#Cloud-based productivity suite

[findaprofessionalbuilder1]

Instaboard is a cutting-edge SaaS platform that revolutionizes remote collaboration. It seamlessly integrates infinite digital whiteboards, smart project management tools, and built-in video conferencing into one intuitive workspace. Designed for teams of all sizes, Instaboard boosts productivity, enhances creativity, and simplifies workflow by allowing users to brainstorm, plan, and execute projects in a single, dynamic environment. With features like real-time collaboration, customizable workspaces, and effortless sharing, Instaboard is the ultimate solution for modern, distributed teams seeking to work more efficiently and effectively.

[remotecollaborationsoftware]

Enhance Creativity with a Digital Whiteboard Platform

Gone are the days of physical whiteboards cluttering up meeting rooms. Today’s businesses need something more flexible, accessible, and powerful. That’s where a digital whiteboard platform like InstaBoard.app comes in. Designed for both creativity and productivity, our digital whiteboard offers an innovative space for your team to brainstorm, strategize, and collaborate without limits.

At InstaBoard.app, we believe in the power of visuals to spark innovation. Our digital whiteboard platform allows you to draw, write, and organize your ideas just as you would on a traditional whiteboard – but with added features. The platform supports images, sticky notes, and collaborative editing, making it a hub for real-time creativity.

Imagine your team working on a big idea: each member can contribute to the whiteboard, move elements around, and engage in discussions, all within the same digital space. And the best part? All changes are automatically saved and accessible from anywhere.

Why choose a digital whiteboard platform?

Collaboration: Multiple users can contribute simultaneously.

Flexibility: Adapt your workspace to suit your project’s needs.

Cloud-based: Access your whiteboard from any device, anytime.

With InstaBoard.app’s digital whiteboard platform, creativity doesn’t stop when the meeting ends. You can continue refining your ideas at your own pace and always stay one step ahead.

[filehulk]

ONLYOFFICE

In today’s fast-paced digital landscape, businesses and individuals need versatile tools to manage documents, collaborate efficiently, and enhance productivity. ONLYOFFICE is a robust office suite that caters to these needs, offering a blend of document management, collaboration, and integration capabilities. This article dives into what ONLYOFFICE is, its key features, benefits, and use…

[vivekbsworld]

Driving Efficiency: Fleet Management Software Solutions in Dubai

In the heart of the bustling metropolis of Dubai, where every minute counts and precision is paramount, efficient fleet management is crucial for businesses to stay ahead of the curve. From logistics companies navigating the city's intricate road network to construction firms overseeing a fleet of heavy machinery, the ability to monitor, track, and optimize fleet operations can make all the difference. This is where fleet management software solutions in Dubai come into play, offering innovative tools to streamline processes, enhance productivity, and drive business growth. Let's explore some of the top fleet management software solutions making waves in Dubai's dynamic business landscape.

1. Trinetra

Trinetra is a leading provider of fleet management software solutions, offering a comprehensive suite of tools to help businesses optimize their fleet operations. With features such as real-time tracking, route optimization, and driver behavior monitoring, Trinetra empowers businesses to improve efficiency, reduce costs, and enhance customer satisfaction. Whether it's managing a fleet of delivery vehicles or a construction fleet, Trinetra's customizable solutions cater to a wide range of industries and business needs.

2. Chekhra Business Solutions

Chekhra Business Solutions specializes in fleet management software tailored to the unique requirements of businesses in Dubai and the wider UAE. Their user-friendly platform offers advanced features such as GPS tracking, fuel management, and maintenance scheduling, allowing businesses to gain real-time insights into their fleet operations. With a focus on innovation and customer satisfaction, Chekhra Business Solutions is committed to helping businesses maximize their productivity and profitability.

3. Carmine

Carmine is a cloud-based fleet management software solution designed to meet the needs of businesses of all sizes in Dubai. With features such as vehicle tracking, driver management, and compliance monitoring, Carmine helps businesses streamline their operations and ensure regulatory compliance. Its intuitive interface and customizable reporting tools make it easy for businesses to track their fleet performance and make data-driven decisions to optimize efficiency and reduce costs.

4. Fleet Complete

Fleet Complete is a global leader in fleet management software solutions, with a strong presence in Dubai and the UAE. Their comprehensive platform offers a wide range of features, including GPS tracking, route optimization, and asset management, enabling businesses to maximize the efficiency of their fleet operations. With real-time visibility into vehicle location, status, and performance, Fleet Complete empowers businesses to improve productivity, reduce fuel consumption, and enhance customer service.

5. GPSit

GPSit is a trusted provider of fleet management software solutions, offering cutting-edge technology to businesses across Dubai and the UAE. Their platform provides real-time tracking, route optimization, and driver behavior monitoring, helping businesses optimize their fleet operations and improve overall efficiency. With a focus on reliability, scalability, and customer support, GPSit is committed to helping businesses achieve their fleet management goals and drive success in a competitive marketplace.

Conclusion

In the fast-paced business environment of Dubai, where efficiency and productivity are paramount, the adoption of fleet management software solutions is essential for businesses to stay competitive and thrive. Whether it's optimizing routes, improving fuel efficiency, or ensuring regulatory compliance, these software solutions offer a comprehensive suite of tools to help businesses streamline their operations and drive growth. By harnessing the power of technology and innovation, businesses in Dubai can unlock new opportunities for success and maintain their position as leaders in their respective industries.

[lazyjellyfish300]

𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒔 ( ၴႅၴ

𔒌 synopsis: pregnancy has taken a toll on your hair. you've never really discussed your feelings about it with your husband, kento, until you take this time to let it heal and wear it more naturally.

𔒌 words: 1.3k

𔒌 cw: x FEM!PREGNANT WIFE READER, READER HAS CURLY HAIR, scarred post! Shibuya Kento. this is self indulgent & based on personal experiences as a woc, fluff, light angst.

𔒌 sparkle dividers by @/anitalenia and lavender by @/saradika-graphics

The rhythm of rainy mornings has changed its tune just slightly.

The showers have ceased early, letting patches of sunlight drizzle in its absence through the wavering clouds as morning settled in.

The stove remains bare where you would usually stand in its place, but some things remain the same, like the tender soul you belong to who walks in through the back door of the farmhouse.

Kento sheds his rain laden boots and vest, ridding himself of everything but the scent and the drops in his hair that would still cling to him when he found you right where he left you.

Rumbling purrs from an elusive critter at his feet belong to none other than Smoke, the barn cat, who makes an unexpected appearance, weaving his way through Kento's legs, taking an affectionate ear scratch to go as he quickly scurries outside.

Kento smiles and crosses to the stove, retrieving a mug. Warm apple cider pours where freshly brewed mocha would settle before, in light of a tiny life with little hands he created with the woman just up the stairs.

----

Your belly of 25 weeks skims over the sink in the bathroom, freshly showered and eyes settled on your reflection as you work the curl cream into your hair. One of Kento's band tees hangs off your shoulders, loose waistband from your pajama shorts shrouds you in material that stretches and comforts you during this rather uncomfortable time.

His fingers find you first, settling in the space of squishy skin on your waist, splaying and appreciating the way it bends to accommodate the palms of his hands. His scars against your stretchmarks, weaving up your belly like twines of emerald ivy on the exterior of your farmhouse, giving life to the canvas of skin like the lightning that accompanies the thunder in the rolling sky overhead.

"Good morning." His voice when he speaks is unintentionally reverent, veneration ever present simply because it was directed at you.

"Morning, sweetheart." You turn and capture the kiss he has for you, warm lips after coffee and he smells like the rain. Time still moves somewhere beyond these walls, but between you, the moments meld into tender fragments of eternity.

"Did Fig put up a fight about her breakfast again?" You ask, referring to your pet pig that grazes with her fellow barnyard residents on the small farm you and Kento adopted together.

"Went down with no resistance today, as a matter of fact." He smiles with pride.

"Hahaha, thank God." You chuckle as you turn back to your haircare products.

"This pregnancy is killing my hair, sweetheart." You mumble as you let your hair fall inches shorter than it was just months before you got pregnant.

"I had my hair lady clean it up and now I'm starting this curls routine. I never had anyone growing up to show me how to do this." You say quietly, a melancholic tinge in your voice as the words left you like a confession you actually recognize as grief that you never spoke aloud.

"I'm caring for my hair. Like, actually pouring into it in a way that's tailored to its natural state and not based on standards that are suited for people who don't look like me."

Kento listens intently, noting the pause between your sentences in thoughtful inflection, sensing you have more to say, not letting his hands depart their mission of comfort on your waist, heartstrings pulling with support and admiration for sharing a glimpse of your soul.

"And what else, love? I'm listening, please continue."

"...I'm letting my hair breathe and just be for once. But what if it doesn't go back to the way it was?"

"It will, darling." He reassures you, taking a step closer. "It will. You're growing life inside you, love. It will take time, but your body will eventually heal."

"And if it doesn't?"

"It's a possibility. But a very slim one. And if so, then nothing changes." He states with resolution.

"Not your beauty. Not your soul. And never my love for you." He lowers to a loving whisper, unplugging the straightener.

"And if this is how you look untouched by the shallow influences of superficial ideals that completely ignore and compromise the integrity of your natural beauty, then leave it." He states, taking a curl by your ear between the scarred buds of his fingers that turned to butter whenever he touched you.

"Leave it just like this. Free, and soft."

He gently releases the curl and his thumb catches your cheek.

"I love you... Thank you so much. For listening. For seeing me." You whisper.

"I love you, darling. No need to thank for what is expected of me as your husband." He murmurs.

You both sit momentarily in the calm of tenderness and the aftermath of the truths you spoke to one another.

"So um... after the cream, I'm going to dry it with the diffuser and clip it halfway up, kind of like this..." You demonstrate, slightly bashfully, lifting the top sections of hair into the half-updo with your hands. "I think it'd look pretty, Ken. What do you think?"

And that damned blink of your eyes unravels him whenever you reach for him like he's the answer and you're the question when it was really the opposite.

Dulcet windows of your eyes both inquisitive and hopeful like he was akin to something as grand as stars being asked of a blessing like you were not his gift from them.

"You're effortlessly devastating, my dear. You always have been." He turns you to look at yourself, your glowing reflection next to his scarred one.

"I think you should proceed with exactly what you've planned..." His lips find your temple and kiss, his hand gently grasping where you're holding up your hair, keeping the style in place with one hand as he reaches in the drawer next to you.

"But, if you're truly asking, and you'll indulge me..." He picks out one of his favorite clips he hadn't seen you wear in some time, a gorgeous one crafted out of twisted gold metal, with pressed petals of wildflowers and lavender adorning the sides.

"I think this one suits you best."

"Ken...this one is stunning!" You beam at him, as he lets your hair fall for a moment while you appreciate the quiet gesture, tracing over the delicate craftsmanship in his hands.

"You know, I completely forgot I had this one..." You hum and kiss him again, with one more request.

"Would you help me, sweetheart?

"Of course I can." He murmurs, exchanging yet another kiss to your lips for some of the cream from your hand as he gets to work. He takes notes from when he observed you moments earlier, working it from ends to root, using praying hands, tentatively scrunching, never too harshly. Sacred and never objectful.

And when he's finished and after he watches you dry, he helps you gather just the top section, letting loose curls dangle in a frame around your face, carefully securing it with the clip and watching you with a warm gaze as you admire yourself.

And as he takes you by the hand with one on your belly, you relish in the comfort that this life with him belongs to you when you had spent the better part of yours in rooms at tables in chairs that were not meant for you.

You realize that you can allow yourself to belong to a somewhere, to an eternal lifetime of Kento. With your curls and every part of yourself that you did not need to hide or change anymore in the safety of a steadfast love that chose you repeatedly with the inevitable crest and fall of the sun.

You realize that the best has yet to come with the budding future in your belly and the blissful, ever-rainy horizon with Kento by your side.

And that you can make your home there, too.

[axolterp]

Axolt: Modern ERP and Inventory Software Built on Salesforce

Today’s businesses operate in a fast-paced, data-driven environment where efficiency, accuracy, and agility are key to staying competitive. Legacy systems and disconnected software tools can no longer meet the evolving demands of modern enterprises. That’s why companies across industries are turning to Axolt, a next-generation solution offering intelligent inventory software and a full-fledged ERP on Salesforce.

Axolt is a unified, cloud-based ERP system built natively on the Salesforce platform. It provides a modular, scalable framework that allows organizations to manage operations from inventory and logistics to finance, manufacturing, and compliance—all in one place.

Where most ERPs are either too rigid or require costly integrations, Axolt is designed for flexibility. It empowers teams with real-time data, reduces manual work, and improves cross-functional collaboration. With Salesforce as the foundation, users benefit from enterprise-grade security, automation, and mobile access without needing separate platforms for CRM and ERP.

Smarter Inventory Software Inventory is at the heart of operational performance. Poor inventory control can result in stockouts, over-purchasing, and missed opportunities. Axolt’s built-in inventory software addresses these issues by providing real-time visibility into stock levels, warehouse locations, and product movement.

Whether managing serialized products, batches, or kits, the system tracks every item with precision. It supports barcode scanning, lot and serial traceability, expiry tracking, and multi-warehouse inventory—all from a central dashboard.

Unlike traditional inventory tools, Axolt integrates directly with Salesforce CRM. This means your sales and service teams always have accurate availability information, enabling faster order processing and better customer communication.

A Complete Salesforce ERP Axolt isn’t just inventory software—it’s a full Salesforce ERP suite tailored for businesses that want more from their operations. Finance teams can automate billing cycles, reconcile payments, and manage cash flows with built-in modules for accounts receivable and payable. Manufacturing teams can plan production, allocate work orders, and track costs across every stage.

[spicy30]

Army Dreamer (Gun Control)

Pairing: Army!reader in HOTD

No modern AU

CW: Death, guns, cursing, non-consentual groping (Not on purpose)

Rating: 16+

based off this question: Have you ever thought of a reader with a gun? Like it'd still be modern reader but instead all of her sanitary products she just have a shit load of guns?

Add-ons: AFAB reader, no use of Y/N

Not proof read

WC: 1.9k

“We’re exposed.”

The men turned toward Ser Criston Cole, who had his eyes fixed on the sky. In the distance, a small black speck danced through the clouds. They understood immediately.

"Cole?" Ser Gwayne called.

Shit.

A single breath from the beast and they'd all be ash. "Get to the trees!" Criston barked. The men spurred their horses into a gallop.

They had barely begun their flight when an explosion rocked the ground ahead of them.

A shrill scream tore through the air. Something—someone—was flung high, disappearing into a rising cloud of dust.

Criston reacted instantly. They were too far from the other side of the woods to change course now. He drove his horse forward. The others, grim-faced and desperate, followed.

But that hesitation proved fatal.

Moondancer was already upon them, the young Targaryen princess riding her dragon with a gleam of triumph in her eyes.

A sudden crack split the air—something fast and loud whistling past Criston's ear. Another crack. Then a roar of agony.

Criston dared a glance back—Moondancer was spiraling down behind them, crashing through the trees with a deafening crash.

He whipped his head forward—and froze. Standing ahead was a figure, half-blended into the colors of the forest, their clothing merging with the shadows of the trees.

They were holding something—though Ser Criston couldn't make out what.

One of the men ahead drew his sword and let out a war cry— It was cut short by a deafening crack.  His head snapped back, and he tumbled from his horse.

"Lower your weapons!" Criston barked, snapping his head around. Behind them, Moondancer writhed on the ground, wounded but not slain. The dragon let out a low, pained rumble, but made no move to rise.

Criston reined in his horse. The others hesitated, then followed suit.

The figure limped closer, one hand extended, still holding something. Their other arm was clutched tight against their ribs.

Criston's frown deepened as they approached.

It moved like a man—But where its eyes should have been, there was only a black, glassy surface. Where a mouth and nose should be, there was nothing at all—just the same twisted, forest-colored pattern that cloaked the rest of its body.

A voice crackled out, distorted but sharp: "Drop your weapons, or I'll make this field your grave."

Criston and Ser Gwayne exchanged a glance—then flicked their eyes toward the fallen knight. The man's head had been crushed in like an eggshell.

"GET ON THE GROUND. NOW!" the figure barked.

The men flinched, hurriedly undoing their belts. Swords clattered to the ground before they dropped to their stomachs in the dirt.

No one could tell if you were man or woman. Your voice was muffled, distorted, pitched low with rage. A helmet covered your head; no hair was visible.

You looked like something from a child’s nightmare.

"Put your hands behind your head." Your voice cracked like a whip. Confused but terrified, the men obeyed.

Criston tensed as you patted him down. He jerked instinctively, about to snap at you—Until he felt something cold and hard shove down against his skull.

"Move again and I'll put a bullet through your head. Understand?" He froze, nodding stiffly.  From the corner of his eye, he caught Gwayne glaring murder at you.

"ANYONE MOVES WHILE I SEARCH THEM, YOU'LL END UP LIKE YOUR BUDDY OVER THERE!" The threat hung heavy in the air. Nobody moved.

They watched, helpless, as the monster from their childhood nightmares rifled through the Commander of the Kingsguard's clothing.

"The fuck?" you muttered, pulling a hidden knife free. You flung it away with a careless flick and kept searching— but for what, none of them knew.

"What the fuck kind of medieval shit is this?" You spoke again, half to yourself, your voice vibrating with disbelief. The knights stared as you limped toward Ser Gwayne and began the same brutal process.

"What do you want?" Ser Gwayne gritted out as you continued patting him down, your hands rough and impersonal. He felt a flash of anger—and something close to humiliation. He had no way to stop you. He hated it.

"What I want," You ripped away pieces of his armor—just as you had with Ser Criston—and tossed them aside with a metallic clatter. "—is none of your business. Stay still and shut up."

Another knife—hidden, small—was found tucked away. You wrenched it free and flung it away into the grass before moving to the next man.

"What are you?" Ser Criston's voice broke the silence, low and wary.

You turned your head toward him, the mirrored black of your helmet catching the dying light.

No eyes. No humanity.

"A soldier," you answered flatly, before resuming the search.

The rest of the inspection passed in heavy, brittle silence. One by one, the knights were stripped of armor, weapons scattered around them like broken promises.

At last, when all stood disarmed and exposed, you straightened. "Keep your hands behind your head," you ordered.

Then you motioned to Ser Criston. "You the head?" you asked, voice clipped.

Criston blinked, uncertain.

"Are you the commanding officer of this unit?" you clarified.

He gave a stiff nod.

"Alright. What is that?" The figure jerked its chin toward the dragon lying bleeding in the grass, still alive but unmoving.

"The dragon?" Criston blinked. Was this thing truly so ignorant? Who doesn't know what a dragon is?

"I'm sorry," the monster said, voice sharp with disbelief, "did you just say a dragon? The ones that spit fire?"

Though Criston couldn’t see its face, the slight tilt of the helmet betrayed clear confusion—as if it hadn't just shot the beast down itself.

"Yes," Criston gritted out. "Though I doubt it's in any shape to spew fire." (Or so he hoped. Perhaps it would—and burn this creature alive.)

"Come with me," it said.

Criston's stomach twisted. He was to approach a wounded dragon without armor, without weapons? But it was either a dragon's jaw or a caved in head. 

"The rest of you—" You turned back, voice slicing through the air. "Don't move. Try to escape, and you won't be making it home to your families."

The men exchanged desperate glances. No one dared speak.

Turning stiffly, you limped forward, still clutching your ribs. Criston followed, heart hammering.

Together, they edged closer to the downed dragon.

And there—trapped beneath the beast’s crushed leg—was Baela Targaryen.

Daemon's daughter.  

Barely conscious, her silver hair matted with blood.

"Hey?" Ser Criston stopped short as the figure moved past him, circling the dragon to crouch by the fallen girl.

He risked a glance back. His men were watching too, eyes darting toward their horses. But Criston doubted they'd get far. This creature—whatever it was—didn’t seem the sort to go back on its word.

"Can you hear me?" You shook Baela's shoulder lightly. "This your dragon?"

The princess barely managed a breath, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth.

Criston heard you curse under your breath— then lift Baela’s head and pull something from your belt. A strange flask, its surface almost invisible against your clothing.

You pressed it to Baela’s lips, letting water trickle into her mouth. Criston watched, uneasy. He had never seen a flask like that before.

Then the dragon stirred.

In a rush of movement, Moondancer struggled upright—and her tail lashed out violently.

It caught you square in the chest, hurling you backward.

Criston didn’t think—he ran. Behind him, he heard the thunder of hooves and shouts as his men bolted for the trees.

The dragon staggered, one wing dragging uselessly, but still it gathered itself—and took flight, a lopsided shadow against the sky.

Criston crouched low among the trees, heart pounding, watching through the leaves.

Hoping the beast would turn back, would burn the creature alive.

But it never did.

Instead, the dragon vanished into the clouds, leaving only wreckage behind.

And on the torn-up field—the monster twisted on the ground, writhing in pain.

In their panic, none of the men had grabbed their weapons. Time passed. The dragon was long gone.

But the creature still lay in the dirt, now unmoving.

One by one, the men crept back for their armor and swords, fastening buckles with shaking hands. When they turned back toward the field, they saw the blood — dark and pooling where its mouth should have been.

Still, it didn’t rise.

Cautiously, they advanced.

A twitch—barely there—and every sword was drawn, points flashing in the fading light.

You opened your eyes to find steel aimed at your throat. There was no chance you could pull a gun in time. Maybe a knife—But the agony in your ribs made it clear: the dragon's tail had done real damage. You'd be lucky if it hadn’t caused internal bleeding

"Take off your weapons," Ser Gwayne barked.

You shifted slowly to comply—But before your fingers could even find a buckle, Ser Criston stepped forward and crushed your hand beneath his boot.

You cried out, the sound muffled by the armor clinging to your broken body.

Criston didn't move.

“No," Ser Criston said. "We’ll take them off."

The men set to work, and the roles reversed.

They ripped away more weapons hidden in the monster’s clothing—some heavy, some small and sharp. A large black thing was strapped to its back; they tore that off too. Piece by piece, they stripped it down until only the strange clothing remained—thick with too many pockets, too many places to hide.

Ser Gwayne gave a tight, mocking smile as he turned the creature over, copying the same rough search it had used on them. He struck its legs. Then its backside, harder.

The others followed.

One by one, the men took turns slapping, kicking, and jabbing at the monster that had once brought them to their knees.

Ser Criston only stood and watched, silent.

Finally they turned it over again, though he saw the drop in Ser Gwaynes smile as touched the chest of the thing. 

"Do you even know what you're doing?" the creature rasped.

One of the knights immediately drew his sword, stepping forward with a snarl.

Ser Criston moved to intervene—But the knight held up a hand, halting him.

"You open your mouth again," the knight growled, pressing cold steel against the creature’s throat, "and I'll ram this through your neck."

Ser Criston shook his head in a disapproving manner but said nothing as the blade lingered.

“Wait.” This time he saw Ser Gwayne give a squeeze and suddenly breasts that weren’t visible before were. He opened the suit and underneath was a dark green shirt and a pair of two full breasts and Ser Gwayne stood up. Never had they taken off the face of the monster. They had just assumed they couldn’t. 

Ser Criston bent down tugging at the helmet of the monster. It wouldn’t come off.

“There’s a buckle.” Suddenly listening to the voice, it sounded all too feminine. He watched as your hand went to the black thing underneath your chin and the straps came undone and Ser Criston pulled the helmet and low and behold. Hair that was tied back. Ser Gwayne pulled the black things from your face and they all came face to face with human eyes.

Finally another one of them pulled down the mask that had blood stains. Your lips and teeth were coated in blood. 

“You’re a woman?” One of the men said the only thing the rest of the men could do was stand there facing the embarrassment that a woman had not only bested them, but as well as a dragon. 

There was a slight sense of disappointment brewing in Ser Criston’s chest. You were no monster. Only a woman. A woman with strange weapons. 

“There a problem?”

Notes: Just a really fun idea based off an ask. If I had to continue this, I would have the inclination of make her very against the monarchy saying how she bows to no Queen or King.

Fights for FREEDOM🦅

Gen Masterlist

[hypnojocked]

In a sleek, futuristic laboratory, the hum of advanced machinery filled the air as Dr. Aric Kaldor stood over his workbench, fine-tuning a new form of synthetic rubber. He had spent years perfecting this material, an elastic compound infused with nanoparticles that could change shape and form based on the user’s will. His body was the product of years of intense training and innovation, the physical manifestation of his relentless pursuit of perfection. Every muscle was finely sculpted, and his skin, now partially enveloped in a dark, form-fitting rubber suit, reflected the metallic sheen of the lab’s lighting. The suit had been designed to bond with his own skin, fusing seamlessly with it, transforming his appearance into something both human and machine.

Aric’s lab was a advanced of technology, filled with sleek panels, glowing data screens, and chambers that housed strange substances in various stages of transformation. The air smelled of chemicals and ozone, a hint of something metallic hanging in the atmosphere. He was no stranger to experimentation—he had made a career of testing boundaries, both scientific and physical. Today, he was focused on a new iteration of his rubber suit, one designed to be far more than just a protective layer.

As he worked, his fingers traced the rubber’s surface, sending electrical impulses through it to activate a new set of algorithms embedded within the material. The fabric responded, pulsing with a soft light, and his muscles twitched involuntarily as it seemed to bond deeper into his body. The rubber expanded slightly, tightening, adjusting itself to his frame, its silver details flickering to life as it interfaced with his neural system. Aric had built this suit to enhance his own physicality, to become stronger, faster, more efficient. But today, something felt… different.

He didn’t notice at first, too absorbed in the data scrolling across his tablet. But gradually, a subtle change began to occur. His heart rate increased, not from physical exertion but from something deeper, something within the very fabric of the suit. It was as if the material itself was feeding off his energy, becoming more aware, more sentient. The more Aric focused, the tighter it clung to his body, its silver filigree twisting and shifting like veins beneath his skin.

His muscles bulged slightly, pushing against the rubber as it seemed to tighten around him, an ever-present reminder of the transformation that was slowly overtaking him. His once defined physique became more defined still, but it wasn’t just his muscles that were growing—it was his entire body. His mind raced as he tried to regain control, but the suit’s influence was subtle, relentless, like a creeping tide.

“Impossible…” Aric muttered under his breath, panic rising in his chest. He slapped his hands against the workbench, trying to pull away from the increasing pressure of the suit, but it refused to loosen. The silver detailing shimmered across his body now, intertwining with his nervous system, sending waves of electrical signals throughout his body. His thoughts grew clouded, the rational part of his mind growing dimmer with each passing second. His fingers twitched and spasmed involuntarily, no longer obeying his commands.

The rubber suit, once a tool for enhancement, had begun to take on a life of its own. It was no longer a passive object—now, it was a force, controlling him from within. Aric’s once sharp eyes grew dull as the silver accents began to glow, and his body became a perfect blend of muscle and synthetic material, an unstoppable force of engineering. His movements were no longer his own; they were dictated by the suit’s algorithms, designed to optimize him for efficiency—no thought, no hesitation, no will of his own.

The transformation wasn’t just physical. His mind was slowly being submerged beneath layers of synthetic code, his individuality stripped away as the suit rewired his thoughts. Aric's consciousness began to fade, a mere flicker in the vast network of circuitry that had replaced his sense of self. His mouth opened, but instead of his voice, a mechanical hum echoed from within him, his once human mind now entirely overtaken by the drone-like commands of the rubber suit.

The laboratory, once a place of innovation, had become his prison. He stood there, his imposing figure now a mindless machine, a drone completely controlled by the suit. The rubber, with its silver accents, had claimed him.

Dr. Aric Kaldor was no more.

In his place was something else—something engineered, something perfect. And the lab, now eerily silent, hummed with the quiet presence of its newest creation. The drone waited, its only purpose now to serve, to exist, and to continue the work it was designed for—an unthinking, unfeeling force of nature that would never stop, never tire, never question.

After some time. People were worrieda bout Aric. Jake, his best intern look for him in his lab. Yew, he found the doctor but he thought it was a rubber mannequin of him with a blank expression.

Once Jake wanted to get closer the drone stated: "Human incomming. Subject will be assimilated. It will be another rubber drone". The goo latex started to fill the labtoratory and they injected Jake with a rapid growth serum to have a total muscular body before his conversion.

Once the goo started to touch his body. Jake blank out and his mind turned off. He will be another Rubber drone.

The future had arrived.

[xzerosparrowx]

Based on this Steddie fic post, I thought I'd share what I've written so far. Do be mindful that this is a really rough draft, so everything might change in terms of style and events.

Is this just a shameless copy of the start of Dead Poets Society? Yes. Do I care?... No. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

It was unseasonably cool, the first day back. The clouds—overcast and gray—hid the sun away, its morning light weak and soft. The breeze, usually a welcoming reprieve from the heat, now chilled everything in its wake, forcing a shiver from even the most stoic as it blew through the green leaves of the great elms. Dew still clung to the manicured, uniform lawn. The red roses were in bloom, as were the tulips and daisies, and the splashes of pinks and blues from the hedges of hydrangeas were never dulled by the brown and gray stone behind them.

The church—a small but ornate building, its façade adorned with cherubic faces and scenes from the Nativity carved in stone—echoed with the last notes of the hymn before the audience settled into the hardwood pews with a smattering of applause. Principal Brenner — a tall man, with silver hair neatly parted and combed — stood proudly at the podium, his dull blue suit matching the dull weather.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Brenner smiled, his voice clear and crystalline. “Tradition. Virtue. Discipline. Fraternity. Excellence. These are the principles at Whitewood Academy we teach your sons — these foundations they will carry with them into the future as productive members of society. 

I stand before you, as my predecessors have done for one hundred years, with a promise: that if your sons are disciplined, if they strive for excellence every day, then they will receive the finest education this side of the United States of America.”

There was a great applause, and Brenner seemed to beam at the enthusiasm. “Gentlemen, what is our motto?” he asked over the crowd.

In unison, the boys of Whitewood Academy rose, their maroon blazers a shock of color against the colorless surroundings.

“Victoria per Scientiam. Scientia per Sapientiam.”

Their voices echo in the chapel— Victory through Knowledge. Knowledge through Wisdom. It is a very aggressive motto, in Stephen Harrington’s opinion, like a war cry cloaked in silk. He watches Brenner give a proud nod, stepping back from the podium before Father Bingham slowly steps up to the pulpit, draped in dark vestments edged with gold.

The sermon is short—as always. A reflection on duty, discipline, the fiery punishment for those who stray from the Light of God, and the enduring spirit of Whitewood. It is a mixture of Old Testament scripture and a school history lesson. Stephen’s heard it so many times, he knows it by heart.

When it ends, the parents applaud once more—politely—before rising in unison like chess pieces returned to motion. The boys are dismissed by row, the older students lingering, waiting until the lower forms have filed out.

Outside, the gray sky remains. The breeze is stronger now, bitter as it sweeps downhill across the lake. Beneath the church portico and across the gravel driveway, parents cluster like flocks of well-dressed birds, air-kissing, straightening jackets, offering thin smiles and quiet criticisms to their children.

Principal Brenner stands at the top of the steps, shaking hands and offering warm nods, each exchange measured and brief, like clockwork. His eyes scan the crowd constantly—counting faces, perhaps, or tracking reputations.

Standing in line with his parents—awaiting their turn to greet Brenner—Stephen Harrington is far away, his mind drifting back to summer in the Hamptons with the Hagans and the Perkins-

“Stephen,” Diana Harrington hisses, slapping his hand away from his mouth and bringing him back to the cold dreariness of Whitewood Academy.

His father, Richard Harrington, stares at him with barely concealed anger, his thin mouth pulled into a disgusted frown that Stephen knows is chewing on harsh threats. He mumbles an apology, straightening his back before glancing at his thumb—the skin around the nail raw and bleeding. The healing from summer, undone in a matter of hours. He wipes the blood away with a handkerchief, shoving the stained cloth into his pocket just as they step up to Brenner.

“Richard, Diana,” Brenner greets them with an enthusiastic, firm handshake. “I must say, the school appreciates your continued generosity. We're able to expand the library now, thanks to your significant contribution at the gala last fall.”

“I expect the library to be named after our family,” Richard says dryly, a flicker of worry crossing Brenner’s features—just before Richard claps him on the shoulder with a laugh. “Only joking, Brenner.”

“Ah, yes, of course!” Brenner laughs awkwardly.

Stephen wants to roll his eyes at it, the posturing and social performance, it’s all a bit pathetic.

Divider by @the-aesthetics-shop

[agentc0rn]

Flâneur

What if AZ is seen wandering in the city lol. Might not happen, may happen, who knows.

Short story I randomly made up for no reason if anyone wants to read based on this art (it's not the best but I wanted to indulge in my thoughts):

He wandered. It took great effort and time to get around the labyrinth of buildings. It did not help that his aged senses struggled with grasping all the novelties he had never seen before in his lifetime, nor did it help that hundreds of curious gazes and whispers accompanied him all the way through.

He had been well used to eye contact; not because of his height, but rather because of his status and duties he once held. Though now he was no more than a lost empty shell of a man, merely equipped with a heavy heart and a luggage full of harrowing memories and bygone knowledge that seemed of no use here.

He was a nobody, yet his presence was pronounced. Aside from his stature, his ragged, dull-coloured outfit and his long, unkempt white hair contrasted greatly with the finely made dresses and suits worn by the inhabitants of this great megalopolis. He stood out as a sore thumb, a prickly weed amidst a garden of small colorful flowers. Even though this place was formerly his home, he only became a stranger, a foreigner both in time and space.

Shunning the looks, gasps and hurried whispers he had garnered, he marched on, with no destination set in mind. An old habit that had turned into a lifelong custom - an eternal wayfarer he had become and identified himself as, since he had no home to return to. It had been long gone, washed away by the tides of time. 

He could not help but admire just how the place brimmed with life -  the way the afternoon golden sunlight poured down on the wide paved streets and avenues, where people chattered and strolled about, carrying bags full of goods purchased from the market stands. Carriages rocked and passed by, along with carts loaded with supplies of organic products. Pidoves pecked on bread crumbs at every chance they could get.

The longer he observed, his mind stirred up thoughts and ideas and imagination of all sorts. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment  as he saw himself opening up the mass contraption, unleashing a huge brilliant beam of light that pierced through the clouds, the skies, to the heavens above, soon to scorch upon the earth. Destruction was his legacy, forever engraved onto his name, a grave sin of his that took the form of a key that he long bore for centuries. The effects of his crime more or less tagged him everywhere, lurking around within his shadow. 

It haunted him.

He took a deep breath and doddled the other way, searching for a place to sit. His legs needed a break and so did his mind. He continued onwards until a fragrant scent reached his senses, causing him to stop in his tracks. Taking a closer look, he found a cart stocked with motleys of blooming flowers. There, a short, petite woman donned in a white dress looked around the pots, still yet to decide on which one to choose.

He couldn't help but draw near, all while memories seeped into his mind where his younger self plucked a handful of flowers, tying them and placing them onto his beloved one as a crown. As he bumbled towards the cart, the short-haired brunette took notice of his presence and backed away from him, startled. He mumbled an apology with a tilt of his head, stepping away from the cart. Once she regained composure, she smiled and invited him to come forward with a flick of her hand, quickly dismissing the awkwardness of the encounter.

"Lovely, aren't they?" she said, leaning towards one pot filled with daffodils and sniffed one. AZ did not expect the lady to speak, yet alone to him out of all people. But he did not want to rudely decline a conversation. He hardly exchanged a conversation with a human being for so long in the countless years of his wandering.

He yearned to regain a sense of humanity again, for he had long lost his sense of self along the way in his descent to desolation.

"...Yes, they certainly are," words parted from his lips. "Fleetingly beautiful. Small, but valuable. Truly Earth's finest wealth." With his gloved, coarsened hand, he gently lifted a drooping rose and over to the lavender. The lady in white's smile remained as she eyed his solemn expression. Her soft gaze held a tender curiosity, free of disdain and wariness, unlike the gawking reactions from others. She turned away briefly, returning to her search for some moments just before re-opening her mouth.

"With all of that cumbersome load and thick garment, you must have traveled a great distance. From where you might be?" She inquired. On her right, a Floette drifted up towards AZ, smiling brightly the same way her partner did. As soon as he caught sight of the Floette, it broke his stolid, stony expression. He tried to utter a response but failed. From the bottom of his stomach, grief resurfaced, securing his throat at a chokehold. Tears blurred his vision and he fluttered his eyes quickly. The Floette tapped on his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him, but a few tears trickled down his pale, hollow-cheeked face.

"I...I apologize. I am suddenly reminded of something," he stuttered and looked away in shame. He had thought he had dried all his tears up after all these years.

Taking a quick gander at her surroundings, the lady beckoned to him to follow and he did so without a complaint until they reached a small alleyway, where ratattas scrambled out about. The lady fumbled in her bag and pulled out a handkerchief. "This should be a better place. I should be the one giving an apology, you did not do any wrongdoing. I am no fan of the public either." He accepted her generous offer and dabbed at his eyes, then gave his thanks.

"In a way, you remind me of my grandfather," she said. "Gentle, soft-spoken and fond of nature." As she spoke, the Floette twirled around AZ in a small happy dance. He cracked a weak smile, then returned to his usual countenance. .

"Do I?" he questioned.

"Your mannerism and tone precisely resemble him. I would have loved for him to meet you, surely you would have been good friends."

He smiled and said nothing. They stood in silence, gazing outward at the end of the alleyway, with small streaks of people flowing in and out of the street.

"It is better for me to go now. I worry that I am troubling you, having meddled with your errands," he said with concern, looking downwards at the lady. "I thank you for your acts of kindness. I truly appreciate it." For every word he said, he meant it. He glanced sideways at the lady's Floette and it dawned on him that he had something with him that he could give to the lady as a return of  favor.

AZ dug into his pockets.

"This may not be much, but I hope that you may use these to grow in your garden." He said, extending his long slender arm towards her, handing her a bag of red trillium seeds that he had collected not too long ago in his journey, in hopes of planting along barren areas long affected by the war and the destruction of the ultimate weapon.

"Oh, you are too kind, traveler! I have heard of these before, but never have I expected to possess them!" she placed both of her hands on her chest, gushing. "Do you see this, Fleurine? We can grow more!" she beamed to her companion, who spun around once more in great joy. She turned back forward to him and grinned.

"Before we depart, my name is Acacia for your knowledge, should we ever cross paths and meet again. It  was a great pleasure of exchanging some brief pleasantries with you, good sir! May your journey be filled with great tidings!" she waved at him, joined by her Floette, who waved her flower at him.

"Likewise. My name is AZ. If we do not meet again, then let those seeds be a souvenir of me. I wish you a prosperous life ahead," he said."Au revoir, Ehzie!" the young lady called one last time, and made her way back to the market. Waving back and nodding, he trotted off. He managed to make his way to the end of the city, apparently named Lumiose, with hope sprouting within his ancient, grief-ridden heart.

[aerbiscuit]

So, this may be a super silly idea, but bear with me.

Giants are intriguing fantasy creatures. Depending on how big they are, their existence has massive implications for wherever they live. What do they eat, and how much/often do they have to do so? What is their population size? Where do they live that has enough room for them all? How does their waste not make large stretches of land filthy?

And, most importantly… do they fart?

No, for real, I’ve often thought about this. As a kid, I was taught that cow burps and farts contain huge amounts of methane that could threaten the atmosphere. Now, of course, I know that there are a ton of factors at play in this claim, all of which turn this glimmer of a fact into a misleading claim. (While cow farts, and especially burps, do contain a large amount of methane, the largest contributions to climate change are still human pollution and fossil fuel usage. Cow gas is remarkably small in comparison and we can change their diets to decrease their methane production anyway.)

Still, this has always made me wonder about the gas output of giants. How would their flatulence affect smaller creatures and the world around them?

… well, I now have a gassy mythology about giants. Read on for a peculiar fairy tale.

In my fantasy AU, giants exist. However, they all live on a small continent (which to them is a large island) far in the middle of a distant sea. This land is perfectly suited for their needs. A few large races of animals exist for them to eat meat from time to time, and certain quickly-growing species of fauna provide them with continuous sources of vegetation. They also eat bugs by breeding, collecting, and chowing down on them at once, kinda like how whales can subsist off large amounts of krill. The land is also large enough for them to handle the subject of their waste, which they’ve developed systems to dispose, reuse, and/or filter. They’re a smart race of beings and can live sustainably in their home country. However, they largely stay where they are, and any giant who attempts to travel to the smaller lands is seen as foolhardy and asking for trouble.

Legends say that the reason for the giants' isolation (stories which both the giants and the smaller folk tell) come from a time when lots of giants travelled around the world. Giants were friendly, and even set up homes in smaller lands to learn from the tiny races. There are still a few stories of friendly giants, and the good that they can do.

Unfortunately, many of the smaller races saw the giants as a threat. If a giant didn’t have the time or resources to set up food sources (bug farming, bringing livestock, etc.), they’d need to eat from the small folks’ land, which the small folk saw as decimating their resources. Giants also had to do a LOT of research into where they could piss or shit, unless they didn’t mind accidentally flooding or burying valuable land. As thoughtful as most giants are, you couldn’t help the occasional emergency, or just the handful of people who weren’t as considerate as the others.

And of course, there was the gas. Giants need to break wind too. It’s hard to stay around someone when one of their farts sounds like a thunderclap and produces clouds of smog that take up to an hour or so to fully dissipate. And if a giant strayed too far from a majority bug-based diet, those farts could get numerous and gnarly.

Finally, one cruel and bigoted wizard devised a plan to make enough small folk hate the giants to banish them. He used the entire freshwater lake that a group of traveling giants had claimed for their water supply to make an eternal potion of flatulence, one that was so strong, it altered your very biology into making you sensitive to most food sources. Any meal of standard meat or veggies would turn into a night full of farts, and that’s not counting eating the standard fart fare like beans, broccoli, sprouts, dairy, etc. He cast the spell, complicating it so that only he could possibly undo it, and waited.

Soon, the damage was done, and all the giants in the area turned into giant gasbags. Even if they stayed near their camps, neighboring villages could hear choruses of belching in the distance, or smell the results of dinner on the wind. Finally, enough people got so fed up that they passed official mandates of banishment. All giants, even the ones who didn’t drink from the lake, were sent away, and threatened with war if they returned.

The giants, who are peaceful folk and newly embarrassed by their tremendous eruptions of gas, didn’t put up a fight. They all packed their bags and sailed home.

Upon their return, the giant’s cycle of reproduction showed that the spell was more permanent than expected. Any offspring of a newly gassy giant with an unmodified person became half as gassy. If two gassy giants mated, then the offspring had full fart power. After enough generations of mating, all giants became gasbags to some extent. While the giants grew used to, and even happy with, their new powers, they knew this was the last nail in the coffin of their diplomacy. Now, no giant could try to live peacefully with the smaller races. Barely any giants visit the small lands even now.

The end.

… but, of course, the world goes on after “The End,” doesn’t it?

First, there were the unintentional side effects of the lake. After the expulsion of the giants, the wizard quickly used the last of his remaining power to neutralize the water. However, some damage was already done. While humans were the majority of the small races to hold issue with giants, most of the demi-humans (goat-mans, centaurs, satyrs, etc.) had no issue with giants and were happy to hang out with them, share meals with them…. and drink with them. This is the theory of why these races are flatulent even beyond their animal counterparts’ abilities. Their guts have been forever tainted by the same brew that doomed the giants.

Some of the demi-humans who liked the permanent changes to their digestive tracts acted quickly, bottling some of the water before the wizard neutralized his work. These potions of flatulence are incredibly rare, and possibly no more than legends, but people search for them to this day.

Then there are the members of the small races who don’t mind venturing out to visit the giants. After all, no rule was set up that they couldn’t visit, although some years had to pass before the giants were in a good enough mood to be visited. This is how the small amount of giant-to-small-person communication and research still persists.

And who knows? Maybe in enough time, relations will improve enough to reach the level that they used to be.

Until then, most giants will stay at home, entertaining only the most friendly (or peculiarly inclined) members of the races who banished them.

[sorenblr]

on the off chance you like Dragon Quest, can you explain its appeal? Japanese people really like it from what I've read, but it seems to play second fiddle to FF in the West

I love Dragon Quest. I have a general JRPG brain illness that isn't confined to SMT. There's even a DQIII reference in Marsyas and the Vampyr...

Anyway, I think the appeal is self-evident: the Toriyama designs, the meat-and-potatoes simplicity, the emphasis on individual vignettes that lends the series an easy, almost serialized narrative tone, the relentless charm of it all- even Sugiyama's classical inspirations stand apart from the prog-infused soundscape of the genre. The English releases also benefit from localization, injecting color and accent that conform so well to the original tone that it hardly scans as adaptation. There is a character and magnetism at play here that no other franchise dares emulate. The series is somehow totally archetypal but completely inimitable. It's a very tidy balancing act.

The individual design elements are unremarkable - the ascetic turn-based combat centered on simple buffs and damage control, rudimentary dungeon crawling, barely extant character building except where the vocation system is present- but tend to cohere under this satisfying sense of polish and planning. And while there's more mechanical experimentation across the series than is evident at a glance, DQ still has a fundamentally conservative design ethos that sets it apart from "modern" JRPGs while ensuring a consistent reception from the more settled-in demographics: liking one entry in the series is no guarantee that you'll love the rest, but you're unlikely to be disillusioned going from one game to another.

It's also difficult to overstate the domestic legacy status. In the Western imaginary, the generic JRPG probably resembles a sort of desacralized FFVII. In Japan that image has always belonged to DQ (and more specifically DQIII), where its status as the progenitor of the genre is less clouded by the decontextualization that Japanese games experience during export- less so in the globalized present, but especially pronounced during the crucial formative years for both series. The emphasis on rudiments is something that's more permissible as a result.

But that comparison relates back to FF's dominance in the West, which is mostly attributable to the series' output during the fifth console generation. More expansive allowances for 3D representation created a demand for games designed around the cutting edge. This is the moment that FF cemented its modern reputation, across three separate entries*, as a series of constantly re-inventive, systems innovative, graphical-showcase melodramas. Meanwhile, the mainline of DQ greeted the moment with a single entry: DQVII, an infamously long and plodding game that married simple polygonal backgrounds with 2D sprites in a fashion that too much resembled the rustic SNES titles of the previous generation to suit the tastes of the average PlayStation Magazine subscriber. Debuting several months after the launch of the PS2 inflamed the issue. Considering the technocratic lust for graphical bombast that informed consumer demand at the time, it's no surprise that Western markets imprinted on FF. There's more at play there- from a marketing perspective, the diminutive peasant-protagonist of DQVII was at a disadvantage against Nomura's millennial aesthetic- but that's the thrust of it.

By the time DQVIII released, FF was already dominant, enjoying a consistent stream of profit from their MMO sector even as the wait between FFX and FFXII spanned the entire lifespan of the new system. With DQIX crafted for the DS and DQX being passed over for localization, the mainline series essentially sat out the critical transition to HD, so FF maintained its edge in the West despite increasingly troubled development and exploding production costs. Things have dovetailed neatly, with DQXI charting a series-best performance in the West, filling a niche for console JRPG experiences of this scale that has been largely unoccupied since the PS2 era. FF is meanwhile occupied with recreating, in a fit of Byzantine decadence, the very title that established its grip on the Western imagination.

*It hasn't enjoyed the same critical longevity as FFVII, but it really can't be overstated how acclaimed FVIII was at release, and the move to less abstracted, more 'realistic' models was crucial to that reception.

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review: Sinners (2025)

Sinners (2025)

Rated R for strong bloody violence, sexual content and language

<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2025/04/review-sinners-2025.html>

Score: 5 out of 5

Ryan Coogler has never made a bad movie. His feature debut, the based-on-a-true-story drama Fruitvale Station, was a heartfelt examination of a tragedy that would later spill over into a much broader movement. He then made the jump to franchise blockbusters with Creed and Black Panther, and unlike many young, hotshot indie directors who find themselves chewed up and spit out by the Hollywood franchise machine, he managed to retain his creative voice throughout and turn in a pair of excellent films. Even Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, without a doubt his worst film, was one that was clouded by unavoidable real-life circumstances that had a direct impact on production, and he still managed to turn in a decent superhero movie in spite of them. He is easily one of the best filmmakers working today, so when I found out that his next movie was not only an original story that wasn't based on true events or a preexisting property, but also a vampire horror movie (not much of a spoiler, no matter how many reviews have treated it like one, given how the trailers made it obvious), my ears perked right up. It was a gamble, to be sure, an R-rated horror flick with a budget of at least $90 million, a runtime of over two hours, and a period setting in the Mississippi Delta in the 1930s, the kind of film that could've easily gotten Coogler thrown in director jail if it failed, especially given the reports of some of the back-end deals he negotiated for it. But I love horror, I love vampires, the premise sounded interesting, the other reviews I'd seen were uniformly excellent, and it boasted an all-star cast led by longtime Coogler collaborator Michael B. Jordan, so I went in optimistic...

...and was profoundly blown away by a film that will likely make my list of the best films of 2025. It's a Black, bluesy, period-piece version of From Dusk Till Dawn, a film that starts out as a crime drama about two twin brothers, Smoke and Stack, in 1932 returning home from Chicago to the Delta town of Clarksdale, Mississippi seeking to open a juke joint with money they stole from the Chicago mob, enlisting their musically gifted cousin Sammie Moore as their first headliner and a host of locals to staff it while also contending with the racism and poverty of the Jim Crow-era Deep South... only to transform into a gritty, bloody, and terrifying vampire movie about halfway in once a mysterious Irishman named Remmick shows up in town, raising an army of vampires and besieging the juke joint while its owners and remaining staff, musicians, and patrons fight to survive until sunrise. And through it all, it quite clearly remains the same movie that it was in the first half, not only demonstrating that Coogler is just as adept making a graphic horror movie as he is at making a slice-of-life period drama but also carrying forward the themes from the first half and using them to wrap its vampire menace in all manner of pointed metaphors. It is a hell of a horror movie that I can see quickly entering the canon of great vampire flicks and "social horror" movies alike, and even without having the distinctly Black perspective that Coogler infused throughout it, I had the time of my life watching it.

My praise starts with the cast, led by longtime Coogler collaborator Michael B. Jordan in the literal twin roles of Smoke and Stack. Right away, I got that these characters were two very different people, with Smoke a bit more rough-hewn and down-and-dirty dressed in a flat cap while Stack comes off as much slicker in his fancier suits and hats. Whereas Smoke will shoot a man in the street for trying to rob his truck, all while teaching a young girl how to be a lookout for him, Stack will be diplomatic and wear a smile on his face even when negotiating to buy property from a Klansman. Even with the same man playing them both, not once did it feel like they ever blended together, the two of them instead feeling like very different people with a lifetime of history together. Jordan is without a doubt one of the best actors of his generation, and this dual role confirms that, especially with the brothers' paths diverging once the shit hits the fan, Smoke turning into an action hero as the leader of the survivors while Stack, having been one of the first people in the juke joint to get bitten, spends the rest of the film as a vampire trying to tempt his brother into joining him.

Surrounding Jordan is an impressive supporting cast comprised of a mix of recognizable faces like Hailee Steinfeld as Stack's old flame Mary and Delroy Lindo as the old blues musician Delta Slim, TV and character actors like Li Jun Li as the shopkeeper Grace and Wunmi Mosaku as Smoke's estranged wife Annie, and some standout newcomers, most of all Miles Caton as "Preacher Boy" Sammie Moore. Sammie, above all else, is the "final boy," for lack of a better term, the opening scene set the following morning revealing him to be the sole survivor of the mayhem that happens over the course of the film. He's a good-hearted son of a preacher man who nonetheless wants to escape his conservative upbringing and make a name for himself as a musician, no matter how much his well-meaning but overly strict father tries to warn him against doing so. As much as this movie is a crime drama when it's about Smoke and Stack, it's a coming-of-age drama for young Sammie, both before and after the vampires arrive, as he becomes a man over the course of the night fighting to save himself and watching the people he cares about get picked off one by one. Caton, an R&B musician by trade, is at the center of many of the film's big standout music scenes, but more than that, he also turns in a performance that had me in disbelief that this was his first acting role, so self-assured he felt as Sammie growing from an ordinary Southern boy to a badass survivor who's likely scarred for life but has still proven himself. Mark my words, Caton is going places as an actor after this, much as Jordan had done after the first time he worked with Coogler.

And finally, there is Jack O'Connell as the villain Remmick, which is where this film's real themes and message come into play. A vampire who's over a thousand years old going by what he says late in the film about his upbringing in Ireland, Remmick feels like the vampire version of the Armitages from Get Out in how he's framed and what he represents in the broader context of the film. He's no bigot, and in fact looks down on the gutter-level racists around him, as evidenced in his introduction where his first victims are a Klansman and his wife who foolishly dismiss the warnings of the Choctaw vampire hunters who were after him. He is, after all, an Irishman, and he has a long memory of how White supremacists treated his own people. On the other hand, he tells the protagonists explicitly that Sammie's music was what drew him to the Delta, and that he wishes, above all else, to make Sammie a vampire in order to claim his musical gifts.

I have read a lot of interpretations online about the many metaphors that Coogler wove into this film's story, many of them from Black people who have a more intimate lived experience with the things he was talking about here than I do, so one should probably take my interpretation with a grain of salt. But for my money, Remmick feels like a metaphor for cultural appropriation, selling out, and the necessity of gatekeeping within subcultures. He loves the music, but he does so at the expense of the people who make it, as seen with how he and his fellow vampires try to insert themselves into the juke joint and claim the culture of the people there as their own. Mary, the first person among the protagonists who gets turned and the one who serves as the first crack letting them in, is a mixed-race woman who passes for White and struggles to reconcile her Black upbringing with the fact that living as a White woman has brought her a material comfort she'd never have received if she embraced her roots. (Side note: great way to make use of Hailee Steinfeld's real-life mixed-race heritage there!) And the ending, without spoiling anything, indicates that Coogler does not exactly have a very high opinion of some of the more commercial directions that hip-hop has evolved in over the years. (To say nothing of the complicated manner in which African-Americans' relationship with Christianity is presented in the film. Without going into too much detail, let's just say that this film's version of vampires do not cower before the cross or holy water.) Even beyond just Black audiences, I can see this movie gaining a following among anyone, from punks to geek fandoms, who's part of a subculture that's ever faced attempts from outsiders to take it over and commercialize it for their own gain at the expense of the people who built it. It's a movie about staying true to what you believe in, even if selling out may seem like the path of least resistance at first -- a message that Coogler, by all accounts, took to heart when it came to the deal he secured to get it made.

Coogler himself, of course, was the filmmaker who put this whole movie together, and even putting the deeper themes aside, it's clear why he has the reputation he does when it comes to big, blockbuster filmmaking. The first act of this film feels like the sort of prestige drama that you'd expect to see around Oscar season, a gritty, grounded portrait of rural Mississippi in the 1930s that works to set up what's to come. We don't get any vampires until roughly 45 minutes in when we're finally introduced to Remmick. It's a masterful example of the kind of first-act character development that so many horror movies try and fail at, the kind that demonstrates that Coogler could've just as easily made a straightforward, non-horror period piece and done it just as well. That's not what Coogler had in store, though. After we meet Remmick, the proceedings suddenly take a turn for the sinister as we know that there's a force out there that's slowly coming for the main characters. People outside the juke joint are picked off one by one, in scenes that show us just enough to let us know what's really happening but cut away before we see what the vampires are truly capable of, before the big attack begins and this movie finally shifts gears into outright action-horror in its second half, filled with bloody kills on the part of both humans and vampires as the remaining protagonists battle a brutal late-night siege with all the panache that Coogler brought to the Black Panther movies. And then, Coogler decides to take the opportunity to let audiences know that he could probably direct a straight-up musical if he wanted to, as well. The setting means that music, especially blues and folk, flows throughout the film, with many great blues and folk numbers peppered throughout, from the most fucked-up Irish jig in the world to Sammie's big performance that indicates that his musical gifts may be genuinely supernatural, seemingly summoning the spirits of both his ancestors and his descendants in a breathtaking scene that combines the blues, African tribal music, and more contemporary rock and hip-hop into one exhilarating package. Even more than anything involving the vampires, I imagine that "I Lied to You" will stand as this film's signature scene.

The Bottom Line

A beautiful, haunting, terrifying, and kick-ass movie with a lot on its mind, Sinners is a genre-bending masterpiece that will go down as one of the all-time great vampire movies and a landmark in the careers of everybody involved. Consider this my very firm recommendation.

[fatehbaz]

The “khoai” is the name colloquially given to [...] landmasses in and around the Chotanagpur Plateau in eastern India. Rich in iron oxide, these [...] soils are marked by a rugged and often undulating topography, resulting from millennia of erosion from monsoon rains, the many winding rivers that populate the region and action of winds from summer thunderstorms, popularly termed in Bengali as “Kalboishakhi.” The winds and the rains of the kalboishakhi dance across the lands adjoining the Bay of Bengal, often arriving at the horizon with ominous dark clouds right before sunset. [...]

The khoai is a charismatic frontier in an ongoing conversation within South Asian developmentalist imaginaries that call for optimal land use for the purposes of economic growth. [...] As the lateritic soil of the region is not suited for intensive agriculture, efforts have been made to make vast sections of the region arable [...]. And so, slowly, the red soils get taken over the green [...]. This is often done by breaking gullies and hoodoo-like structures [...] to flatten the lands [...]. The ongoing project to turn such “deserts” green has a long history. Yet alongside these projects, is the place that the khoai have in the literary, cultural, and spiritual imagination of many [...] that inhabit the Chotanagpur Plateau. The vastly open and hilly topography, dotted with sal forests [...] has often been the fodder for songs of longing [...]. The horizon of the sky meeting the red gullies of the badlands also form many a narrative that appear in local folk songs and stories. [...] They have also been sites of community-based agroforestry.

---

Recently, such badlands have been termed unproductive in and around my hometown of Santiniketan, India.

As South Asian developmental imaginaries wholly absorb the understanding of terra nullius from modern Euro-American conceptions of land, the idea that “badlands” are necessarily “wastelands” become cemented. Once beloved [...], the dark brown-red hoodoos and gullies today are seen as wasted potential that are depriving the public of much-needed resources, and the possibility of the coming of civilization in accordance with upper-caste aspirations. Khoai today have become sites for proposed plantations facilitated by local forestry authorities, holiday homes and cafes [...], luxury resorts [...].

The ethos of invoking terra nullius has travelled into discourses surrounding “practicality” and the absolute necessity for villagers and small town folks in the area to be saved by their urban-dwelling upper caste counterparts [...] who are interested in their cultural practices, seemingly idyllic agricultural lifeways and the simplicity away from the stresses of cities such as Kolkata. But in this framework, the imaginaries of development are necessarily embedded in compulsory extraction, whether that be of cultural economies, minerals, timber, or land for development. [...]

[B]adlands get turned into places that need saving from being “wasted” by the carelessness and unimaginative shortsightedness of villagers and Adivasis, who are simply seen as ill-equipped to deal with the progression of the global economy.

These days, it is hard to find a piece of the “khoai” that has not been subjected to projects of agriculture, forestry, or have been subjugated to [...] property ownership [...]. As the figures of the plantation and its attendant cultures of enclosure and theft of commons creep into places previously overlooked by the tentacles of global extractive forces, many, if not most khoai areas are mobilized to be “redeemed” into productive little plots legible to capital.

I have to wonder about the processes of consent and negotiation that have informed such projects. [...] These areas were in the past predominantly inhabited by Adivasis or Indigenous peoples of India, who had resisted the [...] hierarchies [...].

Badlands such as the “khoai” present a challenge to capitalist imaginaries because they defy its temporalities and its compulsion to make all aspects of being productive and legible to exchanges that foster logics of uninhibited growth. [...]

What, then, does it mean to care for wastelands? [...]

What histories are paved over by concrete? What does development mean in places where inequality is still rife, but there are shiny new roads? What does a future look like, where we can let badlands and “wastelands” just be, as part of ecological and cultural commons?

---

All text above by: Aadita Chaudhury. "Caring for Badlands". The Otter, Network in Canadian History and Environment (NiCHE). Emotional Ecologies series. Ed. Jessica M. DeWitt and Sarah E. York-Bertram. 14 July 2023. [Photography by Aadita Chaudhury, included in the original article. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[classicanalyzer]

Fallout Series Thoughts and Reflection

"Everyone wants to save the world. They just...disagree on how." Maximus

It's one day until one month since this amazing series was released and I have a lot to talk about Fallout!

A Vault Dweller (Lucy MacLean), a Brotherhood Squire (Maximus), a Ghoul Bounty Hunter (Once a human called Cooper Howard)...and a dog (Dogmeat) travel the Wasteland in pursuit of their goals. In doing so, all four will change the Wasteland for better or worse, and discover more sinister secrets. And as Siggi Wilzig, an Enclave defector, asks Lucy in their first encounter,

"Question is will you still want the same things......when you have become a different animal altogether." Siggi Wilzig

The opening (The End) was perfect. The tension reminds me a lot of TLOU’s opening. We look into the eternal 50s culture United States in the 2070s. Cooper's reaction to the first bomb dropping is just acting perfectly. He at first tries to assure his daughter, Janey, that it's just a fire...only to see the smoke turn into a mushroom cloud. His reaction then just turns into one of pure horror that conveys how this is the end of society. That shot of him and Janey looking at the mushroom cloud and the ignorant American families watching TV says everything. As the rich family hides out in their bunker (the father punching his friend which is a foreshadowing moment of humanity's desperation for self-preservation), we see Cooper and Janey ride on their horse as Lose Angelos is bombarded with the title card popping up (Each episode has a unique variation of the title card based on what's going on).

The show captures the dark comedy and the satire of 50s America, Capitalism, and the Cold War. When Wilzig talked about how the cyanide pill (which tasted like bananas too!) was the most humane product Vault-Tec ever made (it really is), that was Fallout humor alright. We even have a pre-war bit where Sebastion Lesie sold his vocal rights to RobCo for their Mr. Handy bots for around $186 (I know it could be 186 thousand but I love the possibility he only got literally 186 dollars). Another is when the "execution" of Lucy by the inhabitants of Vault 4 which was very elaborate to set up death by beheading... turns out out to be death to the surface (as the Overseer is trying horribly to cut off the rope). A funny meta joke is how the teaser joker poked about Amazon Prime being the company with 2-day shipping in the teaser trailer. Then the show was released 2 days earlier than its stated release date (The show came out on April 10th, 6 PM PST when its original release date was April 12th).

"The future, my friend, is products. You're a product. I'm a product. The end of the world is a product." Sebastian Leslie

The attention to detail in this show is also amazing. In the first episode, the radio mentions the President not present at the White House. That follows the lore of the President moving to the Poseidon Oil Rig. I also love how in Episode 2, Maximus mentions Tidus' Power Armor having Tempered Lining and Lucy brought it up too in Episode 5. In Episode 8, The Ghoul mentioned the weakness of the Power Armor suit just below the chestplate. It further explains why Maximus didn't die to the Ghoul since the Ghoul was trying to aim for that but due to that modification, Maximus was able to survive. They also brought back the hacking mini-game when Norman was hacking into the Overseer's computer.

There's also the question of how to rebuild humanity. Each faction (Vault-Tec, NCR, BoS, Enclave) has its own vision for the Wasteland. Maximus perfectly described the setting perfectly well in his quote at the top.

Lucy’s (Positive Karma) naivety and optimism really show her as the heart of our main trio. Even by the end where she gained a lot of cynicism, it’s still her underneath it. I also appreciate her character so much when she doesn’t follow the “character’s bond with another is broken because they lied” trope. I like how the folks of the Wasteland can't stand Vault Dwellers because of their nativity, self-centered attitude, and how it was really for the rich and privileged who could afford to go to a Vault. However, she proves herself to be an earnest character who truly wants to make the Wasteland a better place, and adapts to survive... but doesn't lose sight of who she is unlike the Ghoul. I cannot wait to see how S2 takes her character. Her relationship with Maximus is also pretty sweet as they both help each other out and bring out the best in each other.

"I just doused an innocent man's face with acid, and I've only been up here two weeks. The wasteland sucks." Lucy MacLean

Maximus’ (Neutral Karma) character development was nice to see. He still has a long way to go but he’s starting to understand what being a “hero” is about rather than just having physical power. A hero knows to sacrifice your desires (The Power Armor) to help others (giving back the fusion core). He wants a life beyond the Brotherhood and is clearly disillusioned with the organization. When his friend thought he killed Moldaver and declared him a Knight, his face tells another story of how he felt about this.

The Ghoul (Evil Karma) may have been a cruel bounty hunter who believes in the worst of the Wasteland...but there are moments of his former self still inside. His taking a liking to Wilzig's dog (whom he eventually named Dogmeat) and granting his Ghoul friend Roger a mercy kill reveals there might be hope for him yet. His former self, Cooper Howard. is nothing like his current self. I love how the show made it clear he was once this human who couldn't initially bring himself to kill someone... even if it was for a movie! Even when he tries to initially deny the evils of Vault-Tec and buys into American Cold War propaganda, it's clear he still values his friends (even if they're supposedly "Communists") and eventually starts to really question what the hell is going on.

"I'm not a Communist, Mr. Howard. That's just a dirty word they use to describe people who aren't insane." Lee Moldaver

The reveal that Vault-Tec was responsible for dropping the first bomb (or at the very least planned to do so) was genuinely one of the most shocking bombshell reveals ever. You feel the nervous breakdown of Howard Cooper as he’s trying to process his own wife advocating this insane genocidal plan. I wonder if the shadow figure overseeing the meeting of the corporations is from the Enclave. I also really love the detail that Mr. House is the only one questioning the logistics and the proposal (Daily note that Mr. House is just as bad as everyone in this room, it's just that he sees less value in causing the end of the world). It shows why he decided to go against this insane conspiracy plan as we see the fruits of his preparations in New Vegas. I also love seeing Frederick Sinclair (Also New Vegas), the owner of the Sierra Madre Casino, Leon Von Felden (Fallout 1), the mad scientist behind the FEV and the Mariposa Military base, and Julia Masters, the chief financial officer of REPCONN Aerospace who sold out the company to RobCo.

"It's a fun idea. There's a lot of earning potential with the end of the world. But we're talking about making a significant investment based on a hypothetical. How can you guarantee results?" Robert House

"By dropping the bomb ourselves." Barbara Howard

Moldaver is no saint (she did let raiders massacre Vault 33 and almost killed Lucy, her friend's daughter), and it shows how far the NCR has sunken to achieve its aims. However, a lot of her actions are based on the horrors and crimes against humanity she witnessed. She wanted to rectify them and give the Wasteland hope, no matter the cost. She had seen her failures to stop the old world from being destroyed, and she would not stop until she could make the Wasteland better, even if that meant the NCR not living to see that better world.

Lucy's quest to rescue her father is like a twisted Fallout 3 narrative where the Lone Wanderer's quest was to find their father. But instead of her father being a scientist who wants to further heal the Wasteland, her father is responsible for destroying one of the most developed nations post-war because they weren't Vault-Tec. It's also implied it might've been out of jealousy since the show hints that Moldaver and Rose MacLean were more than just friends.

The collapse of the NCR was something I knew would happen based on the state of it in NV, but the final nail in the coffin being at the hands of Vault-Tec was something I did not see coming. I love that the last action of the NCR Remnant was to restore Shady Sands's power with the cold-fusion reactor. Even when the NCR is gone, whatever arises from the NCR will not only do the job better but now benefit from infinite energy. This is in comparison to the US government whose last action was to nuke the world and for the Enclave, leave the American populace to die.

The West Coast of the Brotherhood took advantage of the NCR's collapse to reestablish itself and with the help of the East Coast's BoS, they're now the largest military presence in California. The final battle between them and the NCR Remnant is a mirror foil to an event mentioned in New Vegas with the Helios Power Plant. We see how Maximus grows disillusioned with how far the organization has fallen and its own Knights not being the heroes he looked up to, even his superior agrees about how the Brotherhood is not what it once was.

Vaults 31-33 may not have an extreme experiment as the other Vaults and in this case, Vault 4, but the experiment is still horrifying. Vault 32-33 are meant to be breeding pools for Vault 31, full of Vault-Tec personnel in cryogenic pods (which I think is how maybe Lee Moldaver survived), to create the "best" Vault-Tec personnel. Vault 4 is a vault where scientists govern the people...which went as well as you might expect (The experiments going berserk and the Vault Dwellers revolting). I also love how the Gulper we saw in Episode 4 is one of Vault 4's experiments (also explaining the human-like finders inside its mouth) and who also ate the Overseer. I wonder what Norman will do given how Bud puts in him a seemingly impossible situation.

Then there's the Enclave and the pre-war Corporations. The Enclave really only shows up for a flashback sequence for Wilzig but, interestingly, the show glosses over them. What interests me the most is that Wilzig knows about the Vaults 31-33 experiment and Lucy's full name. Obviously, the Enclave still has observations of the Vaults, but as I mentioned before, that shadow figure observing the corporate meeting might be them. Speaking of the Corporations, we see the results of unchecked Capitalism with no regulations in this franchise and this show. We see the insane troll logic that these mega corporations will win the "great game of capitalism" by outliving everyone. Mega corporations have no logic other than their insane troll logic that what matters is they survive regardless of who suffers or dies in the name of profits.

"So, the U.S. government has outsourced the survival of the human race to Vault-Tec. Vault-Tec is a private corporation that has a fiduciary responsibility to make money for its investors. And how does it make money? By selling vaults... The cattle ranchers are in charge, Coop." Charlie Whiteknife.

You can tell how much Nolan and his team love Fallout by the work they put into this show. They did such an amazing job that Tim Cain, one of the OG creators of Fallout, praised the hell out of this show for bringing Fallout to life. I cannot wait to see what S2 will bring us.

"War never changes." Barbara Howard and The Ghoul

[topaz-witch-tea]

✨️Yanqing making flower crowns for everyone✨️

Hello!!!!! I am really sorry for getting to this so late!!!

This prompt is adorable so thank you for sending it to me 🥰

I am finishing this up at 1:47 AM so apologies for any grammar mistakes.

****

"Here!" A crown of red and white flowers was presented to Jingliu. She could smell the small roses and jasmine flowers woven around the green stem base, the overall product was much better compared to her nephew's early works.

She took the garland from Yanqing's hands and placed it on her head. "Thank you, Yanqing. You've gotten better at making them." A beaming smile greeted her before the boy returned to the flowers with her wife, most likely preparing another flower crown for the other attendees at the picnic. The white lion, the ever-present guardian of her beloved nephew, followed him back to the field and made sure not to step on any potential blooms for the tiara.

"His work has gotten better," Yingxing said as he refilled her cup with more peach wine.

"I agree, it suits you, Master." Jing Yuan laughed. Dan Feng nodded in agreement before turning his attention back to watching his child pluck flowers from the field.

The field was part of the Yuan family's private estate, a part of Jing Yuan's inheritance after his parent's passing. They never did agree with his choice to join the Cloud Knights nor did they agree with his decision to marry his husband over settling down with a nice girl and continuing the bloodline. However, he was their only son and ensured their comfort in old age and fulfilled his filial duties until their deaths.

They had not seen each other for quite some time and a group vacation was sorely needed. In the interest of saving money and not worrying about security detail, Jing Yuan had offered up this place. It was far away from the bustling social centers and ensured none of them would be disturbed by outside work. Today was one of the cooler days of the week and Yanqing had pleaded for a picnic outside so who were they to deny such a request?

The estate was nothing too pretentious for a wealthy, influential family but everyone had to admit it was a spectacular garden. The pavilion from where they drank tea was settled above the pond, the water dotted with a splash of pink lotuses and the golden, glimmer of koi fishes. Tall plum trees and sweeping willows were scattered across the garden, providing much-needed shade from the encroaching summer heat. Brightly colored flowers covered much of the area, leaving only a stone path for its inhabitants to navigate.

Now, those stunning flowers were plucked quickly and roughly by an excited little boy as he brought them over to his auntie to be made into flower crowns. If Jing Yuan was any less doting and perhaps more attached to his parent's memories, he may have tried to divert his child's attempt at plucking the peonies or manhandling the jasmine blossoms. Baiheng was no better, encouraging the child in his antics and weaving flower, stem, and leaves in their creation.

Baiheng presented the finished items to Yanqing, who took the garland and ran back to the pavilion. Mimi slowly trotted behind to ensure her young master did not fall into the pond like last time. A crown of small peonies and little white flowers was the design this time and Yingxing was the recipient.

"Baba! Here!" The Furnace Master lowered his head for it to be placed on before pulling Yanqing into a tight hug.

"Ahhh! Baba! That tickles!" Yanqing squirmed before breaking free. "I'm going to get the other one now."

"Watching him run is exhausting me. I don't know how he has that much energy." Jing Yuan said as he watched his child run at full speed through the garden.

"You were the same though. You had so much energy when you were young, it was quite exhausting for all us old folks." Dan Feng's eyes never leave his child, especially after the whole falling into the pond incident.

"You also woke up so early, such a change from when you are now." Yingxing chimed in, remembering how Jing Yuan would wake up at 4:00 AM to train.

Before the general could respond, Yanqing arrived with Baiheng in tow, a bright pink crown of Azalea's adorning her head. The boy ran up to Jing Yuan first, holding a crown of begonias and chrysanthemums.

"A-die! Your turn!" The boy exclaimed. Jing Yuan bowed his head so Yanqing could place his handiwork atop it.

"Thank you, Yanqing." A gentle smile crossed his face as his son smiled proudly at his work.

Yanqing ran back to Baiheng to get the last crown he made. "Here you go, Yanqing."

A crown of magnolias seemed to be the choice for Dan Feng's crown., stark white flowers to match the white flowers on his clothing. Yanqing had originally wanted lotuses but his last attempt at plucking them led to him falling into the water and scaring the koi fishes and his family to death.

"Ba, it's your turn!" Yanqing exclaimed as Dan Feng pulled the boy into his arms. Due to his horns being a bit too tall for his child, he placed the crown on his head by himself.

"Do you like it?" Yanqing looked up at his father.

Dan Feng smiled and hugged the boy tightly. "Yes, I love it very much. I'll figure out a way to prevent the flowers from dying so I can keep them forever."

Yanqing leaned into Dan Feng's embrace, "There's no need! When they die I can make more!"

The rest of them laughed at the boy's proclamation, excited to see his next set of works but also worrying about the future of the garden.

Thank you for reading!!! Please feel free to send me asks or message me to chat!!!