#smartphone screen problems

[sydneycbdrepaircentre]

Why Your Phone's Screen Might Be Flawed: Common Issues

Why Your Phone’s Screen Might Be Flawed: Common Issues + Expert Insights   🟦 Introduction: The Importance of Screen Quality The screen is your smartphone’s main interface—if it’s flawed, your entire experience suffers. From swiping to scrolling, gaming to video streaming, a damaged or malfunctioning screen can turn your phone into a frustrating device. Many users assume screen issues mean…

[digimobphonerepairs]

Common Samsung Phone Repairs: What You Need to Know

Your Samsung phone is your lifeline. From snapping photos of precious moments to managing your busy schedule, it's an indispensable part of your daily life. So, when it malfunctions, it can throw a wrench into your entire routine. Luckily, many common Samsung phone problems have straightforward solutions, and you don't always need to resort to buying a brand new device. This guide will walk you through some of the most frequent issues and the best Samsung repair solutions, ensuring you can get your phone back in action quickly and efficiently.

Common Samsung Phone Problems and Their Solutions

Samsung phones, like any electronic device, are susceptible to wear and tear. Here are some of the most common problems users face:

Cracked Screen: This is perhaps the most frequent complaint. A dropped phone can easily result in a shattered screen, impacting both aesthetics and functionality. While a DIY approach might seem tempting, it's often risky and can lead to further damage. The best solution is professional Samsung phone repair. A qualified technician can replace the screen with a genuine Samsung part, restoring your phone's pristine look and touch sensitivity.

Battery Issues: Over time, phone batteries degrade, holding less charge and draining faster. You might notice your phone shutting down unexpectedly or struggling to get through the day. Replacing the battery is a common Samsung repair and can significantly improve your phone's performance. Again, professional replacement is recommended to ensure safety and compatibility.

Charging Port Problems: A faulty charging port can prevent your phone from charging or cause intermittent charging issues. This can be due to physical damage, dust accumulation, or a loose connection. Attempting to fix this yourself can be tricky and may worsen the problem. A professional Samsung phone repair service can diagnose the issue and replace the port if necessary.

Water Damage: Accidental spills or exposure to moisture can wreak havoc on your phone's internal components. If your Samsung phone has been exposed to water, it's crucial to act quickly. Turn it off immediately, remove the battery (if possible), and avoid turning it back on. Seek professional Samsung repair as soon as possible. Technicians have specialized tools to dry and repair water-damaged devices.

Software Glitches: Sometimes, problems aren't hardware-related but stem from software issues. These can include app crashes, operating system errors, or slow performance. Often, a simple restart can resolve these issues. If the problem persists, you might need to update the operating system or perform a factory reset. If you're unsure about these steps, consulting a Samsung repair expert can be helpful.

Camera Problems: Issues with the camera, such as blurry images, focus problems, or the camera app not opening, can be frustrating for photography enthusiasts. These problems can be caused by software glitches, physical damage to the camera module, or even dust accumulation. A Samsung phone repair technician can diagnose the cause and perform the necessary repairs.

Speaker or Microphone Issues: If you're having trouble hearing calls or people can't hear you clearly, there might be a problem with the speaker or microphone. This could be due to blockage, damage, or a software issue. Professional Samsung repair can identify the root cause and restore clear communication.

Read more: Common Samsung Phone Repairs: What You Need to Know

[sirfrogsworth]

In this scene, they are in the middle of the woods under a canopy of trees. They show the sky and there is no moon.

The light has absolutely no motivation.

Motivated lighting is a philosophy where all of the light sources on screen have a logical source. The light from a smartphone on someone's face. A lamp next to the couch. Sterile overhead office lights.

Often filmmakers will still use their own custom light sources, but they will simulate these things to give the impression the light has motivation.

Compare this to when all they really had were bright spotlights and insensitive film. An indoor scene just couldn't have this warm and cozy feel. And the light was just blasted in from everywhere.

Black and white helped a lot. You could still get dramatic effect despite things needing to be overlit. Or you could play with contrast ratios and shadow.

All the stuff you need to see was very bright and exposed well onto film and all the stuff you didn't was very dark.

But there was no graduation in between. It was hard to be subtle.

And when television and movies went color, this black and white contrast advantage was lost.

You can see EVERYTHING. And look at those sharp shadows. Everyone is just being blasted in the face with lights.

This sitcom lighting persisted long past when it was necessary. It became part of the sitcom language.

I think M*A*S*H was one of the first shows to subvert the overlit sitcom aesthetic. They began to play with lighting that had more motivation.

But aesthetic standards are hard to kill. And despite the heavy influence of M*A*S*H, sitcoms persisted all the way into the Friends era.

Her lamp isn't even on. Everything is just lit by God.

I don't think you will see a living room or kitchen scene lit like this very much from here on out.

People are getting used to lighting making more logical sense.

With the advent of LED lighting that can be any size, shape, and brightness, as well as cameras that can interpret very dark images, modern shows can now use bright and dark as narrative tools.

I think Severance does this well, and still keeps everything properly motivated.

But this newfound flexibility has created new problems. If you can film dark things, how dark is too dark? And how do you make sure the audience can see all of the important visual information?

The two worst examples of unmotivated lighting are always space helmets and cars.

It's a conceit. You gotta see the faces so these things are usually forgiven.

But the biggest debate in the realm of unmotivated lighting is night scenes. People have lots of opinions on how best to use light in the dark.

This is because following a motivated lighting philosophy can be especially tricky. Particularly if your setting is a secluded area without any artificial light sources.

Many cinematographers will try to give some sense of moonlight. But moonlight is very hard to replicate, so the effect usually ends up looking pretty fake.

This scene during a blackout in Die Hard 4 looks like they took the brightest light they had, mounted it as high as possible and said, "Fuck it, that's moon-ish."

If the DP is hardcore into motivated lighting, they just make the screen really really dark, like the Long Night battle in Game of Thrones.

The really really dark option bugs a lot of people.

Froggie Tangent about Dark Scenes:

I originally thought people needed to adjust their display settings. But then I realized not everyone watches content in a darkened room like a vampire. But if you find a show or movie is too dark, turning off any room lights will help a lot. Watching it in HDR will also help. And watching it on an OLED will help even more.

Scenes this dark are mostly a fad. DPs are experimenting with the possibilities of new technology. But sometimes they forget not everyone has that technology yet. And they forget some people watch stuff on their phones in a room full of sunlight.

Eventually the fad will fade, we will all adopt better screens, and the darkness will land somehwere between "I can't see shit" and "it would never be that bright in real life."

[End of tangent]

In the olden days, since film wasn't sensitive enough to do scenes in the dark, almost everything needed to have unmotivated lighting just to make sure their film wasn't a grainy mess. And as a culture, we sort of got used to that style. They'd mess with the contrast ratios to give the feeling of night, but if you think about where the light is coming from too hard, it won't make any sense. They took a Broadway theater approach to lighting and so a lot of movies felt like they were on a soundstage.

The 1961 West Side Story is a good example.

They've got a spot light hitting them, but not the building behind them. I guess that could be an overhead street light. But street lights are meant to flood the area like an ever expanding donut of light. A spotlight is like a directly projected cone of light. It is perfectly pointed at the side of their face and not coming from above.

She has some magical purple light coming from... somewhere.

And then they are in an area under a bridge, far away from any lights, but they've got soft fill light with a bright rim coming from the right.

Speilberg's version has much more motivated light.

This one is a bit of a cheat, some very bright source off in the distance. But it feels more plausible to the brain and gives a better sense of darkness. It feels like some kind of industrial lighting. Or a security light at a junkyard.

Here he straight up shows you where the light is coming from. And his preference for anamorphic lenses.

And here he uses bright train lights to create silhouettes. This is clever because it allows everything to be very dark but everyone is still legible in the scene.

I'm torn. Because I study light. And so I am very aware of how shows and movies are lighting things. And unmotivated lighting sticks out in my brain. Like when I watch someone miming playing the guitar. Or using a camera improperly. When you know too much about something, inaccurate onscreen depictions just drive you nuts.

There are some techniques being experimented with to make night scenes more legible while maintaining lighting realism. I think the most promising is the infrared day-for-night process used in Nope.

But maybe it doesn't need to be solved. Maybe DPs should just light the night even if it doesn't always make sense. Maybe general audiences just do not care and I am a big nerd who should be ignored.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi! I just read you blurb about Hotch with gen z reader and I absolutely love it, it's hilarious! ♡

Can I please request Hotch struggling with technology/apps and gen z reader helping him?

Thank you so much ♡♡

Terms and conditions | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gen-Z!reader | WC: 1.7k | CW: Fluff. I feel like I might have made hotch into a whump in the second part of the fic (he's a little pathetic)

A/N: Tyyyyyy 💕💕

You could sense it the second you walked into the bullpen, something was wrong.

Not murder-in-Mississippi wrong, but Hotch-is-glowering-at-his-phone wrong. Which, all things considered, was still code red. You paused by your desk, coffee in hand, watching your unit chief stab at his screen through the open blinds of his office, like it owed him money.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, his brows drawn into a furrow that could’ve doubled as a trench. You’d seen him face down unsubs with less venom.

Rossi sauntered past with a file tucked under his arm. “He’s been at it for ten minutes,” he murmured, his lips twitching with a barely concealed smirk. “Try not to laugh too loud.”

You snorted softly, already knowing that it was a losing battle. Hotch’s technological struggles were the tales of BAU legends – whispered about in the break room like campfire stories.

The man could profile a psychopath in his sleep but ask him to navigate an app store, and he looked like he was defusing a bomb with a paperclip.

Adjusting your grip on your coffee, you strolled up to his office with the casual confidence of someone who’d grown up with a smartphone practically grafted to their hand.

“Morning, sir,” you said, popping your head through his open door. “Everything okay?”

Hotch didn’t look up. His voice was a low growl, clipped and precise. “No. It’s not.”

That stopped you. Aaron Hotchner didn’t admit weakness, not to unsubs, not to bureaucrats, and certainly not to his team. For him to let that frustration slip through the cracks of his carefully constructed facade was as rare as a sunny day in Quantico without a murder call.

You tilted your head as you moved closer to his desk, catching a glimpse of his screen, and had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning.

“Are you… trying to download an app?” you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

He finally looked at you, and for one glorious, fleeting moment, Aaron Hotchner – elite profiler, veteran federal agent, and the BAU’s resident stoic leader – looked utterly, hopelessly lost.

His eyes held a mix of exasperation and something that might’ve been embarrassment, though he’d never admit it.

“I’m attempting to install the airline app,” he said, each word measured as if explaining a tactical maneuver. “We have a connecting flight through Dallas next week since the jet is still out of commission, and the travel department suggested I… ‘check in on mobile.’” The air quotes were practically audible, laced with disdain for the very concept.

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh. “Okay. What’s the issue?”

He turned the phone toward you, revealing the problem in stark white and gray: Your Apple ID password is required to proceed.

“Oh no,” you said, unable to stop the grin now. “You don’t know your Apple password.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed into the patented Hotchner Glare, the one that could make a hardened criminal confess in under ten seconds. “I didn’t realize it required a password just to check into a flight,” he said.

You nodded like you were diagnosing a patient. “Well, technically, it’s for downloading the app. It’s a security thing, two-factor authentication, biometrics, the whole deal.”

He blinked at you, slow and deliberate, like you’d just recited quantum physics in Klingon. “Two-factor… what?”

You couldn’t help it, you beamed. “Don’t worry, sir. I got you.”

Dragging a chair over to his desk, you plopped down with the enthusiasm of a tech support guru about to perform a miracle. You rolled up your sleeves dramatically.

“Alrighty, let’s start from the top. Do you know your email?”

“Yes,” he said, with a hint of offense, like you’d asked if he knew his own name.

“Great. Baby steps. Do you know the password for it?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Why would I need that?”

You froze, coffee halfway to your lips. “Oh boy.”

What followed was a twenty-minute odyssey through the labyrinth of modern technology. You guided Hotch through resetting his Apple ID, navigating the recovery process, and answering security questions that seemed designed to torment him (“What was the name of your first pet?” “I don’t remember.” “Okay, what’s the name of your favorite book?” “Why does this matter?”). By the time you’d successfully reset his account, installed the airline app, and added three others he grudgingly admitted might be useful (calendar, notes, and a weather app, because “it’s practical”), you felt like you’d earned a medal.

“Now for the fun part,” you said, leaning closer to show him Face ID. “You just look at the phone, and it unlocks. No typing required.”

He squinted at the screen as it scanned his face, then unlocked with a soft click. “You mean I don’t have to type anything anymore?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief like you’d just revealed the secret to eternal youth.

“Welcome to 2025, sir,” you said, leaning back with a grin.

Hotch stared at the phone for a long moment, then looked at you. His voice softened, just enough to catch you off guard. “That’s… actually impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Careful, Hotch. That almost sounded like praise.”

The barest flicker of a smirk crossed his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You tapped his screen one last time, double-checking the airline app. “Okay, you’re good to go. App’s installed, accounts are logged in, and flight alerts are on. You’re officially a digital native.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, a rare moment of visible relief.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how you all keep up with this.”

You shrugged, deadpanning, “Years of trauma, TikTok, and depression memes. It builds character.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts amusement and fond exasperation, the kind of look that made your stomach do a little flip. “I worry about your generation,” he said, but there was no real bite to it.

You smirked. “That’s fair. We worry about you too.”

Two weeks later, the BAU was airborne again, returning from a case in Arizona. The jet was quiet, save for the hum of the engines and the occasional murmur of conversation between Reid and Prentiss across the aisle. You were seated next to Hotch, who was, predictably, staring at his phone like it was a live grenade.

“Okay,” he muttered, almost to himself. “So if I press this…”

You leaned over, peering at his screen. “You trying to check the weather?”

He nodded, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “The app says there’s a storm on the way, but it won’t load the updates.”

With an easy grin, you reached for his phone. “I got it.”

He handed it over without protest, and that small gesture hit you harder than it should’ve. Hotch didn’t trust easily, not with cases, not with people, and definitely not with technology. But here he was, letting you take the reins, watching you in a way that made your heart skip.

You showed him how to refresh the app, toggle the alerts, and even sign up for text notifications so he’d get updates without wrestling the app into submission. “That should cover you,” you said, handing the phone back.

He studied the screen for a moment, then looked at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. “You’re very good at this,” he said, his voice low.

Your brows lifted. “Tech stuff?”

“Yes,” he said, but there was something else in his tone, something heavier. “But… also, you’re patient with me. Most people aren’t.”

You softened, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “It’s because you’re trying,” you said, matching his tone. “That’s all that matters. I mean, yeah, you kind of suck at it–”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised in warning.

“–but you’re learning,” you finished, grinning. “You don’t give up. That’s admirable.”

He didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that unreadable expression he wore so well. Then, quietly, “You remind me of Jack’s babysitter.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wow. Romance me, why don’t you.”

His eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “That wasn’t-”

You laughed, waving him off. “Relax, Hotch. I know what you meant.” You nudged him with your elbow, lightening the mood. “Next lesson: memes. You’re way behind.”

He groaned, but it was more theatrical than genuine. “Do I have to?”

You grinned, undeterred. “Terms and conditions, sir. You want my help, you’re gonna have to suffer through at least three ‘Vine’ references a week and the dog of wisdom.”

He sighed, long and suffering. “I have no idea what that means.”

“And that’s how I know we’ll make a great team.”

Later that night, as the team disembarked the plane and shuffled toward the parking lot, Hotch fell into step beside you. Not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence in the chilly air outside the private terminal the jet had landed at.

The rest of the team was ahead, somehow still bickering about who’d lost the rental car keys back in Arizona (it was definitely Morgan).

“I looked up what Skibidi Toilet was,” Hotch said, his voice low, like he was admitting to a crime.

You gasped, delighted. “No. You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“And?”

He shook his head, his expression a mix of horror and resignation. “…I regret everything.”

You cackled, loud enough to earn a glance from Rossi up ahead.

“Welcome to my world, old man.”

But then he turned to you, and his voice softened. “Thank you,” he said, “for not making me feel stupid.”

Your heart tugged, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. “You’re not stupid, Hotch,” you said quietly. “You’re just… analog in a digital world.”

That earned you a smile, a real smile. “I suppose I could stand to be a little more digital,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “If it means I get to keep up with you.”

You stopped walking for a fraction of a second, your breath catching. Then you grinned, nudging him again. “Careful, sir. That almost sounded like flirting.”

He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.

And as you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but think that maybe the gap between analog and digital wasn’t so wide after all. Not when it came to him.

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ teaching choso how to use a phone hcs

ᨳ♡₊➳ choso x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ pure crack with fluff

₊⊹. You finally convinced Choso to get a smartphone because, honestly, the idea of your 150-year-old, half-cursed spirit boyfriend wandering the city without a way to contact you was stressing you out. Unfortunately, the first time he activates Siri, he immediately becomes obsessed. He spends the next hour having a full conversation with her, convinced she’s some omniscient, all-knowing woman trapped inside the device.

“Who is this? How does she know the weather?” he asks, genuinely amazed.

You try to explain AI, but he just frowns. “So she’s… not real?”

You confirm, but he doesn’t believe you. He starts saying “please” and “thank you” to her, thinking it’s the polite thing to do, and when Siri responds with “I live to serve,” he turns to you with wide eyes. “She’s loyal. I respect her.”

Later, you catch him whispering to Siri at 2 AM. “Siri, what is rizz?” She gives him a Wikipedia definition, and he nods solemnly, as if she just revealed the meaning of life.

₊⊹. When Choso first opens the front camera it's purely by accident and he jumps because he thinks someone is staring at him.

It takes you ten minutes to explain that it’s his own face.

He looks at the screen, frowning. “Why do I look like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I looked…better.”

₊⊹. You teach Choso how to properly use the camera app, and he’s instantly hooked. The problem? He has zero concept of angles. Every selfie he sends you looks like it was taken by a dad who just discovered Facebook.

One is a close-up of his forehead. Another is 90% his nose. A few are taken at such an unflattering angle that you physically recoil. You try to guide him, but he insists that “this is my true form.”

The worst part? He never realizes he’s sending them. He just accidentally spams you with the most nightmarish, low-quality images imaginable. One time, he sends you a blurry picture of his eye, and when you ask what it means, he just responds, “I see you.”

You live in fear of opening your notifications.

₊⊹. At first, Choso types like an old man who just discovered the internet. Every message is unnecessarily formal and it takes him fifteen minutes to type a single one. “I hope this message finds you well. I am currently at the grocery store. Do you require anything?” You tell him he doesn’t have to type like he’s drafting a letter in the 1800s, but he doesn’t get it.

₊⊹. You made the grave mistake of teaching Choso how to use Google, and now he types full, grammatically correct sentences into the search bar like it’s a formal letter.

“Dear Google, can you die from drinking too much orange juice? Sincerely, Choso.”

At one point, he panics because he thinks he’s talking to a real person at Google.

“Dear Google, do you sleep? Do you need a break? I worry for you. Sincerely, Choso."

₊⊹. One day, you introduce Choso to the concept of voice messages because he struggles with typing. He loves it. But because his voice is naturally deep and monotone, everything he sends sounds like a mafia boss delivering an ultimatum.

You: “Hey, what do you want to eat?”

Choso: "Stay put. I will find you.”

You: “Do you need anything from the store?”

Choso: “It is already too late.”

He never means it that way. He’s just bad at tone. One time, he accidentally holds down the record button for three minutes, so all you get is the sound of him breathing heavily while a distant microwave beeps.

Another time, he sends you a 15-second voice memo that is just him sighing deeply followed by:

“…I saw a pigeon today.”

Then he sends another:

“…It was looking at me weird.”

Then another:

“…I don’t trust it.”

That’s it. No context. You’re in the middle of work and have to excuse yourself because you’re laughing too hard.

₊⊹. The first time Choso sends an email, he notices the little “Sent from my iPhone” signature at the bottom. You forget to explain that it’s automatic, so he thinks he has to manually type it out every single time, email or text.

It doesn’t matter what the message is.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well? Sent from my iPhone.”

“Do you want McDonald’s? Sent from my iPhone.”

You don’t have the heart to correct him.

₊⊹. He also discovers autocorrect. One time, he meant to text “Good night.” but autocorrect changed it to “God nut.” You have never known fear like receiving a 2 AM message from him that just says "God nut." with no context.

₊⊹. You introduce Choso to the concept of online shopping, thinking it’ll be harmless. It is not. He immediately becomes addicted to buying the weirdest things. He orders a 200-pack of rubber ducks. He doesn’t even like rubber ducks that much. He just thought it was fun.

₊⊹. Choso has zero understanding of what’s a scam. He clicks on everything. Every pop-up, every link, every “Congratulations! You’ve won a free iPad!” ad. He has installed seven viruses in one week. He sends you a link: “Look! This website is selling a brand-new TV for only $5!” You tell him it’s a scam. He doesn’t believe you. “No, see, it says ‘totally real, not a scam’ in the description.”

At one point, he proudly tells you he got a message saying he won $1,000,000, and all he has to do is send them his bank details.

“Choso, no.”

“But they said—”

“Choso, please block them.”

“But what if—”

“Block them.”

He sulks like a kicked puppy and mutters about how it seemed like a good opportunity.

₊⊹. Choso doesn’t trust “the ghost box” (your Bluetooth speaker). The first time you paired it to your own phone, the automated voice said, “Connected.” Choso froze. Looked you dead in the eye.

“Who was that. WHO WAS THAT."

₊⊹. The first time Choso accidentally took a screenshot, he thought he broke the phone.

He ran to you, panicked and waving his phone around.

“I don’t know what I did, but the screen—it remembers.”

You explain that it’s just a screenshot and show him how to do it on purpose. Now, he takes screenshots of everything like an old man who doesn’t trust the internet.

“What if they delete this? I need to keep evidence.” (It’s just a recipe for banana bread.)

₊⊹. One time, he accidentally took a picture of your face mid-sneeze and he decided to set it as his lock screen. Now, every time he unlocks his phone, he sees your cursed sneeze face.

He refuses to change it. He says it’s sentimental.

“It reminds me of your strength.”

₊⊹. Choso does not understand emojis. At all. You try to explain their meanings, but he insists on using them his own way.

Example: He once texted you, “Thinking about you. ❤️🛐🔥🔪🐍🚬”

You immediately call him, asking if this is a threat. He is confused. “What? No. The heart means I like you. The prayer hands mean I respect you. The fire means you’re attractive. The knife means I’d protect you. The snake means you’re clever. The cigarette means you’re cool.”

₊⊹. Despite all of this, Choso is genuinely trying. He wants to learn because he likes talking to you, his brother, and staying connected. He still struggles, but he remembers what you teach him. He still sends weird messages, but they’re sweet and he means well. And when he finally figures out FaceTime, he lights up.

“Now I can see you anytime,” he says softly. “That’s nice.”

That alone makes it all worth it.

[the-original-skipps]

|| Yandere Hacker!Scaramouche x Reader ||Headcanons || Genshin Impact ||

so I was watching hoyofair and this came up so I thought I’d do a quick something mehehe I mean I did spy scara before so might as well continue the tradition

cw: mentions of cyber stalking. privacy breach. slight mention of violence involving firearms.

Hacker!Scaramouche has your phone and laptop/computer bugged with his own personally made virus, which basically acts as a listening device. He can also remotely access both devices without you even knowing.

Hacker!Scaramouche who basically knows everything about you. He can hack into the government database to find out any personal information you have. Any records, all the names of your family members; he can just find out with a tap of his finger.

Hacker!Scaramouche knows your whereabouts at all times, a tracking software installed into your phone which you’ll never find. You can be in any part of the world and he’d still be able to find you. You don’t have your phone with you? Not a problem, he’ll just assess the satellite and look for you.

Hacker!Scaramouche who because of the virus on your phone, he pretty much listens to you go about your day. In this day and age, a person’s smartphone is an essential tool after all and he knows you’d always have it with you. He can be going about his day and your voice would be heard from this headphones. What you’re saying as you browse the internet, your personal mumblings - he hears them all. Especially the phone calls you have with other people.

Hacker!Scaramouche knows your current interests and wants. He knows you have that item in your basket on your shopping app that you’re putting off buying. So, he makes things easier for you and buys it for you. He’ll have it delivered straight to your house. A little gift from him.

Hacker!Scaramouche who has access to your phone’s photo gallery. He saves all the pictures you’ve taken into his own personal computer and phone. The pictures of the food you’re about to eat, the pretty scenery of the sky - they’re all backed up and saved. Though, he has a special folder for pictures with you in it.

Hacker!Scaramouche can hack into any security camera in any part of the world. He has a live stream of the security camera feed running in front of your house/apartment so he’d know when you’re home. He also keeps watch in case you bring any visitors home. If you do, a simple facial recognition program is all he needs to know who they are and if they’re a threat to him.

Hacker!Scaramouche who spends majority of his time behind a screen but isn’t afraid to come in person when needed. This new person you’re seeing? He already knows who they are and where they live. He’ll ruin them - drain them of their assets, enter false criminal records; anything to get them away from you. If they don’t get the message, a gun to the face will be sure to change their mind. 

[aingeal98]

Barbara Gordon tech genius alright. Knows every coding language and invented some of her own, can break into any device in under 5 minutes whether it's Tim's phone or the Pentagon servers. Can actually tell useful algorithms that are labelled AI from the nonsense people are trying to market nowadays. Will likely end up building her own actual AI far beyond what current tech dreams of and more impressively will not have it go rogue and destroy everything.

Jim Gordon on the other hand? Still struggles with a smartphone. Never knows how to use a camera during video calls. People tell him to download an app and he stares helplessly before asking if there's another way. Pays in cash nine times out of ten and refuses to do Internet banking because he doesn't trust the system.

All this to say the reason Babs, Cass and Jim don't do family dinners very often is that it always descends into using Babs as tech support. Jim complains about a problem, Cass offers the age old ever useful advice "ask Barbara to fix it.", and Babs sighs and gets ready to show her dad how to add someone on WhatsApp. Again. How is she the only person in this family who can use a touchscreen without accidentally exiting to the home screen? At least Cass can order the computer to do things, Jim is just hopeless.

[fatphobiabusters]

This cartoon has four panels.

PANEL 1 A woman is seating in a coffee shop, gesturing at something on her laptop screen that’s annoyed her, as she rolls her eyes. In this and the next two panels, the woman is addressing the reader.

WOMAN: I hate it when fat people complain about “fat shaming.”

PANEL 2 The same woman, a slightly closer shot, as she pounds a fist on the table in front of her.

WOMAN: Obesity is a crisis! American can’t afford coddling fat people any more!

PANEL 3 A close up of the woman, as she makes “air quotes” with her fingers.

WOMAN: We’re all so “politically correct” that fat people are getting the message that it’s okay to be fat! The problem is that fat people aren’t being shamed!

PANEL 4 New scene. A fat person sits in her home, holding up a smartphone. A friend of hers, with a concerned expression, is on the couch next to her. A flat screen TV is on the wall in front of her; a smiling news anchor is speaking, and there’s a graphic of carrots onscreen next to him. There’s a magazine lying on the table next to the sofa. The magazine, the news guy on the TV, the smart phone, and the friend all share a single word balloon, which has the word SHAME in huge letters.

[lookingfts]

Enjoy media again

This is a bit of a long one, but if you want to change your relationship to technology in a manageable but effective way, you might find this interesting.

Over the past year or so, I’ve realized how exhausting technology has become. I’m a Millennial, so I grew up with CDs and VHS/DVDs. I was attached to the hip with my iPod and I have fond memories of browsing video stores to pick something for family movie night.

Then came smartphones, and streaming. And I was happy with both for years, until I realized:

I hate my phone. And I hate streaming. And I hate, more generally, what modern technology has evolved into.

Everything is designed to die quickly, to hoard your attention, to screw creators and suck your energy and joy dry.

I’m not alone in this, of course. At the end of this post, I’ll link to some great videos that helped motivate me in making changes.

This is by no means a comprehensive guide, but I wanted to share a bit of the journey I’ve been on and the changes I’ve made to fix my screwed-up relationship with technology.

First up: my phone is a black hole.

If you asked me, I would say I’m not addicted to my phone. I rarely use any social media except for Tumblr. I don’t need to use my phone much for work. And yet, somehow, my screen time was consistently seven hours or more.

How? Where was that time even going?

So I started taking suggestions from other people and applying them to my smartphone. Here are the big ones, and how well they worked for me.

1. Deleting games

This is pretty self-explanatory. If there’s a game on my phone, I’ll blink and suddenly be on level 400. It’s what I do while I watch TV. And I never feel like I have anything to show for it. Games are not inherently the problem; but without any kind of tangibility, it just all washes over me with no impact.

So I don’t keep games on my phone. If I’m really itching to play something, the Google browser has some free games without ads, like Solitaire. But even that I have to tread carefully with – it’s too easy to keep shuffling. I have a hunch that if I broke out a card deck and played Solitaire the old-fashioned way, I’d get a lot more out of the experience.

2. Hiding apps from the home screen

Some apps just stare at you. If you hold down until the app wiggles, and press Remove App, you have the option to remove it from the home screen but keep it in your app menu. I find this extremely helpful for apps that often distract me. For me, that’s email and Tumblr. Those are my “slot machine” apps – the ones that I refresh to get the hit of dopamine from something new. The point is for me to have to work slightly harder to get to them. To create friction between me and my time wasters.

The first day after you move something, you will compulsively click on that slot 100 times. And then you'll realize how much you were reaching for it.

3. Setting time limits for apps

The first night that I set a 45-minute time limit for email, Tumblr, and Instagram (which I rarely used to use, but had recently found myself checking mindlessly, even though I can barely see the actual posts from my friends anymore) – I was already over the limit for the day. That felt like a wake-up call. Why was I on my email for 45 minutes? There’s nothing critically important in my email. Ever.

I find myself with a different mindset when I open these apps now. The ticking clock in my head makes me view each moment I spend on there as precious. The goal is to see everything I want to see before I’m blocked. This artificial scarcity makes it more interesting and less compulsive.

4. Changing my phone to black and white

This. THIS. This is the single thing that brought my screen time from 7 hours a day to about 1 hour a day.

Putting my phone into black and white did something to my brain. Almost immediately, I could feel that my eyes were less strained and my mind was quieter. I did not expect that.

It’s an accessibility setting, and it’s not easy to get to, for obvious reasons (Apple doesn't want you to). For iPhone, you can go to Settings > Accessibility > Display & Text Size > Color Filters. I used the Grayscale and there’s an option to control the intensity of the filter. I have mine at about 85%, since the full 100% grayscale is a little hard for me to see.

I’m not kidding. This is game-changing. It takes away 90% of the temptation of your phone. I can still do everything I need to do – and for the things I want to do, like looking at pictures in color or watching videos, I use my iPad or my laptop or my TV. Those devices have never had the same issue of overuse for me; I think phones tend to be the easiest to abuse. But whatever device causes you problems, you can probably use some variation of these tips to help.

Second: streaming sucks now.

Not just the cost, or the ads, or the fact that you need 7 different services to watch everything you want.

For me, it was the decision paralysis. Every time I booted up Netflix, I felt overwhelmed by choice. How do you wade through all the low-quality filler to find something interesting? Nope, nothing here. Move to Amazon Prime. Move to YouTube movies. Move to Disney+.

I not only found it exhausting…I felt as though the endless choice was making media meaningless. Movies, TV shows, and music were all blurring together in my brain. Once in a blue moon did I actually get excited about something I saw on a streaming platform.

There are other issues: streaming movies and shows can be altered. They can be deleted without warning; even for things you bought. Algorithms control what you see, and you lose the feeling of choosing for yourself.

Now, I kept Netflix, mostly for its original shows. I’m on the lowest ad-supported plan, which is about $9 a month. I may cancel it and only keep it for a few months out of the year, to catch up on everything at once. It’s not hard, with seasons being like 8 episodes.

But I canceled everything else. I canceled Sirius, I canceled YouTube Premium, I let it all go.

Here’s what I did instead:

1. I got a library card.

I’m privileged to have a lovely library very close to me, and I was embarrassed that after 13 years of living in this town, I didn’t have a card. I recently started getting back into reading physical books as well. So I got my library card and checked out some books.

I had no idea how much libraries offer now. With my library card came completely free access to Freegal Music, Hoopla, and Libby. Those will probably vary depending on your library.

Freegal Music is basically like any streaming music services, only you’re limited to five downloads a week. But you can stream almost anything, and I find that the curated playlists take me out of the "sameness" that I felt with my YouTube Music playlists.

Libby and Hoopla have e-books, movies, TV shows, audiobooks, music, and binge passes that you can check out to binge content on other streaming services.

I’ve barely scratched the service of what’s available. Of course, the selection is slightly more limited, and you have to “borrow” things electronically before you can use them. But that only works in favor of my quest to feel more connected to the media I experience. There’s a time limit on it, and that creates some kind of urgency.

If you’re lucky enough to have access to a library, please use it. I wish I hadn’t waited so long. Even if you go literally one time, just to get a card, you can enjoy so many of their digital offerings. (Though my library does also offer fun in-person events, like reading clubs and craft classes. And you can check out 50 things at a time. 50!!!! For a month!!!!)

2. I bought DVDs.

Recently, I went down a rabbit hole about physical media. Like everyone else, I tossed all my DVDs and CDs years ago. Waste of space. It’s old tech.

But it’s true: you can’t own digital media. It’s not yours – you’re only renting it, even when you buy it.

I’m a pretty avid thrifter, and I had always seen the tons of DVDs and CDs and vinyls at thrift stores, but I never bothered to look.

So that was my first stop. I went to my favorite thrift store and found a Blu-ray player for about $9 and a DVD player for $7 (in case one of them didn’t work). Let me tell you – I had a BLAST picking out DVDs. It was so much more fun than clicking through a streaming menu. Right now I have a little over 30 DVDs (at a couple of bucks each – each one was literally cheaper than me renting a digital copy), including tons of my all-time favorite movies. I was shocked that I found so many of my A-list faves on my very first trip – Sunshine, Pride & Prejudice, the whole LOTR trilogy.

Feel free to judge my taste...I don't mind.

(You can also rent DVDs at the library.)

I made sure to buy players that came with the cords so I didn’t have to buy any (I’m only moderately tech literate) and it works great.

Beyond the fact that DVDs and Blu-rays aren’t compressed like streaming and so might actually look and sound better – I was just excited about media, for the first time in a long time. These are my favorites. I own them. I get to look through this collection and decide what I’m in the mood for. I get to keep hunting and find even more of my favorites.

I also got a handful of CDs. I love the way they look. I love interacting with media again. Fortunately, I have the space to display them, but you can also remove them from the cases and put them into a CD sleeve.

A huge used physical media store opened down the street. I’m so excited to see what they have. It might become my new favorite place.

I can still stream on Netflix. I can still buy a movie on Vudu or whatever if it’s something I’m really in the mood to watch. That option isn’t going anywhere. And if you like streaming certain things, go for it. I am not against streaming as a concept. I just felt like streaming had become this draining, chaotic maze that I was lost in, instead of something that made my life better and more convenient.

Maybe we need a little inconvenience. Maybe having everything in the palm of our hand only devalues those experiences and lessens the impact.

Maybe some of these things that I did aren’t available to you – but hopefully some are. I hope this is helpful to anyone who feels like I do. This is just part of my journey, and I want to continue finding a way to live more actively and intentionally in this world that is trying so hard to make us isolated, tired, and passive.

A big shoutout to all these creators who inspired me. Here are a few videos that really helped me:

Only Consuming Media from the Library

The Importance of Inconvenience

Using This iPod for 30 Days Changed My Life (a series)

Replace all of your subscriptions with a library card

[sydneycbdrepaircentre]

Why Your Phone's Screen Might Be Flawed: Common Issues

Why Your Phone’s Screen Might Be Flawed: Common Issues + Expert Insights   🟦 Introduction: The Importance of Screen Quality The screen is your smartphone’s main interface—if it’s flawed, your entire experience suffers. From swiping to scrolling, gaming to video streaming, a damaged or malfunctioning screen can turn your phone into a frustrating device. Many users assume screen issues mean…

[cheynovak]

 Something fragile

Soldier Boy x F/Reader Y/N        

Warnings: Toxic masculinity, cursing, violence, alcohol drug use, cursing, mentioning of sex, I think that’s it? ... 

Side note: English isn’t my first language 

Words: 6600  

*Does not follow the boys storyline *

--  

Soldier boy just got out of Russia thanks to the boys. But his journey back to reality has been fucked up. Streets are filled with rainbow colours and new pussy looking heroes. Streets were even more crowded, nothing seemed the same anymore. And to top it all off he had some severe ptsd and a new superpower. 

After the explosion he ran to recover his blackout, meeting y/n a young woman on her way home from volunteering at the veteran shelter. Seeing how he looked confused, offering him help.  

-- 

Ben, known to the world as Soldier Boy, stumbled through the bustling streets of downtown New York. The sun was blinding after so many years in the dark, cold confines of a Russian facility.  

Forty years of captivity had left his mind in a haze, his body in a state of perpetual tension. Every sound, every face, was an assault on his senses. He blinked against the garish lights of electronic billboards and the incessant buzz of smartphones.  

People moved past him in waves, their faces buried in glowing screens, oblivious to the world around them. Ben felt like he had stepped into a dream, a strange, incomprehensible dream. As he walked, his eyes darted from one unfamiliar sight to another.  

Men holding hands, walking side by side with easy intimacy. Ben's lips curled into a reflexive sneer. He couldn't help it; the world he had known was gone, replaced by something that felt alien and uncomfortable.  

The 1980s had their problems, but this? This was beyond his understanding. He rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the headache building behind his eyes. The memories of his captivity were like shadows, lurking at the edges of his mind, ready to pounce the moment he let his guard down. He had to stay focused, had to keep moving.  

As he passed a café, the smell of coffee and pastries wafted out, mingling with the scents of car exhaust and city grime. Ben's stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten a decent meal in ages. He paused, glancing around warily, wishing he had a few dollars in his pocket.  

Lost in thought, a voice pulled his attention away from the widow. "Excuse me, are you okay sir?" Ben looked up to see a young woman with concern in her eyes. "Yeah" He wanted to walk on. “Are you eh, hungry or thirsty something?” Ben looked confused at her. “I can get you something if you want?” she added in a sweet voice. 

“Let a woman buy me a fucking coffee? What a fucking pussy would that make me.” and he walked on. 

Ben continued down the street, the sights and sounds of the modern world were overwhelming, a constant reminder of how much time had passed and how out of place he was. As he walked, a familiar melody reached his ears. It was faint, but unmistakable, the haunting strains of a Russian folk song that had played endlessly in the lab where they had experimented on him.  

The song was a cruel reminder of his years of suffering, a soundtrack to his nightmares. His pulse quickened, and his vision blurred. The world around him seemed to tilt, and he could feel the panic rising, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.  

The radiation within him, the cursed gift of his captivity, began to stir, responding to his heightened emotional state. Suddenly, without warning, a burst of energy erupted from his chest. The street around him exploded in a violent flash of light and heat. The force of the blast shattered windows, sent cars flying, and threw pedestrians to the ground.  

Screams filled the air as chaos erupted. Ben staggered, disoriented and horrified by the idea what he had done. He had no control over this power, no way to stop it once it started. The destruction was immense, and he could hear the wails of the injured and the dying.  

His heart pounded in his chest. Y/N heard the explosion and felt the shockwave. She had been walking away from the café, thinking about the troubled man she had just met. When she saw the devastation and the panicked crowd, her first instinct was to help.  

She pushed her way through the throngs of fleeing people, her heart racing with fear and determination. She spotted him through the smoke and debris, standing in the centre of the chaos, looking lost and broken. She rushed to his side, her eyes wide with shock at the scene around her.  

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, reaching out to touch his arm. The heat radiating from his body made her flinch, but she didn't back away. "I... I didn't mean to..." Ben stammered, over and over. Y/N looked around, her mind racing. She had to get him away from here, away from the people he might hurt.  

"We need to get you out of here," she said firmly. "Come with me." Ben nodded, dazed and compliant. He allowed her to lead him away from the scene of destruction, away from the horror he had unleashed. They ducked into an alley, where the noise of the city was slightly muffled, and Y/N took a moment to catch her breath.  

"Listen," she said, her voice urgent but calm. "I don't know what happened to you, but you're not alone, okay? I'll help you." Ben looked at her. "Why are you helping me?" "Because you need it," Y/N replied simply. "And because everyone deserves a chance."  

Ben nodded slowly, the weight of his guilt and fear still heavy on his shoulders. Y/N supported Ben as they walked through the quieter streets, her arm around his waist to steady him. His weight pressed heavily against her, but she didn't falter. She was determined to help him, no matter what it took.  

The path they took was familiar to her, one she had walked many times on her way to the veteran help centre where she volunteered. The centre was closed at this hour, but Y/N had a key. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching before unlocking the door and guiding Ben inside.  

The cool, dim interior was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a sanctuary from the madness of the world. "Sit here," Y/N said softly, helping Ben into a chair in the small break room. She quickly moved to the kitchenette, grabbing a bottle of water and a granola bar from the cupboards.  

She handed them to Ben, who took them with trembling hands. "What's this shit?" he muttered, his voice barely audible. But still opening the drink. Y/N sat across from him, ignoring his muttering complains, watching as he opened the bottle and took a sip. She could see the exhaustion etched into his features, the lines of pain and weariness that spoke of years of torment.  

"You're safe here," she said gently. "Take your time. Eat something.” Ben’s eyes fixed on her. He unwrapped the granola bar and took a small bite, chewing slowly. The simple act of eating seemed to ground him, to bring him back from the edge.  

"Why are you helping?" he said after a moment. "You don't even know me."  

"I know enough," Y/N replied. Ben leaned back in the chair, the weight of his ordeal starting to lift, if only slightly. He looked around the room, taking in the posters on the walls, the pamphlets about support groups and therapy sessions.  

His expression hardened, and he scoffed. "What kind of shit is this?" he muttered, pushing the granola bar away. "A place for vets who have difficulties getting back to the real world." Y/N answered ignoring the disgusting look on his face. "For who can’t handle their crap? PTSD, trauma... that's for fuck-ups who can't cut it. Real men don’t need this kind of help."  

Y/N sighed, her patience unyielding. She had encountered this attitude before. She knew it was a defence mechanism, a way to mask vulnerability. "What's your name?" He didn't answer, "I'm Y/N..." she said hoping he would be willing to answer if she took the first step. "Ok doll." was all he said, she didn't push further.  

"PTSD is real. It doesn’t make you weak or a 'fuck-up.' It means you've been through something traumatic, something no one should have to face alone." Ben’s eyes flashed with anger. "I've faced plenty alone and survived. Don't need a bunch of pity and hand-holding to get by." " 

I’m not offering pity," Y/N said firmly. "I’m offering support. There’s a difference. Some have been through hell, and it's okay to need help coming back from that." Ben clenched his fists, the tension in his body palpable.  

"You don't get it," he snapped. "I was a soldier. I fought, bled, and survived on my own. This..." he gestured around the room “... this is for people who can't handle the easy world." Y/N met his gaze steadily.  

"Maybe you did survive on your own, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it alone. Needing help doesn’t make you less of a man. It makes you human." He looked away, the anger in his eyes giving way to something more vulnerable.  

"You don't know what it's like. What they did to me..." "No, I don't," Y/N admitted. "But I do know that what you're feeling is valid. And that this place exists because too many people try to do it alone and end up hurting themselves or others."  

Ben shook his head, "Bullshit" Y/N looked him in the eye. "Is it? Didn't you just blow up in the middle of the street? Literally?" He looked at her, his eyes searching hers for some kind of hate or reluctance, maybe even fear but all he saw was reassurance, patience. 

Ben stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. His movements were restless, his mind clearly in turmoil. He began to walk toward the door, but Y/N called after him, her voice gentle but firm.  

"Wait. If you ever feel like talking, or just need a place to be... I'll be here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Other days, there are other people who can help if you don't want to talk to me. You don’t have to go through this alone."  

He paused at the door, glancing back at her. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something, but instead, he just nodded curtly and walked out into the night. The next day, Y/N was cleaning up after a session, stacking chairs and tidying the break room. That day had been busy, and she was exhausted, but it was a good kind of tired, the kind that came from helping others.  

She was lost in thought, reflecting on the day’s work, when she heard the soft chime of the bell above the door. "We're closing," she called out over her shoulder. "The next session is tomorrow." There was a pause, and then a familiar voice responded. "It's me... Ben."  

Y/N turned around, surprised but not displeased. Ben stood in the doorway, looking uncertain but determined. He seemed a little more composed than the day before, but the haunted look in his eyes was still there. "Ben..." she said, offering a warm smile. "I'm glad you came back. Come on in."  

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I'm not sure what I'm doing here " he admitted. Y/N nodded, gesturing to one of the chairs. "Have a seat. I was just finishing up, but I’m here if you need to talk."  

Ben sat down, his movements still a bit stiff. "I don’t know where to start." Ben settled into the chair, looking around the room before finally meeting Y/N’s patient gaze. “Where you feel like.” He seemed to gather his thoughts, taking a deep breath.  

“Everything’s different now,” he began, his voice tinged with frustration. “The world... it’s nothing like what I remember. People, technology, everything’s changed. It's like I don’t recognize it anymore.”  

Y/N nodded, her expression encouraging him to continue. “I mean, look at the way people are glued to their weird portable phones,” Ben continued, gesturing vaguely. “No one talks to each other face-to-face. Back in my day, if you had something to say, you said it. Now, it’s all that small shitty thing. And the clothes people wear… men walking around in clothing, colours I wouldn’t have been caught dead in.” 

He paused, running a hand through his hair. “And don’t even get me started on the way people talk about feelings. PTSD? Trauma? In my time, you just sucked it up and got on with it.”  

Y/N listened attentively, her expression understanding. She knew better than to interrupt; sometimes, people just needed to voice their frustrations. “Even the food is different,” Ben continued, his tone a mix of incredulity and irritation.  

“Everything’s organic, gluten-free, plant-based crap. What happened to a good old-fashioned burger and fries? And the music… nothing like the rock ‘n roll I grew up with. It’s all electronic noise now.”  

He shook his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I feel like I don’t belong here. Like the world moved on and left me behind. I was a soldier once, a fucking hero. Now, I’m just...” Y/N waited a moment to make sure he was done before she spoke.  

"How long were you gone?" Ben's eyes locked on her, ignoring her question and stood up to leave. Y/N called after him. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?" He turned back to face her, his expression guarded.  

"No," he admitted. "I didn't need much sleep since I got back." Y/N frowned, concern etched across her features. "You need a place. There’s a motel nearby. I can arrange a room for you, but only if you agree to come to the sessions here every week."  

Ben laughed, a rough, humourless sound. "You’re really something, you know that? Since when are woman making deals like that. But alright, I need a place. I'll come to you for sessions. Only you, no one else."  

Y/N nodded without hesitation. "Of course. Deal. Every Friday?" Ben smiles looking her up and down while licking his lips. "Sure doll... I see you on Friday." "Tell the motel owner I send you." 

Next Friday 

Y/N waited anxiously at the centre for Ben to arrive. She checked the clock repeatedly, her concern growing as the minutes ticked by without any sign of him. Finally, she decided to head to the motel to check on him.  

When she reached his door, she knocked firmly. After a few moments, the door opened, and she was taken aback to see an elderly woman standing there, looking slightly embarrassed. "Excuse me," Y/N said, trying to keep her voice calm. "I’m looking for Ben. Is he here?"  

The woman glanced back over her naked shoulder, and Ben’s voice called out from inside. "Just in time doll, why don’t you join us." Y/N stepped into the doorway, seeing Ben sitting on the bed naked with a mirror filled with powder in his hand.  

“Oh my...” Y/N turned around covering her eyes seeing the woman quickly gathered her things, brushing past her as she left the room in a hurry. Y/N’s heart sank as she saw the mess inside and the unmistakable signs of a night spent with company.  

Ben sat on the edge of the bed, looking unrepentant. "To what do I own this suprise," he said with a smirk. “We had an appointment, remember?” She glanced over at him. “Can you please cover up?” He said looking up at the ceiling.  

"Yeah about that talk, I don’t need your help sweetheart. I just needed a good fuck and something to calm me down." Y/N felt a wave of disappointment and concern. "Ben, this isn’t the way to deal with what you’re going through. You said you’d come to the sessions."  

He scoffed, standing up and moving closer to her, putting on dirty sweatpants. "They’re for people who need a shoulder to cry on. I’m not one of them. But if you really want to make it up to me for scaring off my company, you could always... continue where she left off." He nodded to his crotch.  

"Stop right there," Y/N cut him off, her voice firm and filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "I’m here to help you, not to be manipulated or disrespected. You’re better than this, Ben. I know you are."  

He looked at her, a flicker of something, shame, maybe, crossing his face before it hardened again. "You don’t know anything about me."  

"I know you’re hurting," Y/N said, refusing to back down. "And I know you’re scared. But pushing people who want to help away isn’t going to help. You need to face what’s going on inside you. Literally!” 

Ben clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "I don’t need your pity."  

"It’s not pity," Y/N said quietly. "It’s compassion. And it’s a lifeline, if you’re willing to take it. But you have to want to change, Ben. No one can force you." For a moment, the room was silent. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.  

"Ben, if you're more comfortable, we can keep the sessions here in the motel room. But you have to promise I won't walk in on anything like this again." Ben's smirk widened as he walked closer to her, his eyes dark and intent.  

He reached out, his hands gripping her arms and pulling her closer to him. Y/N recoiled, anger and fear flashing in her eyes. "Ben, let go of me," she said firmly, her voice shaking slightly. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, feeling his beard softly scratching, as he whispered,  

"Don't take away my needs for women and drugs, or I'll take it out on you." Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let fear control her. She forced herself to stand her ground, her eyes meeting his with unwavering resolve.  

"This isn't a joke, Ben. You need help, and I'm here to offer it. But I won't be intimidated or manipulated by you." For a moment, Ben's grip tightened, his eyes searching hers for any sign of weakness. When he found none, his expression wavered, uncertainty flickering across his face.  

He released her abruptly, stepping back. "Fine," he muttered, his bravado faltering. "We'll have the sessions here. But you better not try to change me."  

"I’m not here to change you," Y/N said, rubbing her arms where his hands had held her. "I’m here to help you find a way to live with what you’ve been through. But you have to meet me halfway. See me as, i don’t know, a friend?" Ben looked away, his jaw clenching.  

"I don’t need a friend" he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. "Yes, you do," Y/N said softly.  

As Y/N turned to leave, her mind racing with concern and frustration. She reached the door, Ben called out, stopping her in her tracks. "Where are you going?" he asked, his tone a mix of annoyance and challenge.  

"I want the session now." She looked back at him, her eyes narrowing as he nodded toward the bed. Thinking this was process. "Sit," he said padding the bed next to him, but she hesitated, her gaze fixed on the rumpled sheets that were a stark reminder of what had just happened there. 

"No," Y/N replied firmly. "I'll sit over here." She moved to a chair by the small table, positioning herself as far from the bed as possible. "Let’s talk, go ahead." She said, Ben watched her for a moment, sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard.  

"Fine." He took a deep breath, his expression darkening as he began. "Back in the day, women knew their place. They knew how to treat a man. They'd do anything to please me, anything I wanted. They'd cook, clean, and make sure I was taken care of in bed. They’d do whatever it took to make me happy. They understood what real men need."  

Y/N's stomach turned at his words, but she kept her expression neutral, listening intently. "Nowadays, it’s different," Ben continued, a sneer in his voice. "Women think they can do whatever they want. They don’t respect men like they used to. They want to be equal, to have careers and opinions. It’s all bullshit. They don’t know how to take care of a real man. They think they're entitled to everything, without giving anything in return."  

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers, trying to see her reaction. "The women I’ve been with since I got back... they don’t measure up. They’re too independent, too... modern. They don’t understand what a man like me needs. They just complain and whine, instead of doing their job."  

Y/N forced herself to stay calm, her mind racing as she processed his toxic words. "Ben, do you really think that’s what relationships are supposed to be like? One person serving the other without any mutual respect or partnership?" He scoffed. "Partnership? Respect? Those are just modern buzzwords. Real relationships are about roles. Men lead, women follow. It’s how it’s always been."  

"Does that make you happy?" Y/N asked quietly. "Do those kinds of relationships fulfil you? Or do they leave you feeling empty and alone after they leave?" Ben’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he masked it with anger.  

Y/N pushed his buttons just a little more, “Is that why you didn’t want me to leave? Because then you’ll be alone?” Ben’s lip twitched "You don’t know what you're talking about. You’re just another modern woman who thinks she can lecture me about life."  

"I’m not trying to lecture you, Ben," Y/N said softly. "I’m trying to understand you. But more importantly, I want you to understand yourself. These beliefs, this anger... it’s not just about the world changing. It’s about you feeling lost and trying to find control in a world that’s different from what you knew."  

He glared at her, but didn’t interrupt. "Let’s dig deeper," Y/N continued. "Why do you feel the need of control over women? What are you really afraid of?" Y/N’s question seemed to strike a nerve. Ben’s expression darkened, and he abruptly stood up, in two paces he stood tall, towering over her.  

His voice rose as he leaned in close, anger radiating from him. "Why do I feel the need to exert control? What am I afraid of? You don’t know anything about me!" Y/N didn't flinch. She met his gaze steadily, her calmness a contrast to his rage. This seemed to catch him off guard, and he paused, staring at her with a mix of curiosity and frustration.  

"Here she is, lecturing men but this little princess is just as big of a fuck up like the men she helps, isn’t she?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Most people would be scared, what did you see that made you a stone-cold bitch?" 

Y/N took a deep breath, maintaining her composure, not willing to share her story with him just yet, but he needed something from her to build trust.  "I’ve faced fear before, Ben. I grew up as the daughter of a veteran. My father came back from war a different man. He was aggressive, a drunk. He’d beat me whenever he felt like it, accidently killed my mother in front of me while he was high and saw things there weren’t. So no, Ben, you don’t scare me."  

Ben’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face, maybe even a little regret. He stepped back, his anger momentarily replaced by something else, perhaps respect, perhaps understanding, perhaps pity. "So, you have daddy issues, poor baby.”  

"I’ve had help" Y/N said softly. "But understand this, Ben: I've seen what anger and no control can do to a person. It doesn’t lead to happiness or peace. It leads to more pain.” Y/N stood up, stepping closed to him, toe to toe.  

Her eyes were unwavering, her voice firm. "I have patience, Ben. But lose your temper like this one more time, and you'll be alone. Understand?" Ben’s lip twitched in anger. He moved the chair aside, placed his hands against the wall behind her, leaning in close.  

"Maybe I should teach you some manners," he growled, his breath hot against her face. Y/N didn’t flinch. She looked him straight in the eyes, her voice steady and cold.  

"Go ahead, try it. But understand this: I’ve dealt with men like you my whole life. You think you can intimidate me? You’re wrong. And if you do this, you’ll lose the only person who’s trying to help you. Do you really want to go down that road?"  

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent standoff. Ben’s eyes were filled with rage, but beneath it, Y/N could see a flicker of doubt and confusion. Slowly, his hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped back, a mix of anger and frustration playing across his features. 

“Good," Y/N said. "Now, let’s get back to talking. We’re not done yet." - “Oh no, we’re done for today doll.” he said opening the door. She followed him. 

Y/N walked through the door Ben held open for her, her eyes briefly and unconsciously sweeping over his toned chest, noticing the small freckles scattered across his skin, similar to the ones on his face.  

She took a deep breath, focusing back on the conversation. "Ben," she said, her voice firm but kind, "see my advice as tough love. I'm a friend who wants to help you, not someone you can... fuck around with"  

Ben's smirk returned, a hint of genuine amusement in his eyes. "Tough love, huh? Never thought I'd hear that from you." Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression unwavering. "Well, get used to it. I'm not here to cuddle you. I'm here to help you find a way to live in this new world, to help you become the person you want to be."  

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, I get it. Tough love it is." She nodded back, feeling a small sense of victory. "Good. I'll see you next week. Same time." As she walked away, she felt his eyes on her, a mix of curiosity and respect in his gaze.  

It was a start, and for now, that was enough. She had made it clear that she wouldn't be pushed around, and Ben seemed to understand that. One step at a time, she reminded herself.  

In the following sessions, Ben was more composed. He wore clothing and there were no unexpected visitors, though Y/N could still smell the lingering scent of sex in the air and noticed the traces of cocaine on the mirror beside his bed. Despite these signs, he began to talk more openly, allowing her to glimpse the deeper layers of his pain.  

One evening, as they sat across from each other, Ben finally broached a subject he had been avoiding. "My team... they betrayed me," he said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. Y/N leaned in slightly, encouraging him to continue.  

"Tell me more about that," she said gently. He took a deep breath, his eyes distant as he recounted the memories. "We were supposed to be a unit, a family. But they sold me out. They handed me over to the Russians.”  

He took his time to think about his next words. “Forty years, doll. Forty years in that hellhole because of them." Y/N nodded, her expression empathetic. "That must have been incredibly painful, feeling that betrayal from people you trusted."  

Ben's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. "It was more than painful. It broke me. I thought I could trust them, but they were just using me. And when I was no longer useful, they discarded me. Even my own girl."  

"It's understandable to feel angry and hurt," Y/N said softly. "But holding onto that anger will only continue to harm you. You need to find a way to process those feelings, to let go of the pain, if you want to move forward."  

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. After weeks of sessions, Y/N felt they had made enough progress to broach a crucial topic. As they sat in the motel room, Ben seemed more relaxed, though the ever-present tension lingered beneath the surface.  

"Ben," Y/N began, her voice steady, "do you want to be Soldier Boy again?" He looked up, startled. "How do you...?" Y/N smiled, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "I've been listening, the pieces of your story. The details, the hints. I put them together."  

Ben's surprise turned into a wry smile. "You're smarter than you look." His eyes roamed her body like they did so often, at first, she felt uncomfortable by it, now she had learned the difference is his looks.  

This one wasn’t filled with heat, or not as much, no it was more an appreciation look. 

"Thanks, I think," Y/N replied, chuckling. "But seriously, do you want to go back to that life? To being Soldier Boy?"  

He leaned back, scratching his beard. "I don’t know. Part of me does. It’s all I’ve ever known. But another part of me wants to kill my old team and move on." Y/N ignored his lasts sentence.  

As they continued their conversation, Y/N felt a growing sense of optimism. Seeing Ben was starting to see beyond his past, to consider a future that wasn’t defined by his old identity. 

As Y/N ended their session she stood up and placed a hand on his arm. “You did good today Ben, I'm proud of you.” She could see the shock in his eyes, realising no one had ever told him they were proud of him. Not as sincerely like she just did. 

Ben’s eyes flickered to her lips and back a few times, so, before he could so something to ruin their bond she turned away. “See you next week.”  

Next week  

Ben paced the motel room, glancing at the clock every few minutes. Y/N was late. He tried to convince himself that maybe she was just held up, but as the minutes ticked by, anger began to simmer.  

Just when he had started to open up, to trust her, she didn't show up. The feeling of abandonment gnawed at him, intensifying his frustration. He threw the table a crossed the room, trying to let go of his anger.  

Deep down he knew she was like everyone else, thinking: “Maybe the fact that he was Soldier Boy pushed her away? Fucking pussy, you shouldn’t have told her about your fucking feelings. Man the fuck up!” 

By Saturday, his anger had turned into a determined need for answers. He decided to walk by the centre where Y/N volunteered, hoping to find her there, she told him the last weeks she had fulltime hours.  

He needed some explanation. As he approached, he saw her at the doors, but she wasn't alone. A man in a suit stood with her, and they were arguing heatedly. Ben's eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange.  

The man gestured aggressively, his face twisted in anger. Y/N flinched at his movement, just so slight that most people wouldn't notice, but Ben did. Knowing she doesn’t flinch just like that unless...  

His anger flared, a protective instinct kicking in. He strode up to them, his presence immediately drawing their attention. "Hey!" Ben barked, stepping between Y/N and the man.  

 

"What's going on here?" The man in the suit turned to face him, irritation clear in his eyes. "This is none of your business caveman, leave." Ben's gaze hardened. "It is my business if you're bothering her."  

 

“Oh...” the man looked at Y/N “This is one of your little projects!” Turning back to Ben. “I’m sorry buddy, but I need to talk to my girl.” Ben looked at Y/B seeing her face twitch at the words ‘my girl’.  

 

“Just go away Peter. We’re done I told you last night.” But then Ben noticed something he hadn't seen before: a faint bruise on Y/N's cheek, barely hidden by makeup. His eyes narrowed, and his chest tightened with anger.  

 

Ben glanced at Y/N, who noticed his eyes on her and looked away, clearly distressed. "Who is this guy, Y/N?" She hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's my ex-boss and... ex-boyfriend."  

 

The man's sneer grew. "We were just having a conversation. Nothing for you to worry about." Ben's eyes flicked back to the man, his anger simmering just below the surface. "A conversation that left a bruise on her face?"  

 

The man's expression turned smug. "She left me because of one little mistake. She needs to learn her place. I’m sure you understand." Ben's chest began to glow faintly, his rage manifesting physically. "You piece of shit."  

 

The ex-boyfriend didn't seem to notice the glow at first, but when Y/N placed her hand on Ben's chest, trying to calm him, she gasped in pain, pulling her hand back with a burn. "Ben, stop!" she cried, her eyes wide with fear and concern.  

 

The man took a step back, finally realizing he was pissing of a supe. "What the hell...." Before Ben could react further, Y/N stepped in front of him, her unburned hand on his arm, pleading.  

 

"Ben, please. Calm down. Don’t let him get to you. This isn’t the way." Ben's eyes met hers, and the glow began to fade as he struggled to control his anger. His fists unclenched, but his eyes remained fixed on the man.  

 

"You’re lucky she’s here. But if I ever see you near her again, I won’t hold back." The ex-boyfriend, now visibly shaken, took another step back. "So now you take care of freaks too?" he muttered. “I hope they can fix your issues.” he added before walking away. 

Ben looked at her, opening the door for her so she could get inside. ”Let me see your hand.” Y/N shook her head, “I can take care of myself.” But Ben thought differently, pushing her toward the table, his eyes demanding her to sit down.  

Ben searched around the kitchen for the first aid kit, his movements still tense from the encounter. When he found it, he brought it over to Y/N and carefully began treating her burned hand.  

"So, you slept with your boss," he remarked, his tone carrying a hint of teasing scepticism. Y/N smirked, wincing slightly as the cool ointment touched her skin. "Never thought that was your kink," Ben chuckled, the tension easing slightly.  

"I though more in the line of, older man, calling them daddy, spanking your perfect little ass... Guess I’ve still got a lot to learn about you." He looked up at her, seeing her reaction, she tried to hide a smile, the humour lightening the mood.  

"It was a mistake," she admitted, her expression growing more serious. "We were together before he was my boss. Things were good at first, but then he had stress, started drinking more, and everything went downhill."  

Ben nodded, listening when she finally opened up to him. “I saw my father in him, determine to heal him before he could hurt anyone.” she said looking at his hands gentle as he wrapped her hand in a bandage.  

"And then he hit you?" Ben asked without joking about her ‘daddy issues’ - "Yeah," she said softly. "That was the last straw. I couldn’t stay with him after that." Ben finished wrapping her hand, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of concern and respect.  

"You did the right thing by leaving. No one deserves to be treated like that." She looked confused at him, he noticed "Just because I think a woman should be at home, cooking for her man, please him doesn't mean I would hit her... unless she likes a little spanking in the bedroom." He winks at her.  

She could feel the soft pink on her cheeks burning, "Thanks, Ben," she said, her smile returning. Ben looked at Y/N after taking care of her hand, a sense of resolve in his eyes. "I need to take care of a few things," he said, his voice gentle but determined.  

"You won't be seeing me for a while." Y/N nodded, understanding the weight of his words. Ben looked at Y/N, concern etched in his features. "Are you going to be okay being alone?"  

Y/N met his gaze, her expression softening. "Are you?" He chuckled, a hint of self-awareness in his laughter. "No, not really." She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Me neither." 

Y/N looked at Ben, her expression turning serious. "What are your plans?" Ben hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to hers. "I... I'm going to visit an old friend," he admitted reluctantly.  

 

"Someone who can help me get my suit back." Y/N's brows furrowed in concern. "Your suit? Why do you need that?" He looked away again, the weight of his words heavy on his shoulders. "To... settle some unfinished business.” Her eyes widened in alarm. "Ben, you can't be serious.”  

 

"I have to," he insisted, his voice tight with determination. "They betrayed me, Y/N. They left me to rot in that hellhole for forty years. I can't just let that go." Y/N reached out, taking his hand in hers, her touch gentle but firm. "Please, Ben. Think about what you're doing. Revenge won't heal anything." 

As Ben and Y/N looked at each other, there was a palpable tension in the air. For the first time, they felt a stirring of attraction, a spark igniting between them. Y/N's gaze lingered on Ben in a way she hadn't before, truly seeing him for the first time.  

She noticed the depth of his green eyes, the curve of his full lips, the scattering of freckles across his skin. There was a ruggedness to him, a rawness that drew her in. Ben found himself captivated by Y/N in a way he hadn't expected.  

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her lips, imagining the softness of them against his own. He felt a pull towards her, a magnetic force that seemed to draw them closer with each passing moment.  

Slowly, almost instinctively, they began to close the space between them. The air crackled with anticipation as their breaths mingled, their hearts beating in sync. In that moment her hands moved to his cheek, a tender gesture as she pulled him closer and kissed him softly.  

He leaned into the kiss, savouring the moment, feeling the soft scratch of his beard against her skin. When he pulled back she kept her eyes closed, she could hear him moving. Knowing what he is going to do. 

She heard the door closing, reality crashed back in, and a single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. In the quiet of the room, she couldn't help but wonder why it hurt so much. The sudden ache in her heart caught her off guard, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable. 

Her eyes where still closed, her fingers moved over her lips, trying to hold on to the lingering sensation of Ben's kiss. 

--

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[corendisguise]

Superman Unmasked & Unveiled

Chapter 3

Tom’s heart pounded as he stepped into the fluorescent-lit expanse of the shopping mall. The place was bustling with people, a sea of strangers moving in and out of stores, some faces buried in their phones. He usually avoided malls like this, but today, loneliness had driven him out of his quiet house and into the chaos. Steven had been gone for nearly two weeks, working on set as a stand-in for some actor, and the silence of their home had begun to feel oppressive. Tom missed the way Steven moved around the kitchen, humming softly as he made coffee, the sound of his laughter echoing through the halls.

But as much as he missed Steven, there was another feeling gnawing at him—a prickling unease, a jealous itch that he couldn’t scratch. Steven’s job brought him into contact with so many beautiful people, actors and models and crew members who seemed impossibly glamorous compared to Tom’s mundane existence. He knew it was irrational, but sometimes he wondered if Steven noticed them too, if he felt even a fraction of the attraction to them that Tom did. It was stupid, he told himself, but the thought lingered, unshakable.

Lost in his thoughts, Tom wandered aimlessly through the mall, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He didn’t even realize where he was going until he found himself standing inside a sleek electronics store, the glassshowcase glittering with displays of the latest gadgets. His eyes lingered on a particularly flashy smartphone, its screen glowing hypnotically. For a moment, he considered buying a new phone, but then he went out again and caught sight of the security guard standing just outside the store.

The man was massive, his broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his uniform, his skin a deep, rich brown that seemed to glow under the harsh light. His long braids were tied back neatly, and a name tag pinned to his chest read “James.” Tom froze, his pulse quickening as James glanced in his direction, his dark eyes sharp and assessing. Tom looked away quickly, turning to go, but it was too late.

“Sir,” James called out, his voice low and authoritative. “Could you come here for a moment?”

Tom’s stomach dropped. He hesitated, his feet rooted to the spot, but when James took a step closer, he felt a surge of panic. There was no point in resisting, he told himself. Just go along with it. He walked over to James, his movements stiff and awkward, his face burning with embarrassment.

“Is there a problem?” Tom asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

James didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied Tom carefully, his gaze traveling from head to toe and back again. It felt invasive, almost predatory, and Tom shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Finally, James spoke, his tone cold and accusing.

“I saw you lingering in the store earlier,” he said. “Did you take something?”

Tom blinked, his mind scrambling for an explanation. “What? No, I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” James interrupted, his voice cutting through Tom’s flimsy protest. “I don’t have time for games. If you stole something, you need to hand it over now.”

Tom shook his head frantically, his hands coming out of his pockets to gesture helplessly. “I swear, I didn’t take anything! You’ve got the wrong person!”

James’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his jaw tightened, his lips forming a thin, angry line. “We’ll see about that,” he said, stepping closer. “Let’s go.”

Tom tried to back away, but James grabbed his arm firmly, his grip strong enough to make Tom wince. “Where are we going?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“To my office,” James replied, steering him toward a narrow corridor at the far end of the mall. “We’ll sort this out there.”

Tom’s legs felt like jelly as they walked down the dimly lit hallway, the walls closing in around him. He could feel James’s presence looming over him, his sheer size making Tom feel small and vulnerable. The security guard opened a door at the end of the corridor, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a single table and two chairs.

“Sit,” James ordered, pointing to one of the chairs.

Tom obeyed, sinking into the hard plastic seat and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. James stood in front of him, his arms crossed as well, his expression unreadable. Tom waited for him to say something, anything, but the silence stretched on, each second dragging painfully.

Finally, James spoke, his voice laced with irritation. “You know the drill. Empty your pockets.”

Tom hesitated, his cheeks flushing. “I already told you, I didn’t steal anything.”

James’s eyes narrowed. “Do it yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

The threat was clear, and Tom swallowed hard. With shaking hands, he began pulling items out of his pockets—his wallet, his keys, a crumpled receipt. He placed them on the table one by one, avoiding eye contact with James. When he was done, he sat back, folding his hands in his lap.

James leaned forward, picking up each item and examining it closely. He paused when he reached the receipt, his brow furrowing. “This doesn’t prove anything,” he said, tossing it back onto the table. “You could still be hiding something.”

Tom’s breath hitched. “I’m not—”

“Shut up,” James snapped, cutting him off. “I think you need a more thorough search.”

Before Tom could react, James grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked it open, buttons popping off and scattering across the floor. Tom let out a startled cry, clutching at his now-exposed chest. His mind reeled, his body frozen in shock.

“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this.”

James ignored him, reaching out to run his big hands roughly over Tom’s torso. Tom flinched at the touch, his skin tingling uncomfortably. The sensation was unfamiliar, strangely intimate, and a jolt of arousal shot through him, confusing and unwelcome.

James’s fingers moved lower, dipping into Tom’s waistband. Tom gasped, his body tensing as James’s hands brushed against the sensitive skin of his hips. “There’s nothing here,” James said, his voice cool and dismissive. “But I���m not done yet.”

Tom’s heart raced as James stepped back, his eyes scanning Tom’s body hungrily. “Stand up,” he ordered.

Tom hesitated, his legs wobbling as he pushed himself to his feet. James wasted no time, grabbing the remnants of Tom’s shirt and lifting it over his head in one swift motion. Tom’s arms went up instinctively, shielding himself from James’s gaze, but the security guard wasn’t deterred. He grabbed Tom by the wrists and held them firmly above his head, pinning him against the wall next to the table.

“Stay still,” James commanded, his voice low and menacing.

Tom whimpered, his body trembling as James’s free hand slid down his abdomen, brushing against the waistband of his pants once more. This time, when James’s fingers dipped beneath the fabric, Tom couldn’t suppress a groan, his hips bucking slightly. The sound seemed to surprise him as much as it did James, who raised an eyebrow in interest.

“Looks like someone’s enjoying this,” James said, his tone dripping with mockery.

Tom’s face burned with shame, but before he could respond, James’s fingers plunged deeper, exploring the crevice between his buttocks. Tom cried out, his legs giving way as his knees hit the floor. James released his wrists, allowing him to collapse forward onto the table, his upper body pressed flat against the cold surface.

“Spread your legs,” James ordered, his voice commanding.

Tom hesitated, his mind screaming in protest, but his body betrayed him, obeying without question. He spread his legs wide, exposing himself completely to James’s hungry gaze. The security guard stepped closer, his crotch pressing against Tom’s bare back as he reached around to undo the button on his pants.

“You’re going to regret lying to me,” James whispered, his breath hot against Tom’s ear.

Tom’s mind spun, his thoughts a chaotic mess of fear and desire. He wanted to resist, to push James away, but his body refused to cooperate. Instead, he moaned softly as James’s fingers slipped inside his mouth, probing and teasing until Tom’s tongue darted out to meet them.

“Good boy,” James murmured, his voice thick with pleasure.

Tom’s eyes fluttered shut, his resistance crumbling under the weight of his overwhelming arousal. He had no idea how this had happened, no idea why he was letting this stranger take control of him, but the truth was undeniable—he was completely at James’s mercy. If Tom hadn't been so excited, he might have noticed the strange artificial taste of James fingers.

“Now,” James said, his voice low and urgent. “Tell me where it is.”

Tom shuddered, his entire body trembling as James’s fingers withdrew from his mouth and moved lower, slipping between his cheeks to press against his entrance.

“Please,” Tom whimpered, his voice breaking.

James didn’t answer. Instead, he thrust his wet finger inside, breaching Tom’s tight hole with steady pressure. Tom’s head fell forward, his face pressed against the table as he cried out, his body arching involuntarily. The sensation was overwhelming, terrifying and thrilling all at once, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder what else James had planned for him.

James’s fingers lingered inside Tom, stretching him gently but firmly, preparing him for what was to come. Tom’s breath hitched as James pulled his finger out, only to replace it with something cold and smooth. He looked down, his vision swimming with a mix of fear and arousal, to see a sleek, black toy resting against his entrance. It was thick like 3 fingers at least.

“You’re going to like this,” James murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the small room. His dark eyes locked on Tom’s face, watching intently as he slid the toy in slowly, inch by agonizing inch.

Tom bit his lip hard, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to escape. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that left him trembling. He couldn’t help but moan softly as the toy breached him, filling him in a way that made his entire body shudder.

James leaned over him, his broad chest brushing against Tom’s back. “That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot against Tom’s ear. “Take it. Take it all.”

The command sent a shiver down Tom’s spine. He felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet there was an undeniable thrill in submitting to James’s control. The toy moved deeper, forcing him to stretch further, and Tom couldn’t stop the choked cry that escaped his lips.

James grinned, clearly enjoying Tom’s reaction. “You’re tight,” he said, almost admiringly. “But you’re handling it well.”

Tom didn’t respond, too consumed by the sensations coursing through his body. The toy moved in and out, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge of something he couldn’t quite name. His cock twitched, leaking pre-cum onto the table beneath him, and he hated himself for how much he was enjoying this.

“You like that, don’t you?” James asked, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He reached around and wrapped a hand around Tom’s throbbing erection, stroking him in time with the movements of the toy.

Tom gasped, his hips bucking instinctively. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please…”

James chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Good boy,” he said, giving Tom’s cock a firm squeeze. “Now, let’s see how you handle the real thing.”

With that, James pulled the toy out, leaving Tom feeling empty and exposed. He turned Tom over, positioning him on his back on the table. Tom’s legs were spread wide, his body completely at James’s mercy. He couldn’t bring himself to look away as James unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants, revealing a thick, impressive erection that made Tom’s breath catch in his throat.

“You ready for this?” James asked, his voice low and teasing. He grabbed Tom’s legs, lifting them up and placing them on his broad shoulders.

Tom nodded quickly, though his heart was pounding in his chest. He couldn’t believe what was happening, couldn’t believe he was about to be penetrated by someone other than Steven. But the thought of stopping was impossible. He was too far gone, too consumed by the desire to feel James inside him.

James positioned himself at Tom’s entrance, his tip pressing against the sensitive skin. “Relax,” he said, his voice demanding. „ You will now get to know me properly.“

Tom took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He focused on James’s words, willing his body to comply. Slowly, carefully, James began to push in, his thick length sliding into Tom with deliberate precision.

Tom groaned, his head falling back against the table. The sensation was overwhelming, painful at first but quickly giving way to pleasure. James was so big, filling him in a way that no one ever had before, and Tom couldn’t help but arch his hips, desperate for more.

“There you go,” James said approvingly. “Take it. You’re doing so good.”

Tom whimpered, his hands gripping the edge of the table for support. James continued to push in, his pace slow and controlled, allowing Tom to adjust to his size. Each inch that entered him sent waves of pleasure through his body, and Tom found himself moaning uncontrollably.

“So tight,” James muttered, his breathing becoming heavier. “You’re perfect.”

Finally, James bottomed out, his full length buried inside Tom. Tom cried out, his body trembling with the intensity of the sensation. He felt so full, so utterly dominated, and the realization made his cock throb even harder.

James remained still for a moment, allowing Tom to get used to the feeling. Then, slowly, he began to move, pulling out until only the head of his cock remained inside before pushing back in. The motion was slow and deliberate, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through Tom’s body.

“Oh god,” Tom gasped, his voice breaking. “Please… faster…”

James smirked, clearly enjoying Tom’s desperation. “As you wish,” he said, increasing his pace. He fucked Tom with long, deep strokes, each one hitting his prostate with pinpoint accuracy.

Tom moaned loudly, his body writhing on the table. He couldn’t hold back any longer, the pleasure building inside him with every thrust. His cock was rock hard, throbbing with need, and he could feel the pressure in his balls growing stronger with every passing second.

“James,” Tom cried out, his voice pleading. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”

James growled, his grip on Tom’s legs tightening. “Not yet,” he said, his voice commanding. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Tom whimpered, desperate to release but unable to disobey James’s orders. He clenched his fists, fighting against the urge to climax, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming, and he was losing control.

James seemed to sense Tom’s struggle. “That’s it,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Hold on. Just a little longer.”

Tom nodded, though his vision was blurring with tears of pleasure. He clung to James’s words, using them to steady himself as the security guard continued to fuck him with relentless intensity. Each thrust pushed him closer to the edge, and Tom knew it wouldn’t be long before he surrendered. James was now breathing heavily, moaning in between the deep breaths. - He was just not showing any sweat on his body or face what Tom should have surprised Tom normally. - „James… please…” Tom begged, his voice broken and desperate.

James leaned down, capturing Tom’s lips in a rough, bruising kiss. The contact sent a shockwave through Tom’s body, and he realized suddenly that he didn’t want to hold back anymore. He wanted to give in, to let go completely and lose himself in the ecstasy that James was offering him.

With a loud cry, Tom came, his seed shooting across the table and James chest as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. His body convulsed, his muscles spasming as he rode out his orgasm, completely spent.

James pulled out of Tom abruptly, letting him fall back against the table, panting and exhausted. Tom couldn’t bring himself to care; he was too overwhelmed by the experience, too lost in the haze of his own arousal.

“Damn,” James said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re a natural.”

Tom closed his eyes, still catching his breath. He felt ashamed for enjoying it so much, for letting James take control like that. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny the thrill of submitting to someone so dominant, so confident in his power.

James leaned down, kissing Tom again, this time more tenderly. “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he said, his voice laced with promise.

Tom’s eyes fluttered open, meeting James’s dark gaze. “I… I don’t know…” he stammered, his voice trembling.

James smiled, his expression knowing. “Sure you do,” he said, leaning in closer.

Tom’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions. The ecstasy had faded, leaving behind a deep pit of guilt and sadness. He couldn’t believe what he had just done, how easily he had submitted to James. His heart ached for Steven, who was out there, working, meeting beautiful people, while Tom had been indulging in this intense, forbidden encounter.

James, breathing heavily, seemed to sense Tom’s turmoil. He didn’t say anything, but his massive arms wrapped around Tom with surprising gentleness. The warmth of James’s body pressed against him, and for a moment, Tom felt safe, cocooned in strength. But the guilt continued to gnaw at him.

“Shh,” James murmured, his deep voice soothing yet commanding. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad. This was… mutual. You wanted this as much as I did.”

Tom shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t do this. Not without Steven.”

James’s grip tightened, but not in a way that hurt. Instead, it was firm, grounding. “You’re here now,” he said softly. “And I’m here. Let me take care of you, even if just for a little while.”

Tom hesitated, his body still buzzing from the intensity of their encounter. James leaned in, pressing his lips to Tom’s once more. This time, the kiss was slow, deliberate, each movement of James’s tongue sending waves of desire through Tom’s body. He could feel himself hardening again, his muscles responding despite the turmoil in his mind.

James pulled back slightly, his dark eyes glinting with something that made Tom’s breath hitch. “You liked it, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

Tom nodded reluctantly, unable to deny the truth. “Yes… but—”

“But nothing,” James interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself. To let someone else take control for once.”

James’s hand moved down, tracing the length of Tom’s cock as he spoke. The gentle pressure made Tom gasp, his hips instinctively arching into the touch. James smirked, clearly pleased by the reaction. “See? You want this. Admit it.”

Tom bit his lip, trying to resist as his cock was still very sensitive, but James’s skilled fingers were relentless. They moved with precision, stroking him slowly, building the tension until Tom was panting, his body on fire. “Please…” he whispered, unable to hold back any longer.

James chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. “Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you want.”

“More… I need more,” Tom admitted, his voice breaking.

James’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, his hot breath brushing against Tom’s ear. “That’s what I thought.” His fingers shifted, moving with bolder strokes, targeting every sensitive spot with expert precision. Tom moaned loudly, his body trembling with anticipation.

As James continued to tease and torment him, Tom’s thoughts began to blur. He tried to focus on the guilt, on the fact that Steven might be hurt by what he was doing, but James’s touch was too overwhelming. It consumed him completely, dragging him deeper into pleasure.

James’s other hand reached up, fingers tangling in the long braids that fell over his shoulders. He tugged gently, pulling them across Tom’s chest and neck, the sensation tickling and thrilling at the same time. Tom squirmed under the dual sensations, his arousal peaking higher and higher.

“Almost there, aren’t you?” James murmured, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’re going to come again for me.”

Tom nodded frantically, his hands clutching at James’s arms for support. He could feel the build-up inside him, the pressure mounting until he was sure he would explode. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, James stopped, pulling his hand away.

Tom gasped, confused and desperate for more. “What… why did you stop?”

James smirked, his expression mischievous. “Patience,” he said simply. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Before Tom could protest, James leaned forward, positioning himself over Tom’s groin. He took the tip of Tom’s cock into his mouth, swallowing him whole with one swift motion. Tom cried out, his entire body jerking in response. James’s mouth was warm and wet, his tongue swirling and flicking with practiced ease. Every movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through Tom, making it impossible to think about anything else. His first orgasm was only moment ago and he was on the edge again, never felt this intensity before.

James worked his magic, sucking and licking with an intensity that left Tom breathless. He could feel the familiar rush approaching, his climax threatening to overtake him. He clutched at James’s head, gripping the braids tightly as his body tensed.

Just as Tom was on the verge of release, James released him, pulling back with a slight pop. Tom groaned in frustration, his body aching for completion. “Please… don’t stop…”

James grinned, his expression filled with wicked satisfaction. “Not yet,” he said, his voice teasing. “There’s something else I want to try first.”

Tom blinked, his mind foggy with desire. “What… what are you talking about?”

James didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached up, his fingers finding a seam along his neck. Tom frowned, confusion setting in as James’s fingers worked the edges of the fabric. He drilled his fingers on both sides of his chin under the edge and moved them slowly upwards. Sweat was running down on both hands. His maskulin features distorted and Tom saw the fingers draw contours under the skin. With a sudden slurping sound, James peeled the mask upwards, revealing the sweaty exhausted face beneath.

Tom’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in shock. The face staring back at him was not James’s—it was Steven’s. Sweat clung to his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin, and his eyes were full of a mix of exhaustion and desire. His eyes were dark brown. For a moment, Tom couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“Steven…?” Tom whispered, his voice barely audible.

Steven—or James, or whoever he was—smiled, his expression soft yet intense. “Surprise,” he said, his voice a perfect blend of Steven’s smooth tones and James’s deep timbre.

The realization crashed over Tom like a wave, sending him spiraling into a state of pure, unadulterated bliss. Steven was holding up the lifeless face of James at the braids, dangling and dripping sweat everywhere. Toms body reacted before his mind could fully grasp the situation, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. He came hard, his release coating Steven’s face with thick bursts of cum.

Steven stayed still, allowing Tom to finish, his own breathing heavy and labored. Steven was licking away every drop of cum on his lips and smiled broadly. When Tom finally collapsed back onto the table, spent and exhausted, Steven leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

Tom’s eyes fluttered shut, a smile playing on his lips. “I love you too,” he murmured, his voice weak but sincere.

Steven held him close, his strong arms providing comfort and security. Tom knew this wasn’t the end—there would be questions, discussions, and perhaps even consequences—but for now, he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of Steven’s embrace. „It will never become boring with you….“. Steven nodded in silence.

to be continued…

[jalicecookie]

Night Night 별

"Appa, Night Night! Tired!" - You're trudging through the VIP area of ​​the Pentagon club, tired and searching for your appa. You don't run into Nam-Gyu directly, but you do run into the famous rapper Thanos (Choi Su-bong), and he teaches you a new word - 별 * (별 (byeol) = Star) (TW: Swear words, drugs, adult jokes, Thanos x Nam-Gyu, hints of physical contact - Idiots in secret love)

The muffled drone of Club Pentagon's music reached you almost like the gentle lapping of the waves on the ocean.

But you barely had time for this muffled background noise. No, you didn't even want to notice why the music was quieter now. You just wanted to be with your father and be put to bed by him! Appa said that when it's Night Night time, he'll come back to his office and won't be in the VIP area of ​​the club anymore, and you'll go home.

Then your father will make you a hot milk with honey in your sippy cup and at first pretend to put you in your baby's crib, only to secretly sneak you into his king-sized bed (even if he wanted to break himself and you of the co-parenting habit, you're both just spoiled like that) - and Appa would even turn on the pink kitten nightlight in his bedroom so the evil monsters under the bed would find another place to be evil - and Appa forgot about YOU! For many minutes already!

The episodes of Bluey on your toddler tablet had been repeating, and you were tired of waiting in Nam-Gyu's office.

You were tired, and Appa wasn't coming back, and you were actually shy around new faces, and you rarely meet the people your father works for as a club promoter.

But how dare your father forget Night Night! That was much more important than the stupid job and the even stupider black bow tie that Appa spent ages straightening in front of the mirror at home in his apartment and that weird glue that he put in his hair (you're not even allowed to touch it on Work Days when Nam-Gyu is carrying you because of his styled hair), and… you were just tired, you wanted your father to pick you up and go home.

This stupid job tonight stole your appa and the night night time from you! You're his little princess! His only child! His daughter. That's what he always says, and it's time you reminded him.

With clumsy steps, you walked down the hallway where Appa had you run up and down during closed club hours to burn off some energy. You knew where the VIP area was, and since it was very late that evening, the security guards were busy with other things. So, for a toddler like you, almost 3 years old, it was no problem to get into the VIP area, which was… very empty.

You didn't care if Appa would be angry that you hadn't stayed in his office and continued watching Bluey on your tablet… he had forgotten about you, and you just wanted to go home… and be with Appa.

And so, you grabbed the first person you saw and hurled the following accusatory words at him, accompanied by a whiny whine.

"Appa! Night Night! Tired!"

You stumble toward the seating area of ​​the club's VIP lounge and, with wide, tired eyes, look at the adult who…isn't your father.

A man with black and purple hair, wearing a colorful, glittery T-shirt, white sneakers, and dark pants. Thanos, the famous rapper, looked at you confusedly for a moment before he lightened his deep, amused voice and leaned forward slightly.

"I think you're confusing Thanos the Legend with someone, hm? Or am I your Appa?"

You stumble closer and look at this stranger, searching and tired.

Then you shake your head, your lower lip starting to tremble! Where's your father!

"You, not Appa!" - you say, overtired, and before you can burst into tears, Thanos snaps two fingers of his right hand and then briefly holds out his smartphone screen to you.

It shows a photo of Nam-Gyu—a photo of your father with the strange man…Thanos.

"Nam-Su is your Appa, little one? Seems like he can do more than just putt things into the circle, hehe."

You don't understand most of the sentence and the ambiguity behind it, but you do understand the word Appa and, of course, recognize your father in the photo.

"Appa! You, Appa's friend?"

"Friends is a really craaaaaazy word, little one. Thanos doesn't have friends, he has fans - maybe your Appa is a fan of mine too, huh?" Thanos said, making a hand gesture as if he were swatting away a fly.

"Tired!" you whined, stamping your foot once.

"Wooow…WOW chill vibes! Chill vibes laaady!" Thanos rapped once, then playfully tapped you on the nose.

You look at him for three seconds before making grabby hands in his direction, wanting to be picked up. You don't care at all whether your father rocks you to sleep and just holds you or…this friend fan Thanos.

"It's been a while since I held such a little kiddo, let's see if the Legend can still do it…oookaayy eaaasy!" - Thanos said to you in his drugged-up state, gently picking you up.

"Nam-Su could have mentioned, that he's already soooo old. Thinks he can be kidding me. Your appa is kind of stupid," - Thanos muttered, and when you start getting restless and whining again, the rapper has to act quickly… sure, there was no press here, and he had a private meeting with Nam-Gyu (an adult meeting with lots of drugging, cuddling, and exchanging kisses in the dim light of the bar at the VIP lounge) - and yet Choi Su-bong didn't have enough experience to handle a crying, overtired toddler at this late hour.

(Even though Choi Su-bong found it amusing that Nam-gyu, instead of a babysitter, parked the toddler—that is, you—in the club's office like an abandoned kitten.)

So he quietly starts rapping…not one of his fast, familiar songs, but a lullaby he remembered from his own childhood. One his mother had sung to him.

And it worked, and the fact that someone was holding you and a lullaby was being sung or rapped had a brief calming effect on you - you automatically snuggled closer to the rapper, who started tapping your back a few times soothingly with his right hand (like a baby) - while he rapped the last lines with a subtly hidden affection and appreciation for his own mother.

"What… word mean?"

"Huh?"

"Last word… Thanos said… wanna know! Tell, please!"

"Ah, you mean 별? It means star!"

"별 - star? oooh"

You think for a moment and then yawn.

"Night night, 별!" - you say, about to drift off to sleep when Nam-Gyu comes back to Thanos and is quite surprised that you're more or less falling asleep in the rapper's arms.

"Shit… Su-bong, I should have put her on a leash… I hope she didn't annoy you and…"

But Thanos makes a shh …

"Oh noooo come on, don't let your new friend Thanos down, I taught you a new word" - Thanos whined, sadly as Nam-Gyu picked you up and you automatically tried to hide in the club promoter's dark leather jacket.

"Appa's friend too, Night Night!"

"What? Forget it, we're not taking him home and…" - Nam-Gyu broke off the sentence because Thanos, Titanic-like, had wrapped his hands around Nam-Gyu's waist from behind and let out a few deeply sad sighs.

Damn drug influence. Under which Nam-Gyu himself was.

"You're too high to drive… I'll call us an Uber! And you're sleeping on the couch."

"Hmmmh…," - Thanos mumbled, and when Nam-Gyu felt a hand on his right pocket, he took a step back. But his gaze for the rapper spoke volumes.

"We're going to my office now, and you have the honorable task of carrying her tablet, so your hands will have something to do… you rapper idol!"

"Still a 별 idol to you!"

You didn't hear the rest of the exchange or the Uber ride from the club to the apartment, because you fell asleep in your appa's arms in the elevator to the exit of the club building.

THE END

[czteryd]

My guide to Internet warfare and taking back control

By which I mean minimizing screen time and wasting your life on making Zuckerber rich. Scrolling Instagram doesn't seem to be dangerous, but there is probably nothing less hurtful than wasting time of milliards of people on things they don't care about. Using willpower to work on this is a lie — you will need real weapons, technologies and strategy.

^this is the lost future you are fighting for. Technology can be good.

Remember, that wars are rarely won in a week, I am in trenches since last summer when i ditched my phone, when i say "It takes time" i mean 5–10 months. It is still hard, but the improvement is amazing.

This is a list of things I have been doing for more than a year that improved my life. Ranked with ease (EAS) + effectiveness (EFF) from 1 to 10.

It is still not perfect, but this is a warzone and you will adapt and not be allowed to surrender, soldier!

Remove the smartphone – 5 eas + 15 eff

Sorry. This is a military grade weapon that milliards of dollars are put into to make you waste your time as easily as you can. You can move forward with your phone, but nothing is as effective in taking control back during your commutes, breaks, walks and free time etc. and it is a very important part of learning to deal with stress without mindless scrolling and games. There is no real phone hacks to help you. We and the enemy know that timers don't work. If you can enable all enemy weapons with one switch it is not enough.

You will need a dumbphone or a custom rom to use this technique and stay in society.

It is not as hard as it sounds, actually you don't need it that much. Check out #dumbphone or r/dumbphones for inspiration and support. Me and many of my friends who done it as well don't look back.

Buuut i can't – 9 eas + 5 eff

Yes you can. But if you insist, still, buy a dumbphone or find one in the drawers and put your sim card there; carry them both. Now you can use the Internet only when you have wifi, but you can use offline maps, listen to downloaded music and watch downloaded movies, read pdfs etc. Check your email, bank, messages, memes at work or at home. You will regain control over walks, commutes and socialising. But if you still have any social apps, at home or during breaks, you are still cooked. It is still a very good first step to moving away from phone dependence.

Smartphone substitutes

Email, socials, work, school – all will now be done on a pc or a laptop. This is good. It allows you to distance yourself from stress, tiring family members, school, work and problems of others and engage with them only when you want to. It allows you to take a break. It is not your duty, to engage all the time and the ability to do so at your own pace is the biggest advantage you can get on the battlefield. If something important is going on — someone will call you, don't worry. Just inform others that WhatsApp is not a place to discuss emergencies.

Fun, music, reading – you will need to get a dumbphone that supports some music, pdf viewing, photos and maybe light web browsing, they do exist. Or just buy an mp3 player, some books and a notepad. An e-reader and a camera for the high tech soldiers. Y2K is back in fashion anyway, and you will be much cooler and people will start conversations. Having everything in one place was convenient, but, if it means having time–wasting hazards in your pocket, it is not worth it.

Libraries are here to support you on your journey.

Block the feed — 10 eas + 4 eff

Hopefully you got rid of your phone, the biggest danger now is your web browser.

Use LeechBlock to block or regulate access to the biggest dangers – youtube, instagram, fb, reddit. On the weak side it is no better than the timer in your phone, supportive, but not really effective and fills you with guilt. Guilt is bad.

On the strong side you will block all access, allow very rare and short usage, put as many defenses as you can, put blockades on your blockades. Your brain is very effective at overcoming barriers, but they need to be put in place.

It is the first step, but it is not enough to win the war. Real psychological effects will show only after months of usage and well adjusted settings that acknowledge how your brain works and as you adapt your barriers will need to adapt as well. On the flip-side it requires no real conscious work or wasting your willpower if your filters are good.

You will sometimes need to bend the rules, to fix something or watch a lecture or a tutorial or just for some well deserved Forgotten Vines Compilation. Remember to put them back in place later and spot the times where you never did — and do it then.

Warning: nerd shit! (3-6) eas + (7-10) eff

If your friends sent you a funny video — don't unlock the site to watch it. Use external software like MPV or VLC to watch this video using only the link, without getting rid of your defense line. This is easiest on a linux machine.

You also have the nuke – block websites on your router and gate settings. You will need the support of the rest of the war room members in your house to use it and it will cut access to actually useful things. But this is a war for your life and every sacrifice is worth it.

Block the biggest hazards — 6 eas + 9 eff

Sorry, but you will need to use some nerd tactics.

Shorts, reels, tik toks, explore, for you pages. They need to be blocked immediately and for good. No access, no overrides, no fiddling in options. LeechBlock browser addon will allow you to block specific pages with harder barriers. Do it and never change them.

They are the biggest danger and you know it. Your brain will not be mad if it won't get dopamine this way, it knows you would never find the perfect 1 minute video that would make you happy. The urge to scroll some shorts will go away real fast.

This will allow you to fight only the easier fights — against the normal infinite feeds.

UblockOrigin

Is a double edged sword. Removing ads makes your life on the internet easy and fun. It is only a good thing to a certain extent – our fight is to make some parts of the internet as hard and painful to use – but it will help you keep your sanity.

Use it to block the feed! Click on Ublock icon and use the little pipette to add a rule that blocks the infinite feed on webpages of your choice.

Select the area and click the blue button to create a rule on the main page. Now you will not be distracted with algorithmic content, but you are free to not block groups important for you or your work or still see notifications, messages and other functions.

Cons: sometimes your rules will break with time, you will need to make many of them. Removing ads from youtube is dangerous as the reward is easier to obtain, thus making the boobytrap more effective.

Don't use apps and don't use the browser. 10 eas + 6 eff

Minimize a chance of getting distracted while doing something else.

For messages, school and work remove the browser from the equation. Use desktop clients for messaging, microsoft office, Teams, email etc. They have exactly what you need and are often more convenient to use. No chance of opening Instagram in excel.

For social media and online entertainment use the browser, don't use the apps! You are going into the warzone, you will need the armor – Leechblock and other addons are here to help you. Time wasting apps are engineered to remove your personal defense – never use them.

No Screentime before coffee – 1 eas + 10 eff

This one is behavioral and requires actual brain work, but give yourself some time and it will give you great effects.

Do not check memes, messages, mail etc. before waking up. Easier said than done.

Going to school or work will be easier, waking up will be easier, you will start to eat and have more energy during the day.

It will require you to plan your day in advance, check the calendar and your plan for the day the night before. I never learned it as a child and it is very hard to work on it, but the effects on my psyche are immense.

If you got rid of your phone, you are halfway there. If you can remove your laptop from proximity of your bed — do it. If you have an ability to put your pc in a seperate room — it would be perfect, but not many are able to, including me.

Separate your working, from sleeping, from entertainment spaces, we worked on it during COVID soldier, don't forget your training.

Remove the noise — 1 eas + 4 eff

somewhat. You probably don't actually need podcasts and music to work, walk or sleep and regaining your ability to focus there is also important. Maybe substitute them with white/pink/brown noise at least sometimes, especially for brain heavy tasks this is very helpful to get work done in a reasonable amount of time. Blanket app is a good desktop noise generator that won't require the browser.

But I will not blame you if you won't, this is the least problematic part and humans have always met to do menial tasks while hearing others talk and many conditions are easier to live with some background noise.

Pick your allies

Internet is a meadow and a minefield. Place for art and support and knowledge filled with weapons designed to use you as an revenue generator. Watch content only from curated, quality places and people you follow. Never look at the algorithmic feed. Tumblr is a prime example of a site that can be your ally, but don't trust it – block the For You page.

don't lose your steam

Do not engage emotionally with things beyond your control. This was the twitter's weapon of choice. If you do not have the money or time to support a cause, you know about it and you know all your mutuals already support it – don't let the algorithm put it down your throat against your will.

Do not follow war hashtags, do not look at pages when you can see hate and violence against your will. Educate yourself, do as much as you can, follow people who inspire you and do real work, but allow yourself to move on if it is beyond your abilities or strength. Your local anarchist group will do more good in a month, than you reading political posts for years. If you honestly care – join them and focus on real work. If you can't contribute, just learn about it and move on. There will be more opportunities in the future and then we will need all your strength. This is the sad part of winning the war. Some sacrifices have to be made.

^you soon

Wish you luck soldiers. This is a fight worth fighting.

share your weapons of choice if you can and tell me about your experiences.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"The nighttime brings promises I can't keep

Givin' in is the one thing that I don't need

Got ahead of myself, gotta retrace my steps'

Cause I lost me the moment I took a piece of you

And you may never believe, but I'm sorry

I never meant for it to go this way (this way)

Only wanted the best and I'm stickin' to my story

This was a moment for me, and this was all it could be"

Destin Conrad & Alex Isley –"Same Mistake"

The state of mental disarray Celeste lived in would've broken the average woman. Having a feral pack of vampires follow her home brought on a fear so acute that she fled her cottage that same night and stayed with Mercy until the next morning.

She didn't tell her friend about the encounter, knowing she'd be packed off to a mental ward, or at least temporarily placed under observation at the hospital where Mercy worked as a nurse.

Mercy wasn't stupid.

She sensed immediately that Celeste's distress was beyond the made-up story about a burglar trying to break into her house. Crime happened a lot in the Easy, and any normal person would call the cops and bitch about soaring crime rates. Nothing would come of it, anyway. Outside of homicide, the NOLA police department wasn't known to haul ass for a B&E —breaking and entering. Mercy's suspicions were affirmed by the way Celeste acted, peeking out of the window every half hour like the time an old boyfriend before Freddie harassed her with stalking and drive-bys to her old apartment. All of her clique knew Terry left the city. She told them he had his job to get back to and things weren't going to pan out long distance. Mercy's lips poked out like she was itching to know if Terry was the problem and the reason for running off to her place in the middle of the night.

Celeste slept on the couch in Mercy's apartment and stayed indoors there while her friend left early for work. Daytime was a safe time. Isn't that what the vampire myths claimed it to be? She stared at the old bite wounds on her neck, thigh, and breasts. How could she be so blind to what they were? Terry had her so twisted up in the fog of lust that she glossed over proof that bloodsuckers were fucking real.

She groaned and closed her eyes. Terry manipulated her trust to feed from her.

New Orleans was the popular gothic home of vampire lore in the south. Countless books, movies, TV shows and the like centered it as the breeding ground for supernatural creatures. People made stories about monsters to scare children into being obedient. Bloody Mary. The Boo Hag. Zombies. Shit, even Voodoo still gave folks around those parts the heebie-jeebies even though white people turned it into a commercial joke. They sold Voodoo donuts, Voodoo dolls, and even ran up and down the French Quarter pretending to be Voodoo Witch Doctors giving graveyard tours to visit Madame Marie Laveau.

Like her ancestors before her, Celeste knew Vodun was real. Hoodoo was real. African retentions stayed rooted in the diaspora, and New Orleans was the most African city in America, witnessing unspeakable horrors done to Black people. White people were monsters bringing them to southern American shores. Surely their monstrosity enabled wickedness to flourish on southern soil and everywhere else. Her people danced at carnival, dressed as skeletons, and masked to hide their true selves. What better city to feed in than one that openly courted secrecy, excess, and spooky vibes? If people disappeared or turned up dead, the law and society could blame it on American's natural inclination to be violent with one another…not anything supernatural.

Vampires walked among them.

She swiped the cracked screen of her smartphone, looking up old wives' tales about Terry's kind. None of them supported anything he would be averse to. He had a reflection in the mirror. Crosses didn't bother him. He shook a priest's hand and didn't freak out. Never even flinched when she wore her gold cross necklace. She fed him garlic in the shrimp she cooked. The only things that tripped her up was that he walked around in the daytime, and she never saw him with fangs. Obviously, his teeth were sharp enough to break her skin, but regular human teeth could do that.

Maybe he was a familiar.

Dracula had Renfield. Maybe Terry was The Deacon's Renfield, luring people to their doom.

Celeste rubbed her scalp and swallowed down the anger festering in her chest. She'd made a mistake trusting Terry. She let a pretty boy's face and five-star Michelin dick trick her into submission of diabolical evil. The only saving grace was Terry's absence from her life, and whatever else ran around the Easy that scared the vampires away. She heard them say Old Ones. Perhaps that's what landed on her roof, causing the bloodsuckers to flee. Whatever it was, it didn't harm her, so she had one less monster to worry about.

As long as she stayed active during the day and locked herself in for the night, the vampires couldn't touch her. Had they wanted her dead or sucked dry, they would've done it days ago when she came home from work at night. They seduced people easily. Moved fast. It wouldn't take much to kill her on a dark street. They wanted her alive for a reason: to get Terry.

She texted Mercy and told her she felt better about going home. Made up a story about getting a burglar alarm. While driving to her small neighborhood in Marigny, she kept her neck on swivel to check for suspicious activity. She spent the rest of her time sleeping. She was so tired lately. Fatigue came easy.

Come nightfall, she turned all the lights on in the house and carried a sharp meat-carving knife on her. In her bedroom, she watched the news on her laptop, feeling drowsy. She typed in the words Shelby Springs into the Google search bar and tried to figure out where Terry came from. He claimed that he lived not too far from the place where his cousin was murdered. Three other parishes surrounded Shelby Springs. Typing Terry's name in the search engine brought up pictures of other Terry Richmonds, all white and mostly old.

Going another route, Celeste typed in the name Michael Simmons with Shelby Springs, and a slew of articles filled her screen. She read about a corrupt police force and an attempted coverup. Not one article mentioned Terry's name. Stranger still, four of the officers involved in the corruption scandal had disappeared months after being charged to stand trial. The only members of the force still around happened to be a Black woman who was set to testify against her fellow officers. She quit the force and refused to comment on any of the charges with the media. Celeste wrote her name down: Officer Jessica Sims. A second officer, who had been shot by his own Police Chief, made a move across the country to work at another police force.

If Terry went to help his cousin, surely Officer Sims would have information about his address, or at least the name of the parish he came from. Celeste stared at the screen. Officer Sims' round face looked haunted by something.

Another thought occurred to her, and she grabbed her cell phone. She called her cousin Butchie, who was friends with Travis.

"Butchie, can you text me Travis's number? I need to ask him something."

"About?" Butchie drawled on the other end.

"None of your business."

Butchie sucked his teeth and twenty seconds later, Travis X's number appeared on her screen. She typed it in fast, hitting the send button.

"Who dis?"

"Is that how you answer your phone? It's me, Duchess."

"Sister Celeste? What's going on?"

"Can you tell me, or ask your brother, where Terry lives?"

"Who?"

"Terry. Terry Richmond."

"Who dat?"

"Whatchu mean who dat? Your friend you brought to the Indian practice last month…your brother Scubbie's marine buddy. The one with the green eyes."

"Scubbie was never in the marines and I didn't bring anybody to the bar with green eyes. Have you been smoking that funny herb?"

"He came with you outside when you lit up my cigarette. The pretty boy."

Travis stayed silent.

"Never mind. Sorry to bother you. I thought maybe you knew him. Goodnight."

Celeste tapped her cell phone against her thigh. Terry used Travis to get next to her. He probably induced some type of hypnotic state like those vampires tried to do at her house… Jedi mind-tricked Travis into letting him hang with them. Once he was no longer needed, the memory of Terry faded from his mind.

She shut off the laptop and curled into a ball with the knife in front of her face. Resting her fingers on the handle, she made plans to visit Shelby Springs the next time she had another two consecutive days off.

Celeste drank a red bull to perk herself up for work at the elder care facility. The new client who moved into Miss Irma's old room was a cranky white man who never seemed satisfied with his care there. He often complained that his room was cold and drafty.

"There's no draft and your room faces the garden, the sunniest and warmest part of the building," Celeste said, helping Mr. Crawley with the door so he could move with his walker better to get inside his room.

"I'm telling you people I have a draft in my room and it's too cold, even when I turn up the heat. I pay too much money for this place not to have controlled temperatures," Crawley said.

"May I suggest wearing one of your nice sweaters?" she said.

Celeste grit her teeth, listening to Crawley go off, but she assisted him and nodded her head as his list of complaints grew. She helped him sit at the desk near the window where he wanted to write letters and his autobiography. He probably complained about his life there, too.

"You feel that?" he said.

Crawley held his hand out toward the closed window where sunlight created a square of light on the teal carpet. He grabbed her hand and forced it into the light.

"See?" he said, his pale blue eyes pleading with her to pay attention.

She stood with her fingers splayed out, dust motes floating in the bright light. Where warmth should've been, there was only a cold spot. She moved her hand in different areas around the window and there was definitely an icy chill that shouldn't have been there. Glancing up at the air conditioner vent, she didn't hear it working at that moment. Only the fan whirred, giving a pleasant circulation of air.

"I feel the cold air, Mr. Crawley. I don't know what I can do about it. Is it bothering you?"

"If it stayed in that one spot it wouldn't be a problem." He leaned in conspiratorially, and she moved closer to him. "But it moves around."

"Moves around?"

Crawley's tone of voice lowered, and he genuinely looked agitated by Celeste's facial expression.

"The cold moves around in here," he said.

She glanced at the window and reached her hand into the suspect area. The sun warmed her hand up. The cold spot was gone.

"See? I told you. Now it's all warm and normal again, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Celeste retrieved a sweater from the hook on the door and placed it on the back of Crawley's seat.

"I'll be back to take you to lunch," Celeste said.

She left the room and worked without incident until she walked down the hallway carrying a bag of collected trash and passed near Crawley's room. A large, cold spot sat in front of his door. The chill startled Celeste. The air in the building had slightly warmed up, but not enough to need the air-conditioning blasting more than it was. She walked through an icy gust and gasped at the sudden drop in temperature. Crawley's door was open. He furiously scribbled at his desk. Celeste moved back and forth between coolness and frigid air. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed someone walking toward the employee break room.

Miss Irma.

Celeste stood cemented to the floor, and Miss Irma turned a corner and glanced back at her. A male co-worker pushed a cart of meds down the hall and stared at Celeste's confused face.

"You alright, Celeste?"

"Did you see someone walk past you?"

"Just now?"

"Yes."

"Nope."

She didn't want to walk down the hall. Ignoring a dead woman should've been easy, but Celeste moved along the corridor close to the wall. When she reached the corner, she prayed no one would be there.

"Oh thank God," she sighed, seeing another empty hallway.

She left the building out of the side door to throw away the trash in the dumpster outside. A supervisor named Diane met her back inside the break room. Diane snacked on a bag of chips and a bottle of coke.

"Celeste, can you get in touch with Terry Richmond? He hasn't returned my calls to collect his grandmother's personal effects," Diane said.

"I haven't spoken to him in a long time."

"Well…his grandmother has boxes in our storage room and I'd hate to throw it out. The clothes we can donate to Goodwill, but there are photo albums and books—"

"I'll take them to him. I get off at five."

"You will? That would be great. Do you have time now to get it and put it in your car? I can help you. Mr. Richmond was told that we can hold items for thirty-days and he said he would get them before he left the city. It's been past the deadline."

Celeste followed Diane to the large storage room, and in the back were four medium-sized boxes and two bags of clothes. They took two trips to her car, and she squeezed all the boxes in the back seat and the passenger side. She dumped the contents of an over-sized box into the trunk and folded it up to reuse later at her home.

"Thank you so much. This makes me feel so much better. There are photos and all kinds of irreplaceable things in them. I'd hate to see them dumped in the garbage," Diane said.

"No problem. I'll keep them at my house and he can pick them up the next time I see him."

Diane left her alone. Celeste grabbed her smokes from the glove compartment and took an extra break. She hid herself in the garden and sat on one of the wooden benches. Seeing Miss Irma unearthed troublesome emotions. She worried that her mind was teetering on the verge of mental collapse from the stress and fear. Seeing ghosts on top of vampires was too much. Puffing and fretting, Celeste closed her eyes. Feeling dizzy, she leaned forward, hanging her head between her legs. Goosebumps pricked her skin as the temperature dropped abruptly around her. She shivered in the direct blazing sunlight.

"It's the baby making you feel sick," an elderly female voice said.

Celeste kept her eyes closed and head low, too afraid to open them or move. Reeling, she prayed silently and hoped that she wouldn't pass out.

"Don't be afraid. You know I won't hurt you…I just have to talk to you."

Celeste opened her eyes and focused her attention on the grass beneath her feet. She looked slightly to her right and noticed a pair of feet encased in pretty yellow house slippers. Moving her gaze higher, she recognized the simple pink floral dress, and the pale wrinkled hands.

"I'm scared," Celeste said.

The hand of a dead woman pulled her up, and they looked at one another eye to eye on the bench.

"Is this real? Or am I losing my mind?" Celeste asked.

Miss Irma's eyes twinkled. She looked more alive and vibrant than her last days at the assisted living facility.

"Your mind is fine, baby. Just fine."

"You're really a ghost, then?"

"That indeed. May I?"

Miss Irma pointed to Celeste's stomach. Celeste sat back.

"You want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Miss Irma rested her soft hand on Celeste's belly. The warmth she exuded seemed so real. Ghosts were supposed to be smoky and floaty. Miss Irma sat next to her like the most solid and alive person on the planet.

"Well, now…Papa didn't waste no time," Miss Irma said.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are pregnant, child. It's still early, but you are about to become a mama for my great-granddaddy."

"That can't be true."

"Getting pregnant?"

"Terry being your great-granddaddy…he's not even…he's not…"

"You know it's true. I can see in your eyes you know his secret…what he is. On this side, they tell me that you've done the impossible, so now I must tell you something important…something I was too weak to say before I died."

Miss Irma cradled Celeste's hands, which shook so badly that the ghost had to clamp them down tight between her palms.

"You have my things. Look through them so you may know Papa's story. He was human once upon a time ago. I spent my long life documenting all I could for my grandson Michael, but he's gone and can't hold the secret for our family. Papa wanted me to tell his story. But my mind started fading and I couldn't finish my work. Now you have become my family, Celeste. There are beings in the world who mean Papa harm… and your baby, too. They hide in plain sight in other places, but because Papa came back here, they might come for him."

"Other vampires?"

"Les Gargouilles…gargoyles. They will seek him out and kill him. Their kind are enemies to Papa. Enemies to that child if they find out about you carrying a vampire's baby."

"I've seen a few gargoyle statues in the Quarter that were never here before."

"Oh no, then it may be too late."

Miss Irma rose from her seat and looked off into the distance. She paced in front of Celeste.

"They're not active in the daytime, so you're safe, even when they hunt at night. I've tracked many during my lifetime taking pictures of them all over the world. They protect humans and won't harm you because you're a child of God. The baby will be safe until it's born and out of your body…oh no…oh no…"

Miss Irma looked at her hands. They began to disintegrate, starting at her fingertips.

"Celeste! He loves you…he—"

Miss Irma's body broke apart and floated away like the graying ash of a dying fire.

Too stunned to move, Celeste sat on the bench for the rest of her shift. She wandered away only when the sun went down. Climbing into her car, she thought of what to do with the information given to her. After an hour of sitting in her driver's seat, she drove herself to the drugstore and bought an early detection pregnancy kit.

At home, she tested herself twice.

She was positive both times.

Chapter 11 HERE.

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[azuresbbg]

Some headcanons for Camel ridge trio in the present. :D They’re set in an AU where instead of being defeated Azure, Peng and Yellow tusk live in Mk’s home getting redemption.

-To start off the three demons occupy a free guest room which was reluctantly set up by Pigsy and Tang. It consists of a large couch where Azure sleeps as well as an old bunk bed that used to be Mk’s. Peng taking the top part leaving Yellow tusk underneath them. A wardrobe in the corner and a cabinet. Regardless of their sleeping arrangements the three of them usually end up on the floor.

-Azure is infatuated with cinema. He adores the movies but loathes hearing people eat snacks like popcorn. Thinking of it as rude and insulting to the art. He will drag anyone he can to the local cinemas that ban food/drinks and put on less known movies. The victim most of the time is either Yellow tusk or Tang.

-Their first meeting with technology was something to say the least. Mei flashed all three of them with her phone full on brightness causing Yellow tusk to almost faint. Azure calling it black magic in confusion at what he’s seeing after blinking at the screen for a few minutes. Only Peng reacted normally well not entirely as they quickly got addicted to a phone even starting their own social media accounts. On any platform they could find.

-Yellow tusk easily adapted to the situation though. Dark mode and glasses were all he needs to be able to enjoy new technologies to it’s full extent. In fact he tool great interest in programming and coding, taking it up as a hobby.

-Yellow tusk wasn’t the only one who needed glasses for screens. So did Peng but they would rather die. Azure as the leader of the group tried to get them all to wear glasses as a form of support for Yellow tusk even if he didn’t need to wear them. Of course Peng scoffed at the idea leaving the two.

-On the other hand Azure ended up as a boomer of the group. Having no idea what he’s doing with any kind of technology. Scrunching up his nose in focus as he typed with his index finger like an old man. He always asks Peng or Yellow tusk for help even with the smallest problems.

-Another thing Azure despises is self checkout in supermarkets. He will do anything to avoid them even if the queue to the traditional cash is as long as a snake. Anyone stuck with him will be blessed with hearing a rant about importance of social interactions and how back in his day everything was done face to face. (It’s also because he doesn’t know how to pay with a credit card.)

-The three of them were generously given their own phones by Pigsy and Tang. Peng getting Mk’s old phone which was decent enough for them. When it comes to the other two they were gifted Tablets their hands too big for an average smartphone. And well they were pretty old as they used to belong to much young Mk. But at least it did the trick for them.

-Seeing Azure still looking at Wukong like a fool in love made Peng gag. They played a prank on Azure by creating him a grindr account to get over the monkey king. Azure is still made fun of because of it but has no idea how to delete the app. (The first match after opening it was Tang. They never spoke about it.)

-One of their first steps towards redemption was getting employed at Pigsy’s noodles. Yellow tusk helping Pigsy in the kitchen. Azure working as the waiter and Peng being a delivery driver (Something they will never stop complaining about.)

-Yellow tusk quickly found passion in baking something that wasn’t around back in his time. He often occupied the kitchen making all sorts of desserts and snacks for anyone to enjoy. But usually it was Peng who ate most of them.

-Peng went viral on tik tok being the trio’s influencer diva. Their content is basically roasting everyone left and right which for some reason people liked a bit too much. Peng even has a whole ass series hating on a small account that self ships themselves with Wukong. Which definitely ISN’T run by Macaque. (It is.) But they also make skits dragging Azure and Yellow tusk along.

Some angst for the end :

On Azure’s body there are cracks caused by the Jade emperor’s power. At first they were small hidden beneath his fur or mane but with each passing day they grow larger. He’s slowly dying. All three of them know it but none acknowledge it.