but if it's present, it's definitely clover.

here's a webpage about the cultural significance of "shamrocks"

image 1 is wood sorrel

image 2 is clover

image 3 is wood sorrel again

okay your turn, pop quiz with more pics i found on google images. clover or wood sorrel?

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

answers:

if you're seeing a whole plant, their flowers also look very different, although this doesn't show up in logos

1 wood sorrel

2 clover

3 clover

4 wood sorrel

5 clover

6 clover

7 wood sorrel

8 clover

9 clover (a less popular species)

10 wood sorrel

clover flowers look like pompoms with lots of tiny florets

wood sorrel flowers are simple, classic little flowers with five petals. it's like how a five-year-old draws a flower. you look at it and go "yep that's a flower."

anyway have fun squinting at every shamrock logo from now on!

[lotussokka]

they chopped her up into 5 different pages of shorter lists

w3schools css selector reference page my beloved

[felidae-sims]

GUID Database Revival

I've finished setting up a way to revive the GUID database, albeit not an automatic one, it is low-key, but rather simple. Instructions are on the pinned post. [It's a Dreamwidth community, basically one webpage where people can dump their GUID info, straight from Excel or a list].

It is searchable with multi search add-ons for browser. Search for multiple entries in one go.

Avoid conflicts with originally registered GUIDs (Not foolproof; assuming GUIDs where assigned in a certain way).

Avoid conflicts with new random GUIDs (that are in the DB).

Creators are indexed - see if your favorite active creators are on there.

Everyone can join, but only members can post. Happy Simming! https://sims2-guid-database.dreamwidth.org/ Example:

Obligatory CCR music:

[concretejunglefm]

i has a request for a lil fluffy story pls if you are up for it — but noah coming home after a morning at the studio or meetings/interviews and finds you either still in bed or on the sofa all bundled up in blankets and he can see the sadness behind your eyes and asks what’s wrong and your like, “just the depression kicking my butt today” and that spurs him on to be the cutest lil ducky of a man to make you feel a little better? idk if that makes any sense but fluffy ducky man noah pls 🥺🫶🏼

I give you fluff with an extra dose of fluff and a side of Naruto 🥰

You swear there are times when he’s the most adorable man on the planet—like right now.

After finding you still bundled up on the sofa in the same spot, battling the demons clawing inside your head all day, Noah is ready to do anything to chase away the dark cloud hanging over your head. He’s practically a performing monkey—pulling out all your favorite hobby items: Disney Dreamlight, your coloring books, your crafts. He even puts on your comfort show and dishes up your favorite food.

You can barely keep up as he jumps from one thing to the next, desperate to distract you and find what might finally shift your mood.

After what feels like a million hoops jumped through, you gently lay your hand over his, drawing his warm brown eyes to yours. “Maybe you could read me that manga?”

Recently he found a slice of life series he and you’ve been enjoying it together—him reading aloud while you curl up in his arms. It’s soft and simple, but it has you hooked, and right now it sounds perfect.

With Naruto playing in the background, you snuggle against his chest, your cold hands slipping beneath the warmth of his hoodie to rest against his stomach. He tenses, muscles flexing as he hisses slightly at the chill.

“Sorry, you know I run cold,” you murmur, nestling in even closer.

Noah just laughs, shaking his head as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I know. That’s why I’m your human hot water bottle.”

The thought makes you smile—knowing you always have him to keep you warm, to keep you safe, wrapped tightly in his arms.

With one arm draped around you, he lifts his phone with the other, pulling up the webpage containing the chapter you left off on.

“Ready?”

You nod. “Ready,” you say softly, peeking at the screen as he starts to scroll. You follow along the panels while he reads, even adding inflections to different characters’ voices for extra flair. Despite everything this day has thrown at you, you know exactly what you needed all along—just him.

[carriesthewind]

Hmm, is that the sound of chickens, beginning to come home to roost?

After months of resisting, Air Canada was forced to give a partial refund to a grieving passenger who was misled by an airline chatbot inaccurately explaining the airline's bereavement travel policy. ... Air Canada was seemingly so invested in experimenting with AI that Crocker told the Globe and Mail that "Air Canada’s initial investment in customer service AI technology was much higher than the cost of continuing to pay workers to handle simple queries." It was worth it, Crocker said, because "the airline believes investing in automation and machine learning technology will lower its expenses" and '"fundamentally" create "a better customer experience."

I also highly recommend reading the decision itself:

Highlights:

"In effect, Air Canada suggests the chatbot is a separate legal entity that is responsible for its own actions. This is a remarkable submission."

"While Air Canada argues Mr. Moffatt could find the correct information on another part of its website, it does not explain why the webpage titled “Bereavement travel” was inherently more trustworthy than its chatbot. It also does not explain why customers should have to double-check information found in one part of its website on another part of its website."

And not "AI" related, but delicious snark:

"Air Canada is a sophisticated litigant that should know it is not enough in a legal process to assert that a contract says something without actually providing the contract."

[espace--positif]

When Stars Align

A Sylus x F!Reader Fic [Love and Deepspace] Written for @reilemon for the Blind Date Matchmaking collab by @unintentionalseductress!

Summary: Perhaps this is all it takes for love to bloom. A blind date, a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars. Pairing: Sylus x F!Reader WC: ~2.5k Content tags: blind date, fluff, humor, romance Notes: This was so fun to write (and the word count quickly got away from me lmao), huge thank you to Ray for organizing this event, and thank you to @pmpmyread for proofreading! I really hope you enjoy the fic @reilemon 💜

Masterlist

A soft spring breeze tickles at your skin as you walk down the busy street. It’s abuzz with chatter and laughter — mainly that of couples, as the season's warming up often engenders. The butterflies in your stomach flutter incessantly in anticipation of the afternoon ahead of you. Will you end up like one of the many happy — or seemingly happy, at least — couples that surround you?

A young couple sitting on a bench, tenderly sharing an ice cream cone, catches your attention. You wonder if they’ve worked out those little differences that always seem to make or break connections. If they’ve ironed out the kinks in the fabled red thread that connects them. If they’d even have found their way to one another, if not for a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars.

Like a blind date.

You shake the feeling as quickly as it came on. You’re getting ahead of yourself, you haven’t even met the man yet, you briefly think.

Your friend hadn’t told you much about your date, simply claiming that you wouldn’t regret meeting him, and that he’d be unlike anyone you’ve ever seen. Though you doubted her assertion, as you knew she didn’t know him all that well — she’d also claimed he was a friend of friends, two twins who you’d recognized from mutual circles on social media. Despite this, no matter how much scouring and internet sleuthing you attempted, you couldn’t find anything on this so-called ‘Sylus’. Not a profile, a mention, nothing. His replies didn’t tell you much about his character either, but to be fair, you’d only briefly texted to organize the time and place for the date.

And now, as you arrive at your destination, your doubts multiply. Your friend’s recommendation for a café is nothing short of quirky — a tiny hole-in-the-wall with a pretentious-looking chalkboard menu filled with riddle-like names for likely simple drinks. It’s clearly a place she’d enjoy, but you now slightly regret relaying her recommendation to your date without as much as a glance at their webpage.

You tighten your black jacket around your frame as the calm breeze suddenly picks up. Ignoring your racing heartbeat, you open the door and step inside. The door’s chime hasn’t even sounded yet when an impossibly cheery barista almost materializes in front of you, clad in a dizzyingly striped apron that matches the sign outside.

“Welcome to the Linkon Bean and Dream!” he blurts energetically. “Can I get you an affirmation, or just the menu?” He winks as he says the word, and you suppress a sigh. Oh great, it’s one of these places.

“Actually, I’m here to meet someone, uh…” you trail off as your eyes scan the café. A few other couples sit around the colorful tables, chairs, and booths, but a single figure stands out, drawing your attention immediately.

The man, clad in a jet-black turtleneck and carmine blazer, claims all the patrons’ attention when he stands from a booth in the back and begins walking towards you. As he approaches, you notice his most prominent features; his hair is striking silver, half swept back, leaving a few loose strands to frame his chiseled face. And when he stops right in front of you and the wide-eyed barista, you notice that he’s incredibly tall, towering over the both of you. His gaze is piercing, deep red eyes focused on you as he gives you a once-over, and for a moment, you freeze.

He can’t be…

“Sylus?” you chance, and his gaze softens slightly, though an almost imperceptible edge still remains.

He smiles as he confirms your name, his voice deep and rich, and your hand tightens around the strap of your bag. It sounds so good on his lips.

Sylus turns to the barista, whose energy has suddenly dialed down, and says, “She’s with me. And we’ll just take the menu.”

“O-Of course,” stammers the barista. He leads you both back to your booth and hands you menus printed on paper bag-like sheets, which are ironically laminated in plastic. You both agree to order the ‘Cup of Delight’, which seems like the most normal drink on the menu (some of the items don’t sound like drinks at all), and the barista finally scatters, leaving you alone with Sylus.

You make brief introductions, giving him the almost rehearsed preamble you’re used to reciting — what you do for work, where you grew up, how you enjoy reading and dancing… But Sylus is different from your usual interlocutors. He listens attentively, as though you’re the only other person in the café, his gaze never leaving yours, even when you look away as a flush creeps up your cheeks.

No longer encumbered with a menu to fidget with, your eyes sweep over his necklace, expensive-looking silver encrusted with bright rubies, contrasting with his midnight black shirt. And beneath the necklace, you can see hints of the chiseled muscles barely contained by said shirt.

“So,” you clear your throat as you refocus, realizing that as easy as it is to talk to Sylus, he hasn’t exactly shared anything about himself yet. “What do you do?”

“I’m a business owner,” Sylus replies, leaning onto his palm. But this time, you don’t look away. A small smile blooms on your lips.

“What kind of business?” you ask, spurred by the enigma before you. He’s clearly well-off, on top of exuding an air of practiced elegance. And there’s a hint of danger there, too, magnetic and intriguing.

Sylus smirks. “Imports and exports. Some trading. Fruits, and other things.”

You raise a playful eyebrow. “Other things?”

“It’s best to diversify one’s investments and ventures, don’t you think?” Sylus chuckles, matching your playfulness. You’re taken aback, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling. Still, you can tell that he’s keeping something, or some things, close to his chest. And yet the strapping mystery of a man that sits across from you is somehow effortlessly breaking the ice, softening your exterior, and making you more and more comfortable by the second. Your friend was right — he’s unlike any man you’ve ever met.

“Mhm,” you hum. “So you own a business, with diverse investments and ventures and other things. That’s not mysterious at all.”

An intensifying energy, magnetism given form, stretches between you, and you stare into the vermillion pools of his eyes, as though they’ll give you answers.

“You’re quite the mystery yourself,” he replies, instead shifting the subject back to you, and you suddenly feel like he’s staring right through to your soul.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Sylus lilts as he gesticulates at the abrasive decor lining the walls, “this doesn’t seem like the kind of place you’d enjoy. But perhaps I’m mistaken.”

You let out a small chuckle, acutely aware that Sylus isn’t the only one whose vibe is distinctly different from the quirky café — your all-black ensemble, bustier top, short skirt and thigh highs certainly stand out from the overly colorful decor. But your fashion sense has never been something you shied away from, nor has it ever stopped you from going places where you know you’ll stand out.

And though you’re surprised Sylus has noticed you’re not exactly in your element here, you take the opportunity to come clean. “It’s not,” you admit. “My friend picked this place, I’ve never been here before.”

“I see. Your friend has… eclectic tastes,” Sylus muses. A merciful euphemism.

Right on cue, the barista returns with two tall cups in hand. You can barely contain your laughter as you watch Sylus crinkle his nose at the… can you even call it a drink? that’s placed before him. Strange striped wafers that grow soggy by the second protrude from the sloshing pale liquid in the uncovered cups, and you’re suddenly glad that you un-endorsed this place before it was too late.

“Two Cups of Delight!” croons the barista before shuffling away.

At a loss for words, you simply stare at the abomination in front of you, then you look up at Sylus. His reaction, earlier amusingly dramatic, is now muted. He pulls a small, jet black card from an equally jet black card wallet tucked in his blazer pocket and stands.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you ask, though you suspect you already know the answer.

“I’m paying for these so that we can escape this place,” Sylus replies, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“That’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?” you tease. “Don’t you feel like experiencing delight?”

“I highly doubt this…” Even he hesitates to call it a drink. “…thing… has a modicum of delight in it. Now, may I suggest a place that will actually delight you?”

Sylus offers you his hand, and the way the words dance on his tongue sends a shiver of anticipation through your body. You grasp his large hand and stand, just as eager to abandon ship. Once the drinks are paid for and you find yourselves on the sidewalk, you realize you haven’t even asked where you’re going. It’s a disarming feeling — you’d never have thought to become so comfortable with a practical stranger leading your day, yet here you are.

“Where are we headed to?” you finally ask, pulling out your phone. “I can call us a cab, or…”

A round helmet is suddenly pushed up against your arm. And that’s when you notice that Sylus has led you to a motorbike, dark as night, propped against the sidewalk. The descending sun sends glinting shimmers across its smooth chassis. You may not be a motorcycle aficionado, but you can tell it has exquisite craftsmanship. Excitement bubbles within you as you accept the helmet, and Sylus smirks at the sight.

“That won’t be necessary.”

The wind in your hair, a ghost of a feeling, still lingers as you walk into the warmly lit bar. It’s still early, so the place is nearly empty. You feel your heartbeat, already rapid from the exhilarating motorcycle ride, beginning to race. Spending time with Sylus in that café, as awful as it was, at least meant you were spared the potential awkwardness of intimacy. But here, surrounded by nothing but the suspended overhead lights and the two bartenders behind the counter, you feel a twinge of nervous energy creeping up on you.

But that energy begins to dissipate the moment you notice the menu on the wall behind the bar — in bold and cursive letters, the words ’Signature Cocktails’ greet you, and you’re once again surprised as you peruse your options.

Turning to Sylus, who greets the bartender with a practiced familiarity, you ask, “So tell me, why’d you pick this place?”

Sylus’s brow furrows in an expression of genuine concern. “Is it not to your liking?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, it’s the opposite, actually. I love a good cocktail bar. How did you know…?”

Sylus grins. “Perhaps I’m that good of a judge of character.”

You playfully tap at his shoulder as you take a seat on an expensive-feeling leather stool. “Not very humble either. And with a flair for the dramatic.”

Sylus shakes his head in mock consternation. “Ah, have I failed to meet your rigorous expectations, then?”

Just then, the bartender gingerly places two drinks in front of you. And this time, they look not only drinkable, but quite enticing — slices of jalapeño and lime are neatly arranged within the bright yellow liquid, and the cup is rimmed with what looks like a blend of salt and tajin.

“Spicy mango margaritas. On the house,” says the bartender, flashing a knowing smile at Sylus.

You take a sip, instantly savoring the spicy, sweet, and tangy symphony of flavors on your tongue. Riding the invigorating energy of the delicious drink, you return to Sylus’s question.

“Well, that depends. Can you dance?”

The open area that has become your private dance floor is alight with slowly drifting hues of warm yellow and orange. A slow, groovy tune resounds from overhead and the surrounding speakers, enveloping you in a comfortable ambiance as you sway with the beat. Well, as one of you sways with the beat and the other tries his best. You’ve quickly realized that Sylus isn’t the best at keeping up with a rhythm, but a warm smile spreads across your lips as you think about how he’s indulging your spontaneous whim. You’re certainly in your element now, and he seems to have taken notice.

“What is it?” Sylus asks, raising an inquisitive brow.

You laugh, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. “Nothing, it’s just… You could work on your rhythm.”

Whether you have the drink you’re still nursing or Sylus’s comfortable presence to thank for your nervousness disappearing, you’re not sure. But you’ve somewhat settled into this back-and-forth with a man you didn’t know existed a few hours ago, a man whose mysterious persona you’ve still yet to unravel. And that’s something to drink to.

“I’m hurt,” Sylus smiles, feigning offense. “I’ve been told my dancing is as good as my singing. Are you saying I’ve been lied to?”

You gulp down the remainder of your drink before replying, “I’m saying that maybe you should work on your singing, too.”

Sylus laughs, a low rumble that settles in your abdomen alongside the warmth of the drink. A pleasant silence settles, and it’s only you, Sylus, and the music.

Your gazes lock, and you find yourself almost lost in the deep crimson of his eyes. And that magnetic energy resurfaces again as time seems to still. Diffused light dances across his features, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones, the curve of his sculpted nose, the softness of his lips…

Sylus draws closer, and your heart hammers in your chest. But you don’t pull away, instead letting his magnetism pull you in. His hand rests on your waist, and your hand moves of its own accord to settle on the back of his neck. His hair is soft, so soft, you think as you trace gentle circles around the tangles at his nape. Heat creeps up your face, but you resist the urge to look away. There’s something about him…

The scent of his cologne, woody and smoky, envelops your senses as you close the distance. Your lips brush, slowly and tentatively at first, before Sylus gently pulls you in, and you tilt into him, reciprocating the gesture. You part your lips, letting out a soft gasp, before the dam that was your inhibition fully breaks. You kiss deeply, tasting all of him. And he tastes like the cocktail, spicy and sweet and tangy, like a delectable piece of fresh fruit on a sweltering day.

Then you both pull away, but not before he gives your lip the tiniest nip. You feel as though your breath has been stolen, but it’s a feeling you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Your eyes meet again, your fingers still stroking at his strands, his hand still firmly on your waist.

“You’re different, Sylus.”

“So are you,” Sylus smiles, intrigue dancing in his narrowed eyes.

And so, mere hours after having met him, you’ve begun to scratch the surface of the mystery that is Sylus. The enticing enigma that seems to pull you, as though through a taut red thread, as red as his inescapable eyes.

Perhaps this is all it takes for love to bloom. A blind date, a chance encounter, an alignment of proverbial stars.

Thanks for reading <3