#Fast Tech Delivery

[digitalgeardirect]

Your online curated source for the best in electronic accessories and more!

[daincrediblegg]

Can I be honest. I’m sick of companies of all sorts designing things that basically only benefit/work for people living in california and nowhere else? It’s getting tiring for the rest of us

[snapshopretail123]

Amazfit Balance 46mm AMOLED Smart Watch, Body Composition, 14 Days Battery, Dual-Band GPS, BT Calling, VO2 Max, Aluminium Alloy Frame, Temperature Sensor, Train Smarter with AI Zepp Coach(Sunset Grey)

Price: [price_with_discount](as of [price_update_date] – Details) [ad_1] From the manufacturer Focus on the Bigger Picture Decorated with an industry-leading anti-glare glass bezel, the enlarged HD AMOLED display has a huge 73.4% screen-to-body ratio that’s higher than many square smartwatches, and can reach up to 1,500 nits peak brightness. Body Composition Measurement You can simultaneously…

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Gandersauce

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for<p>placehold://://er </p> my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in AUSTIN on MONDAY (Mar 10). I'm also appearing at SXSW and at many events around town, for Creative Commons and Fediverse House. More tour dates here.

It's true that capitalists by and large hate capitalism – given their druthers, entrepreneurs would like to attain a perch from which they get to set prices and wages and need not fear competitors. A market where everything is up for grabs is great – if you're the one doing the grabbing. Less so if you're the one whose profits, customers and workers are being grabbed at.

But while all capitalists hate all capitalism, a specific subset of capitalists really, really hate a specific kind of capitalism. The capitalists who hate capitalism the most are Big Tech bosses, and the capitalism they hate the most is techno-capitalism. Specifically, the techno-capitalism of the first decade of this century – the move fast/break things capitalism, the beg forgiveness, not permission capitalism, the blitzscaling capitalism.

The capitalism tech bosses hate most of all is disruptive capitalism, where a single technological intervention, often made by low-resourced individuals or small groups, can upend whole industries. That kind of disruption is only fun when you're the disruptor, but it's no fun for the disruptees.

Jeff Bezos's founding mantra for Amazon was "your margin is my opportunity." This is a classic disruption story: I'm willing to take a smaller profit than the established players in the industry. My lower prices will let me poach their customers, so I grow quickly and find more opportunities to cut margins but make it up in volume. Bezos described this as a flywheel that would spin faster and faster, rolling up more and more industries. It worked!

https://techcrunch.com/2016/09/10/at-amazon-the-flywheel-effect-drives-innovation/

The point of that flywheel wasn't the low prices, of course. Amazon is a paperclip-maximizing artificial intelligence, and the paperclip it wants to maximize is profits, and the path to maximum profits is to charge infinity dollars for things that cost you zero dollars. Infinite prices and nonexistent wages are Amazon's twin pole-stars. Amazon warehouse workers don't have to be injured at three times the industry average, but maiming workers is cheaper than keeping them in good health. Once Amazon vanquished its competitors and captured the majority of US consumers, it raised prices, and used its market dominance to force everyone else to raise their prices, too. Call it "bezosflation":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

We could disrupt Amazon in lots of ways. We could scrape all of Amazon's "ASIN" identifiers and make browser plugins that let local sellers advertise when they have stock of the things you're about to buy on Amazon:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/10/view-a-sku/

We could hack the apps that monitor Amazon drivers, from their maneuvers to their eyeballs, so drivers had more autonomy and their bosses couldn't punish them for prioritizing their health and economic wellbeing over Amazon's. An Amazon delivery app mod could even let drivers earn extra money by delivering for Amazon's rivals while they're on their routes:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

We could sell Amazon customers virtual PVRs that let them record and keep the shows they like, which would make it easier to quit Prime, and would kill Amazon's sleazy trick of making all the Christmas movies into extra-cost upsells from November to January:

https://www.amazonforum.com/s/question/0D54P00007nmv9XSAQ/why-arent-all-the-christmas-movies-available-through-prime-its-a-pandemic-we-are-stuck-at-home-please-add-the-oldies-but-goodies-to-prime

Rival audiobook stores could sell jailbreaking kits for Audible subscribers who want to move over to a competing audiobook platform, stripping Amazon's DRM off all their purchases and converting the files to play on a non-Amazon app:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

Jeff Bezos's margin could be someone else's opportunity…in theory. But Amazon has cloaked itself – and its apps and offerings – in "digital rights management" wrappers, which cannot be removed or tampered with under pain of huge fines and imprisonment:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Amazon loves to disrupt, talking a big game about "free markets and personal liberties" – but let someone attempt to do unto Amazon as Amazon did unto its forebears, and the company will go running to Big Government for a legal bailout, asking the state to enforce its business model:

https://apnews.com/article/washington-post-bezos-opinion-trump-market-liberty-97a7d8113d670ec6e643525fdf9f06de

You'll find this cowardice up and down the tech stack, wherever you look. Apple launched the App Store and the iTunes Store with all kinds of rhetoric about how markets – paying for things, rather than getting them free through ads – would correct the "market distortions." Markets, we were told, would produce superior allocations, thanks to price and demand signals being conveyed through the exchange of money for goods and services.

But Apple will not allow itself to be exposed to market forces. They won't even let independent repair shops compete with their centrally planned, monopoly service programs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/22/apples-cement-overshoes/

Much less allow competitors to create rival app stores that compete for users and apps:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/06/spoil-the-bunch/#dma

They won't even refurbishers re-sell parts from phones and laptops that are beyond repair:

https://www.shacknews.com/article/108049/apple-repair-critic-louis-rossmann-takes-on-us-customs-counterfeit-battery-seizure

And they take the position that if you do manage to acquire a donor part from a dead phone or laptop, that it is a felony – under the same DRM laws that keep Amazon's racket intact – to install them in a busted device:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/3/27/24097042/right-to-repair-law-oregon-sb1596-parts-pairing-tina-kotek-signed

"Rip, mix, burn" is great when it's Apple doing the ripping, mixing and burning, but let anyone attempt to return the favor and the company turns crybaby, whining to Customs and Border Patrol and fed cops to protect itself from being done unto as it did.

Should we blame the paperclip-maximizing Slow AI corporations for attempting to escape disruptive capitalism's chaotic vortex? I don't think it matters: I don't deplore this whiny cowardice because it's hypocritical. I hate it because it's a ripoff that screws workers, customers and the environment.

But there is someone I do blame: the governments that pass the IP laws that allow Apple, Google, Amazon, Microsoft and other tech giants shut down anyone who wants to disrupt them. Those governments are supposed to work for us, and yet they passed laws – like Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act – that felonize reverse-engineering, modding and tinkering. These laws create an enshittogenic environment, which produces enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/24/record-scratch/#autoenshittification

Bad enough that the US passed these laws and exposed Americans to the predatory conduct of tech enshittifiers. But then the US Trade Representative went slithering all over the world, insisting that every country the US trades with pass their own versions of the laws, turning their citizens into an all-you-can-steal buffet for US tech gougers:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/31/hall-of-famer/#necensuraninadados

This system of global "felony contempt of business-model" statutes came into being because any country that wanted to export to the USA without facing tariffs had to pass a law banning reverse-engineering of tech products in order to get a deal. That's why farmers all over the world can't fix their tractors without paying John Deere hundreds of dollars for each repair the farmer makes to their own tractor:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

But with Trump imposing tariffs on US trading partners, there is now zero reason to keep those laws on the books around the world, and every reason to get rid of them. Every country could have the kind of disruptors who start a business with just a little capital, aimed directly at the highest margins of these stupidly profitable, S&P500-leading US tech giants, treating those margins as opportunities. They could jailbreak HP printers so they take any ink-cartridge; jailbreak iPhones so they can run any app store; jailbreak tractors so farmers can fix them without paying rent to Deere; jailbreak every make and model of every car so that any mechanic can diagnose and fix it, with compatible parts from any manufacturer. These aren't just nice things to do for the people in your country's borders: they are businesses, massive investment opportunities. The first country that perfects the universal car diagnosing tool will sell one to every mechanic in the world – along with subscriptions that keep up with new cars and new manufacturer software updates. That country could have the relationship to car repairs that Finland had to mobile phones for a decade, when Nokia disrupted the markets of every landline carrier in the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/03/friedmanite/#oil-crisis-two-point-oh

The US companies that could be disrupted thanks to the Trump tariffs are directly implicated in the rise of Trumpism. Take Tesla: the company's insane valuation is a bet by the markets that Tesla will be able to charge monthly fees for subscription features and one-off fees for software upgrades, which will be wiped out when your car changes hands, triggering a fresh set of payments from the next owner.

That business model is entirely dependent on making it a crime to reverse-engineer and mod a Tesla. A move-fast-and-break-things disruptor who offered mechanics a tool that let them charge $50 (or €50!) to unlock every Tesla feature, forever, could treat Musk's margins as their opportunity – and what an opportunity it would be!

That's how you hurt Musk – not by being performatively aghast at his Nazi salutes. You kick that guy right in the dongle:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#franklinite

The act of unilaterally intervening in a market, product or sector – that is, "moving fast and breaking things" – is not intrinsically amoral. There's plenty of stuff out there that needs breaking. The problem isn't disruption, per se. Don't weep for the collapse of long-distance telephone calls! The problem comes when the disruptor can declare an end to history, declare themselves to be eternal kings, and block anyone from disrupting them.

If Uber had been able to nuke the entire taxi medallion system – which was dominated by speculators who charged outrageous rents to drivers – and then been smashed by driver co-ops who modded gig-work apps to keep the fares for themselves, that would have been amazing:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/21/contra-nihilismum/#the-street-finds-its-own-use-for-things

The problem isn't disruption itself, but rather, the establishment of undisruptable, legally protected monopolies whose crybaby billionaire CEOs never have to face the same treatment they meted out to the incumbents who were on the scene when they were starting out.

We need some disruption! Their margins are your opportunity. It's high time we started moving fast and breaking US Big Tech!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/08/turnabout/#is-fair-play

[dee-writes-anime]

Labor with Satoru Gojo

FEATURING Satoru Gojo x Reader

SUMMARY You weren’t sure what you expected labor to be like, but one thing was certain—Gojo was going to be an absolute drama queen. And, unsurprisingly, you were absolutely right.

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff, crack, Gojo being Gojo

AUTHORS NOTE I thought about making this a more serious, maybe even angsty fic, but then I thought: "I don't often have the opportunity to write for Gojo a lot." Which then led to this monstrosity, hope you like it ;)

SERIES MASTERLIST

The world was ending.

Or at least, that’s what Satoru Gojo was convinced of as he careened through the hospital hallways, wailing like a banshee as if he were the one whose body was actively trying to rip itself in half.

“She’s dying! My wife is dying!”

The nurses barely spared him a glance, unfazed by his dramatics as they guided the actual patient—his heavily pregnant, very much in labor wife—into the delivery room.

You, between gritted teeth and with the kind of calm reserved only for people at the edge of their patience, hissed, “I am not your wife, Gojo.”

“Semantics!” he wailed, tossing his sunglasses somewhere into the abyss, raking his hands through his already disheveled hair. “You’re the mother of my child, my future, my life—oh god, we’re going to be parents. Do you know what that means?”

Another contraction slammed into you like a truck, and your response came in the form of an agonized scream.

Gojo, rather than reacting like a normal, supportive partner, let out his own bloodcurdling shriek in response, gripping onto the nearest nurse like a lifeline. “IT’S HAPPENING! OH MY GOD, GET HER THE DRUGS! GET ME THE DRUGS! I CAN’T HANDLE THIS—”

A hand—your hand, fueled by the strength of a thousand ancestors—snatched him by the collar and yanked him down to your level, your noses nearly touching.

“Satoru,” you said, voice eerily steady despite the hurricane of pain. “Shut. Up.”

He gulped audibly, nodding furiously.

The doctor, who had clearly drawn the short straw and was now responsible for delivering Gojo Satoru’s firstborn, sighed and patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Alright, let’s get started.”

Gojo perked up immediately, regaining his usual swagger as he dramatically rolled up the nonexistent sleeves of his Jujutsu Tech hoodie. “Alright, team, let’s do this. I’ve seen Grey’s Anatomy. I can totally—”

“OUT.”

You pointed a trembling yet resolute finger toward the door, and a nurse, a saint among mortals, immediately grabbed Gojo by the arm to usher him out. He flailed in protest.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’ll behave, I swear!” he pleaded. “Please don’t make me leave, what if I miss something? What if they switch my baby? What if they give me the wrong one and I don’t notice until they’re like, fifteen and suspiciously bad at Infinity—”

A collective groan echoed through the room.

The doctor, sensing the only way to avoid further delays was to placate the nuisance, sighed. “Fine. You can stay. But if you cause any more trouble, you’re out.”

Gojo brightened immediately, plopping down beside you and gripping your hand. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m your rock. Your anchor. Your—”

Another contraction, another bone-crushing squeeze.

Gojo screamed louder than you did.

Hours later, when your cries had quieted, and the room settled into an exhausted peace, a tiny, wailing bundle was placed in your arms. Tears welled in your eyes as you gazed at your newborn, every ache and agony fading into insignificance in the face of the tiny life you had brought into the world.

Gojo, standing beside you, peered over your shoulder, his infinity dropped, his cerulean eyes wide with something raw and unguarded.

“She’s so…” he trailed off, lips parting slightly. “Wow.”

For once, he was speechless.

A smile curved your lips as you nudged him. “Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to hold your daughter?”

He blinked rapidly, nodding so fast you feared he might get whiplash. Carefully, as if she were made of the most delicate glass, he took her into his arms, his usual arrogance replaced by pure, unfiltered awe.

“Hi, little one,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over her impossibly tiny fingers as they curled around him. A choked breath left him. “I’m your dad.”

The world was ending.

Or at least, the world as he knew it was. Because suddenly, nothing—not Jujutsu High, not the higher-ups, not even his own untouchable power—mattered more than the fragile, perfect little being in his arms.

You watched him, exhaustion tugging at your limbs but warmth filling your heart. “She’s got your hair.”

Gojo grinned, eyes still locked on her. “Poor kid.”

You laughed softly. “She’s doomed.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Thank you.”

And for once, there was no exaggeration, no over-the-top theatrics—just Gojo Satoru, the man who loved you, the man who loved your daughter, the man who, despite everything, was wholly and irreversibly yours.

“…Okay, but seriously, I almost passed out like four times—”

“Satoru.”

“Right, right. Shutting up.”

“Five times, actually,” the nurse muttered.

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “Betrayal.”

TAGLIST

@makingtimemine @strawbrrycat @soraya-daydreams @shokosbunny @saltypuffin1040 @danilights2021 @startwithrecords @obeythebutler @sparklykeylime @surielstea

[sailortongue]

Special Delivery

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

summary: your husband forgot his lunch at home so who better to bring it to him than his lovely wife and son

an: is it Jujutsu High or Jujutsu Tech?? i've seen it both ways

-------

Your husband was an idiot. A handsome and talented idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. You had reminded him countless times that his lunch was on the kitchen counter. Even put a sticky note on the door so he’d see it before he left. And yet there it was, still sitting right where you’d placed it for him. You sighed in exasperation, resigning yourself to the fact that you’d have to bring it up to the school. Of course, Satoru was more than capable of procuring his own meal. There was no shortage of good restaurants in Tokyo, but you could practically already hear him whining over the phone that nothing would compare to your homemade cooking.

You looked over at your son, Hitoshi, who was staring back at you from his high chair. You still couldn’t believe you had housed him for nine months in your own body just for him to disrespect you by looking like a carbon copy of his father, the same charming combination of snowy hair and vibrant blue eyes lingering in your vision. Your genes didn't even put up a fight. 

Satoru had joked that, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he made the baby all by himself. But even though he got the satisfaction of genetic superiority, you still got the bragging rights for  your son’s first word being “mama.”

You smiled at the sweet memory and briefly wondered if you should call Satoru first or let your visit be a surprise. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted to surprise him. So, shortly before his lunch hour, you packed another two lunches for yourself and your son and set out for Jujutsu Tech.

-❀-

As you approached the classroom, you could hear the rowdiness through the door. It was amazing how loud Yuji and Nobara could be together (you were quite certain Megumi’s quiet demeanor wasn’t to blame for the noise). You gently released Hitoshi’s hand and handed him Satoru’s bento. “Do you want to bring Daddy’s lunch to him?” you asked him gently, the pitch of your voice slightly raised as it naturally tends to be when talking to your mini Satoru.

“Yes!” he responded eagerly, taking the carefully-packaged lunch in his small hands. You pointed him to the door and watched as the adorable two-year-old knocked on the door of his father’s classroom. It was Yuji who opened the door, a broad smile quick to spread across his face as he looked down at a mini version of his teacher. “Gojo-sensei,” he called over his shoulder. “Special delivery for you.”

Yuji stepped aside from the doorway to allow the toddler inside, who immediately and unceremoniously dropped the bento on the ground upon spotting Megumi. “Gumi!” he exclaimed, running as fast as his little legs would allow straight into the arms of the dark haired student.

You heard your husband’s dramatic gasp of indignation at the sight, thoroughly offended that his own son was clearly more excited to see one of his students than him. With a laugh at Satoru’s typical antics, you finally entered the classroom yourself, accepting the bento that Yuji had kindly picked up off the floor. You thanked him and walked over to Satoru, handing him his lunch as you kissed him on the cheek. “Forgot your lunch. Again.”

He smiled sheepishly before eyeing the bag in your hand. “Gonna stay and eat with me?”

You nodded in confirmation, and he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. “Can’t believe I have such a perfect wife,” he said sappily.

“Yeah, neither can we,” chimed Nobara.

Satoru glared at her, but it didn’t last long as Hitoshi had hopped off of “Gumi’s” lap and was happily running to his father. Satoru separated from you and caught his son in his arms, using the momentum to gently toss him in the air before catching him and securing his little frame against his chest. Your son’s giggles permeated the classroom, and it seemed to have a contagious effect, the students’ laughter joining in as they watched their teacher entertain Hitoshi, who cried “Again, Again!”

Once the excitement had died down and your son was being held comfortably in your husband’s arms, Satoru glanced at the clock and deemed it close enough to lunch to dismiss class. It wasn’t like anything else was going to get done anyway, especially since all of Satoru’s attention was focused on the two most important people in his life. 

The three students filed out of the classroom, all of them waving goodbye back to Hitoshi as they discussed where to go for lunch.

Once the door was firmly shut behind Nobara, Satoru turned to you, his pupils practically resembling hearts. “I meant what I said. I have the most perfect wife any man could ask for.”

You rose to your tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to lips. “And I have the most perfect—and most forgetful—husband.” He rolled his eyes at you playfully before placing Hitoshi back down and grabbing the lunches.

“C’mon, we can eat in the staff break room.”

You held out your hand for Hitoshi to hold, and you walked alongside your husband, intently listening to him recount the day’s antics of his students, namely Norbara and Yuji.

The three of you spent lunch seated at the round table in the break room, simply enjoying the company of your little family. Before you knew it, his lunch hour was over, and he unfortunately had to return to class. In typical Satoru fashion, he cranked the dramatics up to the max, instantly pulling you and Hitoshi close as soon as you expressed the slightest intent to leave, refusing to let the two of you go. Each time you tried to pull away, he whined and held fast. “You’re squishing Hitoshi,” you said in an attempt to get him to release his grip, but to no avail.

“Toru,” you giggled, a small smile playing on your lips.

He groaned and hugged you both tighter to his chest. He seemed deep in thought and said, “Y’know, I bet they wouldn’t mind.”

You questioned what he’d meant by that, but, instead of answering, he plopped Hitoshi back on his feet and dashed out of the room, telling you to wait there and that he’d be back in a sec.

When he walked back in a few minutes later, he bent down to Hitoshi’s eye level and asked with a knowing grin, “Wanna go get some ice cream?”

Hitoshi’s eyes sparkled as he gasped, and both you and Satoru melted at the look of joy on your son’s face. He had definitely inherited his father’s sweet tooth in addition to his features.

You gave Satoru a questioning look. “What about your class?”

He shrugged. “I canceled it. They’ve been working really hard, so I think they’ve earned a break. So,” he changed the subject, “what flavor sounds good to you right now? Because personally cookies and cream is calling my name.”

[astroeleanor]

°💸⋆.ೃ🍾࿔*:･Your 2H Sign = How To Make More $$$ 💳⋆.ೃ💰࿔*:･

Your 2nd house is the part of your chart can show you the best side hustle ideas to increase your income. Look at the sign on your 2nd House cusp, its ruling planet, and any planets sitting there. They symbolize out how you monetize.

The 2nd House is the House of Possessions: movable assets, cash flow, food, tools, anything you can trade. The sign on the cusp sets up your style of 'acquisition' (Taurus = slow‑build goods, Scorpio = high‑risk high‑reward holdings), while the ruler’s dignity and aspects describe reliability, or lack thereof, of income.

Planets inside the 2nd act like tenants shaping the property: Jupiter here inflates resources, Saturn conserves but can pinch, Mars spends to make, Venus monetizes aesthetics.

Because the 2nd is in aversion to the Ascendant (no Ptolemaic aspect), you often have to develop its promises actively: wealth isn’t “you,” it’s something you must manage. So, let's look at the kind of side hustles you can do to increase your revenue!

♈︎ Aries 2H: Physical, Fast, ACTION-Driven

(Aries rules motion, competition, fire, physical activity, force)

Personal trainer or group fitness instructor.

Manual labor gigs like junk removal, or yard work (physical and gives instant results.)

Motorcycle/scooter delivery (Uber Eats, DoorDash): speed + autonomy? Very Aries.

Selling refurbished sports equipment.

Pressure washing services, which is oddly satisfying AND includes aggressive water blasting lol.

Fitness bootcamps in local parks (Mars rules the battlefield… or, in this case, bootcamps)

Pop-up self-defense workshops

Bike repair and resale (hands-on + quick turnaround)

Car detailing (mobile service). You vs. grime. Who wins? You.

Sell custom gym gear or accessories.

♉︎ Taurus 2H: Sensory, Grounded, Product-Based

(Taurus rules the senses and the material world, it’s a sign connected to beauty and pleasure)

Bake-and-sell operation (bread, cookies) at markets. Taurus=YES to carbs and cozy smells.

Meal prep or personal chef (nourishing others = peak Taurus.)

Sell plants or houseplant propagation, you’re growing literal value.

Create and sell body care products: lotions, scrubs, soaps… (Venus-ruled.)

Furniture refinishing for resale.

Offer at-home spa services (facials, scrubs.)

Curate and sell gift boxes (Venus loves a well-wrapped present.)

Do minor home repair or furniture assembly.

Build and sell wooden plant stands or decor (wood + plants + aesthetic = Taurus.)

♊︎ Gemini 2H: Communicative, Clever, Multi-Tasking

(Gemini = ruled by Mercury = ideas, speech, tech, variety, teaching)

Freelance writing or blogging.

Transcription or captioning services.

Resume writing/job application support.

Social media management (multitasking + memes.)

Sell printable planners or flashcards (info = money.)

Offer typing or data-entry services, which are low lift & high focus

Sell templates for resumes, bios, or cover letters, Mercury loves a system!

Write email campaigns for small businesses, you can become the voice behind the curtain.

Teach intro to AI tools or chatbots (modern Mercurial real-world applications.)

Create micro-courses on writing or communication.

♋︎ Cancer 2H: Caring, Cozy, DOMESTIC

(Cancer rules the home, food, feelings. It’s the nurturer through and through)

Home organization services, give cluttered homes and their owners love.

Baking and delivering comfort desserts (cookies = hugs in edible form!!)

Make and sell homemade frozen meals, nourishing the body AND soul.

Offer elder companionship visits (heartfelt and so needed.)

Run a daycare or babysitting service. Moon=family.

Run a laundry drop-off/pickup service.

Custom holiday decorating (homes or offices), make it feel like home anywhere.

Help seniors with digital tools (basic tech help.)

Create sentimental gifts like memory jars or scrapbooks.

♌︎ Leo 2H: Expressive, Bold, Entertaining

(Leo rules performance, leadership, fame, visibility, and the desire to SHINE)

Portrait photography (kids, pets, solo, couples.)

Event hosting or party entertainment.

DJ for small events or weddings.

Basic video editing for others (help THEM shine!)

Personalized video messages. charisma = income.

Teach short performance workshops (confidence, improv) to help others own a stage.

Become a personal shopper.

Sell selfie lighting kits or content creator bundles.

Host creative kids camps (theater, dance, art.)

Make reels/TikToks for local businesses (attention = currency.)

♍︎ Virgo 2H: Detailed, Service-Oriented, Practical

(Virgo rules systems, refinement, discernment, organisation, usefulness)

Proofreading or editing work. Spotting a comma out of place or “their/they’re” being misused = Virgo joy.

House cleaning or deep-cleaning services.

Virtual assistant (email, scheduling, admin.)

Sell Notion or Excel templates. Virgo: spreadsheets.

Bookkeeping for small businesses.

Create custom cleaning schedules or checklists.

Offer “organize your digital life” sessions.

Specialize in email inbox cleanups.

♎︎︎ Libra 2H: Tasteful, Charming, Design-Savvy

(Libra = Venus-ruled = style, beauty, balance, aesthetics)

Styling outfits from clients’ own wardrobes.

Become a personal shopper.

Bridal/event makeup services (enhancing natural beauty = Libra.)

Teach etiquette, the power of grace

Curate secondhand outfit bundles.

Custom invitations or event printables that are pretty AND functional.

Offer virtual interior styling consultations.

Sell color palette guides for branding or outfits.

Create custom date night itineraries (romance, planned and packaged=Libra!!)

Style flat-lay photos for products or menus.

Do hair, make-up, nails, etc.

♏︎ Scorpio 2H: Deep, Transformative, Private

(Scorpio rules what’s hidden, intense, and powerful, alchemy, psychology)

Tarot or astrology readings.

Energy healing or bodywork.

Private coaching for money/debt management.

Online investigation or background research (Scorpio = uncovering hidden information)

Teach classes on boundaries, consent, empowerment, etc.

Sell private journal templates for deep self-reflection.

Moderate anonymous support groups or forums.

Specialize in deep-cleaning emotionally loaded spaces (yes, THAT kind of clearing.)

♐︎ Sagittarius 2H: Expansive, Global, Philosophical

(Sag rules teaching, travel, and BIG ideas)

Teach English (or any other language) or become a tutor online

Sell travel guides or digital itineraries, help others travel smarter=Sag

Rent out camping gear or bikes (freedom for rent lol.)

Ghostwrite opinion pieces or thought blogs, say what others are thinking!

Create walking tours for travelers or locals.

Sell travel photography.

Become a travel influencer on the side.

Translate travel documents or resumes.

♑︎ Capricorn 2H: Strategic, Structured, Business-Minded

(Cap rules time, career, limitations, long-term value)

Resume or career coaching, help others climb the “mountain of success”.

Freelance project management.

Property management or Airbnb co-host (passive-ish income.)

Sell templates for business (contracts, invoices).

Create accountability coaching packages.

Sell organizational templates.

Freelance as an operations assistant (the CEO behind the CEO.)

Build a resource hub for freelancers or solopreneurs (structure = empowerment.)

♒︎ Aquarius 2H: Innovative, Digital, Niche

(Aquarius rules tech, rebellion, and the future. But it’s also connected to community!)

Tech repair or setup.

Build websites for local businesses, or anyone else for that matter.

Sell digital products (ebooks, templates).

Run online communities or Discords.

Host workshops on digital privacy or tools. Collective knowledge (Aqua)= power

Build and sell Canva templates for online creators.

Curate niche info packs or digital libraries.

Help people automate parts of their life or business.

♓︎ Pisces 2H: Dreamy, Healing, Imaginative

(Pisces rules the sea, the arts, spirituality, dreams, and all things soft)

Pet sitting or house sitting, caring for beings + quiet time? It’s perfect for this energy.

Sell dreamy artwork or collages.

Offer meditation classes or hypnosis.

Teach art to kids or adults.

Custom poetry or lullaby commissions (very niche tho.)

Sell digital dream journals or prompts.

Make downloadable ambient music loops.

Create printable affirmation cards.

Design calming phone wallpapers or lock screens.

Offer spiritual services (tarot or astrology readings, reiki, etc.)

Thank you for taking the time to read my post!Your curiosity & engagement mean the world to me. I hope you not only found it enjoyable but also enriching for your astrological knowledge.Your support & interest inspire me to continue sharing insights & information with you. I appreciate you immensely.

• 🕸️ JOIN MY PATREON for exquisite & in-depth astrology content. You'll also receive a free mini reading upon joining. :)

• 🗡️ BOOK A READING with me to navigate your life with more clarity & awareness.

[marlynnofmany]

Natural Abilities

“I’m just saying,” said Zhee with a click of his pincher arms that said he was not just saying, “that if there’s a way to make your natural abilities more impressive, then it only makes sense to do it.”

“And I’m just saying,” Mur retorted as he tentacle-walked in front of us, “that it wouldn’t be your natural abilities anymore.”

“But it would be impressive. Surely that matters more.”

Mur made a popping noise that was his version of a derisive snort. “Only if you want to be a cheater about it.”

I focused on pushing the hoversled full of packages. “I don’t think you guys are going to agree on this one.”

“There’s nothing cheating about being better,” Zhee insisted. “Do you think spaceships are cheating because you can’t leap to the nearest planet under your own power?”

“Of course not,” Mur said as he scrambled over a mossy rock, probably avoiding going around it just to prove a point. “But you don’t see me using one of those scooters to get around just because it would be faster.”

I put in, “Wio does.”

“Wio’s a pilot,” Mur shot back. “Of course she likes going fast. She even got into races in the corridors in the last station we stopped at. But I’d leave her behind on a tech-free hike because she’s doesn’t exercise. That’s what I’m saying.”

Zhee stepped around another rock, bug legs flashing. “What about tools? I don’t see you going without can openers just because you could pry something open if you tried hard enough. And if we made a delivery somewhere dangerous, I’m sure you wouldn’t turn down a stun gun in favor of throttling any attackers personally.”

“Those are totally different,” Mur said. “Besides, Captain Sunlight would never send us into that kind of situation.”

“But if you were in danger,” Zhee pressed, “You’d take an edge over your opponent if it kept you alive.”

Mur splayed his tentacles. “Well, obviously. Life and death take priority. But you don’t see any Strongarms doing performative duels with enhanced grabbing technology.”

Zhee hissed in his own form of derision. “Probably because it’s difficult to make ‘enhanced grabbing technology.’ Not like fitting a metal blade onto a blade arm.” He did some dramatic pinching of the air, praying mantis style. Those blade arms were naturally serrated, but I could just imagine how deadly they would be with machetes attached.

I asked, “Is that a Mesmer fighting style? Humans have to hold our blades.”

“It is,” Zhee said with pride. “There are many sub-disciplines, as you might imagine. Even before long-distance weaponry was adopted, our fighting forces have been terrifying to behold.”

“I bet,” I said. The idea of being charged by a swarm of predatory bug aliens with double sword arms was nightmarish.

Mur sniffed. “Still an unnatural advantage.”

“That’s hardly a bad thing if it lets you eviscerate your enemies,” Zhee said. “I’m sure that most species would side with me here. Even humans, with no natural weapons to speak of, caught onto blades.”

“Hey, we totally have natural weapons,” I told him with a grin. Freeing one hand from the hoversled, I aimed a mock punch at his giant bug eyes. “A solid punch from a trained martial artist would crack your exoskeleton.” (Probably. I had no idea.)

Zhee was unimpressed. “How quaint.”

Mur said, “At least it’s an honest strike with no enhancements.”

I had to pause at that. “Well. There is a thing called ‘brass knuckles’ that people sometimes use. But that’s not exactly fair, even for us.”

Neither of them had knuckles. They stared at me blankly, and I hurried to clarify.

“It’s a metal thing we hold here,” I said, slapping a fist. “It fits around our fingers and makes the punch hit stronger.”

Zhee nodded in approval. “Very resourceful. Still quaint.”

“Quaint cheating,” Mur said with a smile.

“Oh, for—” I pushed the hoversled harder. “What about throwing? Neither of your species do much of that, and we all know humans are great at it. We still found ways to enhance that too.”

Zhee flicked his antennae in amusement. “Do you mean bullets? You’re hardly the only ones to invent explosives.”

“No, I mean slingshots and bolas,” I told him. “Those will send rocks flying much farther than a bare hand would. And javelin launchers! For when you want to hit something with a sharp stick from exceptionally far away.”

“Hm.” Zhee still sounded unimpressed. “Blade arms are better.”

“Up close and unaltered,” Mur added.

“I’ll have to find footage of a human martial arts tournament for you guys to watch sometime,” I said. “But hey, you just agreed on something.”

Before they could find a way to start arguing again, we reached our destination: the edge of a river that was significantly farther from the aquatic house than I’d expected. It was one of those beaver-lodge deals made of wood and decorative flowers. It was big and artistic. It had neither a walkway nor a doorbell.

That could be a problem.

Zhee hissed. “There was supposed to be an intercom on the shore.” He looked around, but even his range of vision didn’t spot anything.

I dug a toe into the loose river rocks that lined the edge. “I wonder if it was on a pole that fell over and washed away. If they don’t get many visitors, they might not have noticed.”

Mur slid over the rocks and stuck his face in the water. This looked more than a little silly, with his pointy squid head laid out against the surface, but I didn’t say anything. He stood up and wiped tentacles across his face. “Yeah, it’s down there,” he said. “Pole rotted away.”

Zhee hissed and clicked his pinchers in exasperation. “Delightful! How do they expect us to get their attention? Let’s call back to the ship and have them contact the merchant frequency.”

“I don’t think they used that,” Mur said, but he made his way over to the communicator stashed in a sled compartment.

While he called and talked to Wio, Zhee glared at the distant house. “Do you think you could throw a rock that far?” he asked me. “Knock on their door from a distance?”

“Probably not,” I admitted, then looked down at the rocks. “At least not directly.”

Mur ended the call. “They used a different message system,” he told us, sounding none too pleased about it. “The captain’s going to send an urgent notification, but it’s anyone’s guess how quickly they’ll respond to that.”

“Delightful,” Zhee repeated. “And our champion rock thrower can’t even hit the wall from here.”

“I didn’t say that,” I said, stepping away from the hoversled and scanning the ground. “Help me find a flat round one.”

“Why?” Mur asked.

“Like that one?” asked Zhee, pointing with a folded pincher.

I picked it up. It was lumpy on the bottom, but I spotted another that was better. “Like this one! And I’ll show you why. You’ll like this; it’s a totally natural throwing enhancement. Let’s see if I can do it on the first try.” I took a throwing stance, aimed, and skipped that rock for all I was worth.

It skidded merrily across the surface to whack against a board as if I practiced every day, and hadn’t gotten very lucky. Ten-year-old me would have been proud. The whack echoed loudly enough for anyone to hear.

Mur and Zhee were still exclaiming about it when something blue-furred breached the surface near the house. “What??” yelled our client.

We chorused, “Delivery!” while gesturing toward the pile of boxes.

I added, “And your doorbell pole is broken,” pointing in the rough direction of where Mur had seen it underwater.

“Oh!” said the client, still yelling. “Right! Fine. I’ll get the bag.” Their head disappeared with a ripple of river water, off to get something that was hopefully waterproof.

I smiled at my coworkers. “I’m glad that worked.”

“No kidding!” Mur said. “I was starting to worry someone would have to swim over there, and the briefing didn’t say if there are any biting creatures in this river.”

Zhee stood tall. “I’m sure our champion thrower could hit them with a rock if there were.”

I grinned and agreed that I probably could, though I was glad we didn’t have to find out.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[thatlotuscookie]

Hihi!! I got a silly lil request if u wanna write it =3

Soooo since Kenma from Haikyuu is prob very rich in timeskip, would u consider writing something where y/n is like “Hey honey I want Burger King” and Kenma misunderstands and buys the whole BK company and y/n has to make Kenma return it XD(bonus if the internet finds out and memes it or something)

✧･ﾟ: a/n: : Kenma’s lowkey chaos energy combined with his wealth and your grounded perspective made this such a fun dynamic to write. I hope you enjoy<3 thank you for the req

✧ Title: ✧ Burger King of My Heart ✧ ✧ Characters: Kenma Kozume x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Humor, Fluff, Established Relationship ✧ Rating: G ✧ Summary: When you casually ask Kenma for Burger King, you never imagined he’d take it literally—and buy the entire franchise. ✧ Content/Tags: Kenma Being Kenma, Rich Boy Hijinks, Social Media Memes, Established Relationship, Reader in Disbelief, Humor with a Dash of Fluff ✧ WC: 713 words // 4.1k chars

Life with Kenma Kozume was anything but ordinary. Between his highly successful gaming company and the residual fame from his pro volleyball days, he had wealth, influence, and a surprisingly practical approach to everything—well, usually.

Today, however, was shaping up to be one for the books.

You were lounging on the couch in Kenma’s sleek, minimalist apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a perfect view of the city skyline, but your attention was squarely on your grumbling stomach.

Kenma was stationed at his gaming setup nearby, wearing noise-canceling headphones and entirely focused on whatever strategy game he was playing. You admired how cute he looked when he was concentrating, but hunger had made you restless.

“Kenmaaaa,” you called, dragging his name out dramatically.

“Hm?” he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“I want BK,” you said, your words tumbling out lazily.

Kenma finally glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes meeting yours. “BK?”

“Yeah, Burger King,” you clarified. “I’m starving. I need greasy fries and a Whopper, stat.”

He nodded once, a small, thoughtful “hm” escaping his lips before he turned back to his game. You figured he’d order delivery or suggest driving out to grab food later.

But Kenma Kozume, former volleyball star turned tech genius, never did things the way anyone else would.

About two hours later, Kenma wandered back into the living room, phone in hand. You’d half-dozed off in your hunger-induced haze, but his calm voice brought you back to reality.

“So, it’s done,” he said.

“Huh?” You blinked, sitting up. “What’s done?”

“I bought it.”

Your brain, still foggy from your nap, struggled to catch up. “Bought what?”

“BK,” he said matter-of-factly.

It took a solid five seconds for his words to register. “Wait. You mean... like the food? Where’s the food?”

Kenma tilted his head slightly, confused by your confusion. “No, the company. Burger King. You said you wanted it.”

The room went silent as you stared at him in disbelief.

“Kenma.”

“Yes?”

“You bought the entire company?”

“Yeah,” he said, as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “It wasn’t that expensive, all things considered.”

You gawked at him, your jaw practically hitting the floor. “I meant I wanted a burger and fries, not to own Burger King!”

Kenma blinked. “Oh. I thought you meant you wanted BK, as in... all of it.”

Your hands flew to your head. “Kenma, do you know how insane that is? You can’t just—wait, does the internet know about this?”

Almost as if on cue, your phone buzzed with a series of notifications. Grabbing it, you saw that #KenmaBuysBK was trending. Social media was already ablaze with memes and commentary.

One post read: “Imagine being rich enough to solve hunger by buying an entire fast-food chain. Kenma Kozume, everybody.”

Another had a photo of Kenma with the caption: “Me: I want fries. Kenma: Here’s your kingdom, Burger Queen.”

You groaned, scrolling through the chaos. “Kenma, this is everywhere!”

He shrugged, his calm demeanor unshaken. “People were going to find out eventually.”

“Kenma, you have to return it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need to own Burger King! I just wanted food!”

Kenma sighed, pulling out his phone. “Fine. I’ll call my financial advisor.”

By the next day, Kenma had quietly backed out of the purchase, but the internet wasn’t ready to let the incident go. Memes flooded every platform, and even major news outlets picked up the story.

When you arrived at Kenma’s office later to bring him lunch, his coworkers couldn’t resist teasing you. One of them grinned and said, “So, Burger Queen, what’s for lunch today?”

You rolled your eyes, but even you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Kenma, as unbothered as ever, simply handed you a small bag when you walked into his office.

“What’s this?” you asked, peeking inside.

“Burger King,” he said with the faintest hint of a smirk.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Kenma leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. Because in his own unique, overly extravagant way, Kenma always found a way to show you just how much he cared.

[calcifiedunderland]

How are we feeling about bullet points of Idia and a Lighthouse?

💌💀🩵Request received! Thank you for your message! Your delivery is ready~

Thank you for your request anon!! Enjoy 🫶🩵

Idia Shroud, ft. Lighthouse

🩵 Portfest had finally come to Sage’s Island! You were excited for the mini-getaway. You’d even began helping Ortho advertise the smoothies that the others were selling too. At some point, Ortho asked you to check on Idia.

🩵 You’d decided to take a break and go visit your other friends. Eventually, you found Idia at the Craft-Your-Own-Waffle area with Cater and Epel. You’ve earned a waffle, you thought.

🩵 You got your waffle in less than a minute. “Woah, that was fast!” Idia popped up from behind the counter, grinning smugly, “whee-hee-hee~ The Port Fest Waffle Iron Portable MAX Custom works like a charm~”

🩵 He promptly launched into a long explanation of how it works. You understood none of it, but you were happy to just see Idia (though the heat it gave off nearly melted you).

🩵 Soon, you were sweating from both the sun’s heat and the machine’s heat. You subtly looked around. Everywhere was crowded. You spied a building tucked away in the corner, and had an idea. But you just needed someone to go with you, so if you got in trouble, at least you had company.

🩵 Grim was off somewhere (probably scarfing down his own waffle. You’d let him have his moment.), and Epel and Cater looked busy with the stand. You glanced at Idia, an idea forming.

🩵 “Hey, Idia? Wanna come with me for a sec on a side quest?” That got his attention. “H-huh? Sidequest?” His eyes widened, “where?!” “Just trust me,” you said, wiping sweat from your brow.

🩵 You dragged him to the building. As you drew closer, you saw a sign. “Huh, this is the Sage Island Memorial Lighthouse,” you nodded at the sign. “Good to know!” You promptly opened the door, and Idia yelped. Well, at least he’s getting a break from the chatterbox normies.

🩵 “Are we even allowed to be in here?!” You shrugged, too dehydrated and sweaty to question your morals. “It’ll be for a second, promise.” You sat down in the dimness, the AC blowing on you. The bottom floor of the lighthouse was renovated - probably just closed off to the public for now.

🩵 Idia stared, wide eyed, and shuffled his feet. His tablet floated beside him, “we should probs go?? This is kinda spooky ngl”

🩵 Honestly, you thought this place was cool. Maritime paintings, awards, and photos studded the walls. You spied a spiral staircase leading upwards. You pursed your lips at him, “nope. Let’s go!”

🩵 You dashed up the steps while Idia yelped, “w-wait!” You heard him mutter, “sure, go ahead, leave me,” before hearing his footsteps behind you. You grinned at him over the stairwell above him, “where’s your sense of adventure?!”

🩵 “Idia! C’mon, live a little,” you tugged his sleeve. Idia just looked even more skittish, “ya I’d rather not go in the haunted lighthouse room thx-“ You tugged him into the room.

🩵 Inside were the mainframe switches and buttons for controlling the lighthouse. You hummed, looking around while Idia followed you warily, tablet floating behind him. He looked around curiously while you grinned at him.

🩵 You walked outside to the balcony and eagerly peered over the edge. “The portfest is so busy! This is so cool~” you hummed, watching the people go by. “Idia! Check this out!”

🩵 Meanwhile, Idia just looked, wide eyed, at the old mainframe of the lighthouse. “Whee hee~ So this is what old-timey marine comms looked like!” He grinned manically, “ngl this is top tier~”

🩵 This was actually so cool. Idia grew more and more excited looking at the lighthouse tech. So this is how they’d use these…! He grinned. Idia’s hair flames grew more and more intense until-

🩵 “IDIA!” The light grew blinding, and eventually caught onto the main pyre of the lighthouse. From below, Ortho could see the lights from the beacon in the dimmed port. When he scanned and saw your and Idia’s signatures, he hummed happily. “They must be having fun~”

…i confess that I do not understand how lighthouses work. All of this is Very Very Inaccurate, please forgive me 🙏😭

Anyway, thanks for reading!!! Until next time, xoxo Calci~

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 9 pt 1

masterpost

The first thing Danny did when he woke up was blink to focus on his breath. Nothing was visible. He vaulted up from his sprawl across the couch and prowled around the apartment, unnerved.

It felt like someone was here, or had been here. It was subtle, but there was a ghostly touch in the area. There shouldn’t be. He had confirmed that no one was haunting this building before they moved in. City ghosts tended to stay in their personal environment, whether that was sitting on a recliner in the apartment they’d died in or forever running a route in a ghostly version of the delivery van they’d worked in for decades. 

He investigated in increasingly paranoid detail, even daring to flick on a bit of smuggled Fenton tech to wave around in search of ecto.

“Whoever came by is gone,” Danny admitted. He stood in the middle of the dinky open plan apartment for a while feeling lost. Then the energy rush left him. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched a little, trying to work up a little bit of enthusiasm for the day. 

It was a Friday morning, not quite 5 am. Damn. He’d really adjusted his sleeping schedule. Jazz would be back from her overnight shift soon.

“I should make her breakfast,” Danny said, half-heartedly hoping that saying it aloud would magically compel and energize him. It didn’t. He eventually shuffled to the kitchen nook, pushed by duty and not any kind of internal motivation.

Jazz was the only one with a semi-legit identity. They hadn’t been able to pay for papers for both of them. Even though he was making the bulk of their money, they were pretty sure that Jazz needed some kind of legal justification for her income. 

Employment options were limited. Without qualifications, she was pretty much only looking at customer service, where hundreds of people would see her face every day. That was a nerve wracking prospect when they were hiding. They were serious enough about restarting that they had both trashed their lifelong career dreams. Jazz was studying friggin’ bridges and whatever, civil engineering. Danny didn’t even know what he would do when it was his turn to get a formal education.

So. Obviously. Standing in front of hundreds of people daily was not the best option for their desired level of anonymity.

Luckily, Gotham had a shitty fast food chain where the gimmick was that the employees were in costume. So Jazz had crammed her class load into Monday-Thursday and she worked overnight Thursday to Saturday nights every week, serving burgers up in a full face mask as a Black Bat. 

He decided to start with coffee. That might help.

Danny filled the water tank, put a filter in, and poured coffee beans in. Then he groaned, took the beans out, and resentfully put them into the dumb hand grinder. He put the powder back into the filter, pressed the button, and watched as nothing happened.

It took a while to notice that nothing was happening.

Jazz came home at 5:22, bringing with her a cloud of fry oil scent. He vaguely heard the door unlock and her kick off her shoes. She paused when she saw the disassembled coffee maker on their table. The old Jazz would have scolded him for making a mess where they ate. The high school version of her would have sighed about the mess.

The exhausted food service version of Jazz took it in stride. “I grabbed food,” she said. “Come on, couch.” She opened a cupboard door and took something out on tiptoes before shutting it near-silently. She put the food down to duck into the bathroom and take out her brown colored contacts.

Danny grunted. A few seconds later her words reached his brains. He blinked. “Right. Thanks,” he said belatedly. He put down his tools and washed his hands. “Should I grab utensils?” he called. He heard the sound of relief as Jazz sat on the couch, off her aching feet. 

“Yes, please.”

He yanked open the drawer, unintentionally making things clatter. Danny winced at the volume and picked out two forks. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and headed over to see what Jazz had brought home. 

She had two styrofoam boxes, clearly from a diner and not Batburger. Fair enough. They were both sick to death of their menu. 

Danny’s box had two pancakes, scrambled eggs, and a side of bacon. He glanced over to see that Jazz had the same thing with sausage instead of the bacon. The syrup was already on the coffee table.

The smell hit him like a freight train. Suddenly, Danny was ravenous. He tore through his eggs and bacon and then went for the syrup, drowning the pancakes. When he was done he put the box down with a sigh of relief and looked over to see that Jazz was slouching, hand thrown over her face. “Long day?” he asked.

Jazz groaned. “Leave me to die,” she begged. She slumped a little more, encroaching into his half of the sofa. Her dull brown hair coiled on the sofa cushion, dryer than it had ever been back in Amity.

Danny took the hint that she wanted the couch. He gathered up their trash and went back to the kitchen. He worked as quietly as he could on the coffee machine and wished his sister was home and awake more. 

If life was just like this, sort of hard but the two of them pulling together, it would be kind of…nice. There was a domestic fantasy element.

But the outside world was going to intrude. Danny put the coffeemaker together and then set it to run. While it worked, he went to the shitty plastic dresser that held his work clothes and changed into his underlayer of t-shirt and soft jogging pants. He stuffed a heavy jacket and thick jeans into a plastic bag and then put that in his work bag. He didn’t want to be late for work. Like, really didn’t want to be late for work. His supervisor coming to find him and meeting Jazz had featured in more than one nightmare. The people he worked for were just plain scary. Danny zipped his bag shut and then poured the entire pot of coffee into his thermos for the day. 

“I’m going,” he called quietly, on the off chance that Jazz was still awake. And then he left to see what the local gang needed built this week.

[splatoonpolls]

I do think if you are able to, you should learn basic life skills.

Like I am worried to see people my age who are PC gamers who can't mod the sims 4 or other easy to mod games because they think it is "too advanced". Or people who don't know basic repair tips on bikes/cars. Or people who can't sew on a button. Or people who can't even boil pasta. Or can't even extra check if a source is trustworthy or not.

Like convenience is good (easy tech, mechanics, fast fashion, meal delivery, chatgpt) because we like to save time. But sometimes it just won't be with you. Sometimes you will be stuck with a bike with a popped tire, or your favorite shirt just had a button fall off and you can't order stuff from SHEIN or Temu, sometimes doordash won't work. Sometimes you will have to sit down and figure out how your HP school laptop works so you can run steam on it because the IT guy is sick.

And knowing those things might make understand the convenience things a bit better, like seeing how faulty the sewing is on that cheap jacket, or understanding how downloading that program is a tech hazard, actually.

[isadollie]

hello !! i saw your reqs for hcs and scenarios were open so i thought i'd send something in. can you do the OM brothers w/ an s/o who isn't really tech savvy? coming from someone who grew up surrounded by technology but absolutely sucks at it. thank you !! <3

obey me! brothers x bad at technology gn!s/o

a bit funny (or so i tried), pretty unserious sorry 😭

— Lucifer:

• this proud expression on his face

• gets all cocky

• secretly glad to be the one who teaches you all this

• would give you head pats probably,,,

• starts to explain with a gentle tone

• then diavolo calls for him and he gets annoyed cause his precious time with you has been disturbed

• helps diavolo as fast as he can and comes back to you

• he's like "okay, so... where did we leave off?"

• and then you say "oh no, it's okay, Levi already showed me everything when you were gone"

• and then Levi went missing

— Mammon:

• a wicked smile instantly forms on his face

• says you picked the right person to teach you (you picked the worst person to teach you)

• "Aww, don't worry, it's okay. The Great Mammon will teach you everything you have to know!"

• *some time later*

• "okay, so basically, this is the only app you need for now. the bank app. now look, here you type my name... yes, good. and now you type, hm.. let's say, 1000 grimm. perfect! and now you click 'send'! just like that! amazing!"

• "also forgot to mention, this is a very important operation for your phone. so you have to repeat this process twice a day, okay? make sure you type my name there or else it won't work"

• then he runs away and prays you won't tell Lucifer about it

— Leviathan:

• will actually help you!!

• or at least he claims to do so

• 100% called you a normie but well, he does that all the time

• explains what he thinks is the most important

• and you think to yourself "oh, okay, cool, i get it!" and you're eager to learn more cause he's actually helping

• eventually it ends with him showing you where you can watch the whole hana ruri movie for free

• then wants to play games with you

• end of learning

— Satan:

• side eye

• "why would you want to learn such things anyway? the real knowledge comes from books"

• gives you like 10 different books to read, obviously none of them is related to the subject

• it ends up being a cute reading date

• in reality he's just too proud to admit that he's terrible at technology himself

• poor man just doesn't want to embarrass himself in front of you

— Asmodeus:

• will be so happy you asked for his help!

• in fact, you didn't ask, he offered it himself, but would tell everybody that you came to him first

• but forgive him for lying, cause he's actually helping

• he shows you the most important apps you should have on your phone, what do you when this or that is wrong with your computer, how to order at akuzon and ask for a refund and honestly everything you can think of

• is also pretty chill about it, seems like it brings him joy to share what he knows with you

• only disadvantage is, he will cling to you the whole time

• will hold your hand at all times and if you try and dodge his touches, he will stop talking unless you hold him back

— Beelzebub:

• doesn't really wanna help

• would prefer to take you out to a restaurant

• but you insisted

• so he agrees, cause he always agrees to whatever you say sooner or later

• takes your phone and downloads every possible food delivery app

• proud of himself

• but then he gets hungry (who would have thought)

• and tells you to order you two some food from your phone

• you do it and he's happy cause 1. he feels like he taught you things and 2. he'll get food

— Belphegor:

• alright, no problem

• at least that's what he says

• then it turns out there is a problem

• cause he doesn't know how to turn on the computer

• you said it's okay, you can try another time

• but he says no, he will figure it out in a minute

• more than a minute passed and he didn't figure it out

• you two gave up and just went to Levi's room

hope it's okay haha, it was pretty fun to write ngl

requests for scenarios/hcs always open!

[justhereformilgram]

WARNING: Mouthwashing spoilers ahead?? it is a psychological horror game so there is a bit of blood and gore, themes of suicide, cannibalism, all that. So be sure to read the content warnings if you haven’t heard of it before but decide to check it out!

Anyways. I introduce milgramwashing. because I fell down the rabbit hole and loved the complex storytelling and horrific situations of the original game. HOWEVER, for this AU, it definitely will be a different sort of storyline because while I appreciate the hard subject matter Mouthwashing tackles, I don’t feel comfortable putting any of the milgram cast in those positions.. I do love to point out parallels, though, and things will definitely still go terribly wrong.

Just imagine they’re a different branch, a different ship, on the Pony Express— or should I say, the Jackalope Express?

(1) I was torn between making the MILGRAM (replacing Tulpar) just a delivery crew like the OG, or a ship carrying prisoners, closer to MILGRAM. Or prisoners who become a crew after an emergency happens and Es can’t handle it on their own. 🤷 None of this explains putting Es, a 15 year old in charge. Were they a child pilot prodigy? A nepo baby? Who knows. But they are Captain Es.

(2) Next is Yuno, the first one I drew so she’s in color! She’s a psychology intern, just learning the ropes, tagging along because she needs money to provide for her parent and little bro. Also she’s under a false name since idk how legal her side job was in the mouthwashing universe. The Anya parallels are… quite real, though in this case she would’ve gotten pregnant from her clients like in MILGRAM but before she got on the ship, and only realizing later, and then it becomes a whole situation. She becomes an assistant nurse to Shidou after the crash happens.

(3) Fuuta! I think he shares in Swansea’s grumpiness, and it does make sense for him to be an electric engineer or hacker due to his focus in tech. cough. not always for noble means. Haruka will be his intern he has to deal with—though he isn’t middle aged, I think a mentor/older brother and younger brother dynamic mirroring Swansea and Daisuke could be fun and tragic for them. Also Kotoko definitely slices him in the eye. I don’t know why or how, I just feel like it fits pretty well.

(4) As said before, Haruka is another intern without much experience, sent into space because his mother didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Harsh. Meanwhile, after her incident at her school, Muu’s parents paid big money to cover it up then shoehorn her into an “internship” where the authorities can’t get her. She gets the nicest room on the spaceship.

(5) Kazui! The muscle of the group, originally I gave him captain or pilot since he really does give Curly vibes (means well, hurts the women in his life anyways through inaction/telling the truth/lying) and he also has a mid life crisis. then all this happens. I’d imagine he’s fairly level headed and would’ve intervened in the Kotoko incident and the Crash. (Related somehow? I don’t know, I didn’t think the lore all the way through) Not fast enough to spare Mahiru, though… Mikoto is not an intern, but a very stressed mouthwashing sales representative part of the advertising sector. His job still sucks. He’s due for a breakdown at any moment. John was always there, but he probably comes out more during great times of stress, like the Crash. Maybe he’s partly responsible, trying to defend from Kotoko or something. In no way people are letting Amane onto the ship willingly so I made her a stowaway fleeing her conditions under the religious organization after she murdered her mom. She sneaks into a shipment of mouthwash or something idk. Shidou is doctor but in space. I imagine his family passed in a terrible, terrible accident and he did lots of medicine malpractice still.

(6) Finally, Kotoko and Mahiru. Kotoko needs to use that axe, it fits too well.. I do think the Crash, just like Trial 2, is a turning point, so she probably has some hand in the Crash as well, if not purposely then it might be from swinging that around recklessly. She still looks cool doing it, though! And Mahiru. I imagine she pulled a legally blonde and followed in her boyfriend’s footsteps to become a pilot. After he passed, she continued her schooling and ended up as co-pilot on MILGRAM. Tried to stop the ship from crashing from the asteroid, and got caught in the blast zone… I’m sorry Mahiru it’s just you’re the only one with many bandages as a character design element 😭 and it made too much sense 😭😖 I think she’s still cute though. I gave her Daisuke’s hibiscuses since I like that imagery

[ahamkara-apologist]

Crossposting this over from Bluesky almost verbatum bc its Late but I can't stop thinking about Revenant so this goes here too. I really really love the little worldbuilding detail about the Eliksni being so technologically advanced, yet still relying on apothecaries for medical care because of how long-lived they are; this makes sense to me is mostly bc technology advances exponentially fast while medical development builds very slowly and cautiously, oftentimes with great reluctance to move away from what already works. There's a much higher risk factor regarding faliure one vs the other, and more limitations placed upon medicinal advancement by default, so it makes sense that a long-lived artisan race would have been leaps and bounds ahead in robotics and digital tech while still sticking to ancient medicinal techniques. It's not about innovation, it's about improving what already works, and a long-lived people are more likely going to want to stick with the safety net of reliable, known medications vs racing to get better tools because they're perpetually aware of just how much their current ones can be improved.

Additionally, when age isn't a limiting factor, innovative engineers can continually build and expand on their prototypes/ideas to develop new, effective tech easier, but it also means that the apothocaries would also build on their old, traditional medicinal knowledge, leading to a preservation of the more ancient rites of using tonics. The means of advancement are on two different paths/development curves. Then you've also got the fact that the Eliksni seemed to have a different, positive cultural view on gene editing (aka eco-Splicers), so that means herbs could be edited to be much more potent and effective much more quickly, thus maintaining the tonic system vs advancing drug development into different delivery mechanisms to work around those limitations. You don't find an alternative or a workaround, you just smash through the wall limiting you in the first place by editing the plants themselves to yield what you need directly. It's like how mammals went through a huge phase of adaptive radiation to fill in all the different niches left behind by the dinosaurs after the Cretaceous extinction, but crocodilians retained roughly the same bodyshape they had for millions of years, just tweaking it a bit to fit the newer circumstances- if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

Biology likely also played a factor as well. If the Eliksni had a lower body temperature than humans do, then they may be more tolerant to bacterial infections on account of simply being poorer hosts (or they're less suceptible to infections outside of parasites deliberately evolved to live in them). Our very warm, nutrient-rich mammal bodies mean that bacteria can multiply rapidly, but if the Eliksni were conditional ectotherms (or just had lower body temperature), then bacteria would likely multiply at a slower rate, giving their immune system more time to recognize and eliminate the threat before reaching a point where medicine is needed. Being able to moult/regenerate limbs also drastically simplifies the healing process. Ecdysis is a very effective tool to cure wounds or shed external parasites, and if a limb gets infected, it may be the safest/easiest option to cut it off with sterile tools and regrow it rather than risk the bacteria spreading to the rest of the body (though it would be ether-costly). If it's too damaged to regenerate properly, then the rapid technological advancements with prosthetics + higher neuroplasticity from limb regeneration also make it much easier to treat infected limbs by Simply Not Bothering and chopping them off. This means that stuff like reconstructive/restorative surgeries might be less advanced than our own, simply because there was no real need for it. I do think that vaccines would have been a thing, because it's always much better to prevent than to cure, but tonics would have remained the most viable option for getting medicine into an Eliksni, esp. if they did stuff like bolster bone regeneration or limb regrowth. Hence, the very wide range of specific tonics at different potencies being used to cure various ailments, and the copious amounts of artificial limbs on Eliksni survivors, even accounting for the whole 'we-fled-our-apocalypse-and-promptly-waged-war-and-destroyed-the-last-vestiges-of-our-old-civilization' shtick

I don't know how Eido's tonics turned us into chickens, however. Or plants. Or frogs. That one I'm going to rule out as a guardian-induced confounding factor on account of their paracausal nature, bc I don't think there were chicken-transformation tonics on Riis XD

[mulletpermsicantlookaway]

Riding to Work

One afternoon in early summer, Brandon rode his bicycle home from work. He rode his bike to work and back nearly every day, if he could – it was his favorite part of the day. He had a good but unexciting job with a software company in an up-to-date large city in the western U.S. He fit the stereotype of a hipster tech worker perfectly. He had done well in school, had a solid job in his early twenties, and lived in a decent loft apartment just far enough away from his job to have some serious time on his bicycle. He wore nerdy-looking glasses that he actually needed in order to see. He dressed casually but fussily at the same time, and his long-on-top-faded-on-the-sides haircut, complete with a shaved-in part, required regular maintenance.

He rode to and from work in the same clothes he wore in the office, using a bicycle clip if he thought his skinny jeans or slim-fit pants might have enough material at the ankle to catch his chain. Anything he needed for work he carried in a messenger bag, even though there were hardly any actual bike messengers left in the city. He hadn’t lived there long, and he really knew no one except a few of his co-workers. He supposed that he was okay with that, but something still felt missing in some way, missing from his life, that is. The only time he felt fully alive was when he was riding his bike.

On a whim, he stopped by a cool-looking bar on the way home. “Might as well stop and have a drink – do something different for once,” he thought. The place had a moderate crowd, mostly other young urban types like himself, but no one he knew. Like most bars, the TVs were tuned to a few different sports channels.

Soon he was sitting by himself at a table, idly sipping on a mojito or a mule or something – he hadn’t really paid attention to what the bartender had recommended, but he was sure it began with an “m”, at least. His eyes wandered to one of the TV monitors. The channel was promoting its upcoming coverage of the Tour de France and showing clips from previous years. Even someone as low-key about sports as Brandon had heard of the Tour. That was the one bicycle race that nearly every American who wasn’t into bicycle racing had heard of.

He found himself drawn in, fascinated by the fast racing machines so unlike his single-speed commuter. The racers fascinated him, too, clad all in matching team kits of skin-tight spandex with tanned arms and tanned hairless legs. Without really understanding the tactics, he could see that the team members were working together to get certain racers into certain positions. And they moved so fast! He wondered what it would be like to be a racer on one of those teams, riding his bicycle all day. Those tanned, skinny guys in spandex, that was their job: riding a bicycle for a living. What would that be like?

The channel moved on to some other sport, and Brandon found his attention wandering. He finished his drink and headed home to another night alone in his hipster loft. He had hardly felt the alcohol, but he was intoxicated in a different way: he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to be a professional bicycle racer, flying over those European roads so fast. It was all he could think about the whole night.

Waking up dully the next morning after restless dreams (which he couldn’t remember), he got ready to head to work. He felt better as soon as he got his bicycle moving into traffic. He was enjoying himself, as usual, but his mind kept wandering back to the racers in the Tour. The race was supposed to start today. He might actually decide to watch the coverage this year, he thought. Why not? He rarely watched sports, but it wasn’t as if he had other plans.

He suddenly came out of his reverie as a big delivery truck pulled out from a side street right in front of him. He hit the brakes as hard as he could, locked up the wheels, flew over the handlebars onto the pavement and blacked out.

« Bruno, mon pote! Lève-toi, lève-toi. Il faut qu’on aille! »

Hearing those words, he tried to rouse himself. He couldn’t remember where he was or what had just happened, but the voice was urgent – and familiar. Feeling very dizzy and disoriented, he stood up, examining his fallen machine. Instinctively he checked the handlebars and chain as he’d done countless times, looking for damage that would mean he’d have to get a spare off the team car. It was hardly the first time he’d fallen in a race, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. But putain – there was no way he was going to crash out of the Tour de France on his first day, though it seemed to happen to some unlucky rider or two every year. The bike looked good; other than a scrape or two in the finish, it was undamaged. It should be ridable, and he knew the team mechanics would check it out thoroughly later. He looked himself over next. He didn’t have a scratch. The only visible sign of damage was a small, ragged hole in his shorts, revealing a patch of undamaged skin much paler than his tanned legs and forearms. Why had he blacked out, then? He was sure he hadn’t hit his head, and his helmet didn’t have a dent or a scratch anywhere.

« Bruno » his fellow domestique and roommate Thierry said, more urgently this time: « Dépêche-toi! Allons! T’as quelque chose? »

« Bruno? » he thought. « C’est moi, Bruno? Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé? » Something about the name Bruno seemed wrong to him, but why would his own name seem wrong? In any case, he didn’t have time for daydreaming. Thierry was right; they needed to get back in the race. He got back on his machine and clipped in.

« Rien de trop grave, » Bruno replied to his teammate, who was already pedaling away from him. « Attend, attend un moment; j’ arrive. »

A number of racers were still trying to get back on their bicycles. Some were still on the ground. Maybe a few would have to abandon. The chatter of the racers around him, speaking in half a dozen different languages while his race radio was jabbering in his ear, did not help his feeling of disorientation. His thoughts felt foreign in a way that he couldn’t define, as if he were a different person or thinking in a different language. A couple of riders near him were speaking German, which he understood barely a word of, and a couple of others were speaking English, which he understood better. Foreign languages had always come hard for him. Thankfully, he and Thierry were on a French team.

It wasn’t just his head that felt strange, though; even his body seemed different. But as he finally got his bicycle moving at race speed and locked onto Thierry’s wheel, his feelings of otherness lessened. He fell into the comforting rhythm of turning his pedals. He never felt more alive than when he was on his bicycle. That had been one constant in his life as long as he could remember, and now that he was actually in his first Tour, he couldn’t imagine his life getting any better. He wasn’t going to blow this chance. Their team had one of the best GC contenders the French had had in years. This year they had a real shot at winning.

Even though the rhythm of racing was as familiar to him as breathing, Bruno still felt a vague sensation of unease. He was safely back in the middle of the peloton, but the pace felt insanely fast. Why did it seem as if he’d never ridden this fast before? His body felt so light and small. His arms were thin, and he didn’t have a speck of fat, or a lot of muscle, anywhere on his upper body. But his legs looked strong; he could see the striations of his powerful thighs through the spandex of his bib shorts, and his diamond-shaped calves bulged above the tops of his socks. The warm breeze felt amazing on his smooth legs today. They were always particularly sensitive after a fresh shave, and he and Thierry (and probably every other rider in the Tour) had made a point of shaving last night in preparation for opening day. Bruno had almost forgotten what it was like to have leg hair anyway. When he was still a teenager, he used to let his hair grow back in the off season, partly because some of the guys at school made fun of him for having no leg hair. But that first shave of the season was such a hassle! Soon he had decided it was easier to just keep it up all year. He was a professional bike racer, after all. Leg hair just looked wrong on him now.

The feeling of disorientation had mostly passed, until it came back again strongly at his first pause naturelle. Now his penis somehow seemed alien to him. What was with all that skin over the head? Oh right, that was just his foreskin. Perfectly normal. Why should he be circumcised, after all?

He put that thought aside and got back in the race. He and Thierry had a lot of work to do. They spent the day doing the kinds of things that domestiques normally did. They carried water bottles and other necessities to their teammates. They took turns pulling their sprinters and GC contenders to keep them fresh. The stars had to be kept from becoming exhausted, after all. Bruno and Thierry weren’t stars, not yet; no one cared if they got exhausted. That was their job. Bruno was happy enough just to be on a team that was riding in the Tour.

Unfortunately, their star sprinter didn’t win the stage, but Bruno and Thierry got a little bit of attention from the press. They were interviewed – sort of – by a British reporter looking for riders who were in their first tour. The problem was that there was no interpreter. The reporter barely spoke any French, and Thierry had laughed out loud at Bruno’s English. Bruno couldn’t blame him. His prof d’anglais had always said Bruno was hopeless. He just didn’t have the knack for foreign languages. He’d studied Italian, because it was supposed to be one of the easiest for a French speaker to pick up, but he found even Italian challenging. English was far worse. It had so many bizarre sounds that were impossible to reproduce. The reporter’s strong London accent hadn’t helped; Bruno was sure he would have done much better understanding an American. Thierry had translated the reporter’s questions, but Bruno hadn’t managed to say much more than a laborious “I yam veree ‘appee to be in ze tour”. In truth, Thierry’s English wasn’t great, either, but it was way better than Bruno’s.

Mercifully, the interview was soon over. They rode the team bus back to the hotel, giving everyone a chance to recap the day’s action. Dinner gave them both more time to socialize with the rest of the team, but their directeur sportif insisted on everyone getting to bed early, naturally. Back in his room, another wave of disorientation hit him as he got ready for bed. He stopped dead in front of the mirror, staring at a face that was familiar and strange at the same time. He couldn’t think of what was bothering him. His thick, dark brown hair was cut in a no-nonsense buzz cut; the last thing he had wanted was hair getting in his way while he was racing. His soft brown eyes stared back at him. What was different about them? Wait. Where were his glasses? But no, he didn’t wear glasses or contacts. Why did he think he did? Shaking his head at his expression of bafflement in the mirror, he got ready for bed.

Bruno was surprised by how quickly he fell asleep. He was tired enough, but he was so keyed up after a day of racing that he thought he would be awake for hours. He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

In the middle of the night, Bruno had a dream. It was a confusing dream; he dreamt of someone else’s life, some tall, skinny, American guy living in a large apartment and working for some kind of software company. He felt a vague distaste for the man, yet he seemed familiar, as if he should know him. Then he heard a voice. “Brandon, Brandon!” it called. He woke from his dream – or thought he had.

“Branne-donne?” Bruno questioned out loud. « C’est qui ce Brandon? »

“You don’t need to talk out loud,” said the voice, slowly and in English. “Only you can hear me. You have a choice to make. You can still go back, but you need to choose now.”

Thierry stirred in his sleep. Bruno was afraid for a moment that he’d wakened, but Thierry started snoring again steadily – as usual.

“He won’t wake,” the voice said. “I have to explain. The man you dreamed of – his name is Brandon. You used to be Brandon. But Brandon wanted to experience the life of someone who rode his bicycle for a living, a racer in the Tour de France. Through an extraordinary gift, you have been given that opportunity. But now you have to choose which life you want to live. You can go back to being Brandon again. Or you can remain Bruno. The choice is up to you.”

“Quoi? De quoi tu parles? Oh yes! I remembair now,” said Bruno, speaking out loud despite what the voice had said. Remembering Brandon had made it easier to understand English, and he had switched languages without realizing it, until he heard the bizarre sounds coming out of his mouth. He fell silent for a moment, hesitating. Bruno’s lips and tongue were simply not capable of making the sounds he heard Brandon making in his head. No wonder Thierry had laughed at him. He tried again: “But what ‘appen to Brandon if I stay ‘ere?” He grimaced at the odd-sounding, halting words, but the voice seemed unconcerned.

“Reality will adjust to your choice, Bruno. Neither you nor anyone else will remember that Brandon ever existed.”

“And eef I become zees Brandon again, what ‘appen to me, you know? What will ‘appen to Bruno?” Bruno was losing his self-consciousness as his labored English started to sound normal to him.

“You will wake up as Brandon, after a very vivid dream.”

Bruno considered. He could remember more of Brandon, now – dimly. Brandon was a good guy, sure. He made plenty of money, and he had a good life – for a young, lonely American in a big city. But his life was empty. He had nothing in his life but his job, and Brandon didn’t even love his job. He remembered that now vividly. The only thing he really loved was riding his bicycle. That was the link between Brandon and himself.

Thierry snorted in his sleep, louder than usual. His snoring was so annoying! But he was used to it. He and Thierry weren’t just roommates for the Tour; they’d shared an apartment ever since Bruno had joined the team. Thierry was a bon gars and a good friend, he remembered. They’d had a lot of amazing times together. As for the other guys on the team, well, he wasn’t as close to them as he was to Thierry, but they were great guys, too. And they had a real shot at winning this year. It was the fucking Tour de France, after all. He wasn’t going to miss that. His team needed him. No way was he going to let them down.

Of course, whichever choice he made involved sacrifices. Wistfully, Bruno realized that Brandon would probably have made more money than Bruno ever would. Brandon was probably smarter, too. Bruno knew he’d never been the best student, but he had managed to pass his bac, at least – barely. On a sudden whim, wanting proof that Bruno was real and not just a dream, he got out of bed and grabbed his wallet, looking for his carte d’identité.

It was there in his wallet, right where he always kept it. Reassured, he smiled as he read the official French document. He was born in Beauvais? He supposed that was right. He realized that he was thinking completely in French, and his memories of Brandon were already fading. The choice was easier than he’d thought. He’d already made his decision, hadn’t he? It was time to let Brandon go.

« T’es sûr? » the voice asked.

« Oui. Absolument. »

« Eh bien, Bruno, t’as choisi. Adieu, et bonne nuit! »

Bruno put his wallet back on the nightstand, wondering why he had thought he would need it in the middle of the night. He must have had some weird dream. He was pretty sure he had been dreaming, but any memory of it had already faded. He’d better try to get some sleep. Thierry was snoring soundly, and they had a long day of racing in the morning.