#MEAN stack development solution

[custimsoftwaredevelopmentcompany]

The MEAN stack's JavaScript proficiency makes it ideal for dynamic web applications. Imagine applications like social media platforms (think constant updates) or real-time collaboration tools. Even single-page web applications with heavy data loads benefit from MEAN's efficient structure. If you're looking for a MEAN Stack development company to craft an engaging, user-friendly web experience, the MEAN stack might be the perfect solution.

[amoradevid]

It's crucial to acknowledge that while we can discuss general examples, the specific technologies utilized by prominent web applications may not always be openly disclosed. Nonetheless, the MEAN stack development boasts notable strengths such as its JavaScript-based architecture, adeptness with dynamic data, and capacity for real-time features. These attributes render it an appealing option for numerous web applications encountered online.

[sophiejt1234]

School ERP Software: A Complete Solution for Education Management

What Is School ERP Software? A Simple Guide

Today, running a school means juggling admissions, attendance, grades, fee collection, and more. That’s where school ERP software comes in. This all-in-one, cloud-based school ERP solution brings every task into a single, easy-to-use platform. Instead of drowning in paperwork or scattered spreadsheets, administrators and teachers gain a clear dashboard to manage daily operations—and spend more time on students, not forms.

Key Features of School ERP Software

When you search for an affordable school ERP software, look for these must-have tools:

Student Records Management Easily store profiles, enrollment data, and emergency contacts in one place.

Attendance Automation Mark attendance with a click, generate absence alerts, and notify parents instantly via SMS or app.

Gradebooks & Reports Create custom grading scales, record exam scores, and share progress reports online.

Fee Collection & Accounting Issue invoices, accept payments, and track financial ledgers in real time.

Communication Center Send school news, newsletters, and event reminders through email, SMS, or a mobile school ERP app.

Staff & HR Tools Manage teacher profiles, leave requests, and payroll without digging through spreadsheets.

Core Modules in a Customizable School ERP Platform

A flexible ERP splits its offerings into modules, so you only pay for what you need:

Admissions & Inquiries Track prospective families, schedule tours, and follow up automatically.

Academic Planning Build timetables, assign teachers, and optimize classroom use.

Library & Assets Monitor books, lab gear, and supplies—get alerts when stock runs low.

Transport & Hostel Management Plan bus routes, manage boarding assignments, and handle student check-ins.

Exams & Result Processing Generate question papers, grade papers digitally, and publish results instantly.

If your school requires something special, consider custom MEAN/MERN ERP development or tap into MERN stack consulting services to craft modules that fit your unique workflows.

Top Benefits of Implementing School ERP Software

Adopting a modern ERP brings clear advantages:

Time Savings Automate routine tasks like attendance tracking and fee reminders—freeing teachers for lesson planning.

Better Accuracy Cut down on manual errors in grade calculations, financial reports, and record-keeping.

Improved Communication Keep staff, parents, and students connected through instant updates on the mobile school ERP app.

Data-Driven Insights Real-time dashboards reveal trends—spot attendance dips or fee defaults before they become issues.

Scalable & Flexible A true cloud-based school ERP solution grows with you, adding campuses or new programs at will.

Cost Efficiency Consolidate multiple tools into one platform, reducing license fees and IT headaches.

School ERP vs. Student Information Systems (SIS)

It’s easy to mix up an ERP with a student information system, but they serve different roles:

Breadth of Function SIS handles student records, grades, and schedules. ERP covers those plus finance, HR, transport, library, and more.

Seamless Integration With ERP, data flows across all departments—no more juggling separate systems or manual data transfers.

Customization & Support Whether you need MEAN stack mobile app solutions or a customizable school ERP platform, many vendors offer development and consulting to match your processes.

Future-Ready Growth ERP vendors roll out new modules and updates without disrupting existing workflows. SIS often needs third-party add-ons that don’t always play nicely together.

Modern Trends in School ERP Solutions

To stay ahead, look for these cutting-edge features:

Mobile-First Design A dedicated mobile school ERP app lets teachers record attendance on the go, and parents check updates anytime.

AI & Analytics Predict enrollment trends, identify at-risk students, and tailor learning paths with smart data tools.

Open APIs & Integrations Connect with payment gateways, video-conferencing apps, or your favorite LMS without extra work.

Progressive Web Apps (PWAs) Enjoy app-like experiences in the browser, even offline—perfect for low-bandwidth areas.

Open-Source Options Pair an open-source core with custom MEAN/MERN ERP development to keep costs down while getting exactly what you need.

Conclusion

Choosing the right school ERP software transforms your institution. From streamlining daily operations and centralizing data to enabling powerful analytics and delivering mobile-friendly access, a modern ERP platform helps everyone—administrators, teachers, parents, and students—work smarter together. Whether you opt for an affordable school ERP software, a cloud-based school ERP solution, or invest in customizable school ERP platform upgrades through MERN stack consulting services, the result is the same: less paperwork, clearer insights, and a stronger school community. Embrace the future of education management today, and watch your school thrive.

[ahex-technologies]

In the realm of full-stack web development, the MEAN stack development stands as a powerful and versatile framework. Comprised of MongoDB, Express.js, Angular, and Node.js, this stack empowers mean stack  developers to create dynamic, scalable, and efficient web applications. In this article, we'll take a deep dive into each component of the MEAN stack development services, from the flexible NoSQL database MongoDB to the dynamic frontend framework Angular.

[regressionschool]

MOMMY KNOWS BEST: A NEW APPROACH TO MARRIAGE?

By Emily Dawson, Investigative Reporter

In an era of rising divorce rates and failing marriages, one company believes they have found a radical yet effective solution—one that redefines the roles within relationships rather than dissolving them.

The "Mommy Knows Best" (MKB) program, developed by Pampers Corporation, offers struggling couples an alternative to separation. Instead of counseling or legal battles, the program transitions one partner—typically the husband—into a fully dependent little.

By removing the stress, ego, and responsibility that often cause marital tension, Pampers claims to create a more balanced, harmonious household where the wife assumes a nurturing role, and the husband embraces a simpler, carefree existence.

To its supporters, it’s a long-overdue revolution. To its critics, it’s a disturbing erasure of masculinity.

“A Man Should Be a Man” – A Former Husband Speaks Out

Not everyone is thrilled with the program. Joseph, 38, once a participant in MKB, now lives alone after divorcing his wife of ten years. He remains a vocal critic of what he calls “forced regression”.

“They stripped men of everything that makes them men,” he says, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t love. It’s control.”

According to Joseph, his wife enrolled him without his full understanding. “She made it sound like therapy,” he scoffs. “Like something that would help us communicate better. But the ‘communication’ part? That was just me being told what to do while I sat there in a… in a… damn diaper.”

His fingers twitch on the table as he hesitates on the word, his cheeks flushing slightly, as if the memory itself still holds power over him.

I ask him how long he was in the program. He sighs. “Seven months.”

And when he left?

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding eye contact. “It… took a while to adjust.”

Adjust?

His face darkens. “By the time I got out, I couldn’t even remember how to use the potty—eh, I mean toilet.”

He corrects himself quickly, but the slip is noticeable. A shadow of something uncertain flickers in his expression.

Does he still struggle with… certain habits?

His knee bounces under the table. "No. No, I’m fine now.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.

Though he claims to be fully independent again, he admits that certain instincts—like waiting for permission before making decisions—have been harder to shake.

“They train you to obey,” he mutters bitterly. “And for some guys, I guess that’s fine. But me? I lost everything.”

“He Finally Listens to Me” – A Wife’s Perspective

For Claire, 34, the experience couldn’t have been more different.

Before enrolling her husband, she says their marriage was on the verge of collapse.

“He never listened,” she explains, folding laundry as we talk. “Worked late, ignored housework, expected me to handle everything. It was like having a man-child already, just without the cute parts.”

She gestures toward the living room, where her husband—once a domineering, independent man—now sits in a soft playpen, happily occupied with colorful stacking rings.

He’s sucking a blue pacifier, his thick, crinkly Pampers diaper peeking out from beneath his cozy footed onesie. When Claire strokes his hair, he coos softly, leaning into her touch like an affectionate toddler.

“Now?” she smiles. “He actually listens.”

She explains that, in the past, every conversation turned into an argument. Now, there’s no stubbornness, no backtalk, no stress.

“When I tell him it’s naptime, he lays down. When I say he needs a change, he just giggles and lets me handle it. It’s the first time I’ve felt truly respected as a wife.”

But does he ever resist?

Claire chuckles, shaking her head. “Oh, of course. He still has little moments.”

Right on cue, her husband huffs and crosses his arms. "No change," he pouts, shaking his head. "Diaper fine."

Claire sighs. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

He scowls, his lower lip jutting out petulantly—but when Claire raises an eyebrow, her voice firm yet patient, his resolve wavers.

“If you don’t let me change you,” she warns, “I’m turning off your cartoons for the rest of the day.”

His eyes widen. "Noooo!" He shakes his head frantically, the pacifier bouncing against his chest. “I be good! I be good!”

With a resigned sigh, he clambers onto the changing mat, his thick, swollen diaper squishing loudly beneath him. Claire ruffles his hair affectionately.

“See? So much easier than before,” she says with a smile.

Is This the Future of Marriage?

The Mommy Knows Best program is growing in popularity, with thousands of struggling couples enrolling every year. Pampers Corp reports that over 92% of participants choose to remain in the program permanently, claiming it strengthens marriages, eliminates conflict, and improves household harmony.

Psychologists point to reduced stress, structured routines, and positive reinforcement as key elements of its success.

And, of course, Pampers ensures that no participant ever has to worry about leaks, discomfort, or independence again.

For some, like Joseph, the program represents a loss of identity. But for women like Claire?

She simply smiles. “For the first time in my life, I’m happy. And more importantly?” She glances at her husband, who is now happily sucking his pacifier, waiting to be changed.

“So is he.”

(Sponsored in part by Pampers Corporation. Because a happy marriage starts with a happy little.)

[reasonsforhope]

"At HarperCollins, a lot of attention and thought is given to deciding exactly what combinations of margin measurements, font, and layout feel most appropriate for the genre, and writing style.

But in a case of do-your-part environmentalism, designers at the publishing house have now standardized a series of subtle and imperceptible alterations to normal font style, layouts, and ink that have so far removed the need for 245 million book pages, totaling 5,618 trees.

Telling the story in Fast Company, representatives from HarperCollins, one of the four largest publishing houses in the world, explained that the idea first arose in Zondervan Bibles, HarperCollins’ Christian publishing division. Being that the Bible is 2,500 pages or sometimes more, saving ink and pages was not just an environmental consideration, but one of production costs.

A new typeface called NIV Comfort Print allowed Zondervan to shave 350 pages off of every Bible, which by 2017 had amounted to 100 million pages, and which, as Fast Company points out, would be four times higher than the Empire State Building if stacked.

The production and design teams then wondered how much they could save if they applied the same concepts to other genres like romance and fiction. Aside from the invention of the eBook, publishing hasn’t changed much in the last 100 years, and the challenge was a totally novel one for the teams—to alter all their preconceived ideas and try and find a font and typeface that resulted in fewer pages without being harder to read.

They eventually standardized 14 different combinations their tests determined were the most environmentally friendly, and which delivered an unchanged reading experience.

But the challenge didn’t stop there. Printed books, one might not know, are printed in large sheets which are then folded into sections of sixteen pages, meaning that Leah Carlson-Stanisic, associate director of design at HarperCollins, has to calculate the savings of space, words, and ultimately pages with the help of her team to fall in multiples of sixteen.

Nevertheless, they have been successful with it so far, and in the recent print run of one popular book, 1 million pages (or a number near 1 million that coincides with the 16 times tables) were saved.

“We want to make sure our big titles, by prominent authors, are using these eco-fonts,” Carlson-Stanisic said. “It adds up a little bit at a time, saving more and more trees.”"

-via Good News Network, April 4, 2024

--

Note: Great! Waiting to see this on the rest of their books and at the other big publishers!

Actually, though, it's worth noting that this may not come quickly to the other large publishers, because Harper Collins almost certainly owns that font - meaning that other publishers would have to pay HarperCollins in order to use it, on an ongoing basis.

More on publishing shit and more realistic solutions here below the cut!

What I'm hoping for and think is more likely is that this will inspire the development of open source eco-friendly fonts, which would be free for anyone to use. That would make it far more likely other publishers would adopt eco-friendly fonts.

I'm also hoping it would inspire other publishers to create similar eco-friendly fonts of their own.

Ideally, there would be a whole new landscape of (hopefully mostly open source) eco-friendly fonts. And/or to see calculations of the eco-friendliness of popular existing fonts, compared to each other.

If we could have a publicly accessible list of calculations for different fonts, including fonts designed to maximize eco-friendliness, I really do think that it would affect which fonts publishers choose to use. Here's why:

Most people in publishing are on the left (notoriously, actually) and really do care about the environment

People in publishing are plenty aware of these issues re: paper and trees, I promise

Shorter books means smaller production costs - and possibly smaller shipping costs as well, over time! So it would save them money too.

Eco-friendly fonts could also be combined with other measures for greater effect, such as bamboo paper (already in use for a lot of projects where page color/quality is more flexible) and thinner paper (aka paper with a lower weight) that uses less trees.

Don't expect books to all move to just one or two different fonts, though. Publishers and typesetters and font designers will innovate to create more options instead, though it will take longer. This is because different books really do use different fonts for various different reasons - one new font to rule them all isn't really a solution here.

"Every book is in the same font" may sound like a "whatever" deal to a lot of people, but as someone who works in publishing - trust me, it would actually make your reading experience worse, even if you could never quite put your finger on why.

[goblinontour]

Twilight

to climb back up from my oblivion

warnings: 1st person pov, talks of pregnancy, miscarriage, feelings, and sex. 

word count: 7k

It is the last day of winter.  

The sun should have shown itself by now, should have crept back into the creases of the earth and returned his freckles stolen by the cold, made us blush under its rays. But the sky remains bolted shut and there’s nothing on his face other than the purple that now seems embedded under his eyes. Shadows where warmth used to be. I bet mine looks just the same — though I still refuse to look in the mirror. I don’t need the confirmation. I know what I’d see: a face that doesn’t belong to me anymore, a stranger carved from sleepless nights and something nameless.  

For two months now, I’ve been paralysed with fear. I think I am living a nightmare, a dystopia. A world where things are just a little off-kilter, where reason slides just out of reach. I read, I listen, I try to understand the impossible. I try to untangle the logic of things that seemed reasonable before, but which oneself can no longer reach with feasible arguments. It’s like running my hands along a wall looking for a door that isn’t there. And all around me, people keep pretending. Pretending to be going about their lives, pretending all is business as usual, pretending they don’t hear the static growing louder.  

I keep looking out to winter trees, bare and brittle, skeletal in their stillness. And he…he is seeking achievements one after the other, as though that will fill the space. As though stacking accomplishments brick by brick will build something strong enough to hold him up. But I see what he’s doing. He’s turning off the soul — too much transparency bothers, you see. Too much honesty, too much feeling, and it would all come apart. So he moves forward, while I remain here, watching the trees, feeling the wind hollow me out.  

There’s a lot of negative emotion I am feeling. 

But that word — negative — doesn’t quite capture it. It’s not just sadness or simple dread. It’s something continually sprawling and seeping into everything. I keep wondering how this collective psychosis is possible? How the world can split in two, between those who see it and those who refuse to? And him. How can he believe that ignorance is the one thing that embodies the solution to all worries, problems, anxieties, and fears that your absence caused? He wants to un-know what has already carved itself into the marrow of things. He wants to believe he can choose not to feel it. And maybe he can. Maybe he’s learned something I haven’t. 

I feel like a cat looking at a calendar, staring at the little squares marked with days and not understanding the meaning of them. Time is streaming, spilling, slipping, and I don’t know how to be or what to do in the remaining time I have to urge for myself. To claw something back before it’s too late.  

I wish I could say it directly.  

But ultimately, I believe that in these circumstances, it is the only choice — to keep it buried, to play along. So that we can continue in the paradigm of the perfect reality and not in the nightmare of despair we’ve been given. Because to accept it, to speak it out loud, would be to let it consume us whole.  

I didn’t realise until now that souls could have a patina.  

Perhaps it’s that thing where you get wiser with age and experience, and so maybe your soul develops a patina over time. A thin film of time and sorrow, a dulling of the once-bright edges. It’s kind of a beautiful idea, in theory, to think of the soul as having a patina. It sounds very poetic. But I just wish it would have come to me in a different way, a more pleasant way. Not like this. Not when I had to come to terms with the fact that I’m dealing with sleepless nights not over someone else’s crying, which should have been yours, but my own.   

There’s a kind of exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.  

You have no way to know, but it’s the kind that settles in your bones when your days are filled with things that don’t move you, but they settle, deep and slow, like water sinking into wood until it ultimately starts to rot. It’s the kind that lingers in the hollow of your throat and makes you choke on nothing. It’s not the tiredness that comes from doing too much, but from doing too little of what makes you feel alive. And the worst part is that I don’t even know what that is anymore. I try to go through the motions like before. Ticking off everything on my to-do list, fulfilling obligations, pretending the structure is enough. But something essential is missing. And maybe it’s not that I need more rest, but that I need more of myself in my own life — more of the things that once made time disappear, made my heart race in my chest so hard I thought it might burst out, those that remind me why any of this matters in the first place. But I can’t find the thread to pull myself back. I said a time “before”, before you that was, but now I realise there’s no before, for there’s no after. 

There is only this.  

It is not a metaphor I’m trying to make out of this ache. It is not something that can be translated into prettier language, not something that can be softened. It is simply what it is. It hurts in a way I’ve never known before. No animal could be as cruel as a man. No man could be as cruel as God. No God should have ever taken you away from me.  

It’s as though the world wants to calcify me.  

To make me hard, to make me unfeeling, to coat me in layers until nothing raw is left. But I don’t want to be unfeeling. I don’t want to be numb. I just don’t know how else to survive…

What have I done?

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold. 

When it is summer in the light and winter in the shade, and you don’t know which season you belong to, caught between the thaw and the lingering frost. The first days of spring in the non-astronomical season, in that strange liminal space where the earth is undecided, as if hesitating to commit fully to warmth.  

It felt childish, but early in the morning, I asked Alex for a willow tree in our garden, which I know is too small for one — the roots would surely outgrow the space, the branches would brush against the house, probably the neighbours’ too. Much too wild, too untamed for something so contained as the space we live in. But I wanted it anyway. I wanted something that would sway with the wind, that would bend but not break. Something that I could watch bloom despite it all…He said he would do it when he wasn’t so afraid of letting something he planted grow again.  

It broke my heart, the little of it that was left still holding itself together.  

We cried together in bed for a while after that, though I think we had stopped crying for you. It was starting to feel like we were crying only for ourselves, for the versions of us that had existed before this grief you hollowed out of us. For who we had been before loss turned us into something else. And maybe that was the most unbearable part of it all — not just losing you, but losing ourselves in the process.  

Since then, I only cry alone in my own selfishness. I do not let him see it. I keep my grief contained with my fists tightly held, which I refuse to unclench. 

But I know he cries too. I hear it sometimes, even through the shut door of the bathroom, even through the thick silence we pretend is nothing. The muffled gasps, the sharp intakes of breath. The way he presses a towel to his mouth to keep it all inside. As if sound alone is what makes it real. It seems acknowledging you would break him entirely.  

I feel sick looking at him.  

Not because I do not love him, but because I do, I love him. I love him so much that it is unbearable to witness his suffering and be powerless against it. Because I know what it feels like to sit with grief alone, to let it consume you piece by piece in the dark, and I can’t stand the thought of him feeling that same emptiness.  

I just want to touch all his loneliness and suck it out of his body, just for one night, at least. I want to hold it inside me, let it settle in my lungs, let him breathe freely for a little while. I want to fill myself with all of his sorrow, let it flood through me, and then press my mouth to his and give it all back. Let him drink it from me and know who he is by seeing it reflected in my eyes.  

I love him.  

And I think I love him enough to try and hold both of us together through the pain.  

I’ve never loved anyone like this, and I never thought there would be anything that could eclipse it. We weren’t ready to love someone more than we loved each other. But we did. We loved you more. That love, when it is that enormous, does not simply disappear. It does not simply dissolve into nothingness like you seemingly did. It lingers with nowhere to go. He made me love myself once. And maybe all of it together — the way he loved me, the way I loved him — caused this much love for you to spark in such a short time. We only just got to know you.

I don’t love myself anymore.  

To be loved is to be known, I know that. But I also know now that love is not always gentle. Love, even in its purest form, can wound. 

At night, I often dream of such a time where I got to love you, where I held you properly and you knew me in return. And then I wake, disgusted by the immensity of my own yearning, by the vast, hollow ache that stretches inside me. It makes me sick, this hunger. So I deny it. I tell myself I do not want it. Because to want would mean to recognise the impossibility of it.  

I think I’m afraid that if I admit I wanted you, I will have to admit that I won’t, and can never, have you.  

And I know — God, I know — that this hunger of mine is not love in its purest form. Not like the love you have shown me. This is something else. It’s possessive, I know. A need to take and take, to grasp at what is left until I am sure my fingertips have memorised every remaining trace of you. Until I have devoured what still lingered and made it part of me, hoarded it like a secret I refuse to let time erode. An act that, in the end, would mean forsaking your existence. 

To keep you only as something I consume, something I ache for, something that I refuse to let go of…

Would that mean I never really let you be real at all?

It was summer when we planned you.  

The whole city was empty, as if it had been invented just for us. The kind of stillness that only happens when the heat chases everyone indoors, leaving behind only the sound of bugs and the distant hum of traffic and us brave ones. Our footsteps echoed on the warm asphalt, his hand trembled slightly when I touched him — it was subtle, but I knew him too well — I felt it in the way his fingers tightened around mine for a second before loosening again.  

The sun was slowly going down, stretching out the day in that lazy, golden way it does in the thick of summer. It put on a real show that afternoon, casting him in gold all over. It made everything feel like it was plucked out of an old film where the colors are richer, the emotions sharper. I could feel Alex’s warmth from a mile’s distance, though the sweat prickling on the inside of his palm and onto mine gave him away regardless. He always ran warm, but that evening, it felt different. Like he was burning from the inside out.  

I stopped near an old swing I always saw in the path we walked but never dared to touch before. One of those rusted ones that creaked under the weight of me and of time. I laughed and let my dress slide a little, not for him, not for anyone, but because it felt good to let the air hit my skin, to pretend the world didn’t matter. As if time could stand still. And maybe it did, but only for a moment. It was just me and him, us, and that included you — the thought of you, the unspoken idea of you that had been forming between us long before we had the courage to say it out loud.  

When you finally came around, the time to tell your still out-of-the-loop soon-to-be daddy also did. I wasn’t the most inspired, but you were too much to keep hidden any longer. 

I told him on a drive back home — I don’t even remember where from. Maybe we had just been aimlessly driving, filling the silence with half-finished conversations and songs hummed under our breaths.  

He threw his half-smoked cigarette out the window and didn’t say a word until he saw us safely parked in the mostly vacant parking lot of a nearby restaurant, the closest spot where he could pull over.  

“Did I hear you right?”

I nodded, staring at the dashboard, my heart hammering so loudly I swore he could hear it.  

He exhaled sharply, dragged a hand through his hair, then turned to look at me like he was memorising my face in real-time.  

“Say it again.” he murmured, like he needed to be sure he hadn’t imagined it.  

So I did. And the second time, it felt more real.  

His face changed. I wish I had a better way to describe it, but that’s the only way I know how to say it — it changed. His whole body, too. Something inside him had just shifted, reorganised itself to make space for something bigger than either of us. It was like his organs rearranged themselves to make room for you spiritually, whereas I was deemed the one to take care of the physicality. 

His hands, always so steady, shook as they reached for me. He held my face so delicately it made me feel like I was the sole thing worthy of such a touch. He looked at me like had just given him the entire universe.  

“Are you scared?” I asked.  

“Terrified.” he admitted, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. And then he did laugh, it just broke him open at the edges and spilled over with something too big to contain. “But God, I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You made him the happiest I’ve ever seen him.  

Nowadays, when I drive to nowhere, or when I smoke by the window alone on silent evenings, I still see you, and I still see him, smiling as he was, like a movie running endlessly. A loop of something untouchable, something I’ve since lost. 

Sometimes, when the radio plays a song we used to hum absentmindedly in the kitchen, I catch myself looking at the passenger seat, half-expecting to find him there, fingers tapping against his knee, lost in thought, or nervously checking on you in the backseat. I can almost see it, the way he would have glanced back every few seconds, pretending he wasn’t checking as often as he was, pretending he wasn’t entirely consumed by the sight of you. I can even hear him…Alright back there, love? That soft, careful voice of his he would have reserved just for you. 

The phantom weight of your presence is so vivid in my imagination that, for a second, I forget the truth. I’m alone. He’s never here. Just the ghost of him, of you, of a life that almost was. And then the song ends, and the silence that follows is deafening.

It’s summer again now.  

And I miss you…but I miss him too.  

I feel him in the warm light that covers the city, in the empty streets where there’s no one left, in the sunsets that always look like I might see you again if I hold onto that hope. I miss when the world was brighter, when mine and Alex’s affairs were less convoluted, when love was something simple and reckless and ours.  

I see the sudden speeding up of cars below, the slowing down of people as the world gives way to heightened sensations, to feeling everything I have not been letting inside. And then, inevitably, the process of becoming desensitised to it all over again. I miss him, but I do not need any part of him in sharing this sacred moment. I do not deserve to, not when I am with you.  

Even sitting with just who I have become feels unbearable. 

So, I smoke, and I numb myself to my surroundings, looking for a recluse from being myself. The person I am sickens me. I flick the ash onto the windowsill, watch the embers fade, and tell myself I’ll quit tomorrow. But I won’t. Because there are too many things I should have quit by now. This longing, this version of myself that I don’t even recognise anymore…

This grief is part of it too, isn’t it?

It is Friday, late at night in autumn.  

Outside it is raining as if someone is trying to wash the city of its sins. It beats down on our windows so harshly that I can’t drown it out no matter how hard I try. The sound is relentless. The wind howls between the buildings, rattling street signs and bending trees, and for a brief second, I think the whole world is grieving with me. The lamplight outside flickers against the puddles, casting reflections that shimmer and distort — nothing stays still, nothing holds its shape. I stare at them for too long, hoping that they will.  

It wasn’t too late in the pregnancy when it happened. We barely got to enjoy you before you got taken away from us. That, I’ll never forgive myself for. I keep thinking if I had done something differently — if I had been more careful, if I had paid more attention, if I had just…known — maybe things wouldn’t have turned out like this. Maybe you would still be here, a weight in my arms instead of a distant feeling.  

He didn’t take it well, and that made me take it worse than if he did, I think. He shut down, locked himself away in the quiet, unreachable space inside him, and I was left outside, pounding on his door. There was no nursery to go and mourn in. We hadn’t even got around to that yet. There was no crib waiting for a future occupant, no tiny clothes tucked into drawers, no soft lullabies humming through the walls. There was not a body to go and cry over except each other’s…nothing left but him and I and the memory of you, and you were both slipping from me.  

I am left with empty hands — that’s the story of my life. The feeling of absence clings to me. I feel envious of everyone around me. I feel envious of the ones who got to have a headstone, a place to go, a physical marker that proves their loss was real. I wish you would have at least given me that. You gave me nothing, and yet, somehow, you took everything.  

I think about love and not-love. About how love is supposed to hold, to comfort, to shelter. Alex won’t look at me anymore. I lost my dignity so miserably, and I don’t know how he can pretend that we are always ‘fine’. When everything else isn’t, I just want him to be kind to me again — Please be kind to me. Nobody is to blame, least of all me — I wish he would understand that.  

He’s sitting in a corner now, among stacks of books and cigarette smoke, a bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. The room smells of old paper and burnt tobacco, of rain-soaked fabric and something faintly metallic — that’s probably from the storm. The lamp beside him flickers, the glow catching in the glass of the framed photo we never took down. I don’t look at it. I can’t.  

I’ve been staring at the ceiling for a while, going through nearly everything I’ve ever said to him in hopes of finding where I wronged him so badly. I replay every conversation, every glance, every touch that might have led us here. Maybe if I can pinpoint the exact moment it all started slipping, I can drag us back to the surface.  

“Want some?”

His voice cuts through the silence. He offers his hand to me, holding the cigarette in such a manner that it almost urges me to put my lips on it. I would do it only to feel his fingertips on my bottom lip. His fingers are stained with nicotine, his nails uneven. He’s been biting them again. His eyes fixate on me, ever so slightly curved at the corners, telling me that this offer is all but a test, and that he doesn’t actually want me to take it. His face betrays his intent — he wants no part in me ruining myself.  

For that, I am grateful.  

“Everything okay?” I ask from my spot, refusing to play along.  

“Yeah, why?”

I look at him, and he understands the anger I’m feeling. I don’t know if he’s being thick on purpose to get a rise out of me or if he truly is so out of touch with reality — more than I ever thought he was.  

“Everything’s fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”  

He says it like a fact. It’s his script he’s rehearsed so well he almost believes it. The hand holding the cigarette now hangs by his side rather than near his mouth. It’s still burning, consuming its own life with each passing moment. The ash at the tip grows longer, dangerously close to falling onto the carpet. A part of me wants it to catch on fire and burn everything down, starting with me and him, just so we don’t have to figure out the solution to this game we’re forced to take part in, given no instructions and no way to cheat our way through it.  

“Okay.”

I don’t think I can hold my breath anymore. I’d have to do it until everything around me fell apart, which the majority already has, but I can’t let this happen. I won’t become immune to his sweet sound of ignorance.  

“I’m standing around like an idiot waiting for you.”

I almost yell it at him, but I think it ends up coming out softer than I would have liked. He doesn’t flinch.  

“Waiting for what?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Waiting for…what? What do you want me to do?”

“I’m waiting for you to get rid of me, Al-” I shake my head before he can interrupt. “No, no, don’t you look at me like that. I don’t want your pity. God knows what I’ll do, so please, do not…do not look at me like that.”  

I hold my head high, face up, storing tears in the back of my eyes.  

He looks at me with his own eyes that once made me believe I would matter. The ones that used to look at me like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing. They’ve dulled. Still beautiful — still him — but something has shifted beneath the surface and I am terrified it is irretrievable.  

The rain keeps falling. The cigarette smolders in his hand. The physical distance between us that has become too long for comfort is now shorter, but I am still waiting for him, far from an answer.  

We kiss, the taste of whiskey and fatigue lingering between us, while his cold hands ghost over my warm skin. I’ve been setting myself on fire for this heat in his absence, hoping the flames will keep me warm, hoping fire will heal my soul. When we break apart, the flame has burnt out.  

“If you want to light your cigarette, use the fire in my heart.” I tell him.  

He smiles, and it makes me proud. It makes me feel like I still have something left to give. But there’s a thought at the back of my mind — a quiet, creeping fear I can’t shake…

What if it burns out before he gets here, deep inside me?  

It’s November 2nd. 

You don’t have to know this, but today he made me feel alive.  

The room was cold. An inescapable kind of cold that settles in these buildings that are too old to hold warmth properly. The radiator rattled in protest, working though barely giving off any heat. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the kind of cold wool could fight off, or that could be solved by adding another layer. This kind came from the inside out. 

I held a stuffed animal to my chest. It wasn’t meant for you, it was my own — mine only. Small and soft, something to press into the empty spaces where nothing else fit. It was old, one ear slightly torn, stuffing uneven from years of being clutched too tightly. I had it when I was a child, had it through every heartbreak, every sleepless night, and now it was here with me, in a bed that had never felt bigger.  

At some point, I let it slip from my grasp. Let my fingers move lower, sliding beneath the waistband of my pyjama pants. I could pretend I felt ashamed, that I felt dirty doing it. But I didn’t.  

The focus was not to evoke layers of hidden emotion. It wasn’t about longing or sadness or grief. It wasn’t about loss, either. It wasn’t even about wanting him. I’m not going to act like it was anything other than what it was — movement and sensation. A way to fill the time and carve out a moment where I wasn’t haunted by everything I had lost. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel. I just wanted to slip away for a little while, to exist in a space that was mine and mine alone, away from the eternal tragedy that we play in without ever understanding it and away from those nocturnal and demented thoughts that torment me. 

I wished to taste the sweet glory of release again. 

What you think is more important than what is real. It might not be the healthiest thought, or the fairest, but in moments like this, it brings me peace.  

“People always think we look for love at our lowest to distract us. I am convinced we do it because we want someone to look us in the eye, to look our ugly in the eye and still choose us.”

That was what I wanted.  

Not to forget. Not to cover up the truths we lived in. I didn’t want to ignore that I was still here, still surviving, even without you. I wanted him to see me as I was — this mess, this wreckage, this person who didn’t know how to hold onto anything anymore. I wanted him to see himself. I wanted him to see me and still believe I was something worth loving.  

I wanted him to tell me that he loved me, even after how I had failed you both.  

I didn’t stop touching myself when I noticed him standing in the doorway. I didn’t pull away or adjust my clothing or pretend like I wasn’t doing exactly what I was doing. I didn’t even flinch. 

He was watching, not in judgment or disgust. 

And so I continued as he stepped closer. So close now that there was no more debating what was happening, that I was fingering myself and crying. I didn’t even stop when he was near enough that I could feel his breath, see the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should. Not when he knelt beside the bed, either, when he kissed my thigh, lifting the blanket slowly with just the lightest touch of his fingers. I had my knees up in the air, bent at the caps, arching my back a bit as Alex climbed next to me. 

The mattress shifted under his weight taking its occupancy as he moved up the bed. He kissed me on the lips, softly, his taste warm and familiar. He covered my mouth with his palm, quieting my sighs, and replaced my fingers with his own between my thighs. I hadn’t felt his touch in so long, I had almost forgotten what it was like. He spread me apart, and though I was still empty — he kept his fingers only on the outskirts of me — I came close to feeling whole again.  

He unbuttoned his jeans, hastily, fumbling. Then he stopped. Rolled over onto his back beside me, one arm draped across his face as if shielding himself from something too bright and painful in the darkness. I turned toward him, reaching down before he could take himself out in his own eagerness, guiding his hand away so that I could be the one to touch him instead, to play with him just as he played with my softest parts. I put my hand down his jeans and talked to him in the way only I could. 

There was a streetlamp just outside the window, its light cutting through the slats of the blinds, casting striped shadows across his form. His eyes were darker in this lighting, his lashes flickering as he watched me, his mouth parting slightly every time I moved my hand. I could hear the distant hum of the occasional car speeding down the street, tires splashing through puddles. 

The world outside was still moving. Indifferent and unchanged.  

But inside this room, time had slowed.  

He took his rightful place above me, pushing me so hard in the process that I nearly rolled off the bed. He was there to catch me.  

He almost said something to me. He looked straight at me, his lips parted, his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, I thought he might speak. His top lip quivered. He changed his mind and started undressing me. Whatever words he had, he swallowed them down, chose instead to press his mouth to my shoulder, my neck, my jaw. Maybe he knew that words wouldn’t rewrite the past, wouldn’t undo what had already been done and they would change nothing when he had his body there, speaking to me so tenderly. 

The stress that kept us awake all day and all night was dissipating. Maybe it helped to know that we’re all, both of us, we’re all feeling it. That it’s okay to be afraid and we don’t have to be strong.  

We don’t have to serve as role models. 

We didn’t lay down expectations or reshape our mindsets to redefine what was acceptable, didn’t brace for impact in this big approach. We just let it happen, let ourselves fall into each other like we always had.  

I slid across the sheets, curling up into myself, and Alex followed. He took me from behind, his forehead resting against my spine, his hand smoothing over the small of my back and lower onto my bare body, tracing over the dimples his fingers had pressed and carved into my skin so many times before.  

We had sex with one another for the very first time — not as the people we used to be, but as the people we had become in the aftermath of everything, these new versions of ourselves we had yet to discover. 

It was so overwhelming.  

Not just for me, but for him, too.  

I felt the moment it hit him, the exact second everything he had built inside of himself collapsed. He grabbed onto the blanket and pulled it over us like a shield, muffling the sounds that broke free from his throat. He started crying. And when he did, I felt something shatter in my chest. I knew then that he might leave again. That he would get up in the morning, sit on the edge of the bed, run a hand through his hair, and tell me that maybe, in another life, in another city, in another room, things could have been different and we would have had a different fate. 

But we didn’t have another life, we would never have another chance, just this one, and we got it wrong, but that didn’t mean we had to quit trying to make it right. Or, at the very least, make it bearable in its current state.  

He’s the only one who matches my sweetness, who feels emotions so deeply they tear him apart from the inside out. I sank my teeth into his skin, and he listened when I whispered in his ear.  

“Please bite me in return.”

I spoke to him in code, but not only. I wanted him to bruise me. I wanted him to say: Let’s sabotage each other, let’s pretend we don’t know each other, and then let’s kiss.

“I missed your pretty mouth so much.” he told me.  

He moved himself inside of me, and through that shifted the very foundation of who I was. It felt as though our hearts had fucked our brains, untangling every thought, until we were nothing but raw feeling, instinct, and need. There was no logic left between us, no fear, no past or future — only this. The warmth of his breath against my neck, the weight of him pressing into me, the unspoken language of skin on skin, heart to heart.  

It was the most genuine and honest act that had ever taken place between us. The last barricades we’d built to keep ourselves from feeling too much had dissolved in the heat of our bodies. We surrendered — not just to each other but to everything we had been running from. And I think that’s when you know it’s real. When reason drowns in the flood of unfiltered emotion, when desire stops being something you perform and becomes something that simply overtakes you, consumes you, makes you its own.  

We kissed sloppily and fucked lazily, moving slowly. We had all the time in the world. We weren’t just trying to claw our way back to something that had once been whole anymore. His hands, rough and familiar, mapped me out, relearning the territory he’d been forced to forget. Our moans tore through the air, shamelessly, mingling with the occasional quiet sobs we were too far gone to suppress.  

At one point, he pulled back just enough to look at me. His lips were swollen, his eyes dark with something that was more than just lust. “You still feel like home.” he murmured, almost like he didn’t want me to hear it.

I swallowed hard, threading my fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. “Then don’t leave.”

His breath hitched slightly. “I never wanted to.”

He kissed me again, harder this time, to swallow the space between us and make up for every second we had spent apart, every moment wasted on silence and avoidance. 

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, until we were no longer just touching but fully entwined. Tears clung to our cheeks, and I wasn’t sure anymore if we were crying from everything else or just from the overwhelming relief of this moment, of still having this, of still knowing each other in this way. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, and I ran my fingers through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

“You’re shaking.” I whispered.

He let out a short, breathy laugh against my skin. “So are you.”

I wanted to hold him there, to keep him stuck to me forever in this way, to stop time from moving forward, because for the first time in so long, we weren’t ghosts in our own lives.  

For the first time in so long, we were real.

I didn’t understand him for a while. But now I know that to love in silence does not become reprimanding. The way I feel about him is beyond words and I understand his need for silence. In a manner of speaking, semantics will just never be enough. Not for this. Not for us. Not for the things we have lost. There comes a point when words just won’t do for human beings, for our inherent yearning and need, what only a crescendo can. A pinnacle. A peak. A release so raw that you have to beg the ones above. 

The ones that tell me nothing, the ones that tell me everything…

Oh, why won’t you give me the words?

It’s been a year.  

I didn’t want to be here for another winter. It was too much you and none at all.  

I suggested to Alex that we run off to the countryside. It seemed like a good idea to get out of this place, to slip away before the first snowfall could remind me of what we lost. There were no bags packed, no plans made — we set off with just one extra set of clothes stuffed into the backseat and no set destination in mind, only the silent, mutual agreement that we would let the road decide where we belonged.  

Alex drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting between us, fingers occasionally grazing my thigh, making sure I was still there and letting me know that he was too. He put on the soundtrack of some Wes Anderson film and let it play, its whimsical, melancholic strings filling the car in place of words we weren’t ready to say. I let myself sink into the passenger seat in the quiet, lulled by the soft hum of Ennio Morricone drifting from the speakers, by the low vibration of the wheels rattling beneath me, carrying us somewhere — anywhere.  

I must have fallen asleep.  

When I wake, the sky outside is thick with gold, clouds gathered around the sun like whites cradling a yolk. Eggy. It strikes me as unusual. It’s an odd thing to see in winter, when the evenings are usually a wash of pale pinks and deep blues, cold and distant. There hasn’t been snow this year either, and I wonder if the world feels as upside down as I do.  

The music is gone, I realise. In place of it I hear Alex humming softly, a sound so familiar and low that it feels like a memory playing on repeat. When I turn to look at him, I notice it instantly — the skin beneath his eyes is raw and there are dried tracks of old tears have settled into his cheeks. He’s cried in his time spent alone behind the wheel. 

He notices me staring and wipes at his face, exhaling like he’s annoyed at himself. “I’m not sad.” he says. He really needs me to believe it.  

I don’t say anything. I just watch him.  

“I cried because…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, measuring their weight before handing them to me. “Because I have the privilege of watching someone I love very much, even in sleep, and knowing I’ll get to talk to them again.”  

There are a million things I could say, but none of them would be enough, none of them would fit into the space that his words have carved between us. And before I can try, before I can even begin to think of how to hold all of this, the immensity of what he’s just said, his hand is on my cheek, warm and steady. The tactile sensation of it all overtakes me. 

“I was here first.” he declares. 

And you…you are the ubiquitous pest.  

Love can’t be created or destroyed — we’ve established that already. It lingers, even when it’s unwanted, even when it curdles into something unbearable. It stays until it evokes fear and it tears you apart, until you’re left with nothing but the pieces of what it used to be.  

You want me to love you still, but I can’t. I’ll soon catch the rot of you deep inside me that I’ve been too scared to face. Someone has to leave, and I won’t let that be us. I will love you forever, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t — I won’t — I’m afraid I’ll catch your disease. 

A few months. That’s all it was.  

And yet — sometimes, just sometimes — I wish it would hurt for you too. At least a little. Just enough to make it fair. Just enough so I wouldn’t have to carry all of this alone. But now, it’s all I can do to push you away, to shove you off so I can live knowing that, for once, I saved someone. Even if it couldn’t be you.  

I saved me.  

I saved him.  

I saved us.  

I look out to the sun waving at us as it veils itself behind the clouds, casting long shadows over the quiet stretch of road ahead. I watch it disappear, a slow, deliberate exit, and I think—  

How lucky we are to have known someone that makes saying goodbye so hard.

a/n: Inspired by this request. This is definitely influenced by a lot of what I’ve been reading and seeing recently. I reference ‘God’ and concepts related to that quite a bit, I’ve noticed, it’s something that’s present here as well, and though I’m not at all religious I find it to be an interesting subject when it comes up in fictional situations. I mentioned the other day that I wrote a sentence I really liked, it’s the one at the end of the paragraph about the willow tree. I don’t have much else to add here :)

[leviitome]

5 — After | Suguru Geto

AO3 / Masterlist / Moodboard

EDITED | COMPLETED

Wordcount: 3.7k

cw: 18+, mature audiences only.

Minors DNI.

Newly promoted and chronically late, you unknowingly take the last elevator available to only the highest-ranking executives and apparently, it's him. Suguru Geto. Who promises himself to give you, your exhausted, frustrated self, some type of relief every time you take his elevator.

The HR conference room feels sterile under the fluorescent lights, all beige walls and corporate motivational posters that ring hollow in moments like this. You sit across from Suguru at the long table, maintaining professional distance even though every instinct tells you to reach for his hand. 

Shoko Ieiri from HR adjusts her glasses, a stack of policy documents spread before her like evidence in a trial. Ijichi sits to her left, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, as always. The third person at the table is someone you don’t recognize, a stern-faced man from Legal whose presence makes your stomach clench. 

“Thank you both for coming.” Ieiri begins, her tone carefully neutral. “I’m sure you understand why we’re here.” 

Suguru speaks first, his voice steady. “We do. And we’d like to address this directly rather than dance around it.” 

“Go ahead.” 

You take a breath, finding your voice. 

“Suguru and I have developed a personal relationship outside of work hours.” A partial lie. “We understand this creates complications given our professional dynamic and we’re committed to finding a solution that works for everyone. 

The Legal representative, his nameplate reads K. Nanami–leans forward. “The concern isn’t just about complications. There are liability issues, potential claims of favoritism or a hostile work environment. When there’s a clear power imbalance–” 

“I understand,” Suguru interrupts smoothly. “Which is why we’re here to discuss alternatives, not to defend something that clearly violates policy as it currently stands.” 

Ieiri nods approvingly. “What kind of alternatives did you have in mind?” 

“Transfer one of us to a different department,” you suggest. “Remove the direct reporting relationship entirely.” 

“That’s… actually reasonable,” Ijichi admits, sounding surprised. “We do have an opening in Strategic Development. Same level, same pay grade, but different chain of command.” 

You feel something ease in your stomach, “I’d be interested in that position.” 

“It would mean working more closely with external clients,” Ieiri explains. “More travel, different responsibilities. Are you sure you’re prepared for that change?” 

“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. You’ve already risked everything, what’s a little more change?

Nanami makes notes on his legal pad. “We would need to establish clear boundaries. No interaction beyond what’s professionally necessary during work hours. Separate projects, separate meetings when possible, and certainly separate elevators.” He eyes you both sternly. A familiar knot forms in your stomach, forcing you to look down in shame. Suguru takes notice and his jaw clenches. 

“And outside of work?” Suguru asks. 

“Outside of work, you’re both adults,” Ieiri says carefully. “But any hint that your personal relationship is affecting workplace dynamics, client relationships, or team morale, we will have to revisit this conversation.” 

The meeting continues for another twenty minutes, covering documentation, transition timelines, and the kind of corporate liability language that makes your head spin and your eyes glaze over. But the core message is clear: they’re willing to make this work. And you couldn’t be more relieved. 

As you all stand to leave, Nanami adds one final comment. “For what it’s worth, the fact that you came forward proactively rather than making us discover this through complaints or incidents… or even denying it simply, it speaks well for both of your characters.” 

-

Three weeks later, you’re settling into your new office in the Strategic Development wing. It’s smaller than your previous space, but the work is engaging—more creative, more client-facing, more aligned with where you’d eventually wanted your career to go anyway. 

The transition hasn’t been seamless. There were awkward moments the first week when you’d instinctively head toward the fourth elevator, muscle memory from months of routine. Colleagues asking casual questions about the sudden change in department. Learning new systems, new team dynamics, new responsibilities. 

But there are unexpected benefits too. Your new supervisor is brilliant and supportive in ways that feel refreshing after navigating the politics of the executive floor. The work challenges you differently, stretches skills you’d forgotten you had. 

And the best part? No one here knows a damn thing about you and Suguru. No whispers, no knowing looks, no weight of shared secrets. You’re just the new Strategic Development specialist who’s surprisingly good at client presentations. 

The hardest part is the distance. Suguru is only three floors up, but it might as well be three cities. Your text conversations are limited to logistics–when to meet, where to go, careful not to leave digital trails that could be misinterpreted if anyone ever cared to look. Everything about you two when it comes to the workplace has been all about strategic, and stolen moments feel more precious now. You share brief encounters in the lobby when your schedules align. Careful smiles across crowded conference rooms during company-wide meetings. The thrill of secrecy has been replaced by something deeper and connected–the satisfaction of choosing something real over something easy. 

There’s no guilt anymore. 

-

It’s already been six months since the transfer when Suguru texts you on a Thursday evening: Free tonight? Want to cook for you. 

You’re at your desk, finishing up a client proposal that’s due tomorrow, but the message makes you smile. Your place or mine? 

Mine. I’ll pick you up at 7. 

I can drive myself. 

I know. I want to pick you up. 

The distinction matters now in ways it didn’t before. Every gesture feels more chosen and intentional. You’re not just fucking your boss in secret, you’re building something that exists outside the building entirely. 

Suguru’s apartment is a sleek high-rise downtown, all floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture that probably costs more than your monthly rent. You’ve been here a handful of times now, but it still feels surreal, like playing house in someone else’s life. 

“How was your day?” he asks, taking your jacket and hanging it in the closet. The gesture makes your chest feel all warm and you smile at him appreciatively. 

“Good. Challenging. Gojo has me leading the Henderson account presentation next week.” 

“That’s huge.” His pride is genuine, uncomplicated by the workplace politics that used to color everything. “Henderson’s a major client.” 

“I know. I’m scared.” 

“You’ll do great.” He guides you to the kitchen, something that smells incredible is simmering on the stove. 

You settle onto one of the bar stools, watching him move around the kitchen with surprising competence. This domestic side of Suguru still catches you off guard, the man who commands boardrooms and has his own elevator, chopping vegetables and stirring sauce with the same focused attention he brings to everything else. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, not looking up from the cutting board. 

“About?” 

“About us, and how well this is working. The separation, I mean. It’s been good for us.” 

You shift in your seat to make yourself comfortable. “You sound surprised.” 

“I am, a little. I thought it would be harder. Not seeing you every day, not being able to…” He glances up, something heated flickering in your eyes. You nod and laugh. 

“The elevator sessions?” 

“Among other things.” His smile is soft, fond. “But this feels more real. We’re not sneaking around anymore.” 

You nod, listening to him. 

Suguru sets down the knife, giving you his full attention. “When we were sneaking around at work, there was always this element of inevitably. Like we were caught in something we couldn’t control. But this, choosing to be together when we don’t have to be, when there’s no forbidden thrill driving it, it feels different, a good different.” 

You know what he means. The urgency has been replaced by something steadier, more sustainable. The hunger is still there, but it’s something accompanied by genuine affection, by the kind of comfort that comes from actually knowing someone beyond the confines of stolen moments. 

The timer goes off, and he turns back to the stove, but not before catching your hand before bringing it to his lips. The gesture is casual, easy, the kind of unconscious intimacy that speaks to how naturally you’ve settled into this. 

Dinner is excellent, some kind of pasta with homemade sauce that makes you think he stole the recipe from his mother. You eat at his dining table, city lights flickering beyond the windows, conversation flowing easily between work stories and weekend plans and the kind of mundane details that somehow feel significant when shared with the right person. 

“I have something to tell you,” Suguru says as you’re clearing the dishes. He leans against the doorframe at the end of the kitchen as he watches you. 

Something in his tone makes you pause. “Good something or bad something?” 

“Good something. I think.” He walks near you and leans against the counter now, suddenly looking less certain. “I got offered a position. Different company, but a really big step up. Senior VP of Operations.” 

Your heart does something complicated. “That’s… wow. That’s incredible, Suguru. When?” 

“The offer came in yesterday. I haven’t responded yet.” 

“Why not?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, studying your face. “Because it would mean relocating to Tokyo. And because I wanted to talk to you about it first.” 

The words hang between you, loaded with implication. You set down the plates you’re holding, needing something to do with your hands. 

“Tokyo,” you repeat. 

“I know it’s complicated. Your career is here, your life is here. I’m not asking you to drop everything and follow me. But I also can’t make this decision without knowing where you stand.” 

The honesty in his voice makes your chest tight. A little over a year ago, you were two people sneaking around in elevators. Now he’s considering job offers based on your opinion. The growth feels dizzying. 

“How long do you have to decide?” 

“Two weeks.” 

You nod, processing. “It’s a good opportunity.” 

“The best I’ve been offered. Complete operational oversight for a company twice the size of our current one. It’s everything I’ve been working toward.” 

“Then you should take it.”

The words surprise you just as much as they seem to surprise him. “Just like that?” 

“Just like that.” You move closer, reaching up to touch his face. “Suguru, this is your career. Your future. I won’t be the reason you turn down such a great opportunity.” 

“And what about us?” 

The question you’ve been avoiding since he started talking. You take a breath, finding courage you're not sure you even possess. 

“We’ll figure it out. Maybe I can find something in Tokyo. Maybe we do long-distance for a while. Maybe this is exactly the kind of challenge we need to figure out how serious this really is.” 

His expression shifts, something like wonder replacing the uncertainty. “You’d consider moving?”

“I consider a lot of things.” You smile, “If it means Tokyo, then we figure out Tokyo.” 

The words are out before you can second-guess them, hanging in the air between you like a bridge you can’t uncross. You’ve never said something without carefully thinking about it before, it feels strange. 

Suguru’s response is immediate and wordless, his mouth on yours in a split second. He cups your face like you’re something precious. The kiss is soft and reverent. 

You laugh, surprising yourself. The sound is bright and genuine. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He rests his forehead against yours. 

You kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of possibility lingering in his mouth. When you break apart, the future feels less daunting. 

“So,” you say, straightening his collar in a habitual gesture. “Tell me about Tokyo,” 

-

The conversation about Tokyo continues over the next hour, sprawled across his couch with the city painting patterns on the window. You talk about logistics and timelines, career opportunities and cost of living. But underneath the practical considerations is something else, the giddy excitement of planning something together, of choosing each other completely. 

You settle against him, head on his chest, breathing in his scent that’s become your sense of comfort. 

“Can I ask you something?” you say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. 

He nods. 

“That first day, in the elevator. Was it planned? the stopping, the—” 

“No.” You can feel his laugh vibrating through his chest. “God, no. I was genuinely just going to the ground floor. But then you walked in looking like you were about to fall apart from stress, and something about the way you held yourself together, I knew I had to do something instead of just admiring you from afar.” 

You think about yourself in that elevator months ago, frazzled, insecure, desperate to prove herself. You feels like a different person now, someone you remember fondly but have outgrown. 

“I should probably head home soon,” you say, though you make no move to get up. “Early meeting tomorrow.” 

“Stay,” Suguru says quietly. “Stay tonight.” 

The invitation isn’t new, you’ve spent the night here before, and he’s stayed at your place plenty of times. But something about tonight feels different, it felt more significant. 

“Are you sure?” 

Instead of answering, he shifts beneath you, guiding you to straddle his lap. The movement is fluid and natural, your body already knowing how to fit against his. His hand settles on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of your work dress. 

“I’m sure about everything when it comes to you,” he murmurs, voice rough with want. “All of it.” 

The certainty in his voice makes something flutter in your chest. You lean down to kiss him, slow and deep. His response is immediate, hands sliding up to your back to tangle in your hair. 

The kissing builds gradually, heat simmering between you like it has all evening. There’s no urgency now, no risk of being caught or interrupted. Just the two of you and all the time in the world. 

Suguru’s mouth trails down on your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that makes you gasp. His hands find the zipper at the back of your dress, he slides it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room, making you shiver. 

You help him slide the dress off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your waist. The air conditioning makes your nipples firm, but it’s the heat in Suguru’s eyes that makes your breath catch.

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks through the lace of your bra. The touch is gentle, exploratory, like he’s rediscovering familiar territory. 

“Tell me what you want,” Suguru whispers in your ear, voice low. 

“You,” you answer without hesitation.

The honesty seems to break something loose in him. His hands become more urgent, more possessive, pulling you closer until there’s no space between the both of you. You can feel him hard beneath you, pressing against your core through layers of fabric that suddenly feel like too much. 

You grind down against him, relishing the sharp intake of your breath it draws from his lips. His grip on your hips tightens, guiding your movements, creating friction that makes you both groan. 

“Bedroom,” he manages, the word more growl than speech. 

“Here’s good,” you counter, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. 

“Bedroom,” he insists, but his action contradicts his words as his mouth finds your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple through the lace. “I want to spread you out properly. Want to see every inch.” 

The promise in his voice makes you weak. You let him carry you to his bedroom, his mouth focusing all of his attention on your tits. 

The space is dimly lit by the windows, casting everything in soft silver. Suguru turns to face you beside the bed, hands framing your face as he catches your lips again. This time there’s nothing gentle about it, it’s hungry and desperate. 

Your hands work at the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling with urgency. He helps you, shrugging out the fabric and tossing it aside. In the dim light, you can see a landscape of shadow and muscle, and you take a moment to simply appreciate the view. You’re not even bashful about it anymore. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, mouth quirking upward at the sight of you admiring him. 

His hands find the clasp of your bra. Letting it falter down to the side before his mouth is on you once more. You find yourself pinned beneath him, your back pressed into the soft mattress of his bed. His hips nestle between your parted thighs, the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against your core through the thin fabric. You can feel the heat of his skin radiating on you, the weight of him bringing you into a haze. 

Suguru’s hands roam your curves possessively. His tongue delving past your lips to claim you thoroughly. You moan into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair that he managed to tie up into a small bun during work hours. You hold him close as you lose yourself in the taste of him. 

The rest of your clothes disappear in a tangle of eager hands and whispers of sweet nothings. When you’re finally bare before him, Suguru takes a step back, eyes drinking in every inch of you. 

“Perfect,” he breathes. 

The reverence in his voice makes you bold. You reach for his belt, fingers working the leather until you can push his pants down his hips. He kicks them aside, and then you’re both exposed, bathed in the small light of the windows. 

Suguru reaches the apex of your thighs, you’re already wet and wanting, body responding to his touch like it was made for this. 

“Suguru,” you gasp as his fingers find your clit, circling with just the right pressure. “Please.” 

“I know, baby,” he cooes, lips brushing your ears. 

He works you with patient skill, fingers and mouth and whispered words of love until you’re writing with pleasure under him, balanced on just the end of release. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and desperate. 

This is one of the most frustrating things he does, and now you’re annoyed. You glare up at him, making him smile in a way that makes you know he does this for pure joy and amusement. 

“Not yet,” he says, ignoring your cussing complaints. He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You’re so ready for him that he slides in easily, both of you groaning at the feeling. 

“God,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours. “Every time. Every fucking time,” 

You understand exactly what he means. You make your way towards his shoulders as he begins to move, slow and deep, each thrust delicate and measured. You make eye contact with each other the entirety of the time, never looking away once. 

Suguru’s pace increases, movements becoming more urgent as he chases his own release. You meet him thrust for thrust, bodies moving in perfect rhythm, everything else fading away until there’s nothing but this. The sound of skin against skin, the whispered endearments, the building pleasure that threatens to consume you both. 

When your orgasm finally crashes over you, it’s with Surugu's name on your lips and his body pressed tight against yours. He follows you over the edge moments later, face buried in your neck as he shudders through his own release. 

Afterward, you lie tangled together in the aftermath, breathing slowly returning to normal. Suguru’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your shoulder, and you can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath your cheek. 

“So,” you say eventually, voice soft in the darkness. “Tokyo?” 

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Tokyo,” he confirms. “If you’re serious about considering it.” 

“I’m serious about a lot of things.” You say. Smiling sheepishly against his chest. 

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You close your eyes, already half-asleep, and you let yourself imagine Tokyo. It feels less like an ending, it feels good and legitimate. You’re not running away from anything anymore, you’re chasing life as is. 

-

One year later. 

The Shibuya building is all glass and steel, reaching toward a sky that’s perpetually and devastatingly grey. You’re early today, a luxury you’ve learned to afford yourself since moving to Tokyo a year ago. You decided to live separately from Suguru for now, learning how to adjust to life in a new city without any of his help. It’s good. It builds character. But you don’t let your individuality get in the way of the both of you, so you make efforts to see each other often.

The marble lobby echoes with the click of your heels and the low murmur of conversations in what sounds like three different languages. 

You adjust your blazer, navy this time, paired with a soft silk blouse that actually fits perfectly. 

Your phone buzzes. A text from your colleague. Onecorp team arrived 10 minutes early. Conference room B will be ready in 15. 

Onecorp. Even seeing the company he works for in professional correspondence makes something flutter in your chest, though it’s anticipation now rather than anxiety. 

The elevator bank is busy with the morning rush, but you spot an opening in the fourth elevator just as the doors begin to close. Old habits. You almost feel nostalgic. 

You slip inside and freeze. 

Suguru stands against the back wall, exactly where he always used to position himself. Nothing about him has changed, but you act like you didn’t just eat dinner at his apartment yesterday. He takes note of the bit.

“You’re early,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“I’ve been practicing," you reply, the doors slide shut behind you. 

The silence stretches, but it’s different now. Charged with history rather than uncertainty. You’re both aware of other people in the elevator, the cameras, the professional distance you meet to maintain. But underneath it all is the electric current of everything you’ve built together. 

The elevator dings on the 58th floor. But as soon as you step towards the doors, his hand catches yours briefly. The touch is quick. Professional to any observer, but his thumbs brushes across your knuckles in a gesture that’s entirely personal. 

You smile, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “See you in the conference room, Mr. Geto.” 

The doors slide open, and you step out into the hallway. But this time, you glance back, just once, to catch him watching you go with something that looks like tenderness. 

As the elevator doors close, you realize you’re not burdened with secrecy anymore. You’re walking confidently toward a future you’ve chosen. 

The receptionist greets you with genuine warmth, and you have ten minutes to spare before the meeting starts and you get to see him again.

That’s ten minutes to remember how far you’ve both come since that first morning when you almost didn’t make it. 

[temis-de-leon]

Day 17 - Jealous kiss

Characters: Solomon x gn!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: none, just fluff. Developing relationship.

.

Getting used to only seeing the moon, especially an unfamiliar one, was something that took more of MC’s time than they would like to admit. The darkness, loosing track of time and the drop in temperature were one thing, but it was the lack of vitamin D what proved to be a significant problem. Their body weakened and their mood plummeted to the point where even Lucifer panicked.

Fortunately for all of them, the solution was as simple as adding certain foods to their diet, mainly fish, and of course the brothers bought enough to feed an entire army. In the end, however, MC grew sick of it and resorted to consuming vitamin D supplement pills.

Then they had the dilemma of finishing the whole stack of seafood that filled the entire kitchen, including the fridge, the freezer and the cabinets. Not even Beel could force himself to gulp it down and soon Satan had the genius idea of feeding it to the stray cats.

They would get rid of the awful smell that roamed the house and other cats would visit in hopes of getting more gourmet treats, because where else would they find salmon or trout? At first, obviously, Lucifer refused in fear of any animal creeping inside the house while no one was looking, but once Asmo begged for the damn dead fish to get out, no one dared to complain.

So that’s where they were, the Avatar of Wrath almost crying in happiness while cats climbed all over his body, his younger brother beside him taking selfies with the cutest kittens and MC in a more secluded space giving all of their attention to a particular cat. It had greyish blue eyes and striking long white fur, stained with dirt, but beautiful nonetheless.

A certain sorcerer with similar features stared at them while they cooed at the cat, kissing its nose, scratching its ears and massaging its little paws.

“If I didn’t know you any better”, MC said with uncharacteristic pompousness “I’d think you were jealous”

“Me? Jealous?”

Solomon’s expression was mischievous, but a glint in his eyes betrayed him. He was definitely jealous.

“You must be imagining things, my dear MC”

The term of endearment made their heart flutter, still vulnerable to his teasing even after weeks of endless flirting. Those who weren’t close to them already thought they were dating and after the kiss they’d shared a few days ago during RAD’s latest festival, they might as well be.

It had been a nervous gesture, too short for both of their likings, but MC hadn’t stopped thinking about it. The taste of soda on both of their lips, his hands on their waist, gently keeping them close.

The memory made them feel like a love-struck schoolgirl.

“From the way I see it, you’re simply being too selfish with your affections”

They turned to the side to look at him with an incredulous smile, hugging the cat close to their chest and rubbing its belly. Solomon’s eyebrow twitched at the sight.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Isn’t it clear?”

“Enlighten me”

Solomon opened his mouth to speak, but his words got stuck in his throat when MC shimmied their way to his body, resting impossibly close to him and letting the cat smell his RAD uniform. He smiled with genuine care and scratched its chin, once again unknowingly increasing MC’s heartbeat.

“Look at him, how handsome he is” murmured MC, their head oriented towards the cat, but their eyes directly looking at the blushing sorcerer “His white hair, his grey eyes… I could kiss him over and over and over again…”

And so they did, hoisting it until their heads were at the same height and enthusiastically pressing loud kisses on the fur. It smelled bad, but they did it anyways.

“Are you being mean on purpose?”

MC laughed at his childish complaint, trying not to make too much fun of his pout and his crossed arms. He only looked at them again when they finally let the cat go and threw themselves at him, making Solomon gasp in surprise.

“You’re funny”

The whisper clashed against his lips and became inaudible to everyone but them.

This kiss was even shorter than the one they shared at the festival, but it eased Solomon’s frown and it made his small smile reappear. He hugged their waist before they could get too far and deepened the kiss, not letting them go until a delighted screech reached their ears.

By the time they turned around, Asmodeus had already taken a picture.

.

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Taglist: @ourfinalisation  @owlisbuffering  @chizukimp4  @ravenredwine @darkflowerav  @craftysclown   @mehkers

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: I’m a 29yo INFJ lagging in personal development. Low self-worth and a lot of shame about how I am. I started therapy to work on my social anxiety. In the meantime, I read one of your answers (/post/766608536971149312) and it made me want to ask about how to get in touch with who I am. I have a weak sense of self because I have neglected myself for a long time.

I feel like I have no goals, no ambitions, no interests, no identity. I don’t know if I have anything positive to express into the world right now. All I know is I want to connect with people. I like people and it pains me that I don’t know how to be with them. But how can I connect with people when I have nothing to express or contribute (and that, in itself, causes me shame)? How do I begin the journey towards knowing myself?

-------------------

That post was about INTPs with regard to inferior Fe and lack of regard for one's place in the social world. In case it needs to be said, beware of extrapolating information about inferior Fe and trying to apply it to auxiliary Fe. The two should not be treated the same way.

Although they are the same function, the difference in functional stack position makes a big difference in the perspective one ought to take toward function development. Anyone of any type can experience socializing difficulties, but the underlying reasons behind the difficulties are very different for each type and thus require different approaches.

Yes, in many ways, it is problematic to have a weak sense of self. And, yes, being empty inside means you don't have much to contribute to the world outside. Although this might apply to you, is a weak sense of self really the root problem in your particular case?

A weak sense of self is actually simple to address. All you need to do is start living life more openly, actively, and assertively. It's not very difficult to "contribute". If you are an able-bodied person, there are many worthy causes you could devote yourself to. There are lots of possibilities all around you if you open your eyes and look. Get up and get out into the world. Do things. Participate. Get involved. Experiment. Explore. Take charge. Take on more responsibility.

Through gaining a wide variety of life experiences and learning about yourself from them, you'll gradually forge a stronger sense of self. Adolescence to early adulthood (13-25) is normally the time when people do the bulk of their self building, which is why you generally see teenagers demanding more and more autonomy to live life on their own terms. If you've lived a sheltered life, either because your parents sheltered you or you sheltered yourself, then you are more likely to have a weak sense of self because of not possessing enough worldly experience. It's never to late to start, though.

But you aren't able to implement this simple solution, are you? Why is that? You mention social anxiety, the root of which is usually shame, most likely toxic shame. Shame is a normal and healthy response to falling short of moral ideals, i.e., feeling like a "bad" person prompts you to change your behavior for the better and become a "good" person.

However, toxic shame is about not valuing yourself because other people have, intentionally or not, made you believe that you have no value, perhaps to the point where you believe you are inherently a bad person who can't change. Shame is a more primary concern in your case than weak sense of self, though the two can be related.

The real world mirrors back to you the truth of who you are. Therefore, in order to see yourself, you have to make yourself seen out there in the real world. But the world is an imperfect mirror. If you've been unlucky and encountered too many people throughout life who have made it clear that they don't like what they see when they look at you, it is only natural for you to not like looking at yourself as well. You are not to blame for that.

This raises an interesting question, though. How reliable and valid were those people's perceptions of you? After all, we know that human beings suffer from many kinds of biases and prejudices. Are you certain that the people who have judged you did so objectively and impartially? Are you certain that those people were eminently qualified to appraise you and your worth? You'd better be certain, that is, if you're going to adopt their way of judging you and put yourself down so harshly.

Framing the problem like this, perhaps you can start to see that it goes deeper than Fe. Perhaps it goes all the way down to Se. It is easy to spot INFJs with unhealthy Se. They are usually unwilling or unable to participate in the real world. Why? In the real world, there is no place to hide, so you don't get to indulge the fantasies of unhealthy Ni. You don't get to lie about who you really are. It is safer and more comfortable to live in an insulated world of your own making, where you don't have to hear outside opinions about yourself.

Isn't that what you really mean when you say you've "neglected yourself for a long time"? That you've purposely avoided facing up to reality and, thus, haven't been developing your potential? Perhaps it's time to confront the discomfort you feel in the real world and understand what it's really about? Perhaps it's time for you to grapple very seriously with the question of how you define the worth of a person?

Do you believe that every person you meet has to "contribute" something to you in order for you to consider them worthy of your time and attention? That's a very cold and transactional approach to human relationship, isn't it? If you don't believe that, why would you assume that you must "contribute" something in order to call yourself worthy?

It's easy to spot people who suffer from toxic shame. They behave as though they don't have a right to speak or even a right to exist. Do you believe you have a right to exist in this world? If so, speak up for yourself and take up the space that is rightfully yours. You really want to connect with people? You'll find it difficult as long as you believe you're not a person worth connecting with and that no one would want to connect with you.

You've asked me how to get to know yourself better. I've pointed you to the best path, which is to participate fully in the real world and go through the exciting process of building a life of substance for yourself. Maybe this is the last thing you want to do, but that usually indicates it's the most important thing you have to do.

Do you struggle with Ti loop? Such INFJs commonly react to good advice with excuses as to why they can't do it or how it doesn't apply to their "special" case, or they'll go around soliciting opinions from a million people until someone tells them it's okay to keep avoiding reality. I'm not here to convince people to change. I can only tell you that facing up to your fears and challenging yourself to do difficult things is necessary for real growth to happen. Whether you do it is in your hands.

[d3pressed-caffiene-addict]

Hazbin Hotel Ep 5&6 Oh My God (Major Spoilers)

I am having so many thoughts, this is just a brain dump

-LUCIFER. He’s so pathetic I love him

-Jeremy Jordan you fucking legend. I’m a big fan of a lot of his work and was excited to see him in this but I was slightly unsure if he was the right casting since I expected Lucifer to be more of a high and mighty/snobby figure, but with the way they characterised him HE IS PERFECT.

-“TAKE THAT DEPRESSION”

-The Lucifer vs Alastor rivalry is beautiful

-“Ha ha, fuck you.”

-Father figure Alastor

-HIS EARS GO BACK LIKE A CAT WHEN HES ANGRY I CANT

-MIMZY’S ARRIVAL. I know most of us know the lore about her and Alastor being developed as a couple before it was scrapped but I really like how they are in the show

-Even if it’s just crumbs I’m so excited to be getting snippets of Alastor’s lore. It’s wild to keep going back and forth between “aw he actually cares for and protects his friends” and “oh my god he’s a fucking psycho”

-Speaking of that the scene with Husk holy shit. Poor man looked terrified

-The confirmation that Alastor’s also stuck working for someone, it has to be Lilith surely. I know some people will call it predictable because a lot of theories are coming true but personally I think it’s from good worldbuilding/foreshadowing

-ALASTOR IN FULL DEMON FORM JUST ANNIHILATING EVERYONE and then he just goes “Ah that was fun, now back to it”

-I kinda like the parallel between Al and Mimzy & Angel and Cherri where they invite their friends to join them if they want to, even if neither of them take it up initially maybe we’ll see them join the hotel in the future?

-BABY CHARLIE

-I really expected Lucifer to be a dickhead and a shitty dad, but he seems to be an overall better guy than most people in hell

-CHERRI BOMB ARRIVAL! And she’s Aussie now fuck yeah represent

-I still love her and Angel’s friendship even if she is a terrible influence. Everyone’s got that friend who’s solution to a bad day is just self-destruction but they mean well at least

-DARREN CHRIS TOO, THE MUSICAL THEATRE/BROADWAY ACTOR CASTING IS STACKED

-Emily is so sweet I love her

-The Molly cameo is so sweet, I was waiting for her to appear somewhere but lowkey forgot she was in heaven. Honestly though how did she get there when the rest of her and Angel’s family got condemned for what they did together? Maybe she left the mob or something idk I just hope we get to meet her properly at some point

-Heaven’s real fucked up? Yeah not shocked

-VAGGIE?? FALLEN ANGEL REVEAL?? AND SHE WAS AN EXTERMINATOR???? I know most of us called it but holy shit I didn’t expect it to be confirmed this soon

-Adam is such a dick but he’s so much fun

-I love that Charlie was gonna start her court presentation with definitions like a high school essay

-“Consent is a good name for a sex club” the gentleman Husk truthers gonna have fun with this one

-Pentious hitting on Cherri is hilarious and totally not the same level of subtlety I flirt with when I’m drunk

-Hearing more and more about how Val treats Angel is so sad especially with how casually he talks about it since it’s just another day for him

-Him parenting drunk Nifty is beautiful

-“You wanna play with the kitty?”

-Valentino is my #1 enemy

-Seeing Angel stand up to him to protect his friends is making me feel feelings. Like he knows that he’s gonna be treated even worse for it but I think he’s reaching his tipping point and shits gonna go down soon

-Also I know there’s a popular theory that he’s gonna die soon and a lot of the theories are coming true so I am scared. I kind of don’t think this one’ll happen though since he’s the fan favourite and its just too soon to take that much of a risk. Plus Vivsie’s admitted he’s the best written character and it’d be such a waste of all that development

-More sweet moments between him and Husk, they’ve gotten me so invested in this ship so fast

-The fact that most of heaven didn’t know about the extermination?? Wild

-Idk how I feel about the timeskip between Ep 4&5, they’re only a month away from the extermination now. Yes it’s making the stakes feel higher but I do wish we’d been able to see more of that time for the relationship development, all the characters seem much closer than before and we’ve only seen bits of how they got there

-I really wish they’d greenlit more than 8 episodes to pace things a little better but I’m glad we have season 2 confirmed

-That last minute ‘reveal Vaggie’s past to Charlie, boot them out of heaven and then cut to credits before she can react’ is gonna torture me until next week

-I don’t disagree with past criticism that Vivzie’s female characters can feel a bit underwritten but I think it’s getting better

-“We’re coming to the hotel first” plus all the theories that someone’s gonna die are fucking stressing me out man

Anyway hope you enjoy the brain dump, this show has once again consumed my thoughts

[starpains]

What are your favorite Obi-Wan ships and what do you like about their dynamics? 😊

Oh I like this ask 🤩. Thanks, anon!

Let's start with, I ship Obi-Wan with any man who tried to kill him at least once and is younger than him *snort*. The fact that I can summarize my Kenobi shipping tendencies like that always makes me laugh. And yes, Cody counts, because chip or no chip, he did try to kill Obi-Wan once 😉. And yes, I did, in fact, just use a winking emoji and "kill" in the same sentence.

Out of all these my three favourite ships are Obikin, Obimaul and Codywan. Details under the cut.

Obikin - I mean if I really wanted to go into what I love about their dynamics I'd have to write a thesis about it, negl. I'm gonna focus on what I really like about their dynamics... The age difference, man. It always gets to me for some reason. The fact that they're at different stages of life and yet manage to develop this deep, meaningful, or--as our Obikin God Strover has put it--more-intimate-than-lovers connection is something that is very attractive to me at this almost cellular level. Like, when I read a well-written fic about them I feel it in my bloodcells, I swear. Another thing is how their understanding of life and love differs so completely because of their vastly different life experiences - the idea that with fic we are able to bridge that gap and make them find common ground and change the fate of the galaxy at the same time... *sigh*. Their love story in canon (I'm just quoting Deborah Chow, ok), is so very tragic. I'm a romantic at hear and so I will always crave a good fix-it, or alternate chain of events of a tragic love story. But tragic or not, the differences in their personalities are also amazing for amusement purposes hence why they're my first choice for Modern AUs. They are so 3D and there are so many facets to them that you can basically thrust them into any situation and make it work. And yes, all this is just scraping the tip of the iceberg for me, maybe one day I will write a thesis 😉.

Obimaul - This one is so obvious 😀. It's canon that Maul is absolutely obsessed with Obi-Wan. He lived through being bisected just to get revenge, lol. It's such a good base for fics, is it not? Is it NOT? Seriously though, I have this very specific Obimaul scenario that I love above all others and that's broken man Obi-Wan on Tattooine having lost everything, and Maul still thirsty for revenge finding him and then realizing that, hey a) killing this husk of a man is no longer satisfying, b) we're both kinda broken, c) we both hate Darth Sidious above everything else. I've read so many great fics about Hermitwan and Maul teaming up to either kill Sidious or just somehow make it till the end of their sad lives with just a little bit less of loneliness... I love it. They make for some really great angst. And honestly it's so easy to twist Maul's obsession based in hate into obsession based in love, those two feelings have quite a lot in common after all. Also, I really have to commend fic writers for coming up with creative solutions to Maul's canonic lack of dick. I think Dathomirian Magick Dick was my favourite so far 😆.

Codywan - Again, Codywan is ultimately tragic. The fact that Cody is a clone with a chip in his brain programmed to kill the man he loves... I mean, doesn't get more tragic than that, right? And also, even if they do manage to deal with the chip problem, the aging-twice-as-fast problem still persists. And you know, the fact that the majority of the galaxy doesn't even recognize Cody as a sentient being. This ship is just problem stacked on a problem stacked on yet another problem. You know, the fact that Obi-Wan is Cody's commanding officer is also kind of hard to ignore. Which is why I am so drawn to them! For me if there isn't a problem there isn't a ship 😉. I think what I love about their dynamic is their at first glance similar but after a deeper dive completely different personalities, and the fact that with Codywan it's Cody that gets to be fed up with Obi-Wan's antics for one, and not the other way round (with Obikin it's always the other way round). What I really love about Codywan fics is that authors usually focus on completely different facets of Obi-Wan's personality than they do with all the other ships. Really, it just makes me love Obi-Wan more. I always loved Obi-Wan as a character, but reading a couple of Codywans just really drove it home for me.

I hope this answers your question, anon! Thanks for asking ❤️, I simply loooove talking about my ships.

[dndeceit]

Fander Fic Rec Friday (#26)

(Superhero Shenannigans - First Issue!)

The How Do We Stack Up series by ToDefineIsToLimit Superhero/College AU (Moxiety, Roceit) Rating: M When Logan develops telepathy he learns that several others in his social group possess powers as well. When his roommate Roman becomes insistent upon pursuing the role of a hero, Logan decides the safest solution is setting him up with a nemesis he can trust... Notes: In which Logan herds his superpowered friendgroup like cats, and much drama is to be had. I keep meaning to give this one a proper re-read, because it's absolutely one of my favorites. Also, Patton's arc is insane.

The Heroes and Villains series by LadyoftheWoods Superhero AU (Gen) Rating: T The Duke has a brutal reputation for destroying the heroes that try to take him down, but recently a young spitfire called Tempest has won a nugget of his esteem. When his young nemesis comes crawling to him, injured and seeking after the Duke's unkindly "mercy", he's ready to raise hell getting to the bottom of it. Notes: As soon as I started thinking about doing a list of Superhero fics, I knew I had to find this one again. As in, I took hours out of my day to trawl through AO3 looking for it. Like Virgil whump? Like protective Remus and Janus? Like reunions and characters coming together to challenge the system? Just...it's good, okay?

The Ping Verse by SoDoRoses (FairyChess) Superhero AU (Dukeceit, LAMP) Rating: M There is no easy life in this world for powered people. The best some can hope for is to find a role within the system and try to play by its rules. Fighting against it is even harder, but for some the fight is worth it. Notes: An incredibly layered superhero dystopia piled to the brim with feeling. The primary fic in the series (which centers on an intricate and nerve-wracking time loop scenario) is still a WIP, but it looks like it's only about a chapter away from coming to a close.

The Rescues of an Annoyed Scientist: Heroes Sides AU by GeminiMoon Superhero AU (Gen) Rating: T Logan is a brilliant but otherwise average, unpowered scientist who nonetheless keeps finding himself in the path of superpowered threats. Fortunately, there always seems to be someone there to save the day. Notes: In which Logan can't seem to escape getting into Situations, but he also can't seem to come out of one without making some friends.

Don't Make Me Be The Bad Guy by VintageSnakes Superhero AU (Moceit) Rating: T Following the defeat and capture of his team's long-standing nemesis, Deceit, Patton comes across some new information. Left struggling with uncomfortable doubt, he now has questions that only one person might be able to answer... Notes: Another enjoyable superhero dystopia in which Patton learns some ugly truths about the world he lives in and has to make a choice.

Come Now, Little Prince by TheAsexualofSpades Superhero AU (Gen, Roceit, Dukeceit) Rating: G After an incident results in the death of a criminal he was pursuing, Roman is injured and mid-breakdown when he decides to throw himself upon the mercy of an enemy who had once offered him a way out of the game. Notes: Some high-proof Hurt/Comfort. Roman has Trauma and Janus has his hands full keeping him from falling apart.

The Serpent's Snakelets by ChillyKrow Superhero AU (Gen, Anxceit) Rating: T Supervillain by name, philanthropist by action, the Serpent has a lot of plates spinning, most of them full. But that doesn't mean he's about to look the other way when two teens start to frequent the soup kitchen he runs under his civilian identity, clearly in need of some help. Notes: I love this one for the amount of thought and detail that has gone into what Janus is actually doing with his operation. And also what one can actually get away with as a shapeshifter with enough cunning and the right resources.

It's Over Now by remembermeeternally Superhero AU (Gen, Loceit) Rating: G Sent against a villain far above his power to fight, the last thing Roman was expecting was mercy. Or refuge. Or comfort. Or...adoption? Notes: In which, once Janus and his husband learn about the depths of the neglect that his young heroes-in-training have been subjected to, he isn't about to give them back. Consensual kidnapping ensues.

I wanted to be seen by logically_asexual Superhero AU (Loceit) Rating: T Separated from the rest of his team, Logan finds himself confronted by the supervillain, Deceit, resulting in a wager that Logan is sure must turn out in his favor. After all, his teammates wouldn't actually leave him behind... Notes: In which Logan deserves much better and Janus is more than happy to offer it.

Leave All Your Heroes Behind by Magpie_Crow Superhero AU (Gen) Rating: G Patton is an ordinary man, living a rather ordinary life. The most extraordinary thing about him is his job: He works for Make-A-Wish, making arrangements so that children can have their final wishes fulfilled. Then, one day, a child makes the request to meet the notorious villains known as the Terror Twins. But Patton isn't about to let one of his kiddos down if he can help it. Notes: I love stories about regular people who live in superhero settings. You know this sort of thing would happen. And this is just such a sweet story...

WIPs

On Death's Doorstep by LonelyThursday Superhero AU (Anxceit) Rating: T Injured, on the run, and with his young son in tow, Virgil—known to the world as the superhero Knightcaster—seeks asylum from government attention after escaping his abusive husband—the superhero known as Atlas. Unfortunately, the only people capable of offering the protection he needs are the very supervillains he and Atlas have been fighting... Notes: I need to reread/catch-up with this one, because I lost track of it for a while, but it's so good...

(Will probably do a second round of these somewhere down the line, because there are just so many and they're so much fun...)

[ahex-technologies]

In the realm of MEAN stack development, effective data modeling is paramount to the success of applications. MongoDB, as the NoSQL database component of the MEAN stack (MongoDB, Express.js, AngularJS, Node.js), offers flexibility and scalability in managing data. Mastering the art of designing MongoDB schemas is essential for Mean Stack Application developers to create robust and efficient MEAN stack solutions. Let's explore the intricacies of MEAN stack data modeling and unveil the strategies for crafting MongoDB schemas that drive optimal performance.

[omgmaxsmith-blog]

Can Open Source Integration Services Speed Up Response Time in Legacy Systems?

Legacy systems are still a key part of essential business operations in industries like banking, logistics, telecom, and manufacturing. However, as these systems get older, they become less efficient—slowing down processes, creating isolated data, and driving up maintenance costs. To stay competitive, many companies are looking for ways to modernize without fully replacing their existing systems. One effective solution is open-source integration, which is already delivering clear business results.

Why Faster Response Time Matters

System response time has a direct impact on business performance. According to a 2024 IDC report, improving system response by just 1.5 seconds led to a 22% increase in user productivity and a 16% rise in transaction completion rates. This means increased revenue, customer satisfaction as well as scalability in industries where time is of great essence.

Open-source integration is prominent in this case. It can minimize latency, enhance data flow and make process automation easier by allowing easier communication between legacy systems and more modern applications. This makes the systems more responsive and quick.

Key Business Benefits of Open-Source Integration

Lower Operational Costs

Open-source tools like Apache Camel and Mule eliminate the need for costly software licenses. A 2024 study by Red Hat showed that companies using open-source integration reduced their IT operating costs by up to 30% within the first year.

Real-Time Data Processing

Traditional legacy systems often depend on delayed, batch-processing methods. With open-source platforms using event-driven tools such as Kafka and RabbitMQ, businesses can achieve real-time messaging and decision-making—improving responsiveness in areas like order fulfillment and inventory updates.

Faster Deployment Cycles: Open-source integration supports modular, container-based deployment. The 2025 GitHub Developer Report found that organizations using containerized open-source integrations shortened deployment times by 43% on average. This accelerates updates and allows faster rollout of new services.

Scalable Integration Without Major Overhauls

Open-source frameworks allow businesses to scale specific parts of their integration stack without modifying the core legacy systems. This flexibility enables growth and upgrades without downtime or the cost of a full system rebuild.

Industry Use Cases with High Impact

Banking

Integrating open-source solutions enhances transaction processing speed and improves fraud detection by linking legacy banking systems with modern analytics tools.

Telecom

Customer service becomes more responsive by synchronizing data across CRM, billing, and support systems in real time.

Manufacturing

Real-time integration with ERP platforms improves production tracking and inventory visibility across multiple facilities.

Why Organizations Outsource Open-Source Integration

Most internal IT teams lack skills and do not have sufficient resources to manage open-source integration in a secure and efficient manner. Businesses can also guarantee trouble-free setup and support as well as improved system performance by outsourcing to established providers. Top open-source integration service providers like Suma Soft, Red Hat Integration, Talend, TIBCO (Flogo Project), and Hitachi Vantara offer customized solutions. These help improve system speed, simplify daily operations, and support digital upgrades—without the high cost of replacing existing systems.

[v3663l]

LOTLW Devblog #39: Quality of life

Hey all!~ For over a month now, I have been very busy doing internal testing and fixing the game's most glaring issues! In this entry, I'll share favourite of the changes I made to the game.

Glaring issue #1: Game's too hard!

The game's original difficulty mode is balanced around my, a developer's, personal tastes.

That means for many people, it will be a tough experience, to put it lightly.

And so I set out to remedy this by introducing 'Origins' or a fancy way to describe difficulty modes.

Intended for people who want an undemanding experience, with interest mainly in the story

Void's Chosen perks will ensure a smoother progress through tougher quest challenges

+50% damage, accuracy, health, and aura!

+3600 guldens upon completion of the first quest.

10 > 15 talent points

Vastly reduced item insurance cost < work in progress feature >

Start with three healing ointments.

Start with higher power items

Ordinary Drifter:

No surprises here!

Start with 100 health and aura

Unmodified stats

The mode everyone who ever played LOTLW is familiar with! Recession Kid:

Ordinary Drifters got it too easy? Prove to them you're tough as nails to survive during a recession

Start with reduced aura, meaning it's tougher to get around

Get shoddy weapons and only a few coins at the start

Gain only 50% > 25% of the item's value when selling an item

Start with only 5 talent points

Glaring issue #2: No tougher combat challenges!

Combat is good and fun, however, the game has lacked boss fights to encourage and reward players for being proficient in it. And so I turned a bunch of enemies encountered into boss fights!

Glaring issue #3: Too much loot!

Gameplay kept being interrupted by a need to either drop valuables or return to the talkstone chest/merchants to cash in the findings. The inventory simply isn't big enough for the amount of loot some of the areas contain. The solution is a spell that remotely opens a talkstone chest!

It is definitely on the mana-hungry side, but still, very useful to keep the adventures going!

Glaring issue #4: Bows and staves suck!

< SUCKS LESS AT LEAST >

Glaring issue #5: Combat audio is kind of weak!

< FIXED >

Glaring issue #6: It's difficult to start multiplayer

< WORK IN PROGRESS >

Now, upon starting the game, the players are prompted to set up their controls and desired modes. Much better, though a lot remains to be done in this regard.

And more work-in-progress: Coming soon!

Manual

Optimization

< ANYONE struggle with FPS IN EASTERN TRILITH? YEAH, ME TOO >

Hotkeys for quick heal/swap/spell/etc.

< PRESS H FOR QUICK HEAL, PRESS L TO SWAP LOADOUT, that sort of thing >

Economy update

< New powerful items and services to deal with the overflow of guldens high-level players have >

Inventory Rework

< Drag 'N Drop items, sort, quick-stack, quick-deposit, quick-retrieve >

Talkstone Chest 2.0

< More and larger tabs! >

Alchemy Recipe Book

2x Zoom

Side Quests

Classes 2.0

Unique Items

More Capes ...

Thanks for reading!